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the bandages from our prisoner. He was looking bruised, pale, and turning yellow at the extremities.
If I take out your gag, will you shout?
He shook his head, but as soon as the socks were out, gave vent to a bellow. Jon clonked him on
the head with a length of timber he had picked up from the road. Our little talk had done me good;
worries about Scumble suffering from concussion or brain damage never crossed my mind. While
he was unconscious we removed the torn sheets I d used to secure his wrists and feet, and replaced
them with cord. It wasn t too soon. Much longer and we d have had a gangrenous corpse.
I rubbed his toes and fingers until the yellow turned blue and then pink. The pins and needles of
returning blood set him groaning. He struggled and nearly strangled himself. We had replicated his
hog tying of Jon, lying him on his stomach with a noose round his neck, wrists secure behind his
back, knees bent and ankles tied securely together, a short line joining ankles, wrists and neck. Very
neat, very efficient, very satisfying.
Thirsty, he rasped.
Open wide. Jon pissed over Scumble s mouth. The joke wasn t appreciated. I trickled some
water between dry lips, before stuffing the socks back and securing them.
What s the stink?
Scumble had shat himself. We looked at each other, nodded in agreement, and with Der s knife
hacked off the big man s clothes, leaving him naked, blood speckled, and squirming on the filthy
floor of the garage. I took a bucket down to the canal, found a patch of water between the mud, and
hurled it at his filthy rump. Jon went for the second bucket, returning with a long-handled toilet
brush.
Scumble s posterior was raw but clean by the time we bundled him into the back of the ute. The
place wasn t safe. The house directly opposite had sprouted signs of life in the form of five tattooed
youths and a motorcycle, and several other houses were obviously occupied. Even if they were
squatters like us, we couldn t afford to make contact. After checking the coast was clear we opened
the doors and drove sedately away from the coast.
Where are we going?
Home.
Won t the cops be watching the place?
Probably, so we ll drive straight past and visit Rory and Lida. They ll be wondering what
happened.
About time. I haven t seen them since the night before that bastard in the back tried to kill me.
Must be ten days ago.
Only ten days? Seems like a year.
I reckon. D you think they ll have heard about it?
The cops have probably been pestering them.
The drive was uneventful and, in Hank s little truck, as bumpy as I remembered. Scumble was
going to be bruised. We drove quietly past my gate. No evidence of visitors. Rory and Lida s place
appeared deserted. We parked and knocked at the caravan door. No reply. Their ute was in its usual
spot, so they had to be around somewhere. A flicker of movement a dozen metres away between the
trees and there was Rory, shotgun at the ready. I waved and called out, but he brandished the gun as
if to say, clear off. Jon waved and started to walk towards him. This provoked a stream of abuse that
ended with, & so get ya fuckin arses off a my place.
Either he doesn t recognise us, I whispered, or he does and thinks we re murderers. I ll do the
talking.
Rory. It s me, Peter. This is Jon. He s shaved his head and borrowed those stupid clothes. In the
unforgiving morning light, Jon certainly looked a desperado. Dark rings round his eyes, head bald,
too many earrings, tight jeans and bare chest, and like me, in need of a shower and shave.
Get your hands up!
We held our hands high, open palms facing him. He took a couple of wary steps towards us,
squinted intently, and snapped, Taking a risk, aren t you?
How do you mean?
Cops are after you for killing that woman at the gallery where you worked. You d better get out
of here.
Rory, we didn t kill that woman. Do you honestly think I d kill someone? It s a frame-up and
we re the patsies.
They said you d say that.
Who did?
The plain-clothes cops who came looking for you the next morning.
Did you check their ID? They weren t cops. They were the killers!
Oh yeah? How come they re after you?
I discovered they d murdered Max, so they tried to get rid of me, but I escaped. Then they came
up here to kill Jon, but I got here first. I was pleading, in danger of crying, and despising myself for
the weakness.
It s true, Rory. And you bloody know it. There was no pleading in Jon s voice. Be a man for
chrissakes. Put the stupid gun down and go and get Lida. She s got more sense than you. She ll
know we re telling the truth.
Lida appeared at the edge of the trees. Cautious but curious.
Is it really you, Peter? And Jon? Surely it s too dangerous for you here? The police keep checking
your place in case you return.
We guessed as much. Can we go inside in case someone wanders over?
They looked at each other. Lida nodded and Rory waved us towards the caravan. We sat at the
table. Rory stayed at the door, gun at the ready.
Put that thing away! snapped Lida. They re not going to hurt us.
When he tucked it behind the bed, I felt as though I was coming up for air after too long under
water. Shotguns can be very tense making, especially when pointed at your useful bits.
OK. What s the story.
I gave them a fairly graphic résumé of the past ten days. The stunned silence was gratifying.
It has to be true. No one would make something like that up. Rory stared at us. Where s he
now? Still in the back of the ute?
I nodded. You might recognise him. He was probably one of your plain-clothes cops.
I ll switch out his lights while you and Jon dig a big hole.
Thanks, but we need him. I outlined our idea.
Risky. But as you say, you can t go to the cops; they d never believe you. Hell, if we half
believed you d killed the woman the cops certainly will. He pushed himself to his feet. But it s a
crappy plan.
I shrugged, feeling like a kid who hasn t done his homework properly.
He sniffed. What s the real reason you came up here?
Like I said, to let you know what had happened and make sure you were both OK. After I spirited
Jon away from my place there was no telling what they d do. If they thought you d helped him,
they might have got nasty.
They weren t nice, but they weren t nasty.
They were menacing and I hated them. Lida was angry.
And you waited ten days to find out if we were OK. Some friend.
Rory! I was busy!
Yeah, yeah. Just winding you up. So you want me to give you a hand?
It never entered my head. Honestly! There s no way I want you risking anything for me.
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