Razorhurst (33 page)

Even had Kelpie grown up with two parents inside a home with brothers and sisters, odds were her sex education would have been incomplete. Growing up on the streets, she knew both more and less than that imaginary Kelpie would have, the one who grew up with a roof over her head.

Kelpie knew about sex but not in any detail. It wasn’t something Old Ma or Miss Lee had ever talked about. She wasn’t about to ask Tommy or Stuart O’Sullivan. Or Snowy, for that matter.

Neither Old Ma nor Miss Lee had ever uttered the word or any of its many synonyms. Kelpie knew sex was why Miss Lee kept her away from those books and magazines at Old Man O’Reilly’s. She knew you weren’t supposed to read about it or talk about it. Though men at the pubs often did. Sometimes the women coming out of the ladies’ lounge would too.

What Kelpie knew was what cats did, what dogs did, what humans did in back lanes or in the parks in summer.

She knew it took two people squishing up close together. She knew that it made people go red in the face and sweaty, that sometimes it hurt and led to tears and other times led to giggles and laughter. She knew that it could lead to babies.

She knew that sometimes men gave women money to do it. That sometimes men did it with men. She had also seen two women with their faces pressed close together, kissing. So she assumed that women could do it with women too.

Kelpie knew it was often hard to tell the difference between sex and a fight.

And that both were to be avoided: fighting and sexing.

She knew that men wanted it all the time and women hardly at all. Women who did it were bad women. But men who did it were just men. She’d heard that priests and sisters didn’t do it ever. But she knew that wasn’t true. There were rumours that Father Kelly did it with all the widows in the Hills and was a very bad priest indeed. (There were no rumours about Father O’Brian.)

Kelpie had seen Father Kelly kissing a woman in the rectory when Kelpie’d been trying to sneak in to find something to read.

She knew, too, that sex was messy. The girls in Moore Park walked away with leaves on their clothes, twigs in their hair, and their lipstick half across their faces. The boys were no better.

She didn’t know that sex was related to the way Neal Darcy and Dymphna Campbell made her feel. She didn’t know it had anything to do with the electricity that prickled in the air between them.

She didn’t know it had anything to do with love.

But then Kelpie knew as little about love as she did about sex.

KELPIE

Kelpie was afraid, but as Stuart O’Sullivan had taught her, she put the fear away and ran through her options: run away, hide, or surprise them. O’Sullivan said those were the best strategies when smaller than your opponent, which Kelpie always was.

The windows were boarded, which had been helpful for trapping their noise inside when they were hiding, but now it made their escape difficult.

Kelpie tried the back door. It didn’t budge. Darcy lowered his fists and joined her to put his shoulder next to hers and shove. The door creaked, loudly, but did not move.

There’d be no running away. Not in that direction.

Darcy went back to his position beside the curtain.

There was a hole in the floor big enough for Kelpie to squeeze through, but she wasn’t sure if there was enough space between the floorboards and the foundations. Even if there was, she’d make too much noise getting there.

Nowhere to hide.

Another floorboard creaked. She heard displaced air. The rustle of fabric. A male voice.

It didn’t sound like Snowy. Dymphna and Darcy glanced at each other.

When you can’t run or hide, O’Sullivan had taught her, go for the knees, between the legs, the feet, and if the bastard falls, go for the eyes. A bottle of acid would be best, but the odds were low of ever having one of those to hand.

Kelpie had assumed he was joking about that last, but O’Sullivan swore he’d known a man who always had a bottle of acid on him. He used it to break into houses. Dissolving locks was quieter than breaking windows. Kelpie had no idea how to get hold of acid.

She crept quietly to Dymphna’s side. Dymphna smiled at her before turning her eyes back to the curtain.

Somewhere in one of the houses on the other side of the back door, a radio came on. The unmistakeable sound of a race being called. This time of year, Kelpie figured, it had to be the dogs. Was hard to hear anything over the screaming of the dogs’ names.

“There are two of them,” Palmer said.

So he had decided to help. Sort of. Kelpie didn’t doubt that he could identify who they were by now.

Kelpie held up two fingers to Dymphna and Darcy and gripped the handle of the knife tight, wishing she could sink back into the wall. Her nose itched. She put her hand over it. She could not sneeze.

“Bad time to sneeze,” Palmer said, helpfully. “I don’t see a good end to this.”

The announcer on the radio was screaming now. Kelpie concentrated hard, trying to hear beyond the race. More creaking floorboards, she was pretty sure.

Abruptly the radio shut off.

Kelpie could hear male and female whispered voices, overlapping. Outside a horse blew air past its lips. It was pulling a cart. One of the wheels must be out of kilter—it made a loud clicking sound as it turned.

Kelpie’s hand started to sweat where she held the knife.

“Snowy sent me,” a female voice called. “It’s just me. I brought some food.”

Palmer shook his head. Kelpie repeated the movement. Though surely Dymphna and Darcy knew the woman was lying.

Dymphna put her fingers to her lips, handed Darcy her bit of floorboard, and pushed through the curtain.

“Hello, Cait,” Dymphna said softly.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Cait said. “There’s no one about.”

“Even so,” Dymphna said, “best not to attract attention. Walls are thin. Houses close together.”

“You are a nervy one,” Cait said no softer than before.

“How’s your stomach?” Dymphna asked.

“Where’s that little horror then? She punched me, she did.”

Kelpie half hoped she’d get to punch Cait again.

“What are you doing here, Cait? How’d you know we were here?”

“I told you. Snowy sent me. Got some food for youse.”

Kelpie heard a tapping sound.

The radio came back on again. Not so loud this time. Music. The kind of stuff without words that Miss Lee had loved.

“The cops are on the warpath. They know their constable’s dead, but they don’t know where the body is. They know Bluey killed him, but they don’t know where Bluey is.”

“They don’t know where Bluey is?” Dymphna repeated.

Kelpie found that as hard to believe as Dymphna. The cops had been pounding on the grog shop’s front door. It wasn’t like Bluey could go anywhere. He’d been unconscious.

Cait ignored Dymphna’s question. “The coppers know you was seen nearby. So they want to talk to you. They demanded Glory hand you over. She was not pleased.”

“Where’s Snowy?”

“Glory’s furious,” Cait said, once again not answering.

Kelpie started to doubt that Snowy had anything to do with Cait being here.

The floorboards creaked. Cait’s skirts swished. Sounded like Cait was moving back and forth without a care for how loud she was. “All this fuss? It’s ruining Glory’s big day. She’s still going to have the party, though. Everyone’s invited. Even the coppers. Well, except Big Bill, of course. You don’t think he has something to do with what’s been happening, do you? He can’t be pleased that his gravy train’s roared out of the station. Maybe he’s the one that killed Palmer? To punish Glory. Maybe he’s done a deal with Mr. Davidson.”

Kelpie wondered why Cait was talking so much, so loudly.

“I’d be worried about Big Bill if I was you, Dymphie. He’s—”

“Big Bill’s long gone. He was never much of a man. Just another lazy bastard leeching from his wife.”

The floorboards fairly screamed from the impact of heavy stomping into the room.

“Is that what I am?” asked a deep, booming voice.

Kelpie had only ever seen Big Bill from a distance. She imagined him towering over Dymphna, smiling at her like a threat. He wasn’t as tall as Palmer or Snowy. But he was big enough.

“How you going, Dymph?”

“All right, Bill. What are you doing here?” Dymphna’s voice did not shake. She sounded like she’d been expecting Big Bill.

“Come to collect you, ain’t I? Present for me wife.”

Kelpie tried to remember what she’d heard about Glory’s husband. Old Ma had said he’d slap Glory around when he was drunk, but that’s what husbands did. Kelpie’d never heard he was mean like Bluey. He’d started as one of Glory’s razor men, which meant he was hard. Even if he had gone soft after he married the boss. Kelpie didn’t know if he killed people. But wasn’t that what razor men did?

Kelpie kept her breathing as quiet, but her heart was beating too
loud. She worried it alone was enough to give her away. She gripped the knife tighter.

“Ex-wife,” Dymphna said. “I heard it was official today.”

“Don’t matter what she calls herself. We was married in church. Can’t undo that. She might have forgot, but I haven’t. I’m a good Catholic, I am. Ain’t no such thing as divorce.”

“I was on my way to see Glory, Bill. I don’t think I need an escort. But thank you kindly for the offer.”

Dymphna sounded as if this was a normal conversation. A raising-your-hat-and-how’re-you-going-on-a-Sundee-afternoon kind of conversation. Kelpie couldn’t tell from listening, but she feared Bill had a razor in his hand.

“Thank you kindly for the offer,” Big Bill said in falsetto. “You are high up, ain’t you? Is that what gives you the right to call a hard-working husband a bastard leech? Well, Glory, she thinks you need an
escort
.” He emphasised the word as if there was something wrong with it.

“But Cait here said Snowy sent her.”

Kelpie heard a smacking sound. Cait yelped.

“She gets confused. You know how it is with the older chromos. Work too long and your brains start to go soft.”

Cait made a noise halfway between spitting and hissing.

“Too much bother about, Dymphna. Not safe for you. You heard Cait, didn’t you? Coppers looking for you. That Mr. Davidson too. Got me auto outside. Won’t take a jiffy. We can start the party early. I always liked you, Dymphna. Pretty face you’ve got.”

“I don’t think Glory will like that.”

“I don’t give a fuck what that old slut likes.”

The floor was all creaks. Dymphna gasped. On the other side of the doorway, Darcy raised the jagged piece of floorboard.

“Stop it, Bill!”

It sounded like he was dragging her.

“Don’t hurt her, Bill. Mr. Davidson won’t pay as much if you hurt—”

“Shut it, Cait.” He raised his voice. “Youse others in there can come out. I know you’re there.”

Kelpie and Darcy looked at each other. Kelpie showed him her knife.

Darcy nodded. “We’re coming through.”

“Slowly,” Big Bill said.

Darcy raised the tattered curtain, and Kelpie walked through, both hands in her pockets.

Big Bill was holding Dymphna by the waist. She was kicking back at him. He glared at Darcy, not bothering to look at Kelpie. “I’ll break her in two if you try anything.”

“He won’t,” Palmer said. “She’s too valuable.”

Dymphna shook her head. “He’s working for Davidson now. He has to keep me safe.”

“I’m not working for anyone,” Big Bill yelled.

Darcy rushed at him, punched him in the kidneys, and then sidestepped to kick him hard in the back of his knees. Big Bill bellowed but didn’t let go of Dymphna.

Cait came at Kelpie with her bag flying. Kelpie ducked, then stepped out of her way. Cait’s eyes were narrowed and her teeth bared.

Wood splintered and Bill roared. Darcy must have let him have it with the board.

Cait turned and swung the bag at Kelpie again, using both hands. Kelpie ducked and stuck out her foot. Cait tripped and went flying into the wall.

Kelpie moved in and kicked Cait’s left knee, grateful again for Seamus Darcy’s heavy shoes. Then she hit Cait as hard as she could with her elbow. She was aiming for her solar plexus but hit bone. Something snapped. The jarring went all the way up Kelpie’s arm. She staggered backward.