Unbidden Page 7

  He wondered again about her and Cutter. Perhaps her reaction upon seeing him wasn’t so odd. Perhaps he was just so unpleasant to look upon with his blood-smeared crotch and all. It was only paranoia to believe that they somehow knew each other.

  He would speculate on it later.

  “Selena? Selena? Are you listening to me? Stop looking at him or he might think you’re interested.”

  Her attention jolted back to Doug.

  “Good. Now, Selena … I want you to call Mitch and tell him you’ve got trouble here and you need him back right away. Don’t make it seem so bad he thinks he needs to bring the cavalry. Just tell him you want him back here as soon as possible.”

  When he gestured for her to go ahead, she sat there awhile, staring at the CB. She was probably hoping he wouldn’t notice the delay as she tried to think of something to stuff up his plans. To make up for the obvious delay, she suddenly plucked up the handset too fast, having to fumble not to drop it. Groping for the “on” switch, she brought the receiver to her trembling lips.

  “It might work better if the power was hooked up, wouldn’t it, Selena?”

  She flinched, then hastened to connect a cable to the batteries lining the wall.

  “Take your time,” he cautioned. “We wouldn’t want you to get a nasty shock.”

  The screens in the CB lit up with lights dulled by the daytime. A low hiss issued from the speakers. Selena fiddled with the tuning, winding it all the way to one end of the dial before going back to the other. She was stalling for time again, still trying to think of something clever to come up with. Doug could hear the cogs turning in her head. He was quite happy to let her think it over. She only had two options to consider: self-preservation or self-sacrifice.

  Selena paused, as if preparing to step into the abyss.

  Doug leaned closer. Felt her cower.

  “Selena, don’t do anything silly. How do you think Mitch would feel to come home and find the house burned to the ground with you in it?”

  She believed him; her terror was palpable. She saw the cool sincerity in his eyes. And he did mean it, too, in a fashion. After all, he had made no threat, merely offered up a possible scenario. It did not mean he ever intended to see it carried out. But she didn’t need to know that. She only needed to see his ruthlessness.

  “Go on,” he suggested gently, “call him.”

  Selena turned the dial to the correct frequency, put the receiver to her lips and pressed the button. She tried to keep the waver from her voice.

  “Mitch? Mitch? Can you hear me?”

  She waited. She repeated the message, her voice steadier. A fat tear fell on the back of her hand. The low hiss from the speakers was interrupted by a loud crackling, then came three even bursts of static in a row. Selena had earlier explained to Doug how the jeep’s CB was faulty. Mitch could only signal receiving the transmission by tapping the button on the handset three times.

  Selena was about to continue when she suddenly broke down into loud sobbing.

  Doug had to think fast, explosively fast. Was it better to cut transmission in case she became worse? Or would cutting Mitch off bring him back faster but not alone? He gestured roughly for Selena to let go of the button on the handset. His expression must have been ugly. She nearly threw it down.

  “What’s your cat’s name?” he asked quickly.

  Bewildered by this question, she had to think for a moment.

  “Scratch?”

  “Tell Mitch something happened to Scratch and you need him back right away.”

  He was pleased with his improvisation. No-one would bring reinforcements for a cat. The woman’s eyes widened.

  “Did something happen to Scratch?”

  Doug decided she was too close enough to hysterics as it was.

  “No. The cat’s fine.”

  Selena burst into tears again. This time it was from relief, but her husband wouldn’t know that. Crying, she spoke into the handset again. “Mitch, can you please come home right away? Something’s happened to Scratch. Please hurry.”

  Once more, the speakers squawked three even chirps of static, coming faster this time. Doug turned off the radio and took the handset from Selena, her fingers flying clear before he could touch her. He was starting to be irritated by her reactions to him. Just how poisonous did she think he was? Keep it up and maybe he’d give her something serious to worry about.

  ***

  After disabling the radio and ordering Warlock to watch the woman, Doug went outside onto the porch to be alone, ignoring the noise and clatter inside the kitchen. Cutter had discovered the homemade beer and was trying to find something for it to wash down, trashing the place in the process.

  Doug tried to feel disgusted with himself. He knew that’s how he should feel. Truth be known, he was pleased he’d narrowly saved the radio message from disaster. It was his first small victory of the day. He knew his lousy treatment of the woman would get to him, most likely in that twilight period between lights out and sleep when he had plenty of time to brood. But that was later. Right now he was riding high on nervous, almost pleasant, agitation. He lit a cigarette, jabbing his teeth with it.

  Mick came out to share the scenery with him, bumming a durry and a light.

  “Don’t you have your own?”

  “Yeah, but they last longer this way.”

  They smoked in an affable, if stony, silence.

  “I told you Cutter would pull his weight,” Mick joked, testing the waters.

  Doug snorted irritably, denied even a short respite. Mick was okay, but Doug was still unable to turn his back on the cottage, worrying that Cutter was up to no good or Warlock was stuffing something up.

  “So … according to our Selena, we’re stuck here for another two hours or so.”

  “The others won’t mind. We’ve got pleasant company. And beer.”

  “Exactly,” Doug replied. “Not a good mix.”

  Torn between the volatile situation inside and the unspoilt peace here, Doug’s attention was snagged by the tractor, parked in the clearing near the shed. It was a big brute, much too large and powerful for such an inconsequential property. Being ancient and banged-up probably made up for it. Obviously still in working order. It stood in a clumsy place in the yard, wasn’t planted in it. Anxious for a bout of real work.

  Doug flicked his finished cigarette at the tinkling chimes hanging nearby. A direct hit. Sparks flew. It confirmed an idea formulating in his head. He turned to Mick.

  “We need to keep ourselves busy. It’s what you’re always telling me … idle hands do the devil’s work.”

  Returning inside, Doug found Selena still seated in front of the CB radio. She was staring down at a bare bit of tabletop, careful to stay absolutely still. Cutter was standing beside her, watching intently as he tucked into a sandwich he’d made. He ate in large bites, his cheeks distended. If he was standing any closer to the woman his crotch would be pressing into her. Crumbs and filling sprinkled over the top of her head. He must have offered to spell Warlock out of the kindness of his heart.

  Warlock was sitting on a couch in the adjoining room, fumbling with something in his bumbag. He looked surprised when he saw Doug looking at him.

  Doug pointed at him, and then Cutter, registering that he had their attention.

  “We’ve got work to do.”

  ***

  Doug explained they would use the time before Mitch returned to take the tractor and hide the plane. He and Cutter would take care of it while Mick and Warlock would stay to watch the woman – and take care of the husband if he beat them home.

  There was disagreement, but none could deny the plane could bring the authorities down on them quickly. No-one had a better idea. That’s why Doug was the leader.

  The matter settled, Doug went to the shed and rooted around until he found a length of chain. so rusty it dyed his palms red. Mick stood on the porch watching the woman through the window to make sure Cutter left her alone. Warlock wa
ndered the yard, kicking stones and scratching out ant nests.

  Cutter stepped outside, chewing on a big red apple, not mindful of the core. There was no warning: one second, he was treading indolently on the porch step; the next, he was stumbling down it. The mishap got everyone’s attention. Cutter appeared more shocked than annoyed by his clumsiness, but hid that when he saw Doug looking. Still, no-one could quite disguise the peculiar look of worry that crossed his face. He stood up straight, arching his back as if he sensed a bug crawling up his spine.

  Warlock watched him closely.

  “Your hand’s bleeding again.”

  Cutter looked at the half-eaten apple in his hand. It was turning bright red. Cursing, Cutter transferred the apple to his good hand and gave it a flick to shake off the blood. He squeezed his injured hand into a fist to try stemming the wound.

  Doug wasn’t too interested in Cutter’s predicament. He was wondering how to arrange seating for the journey to the plane. He was not about to have Cutter sit behind him on the tractor. One of them would have to walk.

  With a surprised grunt, Cutter sat down heavily, banging onto the ground, his expression turned inward, while squeezing his injured hand hard into his armpit.

  Everyone waited for something else to happen. Finally, when it looked like he wasn’t actually expiring on the spot, Mick went over to help him up.

  “I can do it,” Cutter said, brushing him away.

  He got to his feet too quickly, then walked stiffly back to the porch and sat down, his back against a post. When he began sliding, he readjusted himself angrily.

  “Are you alright?”

  It was Warlock. Doug and Mick stayed where they were, eyeing Cutter silently.

  “Get me something for a bandage.”

  Warlock hurried off to fill the order, having found the medicine cabinet earlier while looking for other things. He wanted to steer clear of what suddenly felt like developing into a bad situation.

  While Mick got the tractor running and gave Doug a lesson about how to operate it properly, Cutter dressed his wound. He moved from the porch step to the porch swing and was playing it cool, like there was no problem, but his good hand never strayed far from his gun.

  When Doug asked again if he was ready to go, Cutter didn’t reply. Couldn’t.

  Mick shifted closer to Doug for a private word.

  “It might be blood loss … or blood poisoning. Maybe he pushed himself too hard showing off with the crate. Could be a delayed reaction to getting banged up in the crash. Fuck knows. He won’t let me get close enough to find out.”

  “With any luck,” Doug murmured, “it’ll do our work for us.”

  “I think someone’s talking about me behind my back,” Cutter called out, gently toing-and-froing on the porch swing. But his words came out flimsy, when they wanted to be big.

  Doug found Warlock hunting around in the vegetable patch for exotic plants, and informed him that he was going in Cutter’s place, ignoring his protests.

  “Keep a thumb on Cutter. Him and the woman,” Doug told Mick.

  “Sure,” Mick replied, “he’ll be right. He’s a pussycat now. The girl’s got more life in her than he has.”

  But Doug had serious misgivings. Whether they came from leaving the cottage, or Cutter with the woman, he couldn’t be sure.

  “There’s something between the two of them. There’s a connection.”

  “How?” replied Mick. “What are the odds? It’s a fluke we’re here in the first place. You’re making it bigger than it is, because it’s personal between you two.”

  “Just don’t let either of them out of your sight, Mick.”

  The old man’s hackles rose. “Yeah, I heard you.”

  “I know you can handle yourself. Keep alert, that’s all I’m asking.”

  Mick nodded, not the least mollified. “Right.”

  “I fucking mean it. Promise me.”

  “Bloody hell. Relax, will you? You’re getting me so rattled I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be promising anymore.”

  Chapter Five

  The tractor carrying Doug and Warlock had barely cleared the yard and disappeared into the brush when Cutter made a sudden, abrupt recovery. He swung around in his lounge chair, boots hitting the floor with a loud bang, when only moments before they were raised on a crocheted beanbag with him flat on his back.

  Mick was sitting nearby, keeping one eye on the woman, the other on the crate. This much more spry Cutter suddenly had his attention.

  “You feeling better?” he asked carefully.

  Cutter smiled. “Fine. No dramas. How about you?”

  Mick’s pistol sat in his lap. He made no move toward it.

  Leaning forward, Cutter held his handgun between his knees, dangling the barrel toward the floor, twirling it in small, idle circles.

  “You’re not the only performer in town, Mick.”

  Mick’s voice was deadly calm.

  “You even look at that crate and I’ll put you down.”

  “Fair enough, but that’s not what I want.”

  Cutter did not glance at the woman sitting by the window. Mick did. The gun Cutter pointed at the floor twirled in larger and larger circles. It was almost hypnotic.

  “We’ve both had an eventful morning. All I want is to unwind a little.”

  The woman continued to sit by the window. She looked only slightly troubled, absently stroking the low-purring tom in her lap. The woman’s demeanour never changed, even though she must have understood what the two men were speaking of. It seemed odd to Mick she was not looking outside, at the approach to the house. Instead, she was turned from the window, staring into the dark recesses of the room. Perhaps she was thinking of a good hiding place. Perhaps she was wishing she had accompanied her husband on the trip into town.

  Mick’s level stare held Cutter’s challenge a moment longer, then faltered and fell to rest on the crate. Gazing upon it gave Mick strength, a reason not to interfere.

  “You don’t hurt her,” he said defiantly to the crate.

  Cutter laughed as he stood up.

  “That depends on whether she’s broken in. But don’t worry, I’ll treat her sweet.”

  At Cutter’s approach, the tom rose, hissing, in the woman’s lap, a bowed back sprouting needle-hairs. Cutter slapped the animal off its perch with a backhander. Then he booted it. Hard. The tom flew to the other side of the room, striking the doorframe and wrapping around it like a dishrag. Mick would have sworn its back was broken, but the tom jumped up again in a flash and scuttled away from sight.

  The woman cried out at the harm done to the cat, but otherwise didn’t stir. In a way she didn’t seem overly distraught, as if this was what she had anticipated. Mick felt contempt. There was no fight in her. Perhaps she deserved some of what was going to happen. Then he quashed that thought, doubly ashamed.

  Cutter clamped his good hand down on her head.

  “C’mon, darling.”

  Her chair tipped as she was dragged by the hair toward the bedroom. She bit down on a scream, her legs thumping uselessly for purchase over the bare timber floor as she hung on to his wrist to keep her scalp from tearing away.

  Mick didn’t want to see any more, but he damned himself with one final look. From where he sat he had a direct line of sight into the bedroom and saw Cutter hurling the woman by the hair onto the bed. Grinning, Cutter turned and readied to shut the door, several long hairs tangled around his fingers. His eyes locked with Mick’s.

  Mick braced for the door to slam, trembling in its frame. But it didn’t come.

  Cutter held the stare longer than proper, challenging Mick. Gloating. That stare said, we know who the bull stud is and who’s old and used up. He enjoyed Mick’s discomfort and what he perceived to be his green-eyed jealousy.

  If possible, there was more to Cutter’s perverse, lingering stare. He almost eyed Mick up and down as if he was worthy of the attention he would be shortly giving the woman. Then he turned
away to have his fun, leaving the door open, inviting Mick to watch. It had nothing to do with sharing. He was including Mick as a participant.

  Mick got up and took the woman’s seat at the window. He stared into the lowering afternoon light to watch for the returning husband or Doug – and take himself away from this place.

  ***

  It was a titanic strain on the tractor’s engine, but it and the chain held long enough to gradually work the plane over to the dam.

  Their first attempts to move the wreck only broke it into more pieces. First the wings tore off, one after the other. Doug found it easy to sink these smaller segments before tackling the front end of the plane.

  He didn’t know why he had bothered to bring Warlock along. All the punk did was stand around and whinge. At one point, Doug smacked him upside the head as he walked past, doing it without a word. After that, all of Warlock’s complaints came from a more prudent distance.

  And finally, with the chain wound around the fuselage, the plane was at the low embankment guarding the water’s edge. Doug drove to the side of the dam, wanting a lot of momentum before the chain went taut. He rode out the sudden buck. The tractor’s big wheels briefly slipped over the ground before the treads again bit like teeth.

  Doug did not think the tractor was moving at first, just straining loudly, but the plane told him different, inexorably shifting. He spurred the tractor on as the plane’s nose rose a little, easing up and over the lip of the embankment. Then it began to overbalance, doing it too gradually for his liking. He feared the plane would lodge in a shallow place before he could tow it out far enough to sink it.

  He needn’t have worried. The plane gave way and slid down to the water, floating like a barrel, rolling out across the surface toward the centre of the dam.

  He stopped the tractor and the plane journeyed a little further in a smooth motion before it began to sink. The truncated rear submerged first, water rushing into the gaping hole and spurting up brown froth. A compact waterfall surged through the open hatch on the side. The plane sank gracefully, forming an incline until it struck bottom. Then the rest of it began to go under as small waves lapped the sides and fat clay suds bubbled out from beneath.