Outstripped (27 page)

Just
between you, me and the door post, some time ago, many moons earlier, Lucy had
secured a few more temping positions at Banner Products. And on one of those
fortuitous opportunities she had indeed managed to complete the very difficult
and dangerous task of switching the 'Yale' padlock key for an
almost
identical alternative. A key
which would fit perfectly in the, soon to be exchanged, padlock, securing the
large wooden gates to Luke's lockup under the clichéd railway arches.

There
were three versions of that key:

•
               
Luke's, which he used on a
regular basis

•
               
Maddy's, which she knew nothing
about, and

•
               
Jody's, which was used from time
to time to deposit incriminating evidence in the deepest darkest corners and
hiding places of said clichéd lockup.

Phone
bills, pictures, bank statements and eventually a huge haul of custom made
vibrators.

Good
ones.

Ones with secret hiding spaces, behind the battery compartment.

Ones
that were
identical to the beast that Charlie was caught
with.

One that
came from the same haul of serial numbered personal products, of which there
were a few missing.

This
special haul of vibrators wasn't ordered in the usual manner, as it turned out,
for the day-to-day wholesaling of sex toys supplied by Placeres Privados.

It was a
custom design, specifically requested, and signed for, by Luke himself on
company letterhead and ordered discreetly on behalf of W.A.I.F.A. outside
normal operations.

It was
paid for, in advance, using the special W.A.I.F.A fund and it was delivered to,
and stored in, Luke's private lockup.

"Now
if that isn't a slam dunk for your little operation and an indication that you
were about to go
big time
into
trafficking and money laundering, then I don't know what is." The
detective completed his summary and stood down from his pulpit to await, and
tape, the first of many admissions of guilt.

It
didn't arrive of course. Charlie, who was to go first in the police
confessional, having kicked off the case with 'Vibrator-gate' at the airport,
was lost for words. She collected her thoughts, and let loose with a barrage of
short, sharp, shouted statements of her own.

"What
a story."

"A
four year story."

"Four
incredulously false years."

"Four
fucking impossible years."

"Four
years that just didn't happen."

But just
how does one defend one's self against insurmountable evidence?

She
was
in Jamaica, Panama, Hong Kong, and
God knows how many other places when all these deposits were made.
International destinations that somehow coincided, on many
occasions, with Carmel's ship time in port.

But it
wasn't her. She continued. She didn't do it. And as far as she knew, neither
did Carmel. At least they weren't acting together.

Okay,
she did have the vibrator and she had to concede it looked like hers. But where
did the money come from? She didn't know anything about the bank account and
she's never even heard of W.A.I.F.A.

"None
of it's true." She demanded, over and over again.

It
didn't help her cause or the court case when it finally came round. She'd
simply be attempting to defend the impossible with all four of the others. But
at least she didn't have to deal with some sort of Immaculate Conception.

It was
discovered in the midst of all the compulsory D.N.A. testing that Suzanne's little
boy belonged to Luke.

"How
the fuck did that happen?" was a common expletive used by most of them at
some point. Especially Luke.

Arguments
and counter arguments, accusations and allegiances, in-fighting, going it alone
and mutual support.
Falling in and falling out.
Every
kind and manner of partnership, double dealing, and friend or foe scenario was
mooted, suggested and propositioned by each and every one of them.
To each other, with each other and at each other.
And the
trial proceedings were no better.

Neither
the five of them, nor their legal teams could come to any agreement on who,
how, why, what, where and when any or all of this was supposed to have
eventuated. One suggestion revolved around Luke and Maddy stitching up the rest
of them, on the grounds that they were in control of the bank account and the
funds. Another loyalty split suggested that Luke and Suzanne were 'in it
together' since they had managed to produce a child. The problem with these,
and in fact all supposed scenarios, was that not one of our characters seemed
to know, or would at least admit, anything about any of it, or the others, and
least of all their own alleged involvement.

Trouble
was, they couldn't prove that they were 'not' involved either.

Any
suggestion of an outside stitch up or frame job never even arose, since there
simply was no one else to cast suspicion on. There was no one else who could
possibly make a gain.

Hanging
their defence, therefore, on complete denial, unfortunately didn't sway, or
endear, the jury and “Beyond all reasonable doubt” was the final and only
logical verdict in all cases.

The
evidence, as had been said all along, could not lie.

Jody
took great delight every time she reminisced over the success of her revenge operation.
It's not very often anyone gets the chance to so completely exact one's personal
premeditated punishment and even less so with total anonymity. Most folk, of
the wrongfully harmed variety, would reciprocate their deserved talion in full
view. The pleasure in punitive justice of the 'eye for an eye' kind
an'
all that is generally all about the perpetrators getting
their comeuppance face to face.

….
But not in this case.

Jody wanted
nothing to do with her past, or the people in it. She was busy concentrating on
the here, the now and the future.

Having
said that, getting her own back had been a mission and a major part of her life
for so long now. How would she cope? Why would she even get up in the morning
without a raison d'être, a mantra,
a
plan?

But she
had a plan. Jody always had a plan. In fact whilst you were studying the pages
herein, and the salient historical events from Jody's memory, she had any
number of plans to keep her occupied.
Additional reasons to
be.
To turn her skills and attentions to.
But
they're for another time and place.

During
all the celebration, self-congratulation and memory casting in honour of her
conquest, she couldn't help but remember and re-live the root cause of it all.
The very reason she so badly needed to have these people, these bastards shown
up. Shamed and shat upon from a great height.

School
character mixes stand typical, typecast and true to form whether your time was
in the thirties, the sixties or the nineties. Come to think of it, nothing ever
changes the world over. There have always been the academics, the elite, the
bewildered, the lost, the dirty, the despicable and the downtrodden. Class has
nothing to do with it, though your average lefty,
greeny,
do-gooder would have you believe that stereotypical poor character traits are a
direct result and product of financial hardship.

"I
say bollocks!" said our sixth form, seventeen year old Jody, during one of
her
pow
wows with her mates, at lunchtime, on the
relaxing chairs, in the corner of the common room, nearest the vending machine.

Someone
had inadvertently left it on 'Free Vend' mode after giving it its weekly
hygiene treatment and emptying the coffers. It took five milliseconds,
precisely, for most of the sixth form to realize their lucky day had arrived, then
a frenzy of button pushing, arguments, pulling, shoving and swearing resulted
in drink spills by the 'half cup load' of scolding coffee, rudely extracted
from the besieged little machine, until the authorities got wind of the matter.

The rich
kids were just as bad as the others. It would seem that character is not a
financial depth gauge after all.

"Maybe
that's how their parents got rich. They never paid for anything, and the
offspring have simply resorted to genetic intuition. Or have they been schooled
in the art of the
free lunch
?"

"Leave
it alone, will you Jody?" whined one of her gathering. "You're only
pissed off you couldn't get to the front for a free drink yourself."

"Didn't
really want to get splashed."

"Yeah
right."

"Jody."
The unfamiliar sound of her name in 'Queen's English', rather than some common
and colloquial mother tongue, usually associated with her clique of
compatriots, came from behind her.
Then again.

"Jody."

She
peered over her shoulder and was surprised to see Carmel standing there,
equidistant between Jody and the rest of her own clique of friends. A sort of non-committal
no man's land, where it was almost safe to associate or speak loudly from,
without having one's social status brought into question.

"What?"
Replied Jody, straining over her shoulder, trying hard to fulfill her duty as a
nondescript and to reciprocate the disassociation with one of the 'It girls'.
In truth, just like everyone else, she would have dearly loved to cross the
divide and join the elite, the well turned out, the stunning and connected. But
as protocol would have it, a conversation opener like this was more likely than
not to turn derisory, rather than pleasant. An invitation to converse on a
level and socially acceptable playing field was a world away and so completely
unexpected that Jody missed it when it arrived.

Carmel
repeated herself. "We need to catch up with you later. It's about
Suzanne's eighteenth. The party. Tell you later. See you round the sheds after
school."

Jody was
gob-smacked. This was not expected. 'Left field' was an understatement. She
turned back around to face her mates after first uttering her agreement with
Carmel. Then with mouth and eyes wide open she tilted her head sideways in
mimed, though genuine, disbelief. Each girl in her gaggle responded likewise.
Every one of them, sitting with legs tucked under them, simultaneously brought
their shoes to the front, feet to the floor and dipped in for a huddle of the
most skeptical kind.

They
hadn't got a clue what had just 'gone down' but were intrigued to know more.
Jody was given
no choice
by the
others but to follow through with the meeting. “Whatever the outcome.”

The
sheds were a poor state of affairs near the tennis courts and used to be a
collection of lock ups for the games equipment in summer. No one really knew
what
they
were for now, other than to provide leaning
posts and gossip hangouts for the older girls at school.
An
area for bitching and moaning and scandalous wit.
The teachers left them
to it most of the time, but occasionally had a crack down when the cigarette
butts rose past ankle deep.

Jody
decided she'd be last to arrive. "It's gotta beat hanging around on your
own waiting for a gang to turn up."

She
spied from afar and waited for them to muster, as agreed, before making her
move. Then over she went, dodging and weaving against the tide of schoolies
heading for the main gates, the buses and the ever-growing legion of mothers
with four-wheel drive monsters.

On the
one hand, she was excited about her 'call up'. But on the other, she was
cautious of a potentially unwarranted and merciless assault on her character at
the hands of those with more peer power and influence than the penguins who
were supposed to be in charge. Nuns and teachers, that is. All affectionately and
appropriately nicknamed.

"Hurry
up. We're doing this for you."

"Yeah,
Jody"

She
didn't say a word but broke into a trot to join them. Her bag of books in her
arms, hugged tightly against her boobs in some sort of forearm bra
configuration that tends to leave onlookers wondering whether or not it’s an
insecurity measure or a lack of support.

She
arrived.
Quite sheepish, very wary, but majorly inquisitive.

"So….
What about the birthday party? You didn't invite me. At least I didn't receive
anything. Didn't think I would."

"It's
like this Jody," started Suzanne but she was interrupted by Charlie.

"Actually
we've always thought you were more like us than all those dykes you seem to
hang around with."

"They're
not dykes...."

"Yeah,
yeah.
Yeah, yeah.
Anyway, we got to thinking it would
be good if we invited you to the party. It'd give you a chance to mix in with
rest of us. Meet some of the guys. You do like guys, don't you?"

"Of
course I do." Jody defended herself, stopping just short of being
insulted.

"Well
there'll be heaps of guys. The good ones, and well, we just thought it was
about time we included you. What d'ya think?"

"Ummm
......
"

"Don't
think too hard. You won't get another offer."

"Okay.
Yep. I’m in." Jody smiled and bounced on the balls of her feet, mimicking
and matching the enthusiasm of her 'instant besties’.

Arrangements
were made for a 'get together' the following Saturday to go over clothing,
makeup and hair, and the do's and don'ts of social etiquette in the 'In Crowd'.
Promises were made by them all to bring Jody into the real world and introduce
her to life on the better side of town.

"An
open mind is all she would need to bring."

Jody
wasn't sure what that really meant but it conjured up excitement as well as
trepidation. And she loved the idea of being introduced to the guys.
The real guys.
Not the geeks she'd been used to chasing her,
in their soft-spoken, overly polite, clumsy, pathetic, apologetic ways. She
needed an alpha male, badly. She just wasn't too sure what to do with him when
she got him. Lucky for her, her newfound friends would know.

"Who's
your new friend?" Jody heard Suzanne's mum say from behind her as she was
being ushered through the very large kitchen towards the stairs ahead of the
pack. Saturday had arrived.

"Jody.
We're just having a bit of a makeover day." Suzanne hollered back.

They got
to Suzanne's room and it was huge. She got the tour of the bedroom, the windows
overlooking the gardens, the stereo system hooked up to the computer, the walk
in wardrobe and the en suite bathroom. Jody had never been in a house with more
than one en suite. She never expected any teenager would have this much stuff,
or this much room.

"It's
like a palace," she said, half out loud then had to repeat
herself
when questioned.

"You
must live in here. You've even got your own Telly. I suppose you only go down
to eat." She added. Followed by a chorus of snorting, stifled sniggering
and laughs all around her. The unintentional dirty double entendres had started
and as with any group of girls, it would only get worse.

The
hours whiled away and though the day's activities changed from clothes, to
makeup, to 'high tea' and back around again, the gossip never ended. Jody
couldn't believe the sheer level of backbiting and bitchiness that went on.
Incessantly.

"Was
this normal? Was it called for? Are these people really some form of superior
beings?" It didn't matter. It was fun, it was frivolous, scandalous,
sinful
even, and Jody was in it for real, at long last.
Bitching with the bitches.

And then
it happened. She should have expected it really. The conversation got around to
sex. Well not so much 'the conversation'. It was more the third degree.
The interrogation of Jody and her private, intimate sex life.
Her knowledge, her experience, her skills, her preferences and of course her
virginity.

It was
straight to the point.
Blunt, yet sharp.
It was
penetrating even.
A little too private in Jody's mind, and
more than just a little uncomfortable.
She wasn't exactly used to this
amount of attention.

But she
coped. She dealt with the questions, the probing, the blushing, the
confessions, the admission of her innocence, her lack of real, first hand
experience, and the total and, as yet unquestionable, integrity of her hymen.

Of
course everyone else was an expert. At least that's what they'd have you
believe. Well versed in the art of entertaining man and woman and their bodies.
Apparently they'd tried all forms of sexual interaction, even if it was just to
experiment. They had differing opinions on what constituted 'the best', but
seemed particularly knowledgeable, at least, in the art of pleasing themselves
and pleasing others.

"How
could they possibly know so much? How could they have
ever
done so much?" Jody considered. "Are they lying? Is
it all just playground bragging and bullshit for my purposes? Or, is it
all true
? Are they really all sexual adventurers and
connoisseurs? Maybe they're all slappers? What's the difference any way? And
while we're on the subject of slappers, if a guy sleeps around he becomes
experienced. But if a girl sleeps around she's a whore. Surely the modern way
is different now, but then again, maybe not. Equality doesn't really transpose
itself well across all platforms of life."

"So
Jody, if you haven't popped your cherry yet, how far have you actually got with
a guy?" Maddy interrupted Jody's train of thought and probed again.

They
were by now all sitting in a circle on the carpet, having finished their hot
chocolates and the last slices of cake. The finger licking had obviously got them
thinking.

"Have
you given a guy 'head' yet? A blowjob?" asked Charlie.

"No,"
answered Jody.

"What
about a hand job then? Surely you must have wanked a guy off by now?"

"Yes,"
she began. Trying hard not to be seen as a total novice and devoid of any knowledge
of the male reproductive organ. "Just not all the way."

"What
do you mean,
not all the way
?” and
before she could continue, Jody jumped in,

"We
got caught. Well, we nearly got caught. Had to stop anyway."