ThornyDevils (31 page)

‘Here’s something you don’t know. She’s got a plan to sort out the O’Learys and we know what it is. We could let you in on it, as long as you don’t interfere with our story, and you save all the best information for us. Dale McCracken takes down the O’Learys and it’s a
Truth
exclusive.’

McCracken studied his hands.

‘It’s a win–win, Dale.’

‘All fucking right,’ he growled.

‘So we have an agreement?’ Peter smiled.

‘I guess so,’ he snarled again. ‘Which leads me to the photos.’

‘I presume you won’t want them published?’

‘What do you fucking think? When it’s all over, you bring me both sets of photographs and you destroy them in front of me after the arrest. Can I trust a scum piece of shit like you to do that?’

‘I guess you have to, Dale, don’t you? And I think you have me all wrong. I have ethics and morals, but if I detect corruption, I’ll bend them in whatever way I can to achieve a result.’

‘You fucking prick,’ McCracken sneered. ‘You’ve won tonight but one day, one day, when you least expect it, Clancy, I’ll burn you.’

‘So we’re done?’ Peter concluded.

‘I’ll be in touch.’ McCracken rose from the chair still glaring at Peter. ‘Shit coffee, by the way.’

‘You made it, Dale,’ Peter retorted, ‘not me.’

‘You okay in there?’ Babs called to Sam as she cuddled up in bed. Waiting. Waiting for Sam.

‘Fine,’ Sam replied.

‘You sound like you’re in pain.’

‘No. No. My…my haemorrhoids are playing up,’ Sam called. ‘That’s what you get for sitting on horses all day.’

‘Have you got the cream to put on them, love?’ Babs asked. ‘I’ve got me own supply if you need some.’

‘Always have my own supply,’ Sam sighed. ‘That’s better.’ He emerged from the toilet naked and pounced onto the bed and into Babs’s open arms.

Sam was still thinking himself lucky that he had a bare chest or the tape would have left a mark when he pulled off the wire he’d been wearing. That would have been hard to explain away. Placing the bug in the bedroom and in the lounge had been easy. He hoped it was all worth it. He was still thinking about the frigging wire when he entered Babs.

He was woken from his post-coital slumber by Babs blowing in his ear. ‘What?’ he muttered as he rolled away from the irritation. ‘What’s happening?’

Babs watched him with a wide smile.

‘You want some more love?’ Sam murmured and reached out to Babs.

‘No,’ she murmured with satisfaction, ‘I’ve had my fill. Black men are always the best. Black is beautiful, hey?’

‘If you want another feed,’ Sam smiled as he shook himself awake.

‘No, Sam. We have to talk about the future.’

‘Future?’ he replied vaguely. ‘More sex I reckon.’ Sam tried to grab hold of Babs, but she pushed him away.

‘Well we can’t live on that forever. Not at our age. You’ll give me a frigging heart attack.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘About me plan. The one I’ve talked about.’

‘Where you help yourself to that heroin stuff the O’Learys brought in that container?’ he said loudly.

‘Will you keep your frigging voice down!’ Babs scolded. ‘There could be someone listening outside.’

‘With those wolves of yours?’ Sam chuckled. ‘I bloody doubt it.’

‘Look, just shut up for the moment. I want you to drive the car, all right? Buddy and I are going to do the break in and I want you to drive the car.’

‘Why me? I’m no getaway driver.’

‘Yeah but you’ve pinched things before,’ she replied. ‘You told me. All those cattle up north, then the…’

‘That’s enough now,’ he interrupted.

‘You know what I mean. You want to get ahead. And being an Abo you’ll be able to see and hear things that we can’t.’

‘When did you have it planned for?’ he asked.

‘The next full moon…that’s over the next two days.’

‘In the next two days?’ Sam repeated louder.

‘So. Are you in or are you out?’

‘Okay. Yeah. All right,’ he responded. ‘Count me in. I want to retire and I don’t want to do it on some old age pension. End up in some stinking nursing home. I’ve worked frigging hard for white fellas all my life and I deserve bloody more. This poor black fella has nothing to show for it. I’m in.’

‘There’s another thing, Samson. It’s about us.’

‘You know,’ Sam said, ‘I’m pretty sweet on you.’

‘Me too.’ She pecked him on the cheek. ‘I never thought I’d ever fall for a man again. You’re one of a kind. You’re a real special bloke.’

‘I’d just about given up on being with a woman.’ He kissed Babs on the lips.

‘You know, I put a deposit on the farm,’ she said excitedly. ‘I can’t
wait to take you there. You can see the mountains all covered in snow from the kitchen window.’

‘Are you going to run any cattle?’

‘Of course. And I want you there to help me run them.’

‘Me?’

‘You stupid black bastard. I want us to be together. I want to live with you, Sam. You’re my everything.’

‘I’d love that.’

Babs smiled. ‘You see, life’s nearly perfect. Live with me, Sam,’ she cried. ‘I need you in my bed. Now and forever.’

‘You want me here. Now?’ He glanced at the bedside table.

‘You’re not going home tonight,’ she said as she smothered his neck and face in kisses. ‘You’re bringing your swag here, darl.’

‘That’s so good Babs. So good,’ he said as he looked again in the direction of the bedside table.

***

Peter rolled across Poppy’s king size bed in discomfort and sat up.

‘Do as you’re told,’ she said gruffly as she pushed Peter onto his back, straddled his chest and took hold of both his arms. She was wearing nothing but a lace G-string and a bra. He attempted to take hold of her bra and remove it. ‘Don’t touch what you can’t handle, you piece of shit!’ She pushed his hands away, then reached for the silk scarves tied on either side of the iron bedpost.

Peter pretended to resist but Poppy had already wrapped the scarves around both of his wrists and pulled tightly. His arms were stretched taut. He waited expectantly for what would happen next.

‘Much better than those handcuffs,’ he moaned as Poppy rubbed her hands over his chest and down his stomach, finishing when she reached his groin.

‘Not yet, scumbag,’ she growled as she again reached into the bedside drawer and retrieved a leather blindfold. She slipped it over Peter’s head.

‘I can’t see anything,’ he teased. ‘Help me, mistress!’

‘I’m not your mistress,’ she barked. ‘I’m your dominatrix. But just call me Slut.’

‘All right. Slut.’ He thrust his hips forward. ‘You like that, Slut?’

‘If you want me to service you with my mouth,’ she replied, ‘you’ll do as you’re told.’

‘I’ll do whatever you say.’

‘Thought you’d agree,’ she laughed as she started to stroke his groin. ‘You know what I want to do, scumbag?’

‘What?’

Her hand wrapped around his penis. Peter groaned with pleasure. ‘I’m going to suck your member,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘then I’m going to cowgirl fuck your brains out of your head.’

***

Peter was lying asleep against Poppy’s back as she stirred from her slumber. He awoke with a jolt.

‘I’m still alive,’ he laughed. ‘For a moment there I thought I died and gone to heaven.’

‘The French call it la petite mort,’ she replied softly. ‘Little death.’

‘Sounds better in French. A perfect description.’

He turned to look at Poppy’s face. She was radiant but her eyes were red.

‘You okay?’ he asked as she stroked her face, causing her to flinch.

‘You look like you’ve been crying.’

Poppy snapped, ‘I’m allowed to get emotional. I’m not here to be fucked by you, have you pump your sperm into me and have your petite mort. I find it hard to connect emotionally sometimes. That why I like control. All right?’

‘Hey, I’m not just here to fuck you. Sorry I came across that way. I love being with you, and not just physically.’

‘Do you think less of me because I like it a little…kinky?’ she asked as she rolled over to face Peter.

‘It’s a bit of fun,’ he smiled.

‘It’s adventurous.’

‘You have the most beautiful eyes,’ she commented as she ran a hand gently over his eyebrows. ‘The best come-fuck-me eyes I’ve ever seen.’

‘Thanks. You have the best…the best everything. Especially your breasts. They’re perfect.’ He ran his hand over her left breast and gently stroked it. He reached over to place his mouth on her nipple but Poppy pulled away.

‘You didn’t really answer my question about the…you know… bondage.’

‘I love it,’ he beamed. ‘It heightens everything.’

‘You really like it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Most men I’ve been with want to dominate the proceedings,’ she explained. ‘Missionary style. Doggie style. Same old. They want to call the shots. I don’t want to be a possession.’

‘I think it’s good to mix it up.’

‘So you like to dominate too?’

‘No, it’s not that,’ he clarified. ‘I want to lie on top of you sometimes and look into your eyes. Your face is so beautiful.’

‘I don’t know if I can do that.’ Poppy shuddered. ‘That’s really intimate.’

‘Can I ask a sensitive question?’

‘The one about why I can’t be that intimate?’

‘Yeah. That one.’

‘Okay.’ She turned her head away. ‘When I was younger, I was with an older man who liked to treat me as his fuck-toy. He initiated me into sex but it wasn’t healthy.’ She wiped away the tears in her eyes. ‘And ever since I’ve had trouble getting close. I love sex, but when it comes to intimacy, I feel funny.’

‘It’s okay,’ Peter said gently.

‘You’re a real dark horse aren’t you, Peter,’ Poppy smiled. ‘I thought you just wanted to fuck me but it looks like you want to know the real Poppy Reynolds.’

‘You don’t mind?’

‘I don’t mind.’ She rolled to face him again, ‘I may even get used to you being the dominator occasionally.’

***

Peter sat at the small table in Poppy’s dining room, sipping an espresso and basking in the warmth of the sun streaming through the windows onto his naked body. Poppy came to the table with the paper and her coffee. She was swaddled tightly in a dressing gown.

‘You look comfortable,’ she laughed, tracing the outline of his obliques with the tip of her finger.

‘The sun feels so good,’ he replied.

‘You need to get outdoors more.’

‘Maybe we should fuck outside more,’ he smiled.

‘Kinky.’

‘So what’s on the agenda today?’ Peter asked.

‘Same old thing,’ Poppy replied dryly. ‘What about yourself?’ She flicked through the newspaper.

‘You should be reading
The Truth
,’ Peter remarked. ‘I expect to break a huge story in it very soon.’

‘Not the O’Learys?’

‘Yes. No. I can’t say.’

‘Interesting.’ She closed the paper and took a drink of her coffee. ‘If it’s the O’Learys then I’m rather pleased about it.’ She smiled enigmatically.

‘Should you be saying that? They’re clients of yours.’

‘Not any more, thank God.’ She downed the remainder of her coffee.

‘I’m surprised.’

‘They were upset that the firm didn’t do more for Eastern and Machowicz. Reckon they should have gotten off. So they’ve taken their business and gone elsewhere.’

‘You don’t seem too upset about it.’

‘They weren’t my favourite clients.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And the partners aren’t too upset that they’ve left. We were always chasing them for fees.’

‘So it’s all looking shaky for the O’Learys,’ Peter commented.

‘It all has to come to an end. Besides, they’re remnants of a bygone age. It’s all changing. Just like Melbourne. Even Melbourne couldn’t remain a backwater that shut down on the weekend. It had to compete with the world.’

‘Melbourne’s not a backwater. At least, I don’t think so.’

‘Depends on what you’re comparing it to, I suppose. Compared to New York it’s positively primitive.’

‘Compared to Clarkes Flat, it’s New York.’

‘Hmm.’ She looked out the window. ‘All I know is that everything’s in a state of flux. Nothing remains the same.’

Peter gathered her up, opened her gown and gazed at her body. ‘You’re eternal,’ he said. ‘Everything else can go to hell, as far as I’m concerned. You’ll never change.’

‘She sighed. ‘Even me. We’re changing all the time, you know. Even me.’

Peter had just returned to his desk after his morning debrief with Bob. He thought Bob was worried unnecessarily about Stella. So, she’d uncovered a connection between a group of Russian businessmen and a stevedore company. So what. Then her sources had disappeared inexplicably. Unfortunate, but leads often went cold. He was hoping she’d be coming back soon.

The sound of a crashing lamp emanated from Bob’s office, closely followed by a heavy thump. Peter froze and listened. He ran to Bob’s office, collecting Dave as he went. Dave dived through the door first, almost tripping over Bob who was lying on his side, his face a dusky blue.

Dave fell to his knees and felt Bob’s neck for a carotid pulse. ‘I think he’s had a heart attack. He’s got no pulse. Get an ambulance!’ He struggled to roll Bob over onto his back and motioned to Peter to help him.

‘Call an ambulance, someone! Bob’s had a heart attack,’ Peter shouted down the corridor as Dave pulled back Bob’s head, pinched his nose and started mouth-to-mouth.

‘Can you do chest compressions?’ Dave asked between breaths.

‘I can try. A nurse girlfriend taught me how.’

‘A compression for every five breaths…Go!’

After three cycles, Dave checked for a pulse. ‘Nothing. Keep going.’

‘The ambos will be here in five,’ Shazza called as she rushed into the office.

‘Wait out front for the ambos, Shazza,’ Dave directed between breaths.

Peter was running out of steam.

‘Come on,’ Dave bellowed at Peter, ‘pick it up.’

‘Come on, Bob,’ Peter yelled, ‘you can’t have a holiday now. We need you on the job.’

‘Stop!’ Dave instructed. He felt again for a carotid pulse. ‘He’s got a faint pulse,’ Dave sighed with relief.

‘Thank God,’ Peter smiled feebly. ‘Thank God.’