Rosie

By Chris Land

Rosie, a street girl, knows what she wants, and what she wants most of all is Senior Constable Tony Springfield. Rosies father is brutally murdered, and Rosie herself disappears off the streets, only to show up a week later stowed away in the back of Tonys car! Tony has found himself suspended from duty, following a failed attempt to bring Rosie in for questioning, and is now on his way to the Murray River for a fishing holiday. His plans do not include Rosie, but now shes camping on the river with him. Who knows what might happen?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503507296

Chris Land

Chris Land is sixty-two years old and lives and writes part-time in Redcliffe, Queensland. He has worked as an engineer with Trans-Australia Airlines, Malaysian Airline System, and most recently, Qantas Airways Ltd. His hobbies are writing, listening to classical music, and flying. Chris is divorced and lives alone. His two children live and work in Western Australia.

Book preview

1

An eerie quiet settled over the city though it was barely early evening. Fog descended unseasonably around the tall buildings that lined the streets, and the lanes became lost among the shadows. The air was cold for this time of the year and those few commuters who were still out and about, breathed steam into the atmosphere, adding their own small amount of mist to the vapours falling from all around. As the evening’s shadows lengthened, mysterious figures lurked in the side streets and alleyways. This was their marketplace. It didn’t matter that they were just shadows among the already shadowed hollows. People sought them out not for the sake of who they were but for what they carried with them.

In this surreal atmosphere that more resembled a black and white movie than twenty-first century reality, these faceless characters traded in a commodity that was so precious it was sold only by the gram. Certain of the younger traders, being less inclined to lurk in the shadows than their elder brethren, showed their wares quite openly; in a bar or on a street corner. They all knew that, when it came to this particular stuff, apathy ruled. A thousand city workers or shoppers might have seen the transaction take place but almost everybody would pretend not to notice and turn the other way. The occasional self-styled vigilante might have made a noise or kicked up a fuss but the punters in the streets would ignore him even harder than they ignored the trafficker and the result was always the same – the deal got done.

Dealers of the older generation, however, preferred to be more clandestine in their operations. Things were not always this slack, they remembered, and the day might yet arrive when the police and the courts got serious about the legions of heroin traffickers in the city.

How long was it? Ten, maybe twenty years ago since those boys got their necks stretched whilst trafficking overseas? Not so long ago that it did not stick in the mind of Frank Butler – a short, middle-aged weasel of a man – as he slunk around in the early twilight searching through black beady eyes for his contact.

He passed a blackened and shadowed doorway. Psst, came a voice.

Butler stopped instantly, turned and tried to look into the shadows. Who is it? he rasped, in a voice that betrayed a thirty-year, three-pack-a-day habit.

Well now, replied the voice in the shadows. It was polite and well spoken – almost cultured – and it set Frank Butler’s teeth on edge. You don’t know me but I sure as hell know you. You’re our own Mr Butler, am I right?

Butler started to sweat. He did not like it when there was a new contact – and there had been a few of those, lately. What happened to the old ones was not something that he cared to dwell on. It’s Butler, he said, at last.

The shadows materialised into a man as he stepped out of the doorway and into the alley. He was tall and Asian-looking with his long, black hair tied behind the back of his head in a ponytail. Butler had never seen him before. Are you new? he asked.

The tall Asian chuckled. I’m new at dealing with shit like you, that’s for sure.

What’s that mean?

It means, said the tall stranger, That I want the money, Mr Butler – or the stuff – and I want it, like, now.

Butler stalled; he had long since sold the drugs, spent the money and did not have either, anymore. Give me till tonight. I’ll have the money for you, tonight.

The Asian smiled as he produced an ugly black knife and tested the blade with a finger. How?

I’ve got it, there, at home. I’ve just got to fetch it!

If you’ve got it, why didn’t you bring it with you?

Butler gave a nervous laugh. You know how it is. You don’t like to carry so much cash on the streets – plenty of bad types around.

Types like yourself, you mean? Types that would send their own kids onto the streets?

No! That’s not the way it was. She went. She’s old enough to make her own decisions. I didn’t push her into anything!

You fucked her silly and now she’s off doing the only thing she knows how to do. The Asian seemed to consider this for a while. You know what I think, Mr Butler? I think that paedophiles are the worst shit there is. Thieving drug dealers are bad but peds are worse – and you’re both at the same time. You make me want to fillet you where you stand. It’s only the fact that you owe me money that stops me from gutting you right now.

The Asian disappeared back into the doorway, which had darkened even more with the small amount of time that had elapsed since the two men met. You go home, Mr Butler. You pick up the money – my money – and you bring it back here, to me, quickly.

Butler turned to leave but the Asian was not yet finished. One more thing, Mr Butler: I strongly suggest that you find that money. You know, I do hate to lose contacts – even bad ones like you.

Butler scurried off like a frightened rat and disappeared into the labyrinth of alleys that made up this part of the city. In the darkened doorway, The Asian made a single gesture to some confederates lurking nearby in the coal-black depths of the shadow, and slipped inside.

Butler arrived at the flat he called home and shared with his prostitute daughter a little more than an hour after his meeting with the drugs boss. He shivered against the cold, turned the key in the lock and let himself in. He had not been able to get the money from the other dealers he knew or from the pawnshop but if he had until tomorrow, he knew he could raise the cash he so depended on, now. Of course, he had been in trouble like this on plenty of previous occasions and had always managed to squirm his way out of it, one way or another. It should be no different this time. New bosses were always hot on the trail of those, like him, who did not pay for their supplies promptly but gradually came around to the fact that it was better late than never, as the old saying went. Still, Butler worried. There was something about that Asian bastard that he did not like – a kind of ruthless arrogance that came from being used to getting his own way – all the time.

Once inside, he turned to flick the light switch. It did not work and the hallway remained in darkness with just enough light for him to see his way to the living room without actually having to feel his way along. Had he forgotten to pay the electricity bill? No, he had paid it only last week; the stupid fuse must have blown again – these old apartments were electrical death traps. The switch for the living room light was a good metre inside the room so he had to step through the doorway to reach it. He did so but it also refused to illuminate. What the hell’s going on? He turned to retrace his steps, perhaps to check the meter box at the front door, but a heavy object shattered against the back of his head sending him sprawling forward. At that moment, the dimly lit world for Frank Butler went completely dark as he slumped, like the bag of shit that he was, to the floor.

When at last he came round, he was sitting on the floor with his back up against the wall and his hands tied behind his back. His shirtfront had been ripped open and his trousers and underwear had been removed. Standing in front of him was the tall Asian he had met earlier. He was smiling, showing a perfect set of teeth that almost glinted in the light of the bare bulb that now shone brightly above his face.

We fixed your lights for you.

Butler just stared, horrified and drew his knees up to his chest, reflexively, in anticipation of what must surely be about to take place. His head rang from the blow he had just received and he felt as if he might vomit.

What? asked the Asian indignantly, You don’t have any word of thanks for us? He turned to the two other men who were in the room with him. What do you think, boys? Do you think we should help Mr Butler find some words of thanks for us?

The Asian dropped down beside Butler and held the point of the knife against his throat. He dug it in just deeply enough to make a small pool of blood appear around the tip. Say ‘thank you’, scum.

Thank you, blurted Butler.

There, that’s better. He pushed on the knife a little harder. Now then, shitface, where’s the fucking money?

I c-can’t speak! choked Butler and the Asian released the pressure on his throat just enough to let him talk. Y – you’ve got to give me until tomorrow! I couldn’t raise that amount of cash this evening. The local guys won’t lend me – I’ve got to go further afield! Tomorrow – tomorrow afternoon, at the latest, I swear!

You hear that, boys? The scumbag swears he’ll have the money tomorrow. What do you think? Let him go with a warning? Mm?

One of the boys, a much-tattooed hulk named Con, spoke up. I think we should kill him, Sir. The other, a massively set gorilla of a man named Glinko, agreed.

The Asian looked into Butler’s eyes, which were now wide with terror, apologetically. Sorry, shitface, but you must know my preference would be toward leniency. After all, and here he turned to his two hit-men for confirmation, I’m a very reasonable and lenient sort of a guy. Aren’t I, guys? Con and Glinko gave signs to indicate that this was indeed the case and the Asian continued But you know that I can’t disregard Con’s advice, not if I want to keep his respect. What do you say, Con?

I won’t respect you unless we kill him, Sir. Con said, predictably.

There, you see? He traced a line down Butler’s belly with the knife. Just a millimetre deep but the skin stretched apart behind the blade forming a bright red welt. Butler screamed.

Put a gag on him! Snapped the Asian. I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I don’t want to hear it no more. The two assistants quickly silenced him and the Asian tossed the knife to Con, who deftly caught it by the handle. Do your worst, boys, I’ll just sit here and watch. I don’t want to dirty my hands on shit like this. He turned away and sat himself down on the nearest chair and calmly lit himself a joint, the better to appreciate the grisly business that was about to take place. Oh, by the way, boys, I forgot to tell you, this one’s a paedophile so see if there’s something a little extra that we can give him."

Fifteen minutes later, the Asian stubbed the butt of the joint out on the floor and stood to leave. Butler’s life had finally reached its wretched end and watching the squirming death-throes had given the Asian a raging hard-on that he would now have to go and relieve. Con carefully wiped the blood-slick knife on Butler’s clothing and returned it to its owner who accepted it back, caressing it lovingly, the way a whore caresses a dildo. Being still a little high from the effects of the marijuana, however, and with thoughts of getting his dick into one of the harlots in his employ running through his mind, he put it down on the kitchen table on his way out, completely forgot about it and left without it.

2

Hair, long, dank and dirty hung to her skinny shoulders like just so much knotted rope framing sunken cheeks and smutty face. Tanned legs and arms thrust outward from shorts and ragged tee shirt only to hang disconsolately against the fabric of the sofa. Her feet hung inches above the plush, deep pile carpet. How long she would sit there depended on how long it took for the hotel manager to notice her. The minute she was spotted, she would be out on her ear and back to the streets that were her home for most of the day. Then, it would be a two-block walk to the next big hotel where she would once again sit in the foyer until she was either thrown out or picked up.

She knew it would not be too long before one or the other happened because that was the way it always went.

Evenings in the foyer, nights in the