Death Rider: Lee Birch Thriller, #2

By Callum Cordeaux

A Brisbane River fisherman finds some items in his crab pots that just shouldn't be there. And although the crabs are full and plentiful he didn't bait his traps with human hands and feet and rightly contacts the police. And so starts the Mud Crab Case.

Lee Birch, one year on from trapping and disposing of the djinn, Kolb, is in training at the Queensland Police Academy. Senior Sergeant Harriet Blackmon has a new recruit and while Lee is working towards graduation she's also working cases on the side and picking up valuable experience. The Mud Crab case starts to chew up a lot of her time and looks like involving an old nemesis.

But her past is about to catch up with her in the worst possible way. When Michael Torrens was given a second chance there was an expectation that he would return after his djinn hunting mission was over. Now, as Lee Birch, Michael Torrens has no intention of going back. Not until Lee's life is lived to the fullest at least.

However, the gatekeepers have started the process of getting her back, and it's going to get messy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Callum Cordeaux
• Release date: Sep 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386093930

Callum Cordeaux

Callum Cordeaux is a part time writer, part time surveyor living in Toowoomba in southern Queensland. His writing passions involve a deep love affair with science fiction and good crime thrillers.  He can be contacted on facebook at www.facebook.com/callum.cordeaux or on twitter. 

Book preview

The start of the story

MOST WOMEN AS WEALTHY as Glad Costello would have been happy, but happiness wasn’t a word written into the sorry tale of Gladys Wilmer Costello. Perhaps it was the way in which Glad had become rich that made her unhappy, but to assume that would be to assume that Glad was in possession of a conscience. To her small circle of friends, Glad was an outwardly pleasant and generous woman who enjoyed a joke and a good time as much as anyone, but the picture she presented to the world outside her secret world was a carefully crafted forgery. If the real Gladys were ever revealed, the people who thought they had known her for the past twenty years would recoil in shock and horror.

At ten-thirty on a Saturday night Glad wasn’t with her friends. In fact, she was at work making more money to see her into the comfortable retirement that she had always seen as her due. Her job required sacrifices but some of the problems of her business really did justify the six-figure package she had negotiated for herself. At ten-thirty on a Saturday night Glad was about to deal with another of her problems but little realised the full extent of the problem or the pain it would bring her in the coming weeks.

She stormed down the long corridor to the girl’s room, her angry footsteps muffled by the sumptuous red shag carpet. The beautifully papered red and gold walls with their rows of original oils and watercolours soaked up her fury. 

I should have got rid of that little bitch before she got started here, she thought. Oh, well, she considered practically, it’s still not too late to fix that mistake.

As she turned the corner at the end of the hallway she brushed past the Chinese girl, Ling. She was off to the bathroom again. The Chinese girl didn’t meet Glad’s eye. She hated that. The girls needed to know their place but a bit of character would help. That was the problem with the snub-nosed little Burmese bitch, she had too much character. She was too smart and she knew too much. She would have to call The Man. After she’d sorted out the little bitch in her own way.

The little rabbit, Elly, had told her that Htet Nwe was making a lot of noise and it didn’t sound good. She hoped that the client was being rough but Glad knew that it was most likely that Htet Nwe was fighting back; she would have to slap that out of her, again. There were two girls standing outside the door to Htet Nwe’s room. They gave her sickly, cowed smiles then opened the doors to their own rooms and disappeared from view. 

Glad tried the door to the room, but it was locked. She had impressed upon the guests to always lock the doors for their own safety and privacy. She fished the master key out of the pocket of her trousers and jammed it into the slot. The first thing that registered when she opened the door was the empty bed. The double handcuffs attached to the bed head were gone and the ropes at the bottom had been untied. Then she saw the client. He was curled up on the floor and she could see that one of the sets of handcuffs had been attached to his ankle and he was cuffed to the leg of the king-size bed. His hairy white arse was sticking up into the air and he was moaning as he held his hands between his legs, drops of blood oozing from between his fingers.

Glad rolled him over to get a look. There was a weight of trepidation as he let out a thin squeal of pain. His hands came away as he fell on his back. She could see that the girl had used the other cuffs to bind his hands together. A chill went through her as she realised what the little whore had done to the customer. One of his testicles was hanging from its cord through a tear in his sac and a thin stream of watery blood was coming from the hole. She hoped for the house’s sake that the other one was still inside.

What happened? she asked roughly. Where is she?

The man was in pain, and it wasn’t just the pain from his testes. He was still hunched up, favouring his stomach. What had that little animal done to him? He was a healthy looking guy, well-muscled and fit looking. Her eyes went back to his groin where the ball still dangled obscenely from the tear. This guy had a short stubby penis which had shrivelled to almost nothing from the pain.

What happened? she asked again, shaking him by the shoulder. The movement caused him to shudder and Glad thought she could see a purplish discoloration under the pale skin on his chest.

Shit, she thought, this guy could be in trouble. She almost dashed out the door to ring Doctor Richardson but stopped herself. She had to know what that happened to Htet Nwe.

Where is she? There was steel in her voice now and the man finally answered her.

I don’t know. She went out the door. Of course! Glad realised she already knew that. Where else would she be. 

What happened?

She kicked me in the chest. I think she broke my ribs, he groaned.

How? She was tied up?

I thought she was. I was just getting on when she kicked me. Fuck, this hurts. Can you get the cuffs off please?

Gladys fished in her pocket for a key as she looked around at the room. How had the little bitch gotten herself free? She crouched down and unlocked the cuffs as she thought through the problem, attempting to put answers to her questions. The man stayed on the floor after she had uncuffed him. He rolled away from her and was gingerly attempting to tuck the naked testicle back into his scrotum. 

Glad stood up and went to the head of the bed. Something didn’t look right. Where Htet Nwe’s right hand would have been cuffed, the fitted sheet had been pulled up and there was a hollow in the mattress. Glad pulled back the sheet and saw it. The girl had ripped a hole in the fabric and had over time twisted and pulled at one of the springs till she had a piece of wire to use as a pick. Glad could see the broken bit of spring, dropped on the other side of the bed where the girl had worked at the other cuff to free herself. 

With that mystery explained, Glad moved quickly to the door. As she did so she pulled her mobile phone from one of the voluminous pockets in her oversize trousers. She hit the pre-set number for Sean Richardson. She hoped the drunken old shit hadn’t drunk too much to make his way over. As the number dialled she wandered along the corridor looking for signs of Htet Nwe’s passage. She would be hiding somewhere; there was no way out. Glad was considering fixing up the little whore herself then thought better of it. The Man would do a much better job. Far cleaner and with a lot more thought to the pain and cruelty that was needed to make a good example for the others.

The doctor was taking his time answering her call and she was prowling through the bathroom cubicles looking for Htet Nwe. There was a shower running and she pushed a door open. For a moment the hunched figure of the crying Asian girl looked like Htet Nwe but then Glad recognised the tear streaked face of Qing yuan.  She had only joined the business a week ago and was still coming to grips with her new life. Glad was momentarily angered to see that her latest customer had bitten one of the girl’s tight brown nipples leaving a red ring of teeth marks, and the wound looked nasty. She would have to get the doctor to look at her after he checked on the wounded customer. Glad made a mental note to check the biter’s name and to put a black mark next to it in her book. Where was that fucking Doctor?

Glad redialled the number as she checked out the rest of the toilets and the showers. She left the bathrooms and went into the men’s toilets. The little bitch might just be stupid enough to try and hide in there. As she was looking in the first of the cubicles the doctor finally picked up.

Richardson, the voice was slurred and she reckoned that he must have been on his way to finishing the bottle of scotch.

It’s Glad, we need you here. It’s a stitch up job, bring plenty of antiseptic.

She could hear the groan at the end of the line.

We need you now, she repeated firmly.

There was a fatalist’s resignation in the voice as he said, I’ll be over, give me a few minutes.

Don’t make it too long, it’s a customer.

Shlit! OK. The voice was replaced by a disconnected tone.

Glad continued through the toilets checking each one meticulously till she was sure she hadn’t missed the girl. Even the one occupied cubicle did not escape her scrutiny and she waited till the customer had finished. He was a big red faced man who was unused to people disturbing him while he took a shit. The incident had taken away some of the euphoria of his visit to the brothel.

What the hell are you doing? he asked.

Just one of the girls trying to make trouble, she’s hiding somewhere, she said. Glad didn’t have a problem telling the clients a little bit of how the establishment ran or of some of the problems they were having with the girls. All who came to the place knew that it shouldn’t have existed. Silence was the price you paid for the privilege of participating.

Glad went to check the showers while the customer went to wash his hands.

There was only one man in the showers and he wasn’t fazed by the sight of the sixty-four-year-old, one hundred and twenty-two kilogram madam as she started to search around the tiled room. There weren’t many places for a naked girl to hide in the room but she needed to look anyway. The man was big, black and very ugly. He looked on curiously as she made her sweep; looking behind fixed units such as the hot water systems and the clothes racks. 

When she finished and was walking past without acknowledging his presence he said, Want to suck my cock, luv? as he waved the obscene organ at her.

Sorry, mate, maybe next time. She could hear his roar of laughter as she made her way back into the brothel. The joke was lost on her but even on the best of days she would have only given the appearance of good humour. This wasn’t one of those days.

She stormed into the living area. Three of the girls were standing around in their dressing gowns talking quietly and sipping on cups of coffee. Glad’s presence was rewarded with frightened glances and the group broke up as the girls tried to look busy. She didn’t mind them talking together because that was how they learned the ropes but she also went to great lengths to discourage any resistance. Her business relied on fear and intimidation and any type of organisation between the girls was sorted out quickly. Language barrier was an important tool and while it was always good getting the most ignorant hill people from Burma or Thailand, a good ethnic mix of single language speakers worked better. And a good flogging would often work where reasonable conversation failed.

Glad was successful because she had a facility with language and spoke most of the Asian languages to some extent. Many of the words she used would not be conversation for polite company but they were sufficient for this place. As a young girl she’d followed her father around Asia before the war in his position as a diplomatic attaché with the Australian government and after the war as a United Nations envoy. She’d come in contact with many peoples and as a precocious teen had sought out the less savoury but incredibly exciting parts of Asian society.

Now she spoke in bastard Burmese to Jenny Wah, Where is Suzie?

She in the kitchen, Jenny stammered.

Glad hurried through to the huge kitchen where she found the girl making herself some toast. Suzie Allen was a big white girl. She was ugly but that was a condition she had been born with. Suzie was slightly mentally retarded, but it wasn’t that that endeared her to the customers. Rather, it was the fact that she was an amputee that turned the men on. As a child she’d broken a leg badly and through neglect from her drug addicted parents had suffered gangrene that had almost cost her life. It was only through police and Family Services intervention that she lived, albeit less one leg. In spite of her handicap which necessitated the use of crutches because the limb had been removed at the hip she was very useful to Glad. In fact, she was Glad’s right hand girl. Glad’s enforcer.

What? she asked as Glad came in, fury plainly written across her face.

Htet Nwe, she’s running away again.

Hah, I don’t think so, she said nasally with an ugly grin.

Neither do I, Glad said. When you find her, bring her to me. I’ll call The Man. We’re going to have a fish feeding party tomorrow night.

Suzie’s smile wasn’t pretty but then it wouldn’t have ever been, even with healthy teeth in place of the broken and blackened ones.

HTET NWE WASN’T FAR away from Suzie and Glad as they spoke but she couldn’t hear them. There was several hundred tons of steel reinforced concrete wall and floor separating them. Because she was small she had been able to slip down the garbage chute from the kitchen into the carpark and she was currently crouching in the dark. Her slim naked body was slippery from the liberal coating of vegetable oil she’d lathered herself with to aid the passage through the chute. Even then she had almost been stuck half way and it was through an eel like squirming that she had finally fallen into the thin layer of scraps in the bin below. 

She stood in the semi darkness of the car park wondering where to go next. She knew there were dogs in the grounds and that she wouldn’t stand a chance with them but she had embarked on this escape with some forethought. She had only expected the garbage chute would lead to the car park where she’d hoped to hide herself away on a vehicle just leaving. The problem was that there weren’t any cars just leaving and she had no way of knowing which vehicles would be next. She was getting cold. It was one thing to walk around the heated brothel naked; it was another to wander outside. She had to do something. 

She was about to walk across toward the outside doors to see if there was a way out when suddenly the fluorescent lighting in the garage came on and the steel security mesh doors began to rise. Htet Nwe thought for a moment that she had been discovered and hid herself behind a concrete post as the headlights from a car lit up the entrance. The rumble of the old Valiant Regal’s motor did little to cover the rattles and squeaks of the car as it pulled into a vacant slot between a Porsche and a Mercedes. Htet Nwe peeked out from her hiding spot to watch the car. Nothing happened for a while. The car just sat there with its headlights on and the hot exhaust creaking as it cooled. Then the driver’s door popped open with a thud. It stayed like that for a few seconds then someone pushed it open with a trousered leg that ended in an old fashioned, brown lace-up shoe. 

Htet Nwe recognised the old man as he struggled from the seat of the car. It was Doctor Richardson. For a moment she considered appealing to the old man to help her but rejected the idea almost immediately. He was weak and would not do anything to jeopardize his position with Gladys or The Man.

She waited till he took his bag and made his unsteady way up the car park. Htet Nwe heard a musical sound and assumed he must have pressed the button for the elevator up to the brothel. She considered her options. Should she hide in his car till it was time for him to leave? No, that would not work. It was going to take him a long time to sew up the man’s balls. For a moment she regretted ripping the man’s scrotum, then just as quickly put the regret out of her mind. She had to go on. Her life depended on it.

The security gates had closed quickly after the doctor had arrived but Htet Nwe would not have ventured out there anyway, there were dogs and cameras, or so she had been told. She had to get out in a vehicle or find another way. She didn’t know how to drive or she might have attempted to take one of the cars herself. The garage was plunged into semi darkness again as the sensor driven lights shut off. Shivering in the cool of the night air she scurried across toward the gates then just as quickly hurried away when she realised the importance of the red winking light above the gates. It was probably part of the security network and she might have just given herself away.

She worked her way along the concrete wall between the bumpers of the parked cars till she came to the far end of the garage. She had no idea where she was going as she had seen little of the house except for the day she arrived. She had been bought in through the garage but she had been in a commercial van out of which she could see nothing and had been taken in via the lift. The lift was monitored and off limits to the girls. There was a special passkey for guests and Gladys and Suzie Allen. The rest of the occupants in the house were prisoners until they served their time. 

Htet Nwe’s promise of work and citizenship had been accepted without suspicion. The woman who had recruited her had seemed genuine at the time but then Htet Nwe had been desperate for hope. The woman had never made mention of the costs nor had she spelled out what the work really was. Htet Nwe might have chosen prostitution if the choice had been hers to make but to have it forced upon her was a cold betrayal.

The chill of the metal door was a shock against her warm buttocks. It was a roller door set into the concrete wall and from its position didn’t lead out into the grounds. Htet Nwe tugged upwards but the door was locked. No, perhaps not quite. There was some movement.

She moved to the other edge of the door and lifted and was rewarded with the door moving up. She strained and tried to get more purchase, there was a creaking as the door twisted. Whoever had locked the door had only located one of the locking tabs. She was able to get both hands under the door and strained upwards, the exertion making her feel warmer. She’d bent the door out of shape, but was it going to be enough for her to get inside? 

Sitting on the floor she lifted the door firmly then started working her feet in under the rubber strip. She was able to get her legs through to above her knees where she was able to bring her leg muscles into play and start to work on the door.  It was very springy but she was making the metal buckle enough to slip further under. She pulled herself through in lurching increments, her oily body sliding easily on the cold concrete floor. 

When she was through as far as her pubis she got into trouble. At that angle she was unable to get as much leverage on the door but she knew that if she got her pelvis through the rest would be easy.  Pelvic thrusting, she was finally able to get the door past her hip bones though it wasn’t without pain. She was then able to shimmy her way through to the top of her ribcage, she was thankful that she didn’t have big breasts or she would be stuck. By twisting from side to side she managed to get the door up to her neck. It was a scrape, but with her head on the side she finally wiggled her way through. 

She sat on the floor for a few moments to get her breath back, rubbing a grazed ear and making sure she hadn’t pulled any hair out. The room was pitch black, but instinct told Htet Nwe that it was more than just a storage room. There seemed to be considerable depth to the area in which she now found herself. She checked the inside of the door for a catch in case she needed to go back to the car park. It was a normal garage roller door and she could open it using the catch and go back out if she wanted to. But there was nothing back there apart from a beating and possibly death. She would have to look for opportunities where she was.

Beside the door Htet Nwe found a light switch but an instinct for preservation made her leave it off. What if the light could be seen from somewhere upstairs? She started to make her way around the walls heading for where she thought the outer walls would be. She moved slowly but was unprepared for the empty oil tins that she kicked and sent rolling. One of the drums rolled quite a way indicating that the room was large. All too quickly, she came to a wall which blocked her way. She then had to move along it looking for another opening, a doorway perhaps.

She’d been in darkness for a time now and her eyes had adjusted to the low light. Now she could see faint outlines in this new room. There appeared to be something large and dark ahead of her and she carefully stepped forward till she was able to touch the hard surface of a vehicle. Moving around it she determined that it was a light truck of some sort with a tray back. Htet Nwe moved away from the truck and walked slowly to where she thought the outside wall should be. If she could find a door to the outside, she was almost ready to take her chances with the dogs.

The hard wooden bench bought her up sharply. She ran her hands across the top and felt something cold and clammy and at the same time horribly familiar. It was a foot. She was touching a body.

She forced herself to run her hand up the leg. It wasn’t a fat leg and it wasn’t an old leg, but it was a dead leg. The body was naked, just as she was. Htet Nwe shivered. A quick feel at the top of the leg told her that the body belonged to a girl. Who was it? She had to know how the girl had died and kept her hand moving. She felt something wet. There was something wrong with the skin. This girl had been cut. Htet Nwe forced herself to look further. Where there should have been a breast there was nothing except ragged flesh, the other breast was still attached and was very large. She had to feel the girl’s face and almost instinctively lifted her hand to touch the head but then forced herself to check the girl’s throat. 

The mastectomy would most likely not have killed the girl but the gash from one side of her neck to the other most certainly had. Without touching her face Htet Nwe recoiled from the body. Whose was it? She tripped over something hard attached to the floor. On hands and knees she found some sort of electric motor and it was attached to a large machine by a wide multi-rib vee-belt. Htet Nwe turned the shaft of the machine by hand and could hear some sort of blades rattling inside. She did not know what the machine was but with the dead body close by she knew she didn’t really want to know. She crawled around to the other side of the machine and whacked her head painfully on a part of the machine that was protruding. Her head was stinging and she rubbed at her scalp, thankful for her thick hair.

There was more light there. It was almost a circle of light, which didn’t make sense. Htet Nwe moved closer then whacked her head again on something thin and hard. There was a strut above her that was attached to what felt like a large metal pipe. The pipe was where the light was coming from. She put her head inside the pipe opening. She could make out nothing below except that the pipe was slanting downwards. The confusing part was that the pipe was letting in light but Htet Nwe could only see darkness at the bottom of the pipe. Was it a way out or was it a trap. Was there something at the bottom of the pipe that would kill her?

Something else was intruding on her senses. There was a bad smell here, some kind of strong antiseptic masked it but the rotten smell was persistent.

What should she do? The way out might be in front of her but it might also be her death. She would have to look further in the room.

A noise caused her to freeze. There was someone at the roller door. She could hear the key being inserted in the lock. Her choices were being made for her. She climbed into the mouth of the pipe clinging to the edge with her hands, but she did not want to go down until she ran out of options. The lights came on with a sudden brightness that was almost physical. She squinted, trying to make out the identity of the body on the bench but it was at the wrong angle for her to see more than an arm and a leg though she could see that the severed breast was perched on the edge of the bench. It was amazing she had not knocked it to the floor in the darkness. Suddenly her feet slipped from under her on the greasy inside of the pipe and her full weight was on her fingertips. She could not hold on and with shocking speed started down the pipe.

She fell a long way and expected the impact would be fierce. She was not ready for the icy shock as her body was immersed in dark cold water. There had been a moment of dull night light when the pipe ended then her body was under the water. She fought her way to the surface at the same time kicking away from the pipe end. She could see the round end of the pipe lit up like a moon above her. She did not want to go back there, only death awaited her in that place. She would take her chances in the water.

She allowed her head to break water without excessive splashing. She took a deep breath while keeping herself afloat with a strong scissor kick. She could hear noise from above and a voice, strangely magnified by the pipe, came clearly to her. 

Don’t worry my lovelies, you will get fed tonight, Htet Nwe recognised the voice. It belonged to the mongoloid. At almost the same time something big and powerful brushed against her in the water. She was a strong swimmer and had no fears that she would be able to keep afloat but she feared whatever was in the water with her. 

Without splashing on the surface, Htet Nwe kicked herself away into the darkness. A powerful current was helping and was carrying her away from the house. She could only see darkness behind her where she expected to see the lights from the house windows. Soon she saw the outline of trees against the starry night sky. The water wasn’t very cold but it would sap her energy in time. At present she was just glad it was transporting her away from the house. 

To save energy she lay on her back and let the river take her. The water had a slightly salty taste, which spoke to her that this water was partly tidal and the sea was not far away. After a while she became aware of the lights. She knew that she was in the city, but just where was the mystery. She seemed to be floating along in the middle of the river and able to see each bank. One was heavily treed and the other was sparsely populated, there were lights from only a few houses. Htet Nwe would let the river take her further. There was no point in getting out in scrubland. She needed help, she needed clothes and she needed shelter.

When the big boat came past, Htet Nwe thought that she was about to be eaten. It had come up behind her and even with her ears under the water she’d heard little of the noise from the engines. It rushed past her only a few metres away and she was tipped over by the bow wave. When she came up it was to the high pitched sound of a two-stroke motor and the banging of an aluminium hull on the water. The little boat had been running hard in the wake of the bigger boat and it came dangerously close to Htet Nwe as she trod water. As it whipped past something hit her in the face and instinctively she threw her arm up and caught the rope before it raced out of her reach. She was pulled up in the water and almost lost the rope as it burnt through her hand, but she was able to hold on to the knot at the end. 

Over the rush of the water she could hear voices in the small boat.

What the fuck was that?  The man’s voice was deep.

What was what? This one was younger and higher pitched.

The front of the boat went down all of a sudden.

Shit, Dad, you’re always worrying about something. Give it a rest.

Htet Nwe had pulled herself up on the rope so that she was aquaplaning along on top of the water. Water splashed in her face but by turning her head she had no trouble breathing. The exhaust fumes from the motor were the hardest part of the manoeuvre to handle. But she had no intention of letting go. The further she was carried from the house the happier she would be. She hoped the boat wasn’t taking her out to sea. She soon recognised that her decision to hitch a ride was a good one as the lights along the sides of the river were getting more frequent and she could see the headlights and taillights of cars and trucks from time to time. 

The older man in the boat yelled, Bloody hell boy, the ferry is getting away from us tonight.  Did you mix that fuel up properly, she doesn’t seem to be pulling too good?

Yeah, of course I did, Dad. There’s nothing wrong with the fucking boat. We’re just dragging a bit more water, that’s all.

You didn’t leave the anchor out did you, boy?

Don’t be stupid, Dad. We wouldn’t be going very fast if it was out.

I’ll have a fucking look anyway.

Suit yourself.

Htet Nwe could make out the voice of the older man as he said, Shit, boy, one of the crab pots is missing. It must have fallen in. The rope’s still tied off. Slow down, it’s too heavy to drag in. Feels like a fuckin’ ton.

She knew it was time to leave and let go of the rope. The small boat was slowing down fast but it coasted on, away from her in the darkness.

Fucking hell, boy, the fucking pot just fell off the line. It was there before you slowed up, now it’s gone. Keep going. Probably the best crab too.

Htet Nwe struck out for the right hand side of the river as the little boat took off down the river once again. From behind the boat her vision of what was ahead had been obscured but now she could see the glittering vista of the city lights blazing across the water. On the furthest bank she could see towering high rises shining like lofty columns of white marble. There were none of the tall buildings on the bank to which she was moving steadily. And there was little of the traffic that was evident on the other side, which suited her well. 

As she came closer to the bank she was aware of the strong pull of the river as it sought to move her further into the city. She wanted to come ashore somewhere quiet where she could move into the suburbs without being seen. And she needed to get out soon while the houses were scattered. 

Htet Nwe found the bottom sooner than she anticipated and it was with a stab of pain that she kicked the first of the large round rocks that were just under the surface. She staggered to her feet and kicked another of the big rocks nearly toppling headfirst back into the water. She almost screamed as she stood on the broken bottle wedged between the rocks, then she was scrambling up the dirty riverbank to collapse on her bottom on the grassy edge. The cut between her big toes was a deep one and she held pressure on the gash with her hands till she was sure she had stopped the fast loss of blood. She would have to find something to bind the cut for it to heal.

She looked at where she was sitting. She appeared to be in someone’s garden. The lights were on in the house behind her. She did not want to go there. She would seek help only as a last resort. She reasoned that there must be houses left untended that she would be able to use for a short period of time and perhaps find food and clothes. The house to her right appeared to be well lit as well but further down the bank she could see the dark outline of a building with no lights on. 

Htet Nwe struggled to her feet and immediately realised she would not be able to travel far on her wounded foot. She would have to break in to the unlit house, provided no one was home. She started to hobble along the narrow track that followed the weedy riverbank. 

Like many Asians she had an unreasoning fear of dogs and the dark shape that came toward her, barking in the night, almost scared her back into the river. Gathering her courage she held her ground and the dog came no closer but continued to bark loudly at her. She moved along a little faster in spite of the pain in her foot. She had to get past the house in case the owner was to see her.

She ducked into the yard of the dark house as a voice rang out behind her.

Come here, boy. What are you barking at? The dog continued to bark but he was well behind her now.

What is it, boy? Hey, Christy, I think there’s someone out here, Dog doesn’t usually bark at nothing. Grab a torch, will you?

Htet Nwe hobbled up the garden till she was at the back of the house. She found the back door but didn’t knock as she had originally intended. She crouched down on the doorstep and squeezed her foot to stop it bleeding again. The man next door had found the torch and was shining the light around his yard. Htet Nwe could see bushes being lit up in the next door yard but the man didn’t think to shine the torch her way. She suspected that the man was standing at his back door, not confident enough to venture out into the yard in case there was an intruder. The dog was now quiet.

Good boy, Dog. What was it, mate? Someone walking past? Good, boy. He’s gone now.  Finally, she heard the door to the house slide shut. She didn’t stand up but instead knocked three times on the wooden door behind her back. After a few minutes she knocked again. No one came to answer her knock. Now she had to work out how to get in, and she needed to do it soon as she was starting to get very cold.

SEAN RICHARDSON CACKLED when he saw the job Htet Nwe had done on the man. 

What a little ball-tearer, he thought. He could appreciate that sort of spirit. This appreciation came partly from of his own lack of internal fortitude. Forty years of his painful sixty-five years had been lived in servitude to the fiery master named Johnny Walker. 

In many other respects Sean Richardson was an exemplary human being. He had graduated at the top of his class in medical school, had progressed to a very successful general practice and continued studies in the field of surgery. His downfall came in his fortieth year when he was called on to save the life of a ten-year-old girl who needed immediate surgery to repair damage to a punctured lung. The girl might have died in any case but Richardson’s slip with the scalpel that sliced through the girl’s pulmonary artery put the result out of doubt. 

The drink was blamed but that didn’t stop the Queensland Medical Board from striking him off the register until he cleaned up his act. If anything, the accident legitimised his drinking problem and rather than clean-up he went to town. The board never did reinstate him and Richardson life spectacularly fell to pieces. His wife of sixteen years left him taking their three children. The separation settlement left him with very little in the way of assets or cash and the bottle seemed the best alternative for a man such as himself.

He spent the next fifteen years sponging off family, being given short-term employment by close friends but ultimately returning to his hard taskmaster. It wasn’t till late 1993 that he was given the chance to practice his beloved medicine again. An acquaintance from medical school approached him late one afternoon in the bar of the Shaftston Hotel and asked him if he was interested in a job, and ten years later he was still doing that job.

The man still had his hands between his legs trying to keep his testicle in its bag. Richardson had to have a look if he was to see what he was going to need. In a perverse sort of way, he wished that he could dispense with the anaesthetic for these bastards. A bit of pain would only be good for this bloke.

Come on show us what she’s done, mate, he appealed to the man. The man continued to cover his groin. Richardson looked over at Glad Costello appealing to her for help.

Listen up, mate. Doctor Richardson wants to have a look so he can sew you up. It’ll only get infected if you keep playing with it.

I’m not fucking playing with it. It fucking hurts, okay.

Right then, well, let the doctor have a look and he’ll give you a shot of painkiller and sew it up.

The man reluctantly pulled his hands away; he was lying on his back on the bed in the room where Glad had found him. Richardson gently put his latex-gloved hand on the ball to stop it from falling out.

Geez, mate, he said, what happened to your dick? Did she rip that off too?

Hah fucking hah, you stupid old bastard. I should sue the lot of you pricks. What sort of a show are you running here?

You know exactly what sort of show we run, Mister Shoemaker. And that is why you won’t be suing us, isn’t it?

The man slumped back on the pillow in defeat. Ah fuck it. Just sew me up so I can get the fuck out of here. What a night, nearly got my balls ripped off and I miss out on a fuck. I won’t be coming back here for a while I can tell you.

Hey, that’s alright, Gilbert, we’ll give you a credit for when you’re well again, Glad said in a conciliatory tone.

Glad, can I talk to you for a minute, the voice came from the door. It was Suzie Allen. Glad went across and shut the door behind her as she faced Suzie in the corridor.

Where is she?

I don’t know. I think she is away.

Shit, just what we need. The yells of pain from the room did not concern her. She knew that Sean Richardson was having his little bit of fun with Gilbert Shoemaker as he administered the painkiller to the torn scrotum. She knew that in spite of his advanced state of inebriation the doctor would do a good job and the wound would heal well.

We’ll have to search this place from top to bottom but I want you to give her photo to the man when he comes. If she’s out on the street, he’ll find her.

Two

JULY ON THE SUNSHINE Coast, north of Brisbane, is not the time of year the Queensland sun lovers hit the sand and surf, but for the sun starved denizens of the deep south it has its charms. During the winter months the only people to venture into the water are the wet-suit clad board riders and the white skinned tourists from Victoria. Even a brisk but sunny 18 degrees Celsius must feel positively tropical to a body that has acclimatized to sleet, fog and freezing rain.

The girl who walked out of the Sunshine Plaza carrying the small bag of groceries was definitely not from Melbourne. Below the tight shorts, her long legs shone golden in the morning sun. Her shoulder length blonde hair was tied back in a loose pigtail. It was hard to tell with the silvered Ray Bans covering her eyes, but her face, from a distance, had the appearance of classic beauty with full generous lips that were used to smiling, a chin with the just the right curve, and high, not too sharp, cheekbones. She walked with a smooth gliding stride as she made her way across the almost deserted car park. As she got closer to the canary yellow Peugeot her walk became slower and slower until she stopped and stood there, hand on hip, looking at the damage to her car.

The driver’s door had been caved in to the point where it would have to be cut off just to get it open and the window was smashed, with glass littering the ground beside the vehicle.

That’s just fucking great, she said with feeling.

She walked around to the passenger door and unlocked the car before depositing the groceries on the back seat. She walked back around and crouched down to examine the damage. It was only after she had determined that there was a significant amount of black paint left on her car door that she became aware of the eyes of an observer upon her. Many people would not have seen the top of the dark head of hair just visible over the steering wheel of the old Kingswood utility with the polished aluminium bull-bar. As she walked casually toward the car she saw the head duck even further down.

You didn’t happen to see who hit my car by any chance? she asked the man behind the wheel.

Uh, yeah, maybe I did. He was little more than a boy but she got the impression that there was something furtive in his behaviour.

I don’t suppose you managed to get a license plate, mate?

Nah, no, sorry. He seemed to sit up a little higher in the seat but he wouldn’t look her in the eye.

So, what sort of a car am I looking for?

Listen, love, you don’t want to go looking for trouble. You insured? He looked her in the face this time. She took off her sunglasses and met his look. He glanced away again, far too quickly. He had that frightened rabbit look that she knew well.

What’s your problem, mate? Do you know this guy?

This kid had never played poker before because there was no way he would ever call a bluff. Even though his body language said yes, he said the opposite.

Shit no, I don’t know him. I’ve seen him around though. He’s a bad bastard. Yeah, he’s bad. Not the sort of bloke a chick would think of fronting. If you want my advice just jump in your car and forget about who did it, okay.

No, it’s not okay, she reached through the window with her left hand and took a good grip of the front of his football jersey and half dragged him through the car window. Now listen to me, mate, her face was only inches away from his, you’re going to tell me who he is and where to find him. Right? Now start talking.

The kid tried to pull her fingers from his shirt but she slapped his hand away with her other hand.

Talk! She had steel in her tone.

You don’t want to go there, girl. He’s a bad bastard.

You already said that. I’m starting to lose patience, buddy. Her grip was tightening and his already red freckled skin was starting to turn a purplish shade.

Shit, girl, he’s a dingo. He’ll fucking kill you. He’s me brother-in-law. Well sort of. He’s shacked up with me sister. She let his shirt go and he slumped back into the car. He looked flushed.

Good, we’re getting somewhere. All I need now is an address and a name.

No way. He’ll fuckin’ smash you?

So, why did you hang around here to watch me?

I just thought you might have been a big bloke who could give the prick a hiding. There’s no way I’m going to send you to see him. He likes a bit of bitch slapping.

Nice! Well why don’t you just give me his license plate number so I can get my insurance company on to him.

The kid’s face lit up at the thought but fell just as quickly. Shit, I don’t know what it is.

Okay, that leaves me with a need for a name and address. I want it now, mister. Something about the way she said it made the kid sit up and take notice.

With some reluctance, he said, You’ll just give his name to your insurance company? Right?

Yeah, sure, mate.

You fair dinkum?

Bloody oath.

Alright, his name is Ian Dean and he lives at 225 Vargas Street. I’d appreciate it if he didn’t find out that I told you.

Oh, don’t worry. I think you’ll be okay.

Not if he finds out, love. My arse’ll be mud.

Thanks for the help, she turned back toward her car.

Hey aren’t you going to write it down?

No. I’ll see you later.

What do you mean? he asked as she walked to the car. She didn’t reply.

Vargas Street was one of the older streets in Maroochydore. The houses were typically timber constructions on stumps and sheeted with asbestos cement. A few marginally newer brick houses had slipped in between some of the old fibro ones but for the most part the street was original fifties Queensland beach. 225 Vargas was a modest fibro house set on high concrete stumps. A large old mango tree covered much of the side of the house and provided shade for a big blue cattle dog chained up at the base.

The yard was a mess and the weeds sheltered a multitude of ancient rotting boats, fishing nets and old motor bikes. The only thing that looked remotely well cared for was the huge black F 250 truck, although the massive steel bull bar was sporting a fair colouring of Peugeot canary yellow.

The girl crawled out the passenger door of her car and walked into the yard. The blue dog immediately lunged toward her without a sound but pulled up with a violent crack as the chain snapped taut. The girl ignored the dog where most people would have been shocked by its sudden movement. She climbed the stairs two at a time and rapped hard on the frosted glass of the front door knocking loose some of the flaking white paint in the process. She could hear voices from inside the house. One was a male’s voice and it was slightly raised. Eventually she heard footsteps coming toward the door and a hesitant hand unlocked the door and opened it a fraction.

Can I help you, the voice was that of a young girl. She hadn’t opened the door far enough to get a good look at her.

Yes, you can. Does Ian Dean live here?

Uh, yes. What do you want him for?

I just want to talk with him if you could ask him to come out.

Uh sorry, he’s not here right now.

OK, well, where is he?

The girl opened the door a little wider, which was a mistake. She had been punched in the face and her eye was a deep plum colour and her chin was bruised and swollen on one side. She realised she’d been seen and pushed the door closed but wasn’t fast enough.

With her foot jammed in the door the girl asked her, Did he do that?

What? the voice was defensive but there was shame there as well.

Your face, did he hit you?

No, he didn’t do it. Can you take your foot out please, he’s not here.

Where is he?

He took the dog for a walk.

What, that one down under the tree?

Hey, look, can you please go? He’s not here, okay!

No, it’s not okay. You tell him that he can come out and talk or I’m going down and I’m going to break all the glass in the 250. Windows, lights you name it, it gets broken.

The girl heard the low voice from inside the door. Let the bitch go, she won’t get past the dog.

She pulled her foot from the door and she heard it click shut and the lock engage. She walked down the stairs as quickly as she’d gone up. Without pausing at the bottom she walked toward the black truck. The dog was waiting till she got within range. It hadn’t made a sound.

As she strode forward she said, Don’t move, dog, or you’re dead. The dog took notice of her tone and was wary but its training overcame the caution of this strange woman coming into its territory. As soon as she was inside the reach of the chain the dog charged at her. She spun smoothly on the animal as it came at her from behind and booted it hard behind the front legs. It flew metres away from her such was the force of the blow. When it got to its feet it was facing away from her in dazed confusion and it started to move off under the house. It was whimpering in pain with every limping step. The girl reached down and picked up a short length of rusted water pipe as she kept moving toward the truck.

She took out both headlights as she moved across the front of the big utility truck. The sound of braking glass prompted the opening of the front door and a bellow of rage from the top of the stairs. The man, who almost tripped down the stairs in his haste, was big and powerful looking. His shaved head gave him the appearance of a recent prison release. She could see the rage in his bloated features as he raced toward her. The driver’s side window dissolved in a spray of glass held partly together by the tinted laminate as the pipe came down again.

Cut it out, you bitch. His voice was a hoarse roar.

She looked him in the eye as he came around the front of his truck. She could also see that he hadn’t taken the time to put on his boots and his socks were full of spiky grass burrs.

You must be Mister Dean.

What if I am, you crazy bitch? he was wary of the pipe swinging lazily from her hand.

I was hoping you might offer to pay me for the damage to my car.

What damage. I didn’t hit you.

No, I guess not, she said in a resigned tone as she leaned out and smashed the back windscreen out of the truck.

You cunt, he screamed as he lunged at her. She allowed him to get inside her reach and drove the heel of her right hand into his neck just above the collarbone as she deflected his vicious punch with the pipe. He sat down in the sand as he tried to manage a choking breath.

That’s better, mate. I think we can come to some sort of understanding, don’t you?

He was shaking his head as he struggled to his feet. She could see that she hadn’t hurt him much. He was still shaking his head as though to tell her that she hadn’t made a good choice.

He stopped shaking his head and grinned at her. You stupid bitch, now you’ve got me mad at you and that isn’t good.

No, it isn’t good because there’s still a lot of glass in this truck that’s going to get broken if you don’t start saying something that I want to hear.

You won’t be hearing anything shortly, bitch, he said as he lunged once more at her. It is said that one definition of insanity is in continuing to do the same thing but expecting different and better outcomes. Ian Dean managed a slightly different outcome the second time around but it certainly wasn’t better. Once again the girl deflected an almost identical copy of Dean’s first punch but this time she grabbed the big man by the shirt and using his momentum spun him and drove his head into the smooth black side of the driver’s door of his truck.

This time when he fell back into the sand burrs, his forehead and nose were bleeding and he had a dazed, semi-conscious look. The door of the truck had a greasy dent in the paintwork the shape of Dean’s face. For a moment the girl felt remorse at having possibly overdone things a little then she remembered the face of the girl who had answered the door.

Dean wasn’t smart enough to stay down and he lurched to his feet again, wiping the blood away from his eyes. He said in a low dangerous voice, You were lucky, bitch. Now it’s my turn and I’m going to fucking kill you.

This time when he came at her he dispensed with the punching and attempted a tackle with arms wide. It would have been a good move as he was significantly heavier and stronger looking than the girl but it had one fatal flaw. For it to work he needed to be close enough to grapple with her and he thought that a low diving rush would do the job. Unfortunately, the low dive also put him a perfect position to receive a fast lifting kick that would have done Johnny Wilkinson proud. The girl’s sand shoed foot caught him in the centre of his face and snapped his head back and he landed in another pile of burrs on his back. This time he was out cold.

The girl stood over him for a second, shaking her head at his stupidity. Then she turned and tossing the pipe in the back of his truck started walking back to the house. The door at the top of the stairs had been slightly open but it was now closed. The dog was under the house licking its ribs. It looked over at the girl but there was no interest in the chase. When she knocked on the door for the second time the girl answered immediately from behind the closed door.

What do you want? She sounded frightened.

Nothing from you. I just thought that you should get away from this guy, put some distance between you. He’s bad shit, girl. You might think about giving him a bit of mothering while he’s hurt, but you’ll regret it. Blokes like that don’t change.

As she talked, the white Kingswood utility that had been at Sunshine Plaza drove up and parked behind her car. The freckled kid ran up to the bottom of the stairs. He had a worried look on his face and was looking around warily as he came.

Shit, love, I told you not to come round here. You’d better piss off before he comes out.

Mate, I think you’d better piss off, and if you’re smart you’ll take your sister with you.

The kid looked over toward the truck and his eyes almost bulged out of his face. Fuck me, what have you done to his truck? Deano will go fucking berserk.

Believe me, he won’t.

The door at the top of the stair opened a fraction and the girl stood there.

What are you doing here, Pete? she asked. Her face was worse than the first glance had indicated. There was another larger bruise than the one around her eye under her left ear and it had started to yellow.

Shit, Cassie, what’s he done to you this time? Pete’s voice was full of pain for his sister.

That’s none of your business, Pete. It was my fault. He didn’t mean to do it.

Pete was climbing the stairs; "That’s crap, Cassie, and you know it. Where is the bastard? He’s going to get a piece of my mind even if he is