Derailed (52 page)

Oh, I’ve learned my lesson, trust me. No more Ms. Nice Gal. From now on, it’s all or nothing – kill the bitches at the
onset
to avoid ricochets. From now on, any woman/wife/girlfriend who’s in my line of fire is going to be blasted to smithereens. It’s the only way. 

I’ve seen the stupid wedding photos of Rival and Ritchie on her website, on TV, and all over the media. Mabel and her ugly daughters were present. Bogans unite. And Monkey was at the wedding with her trilogy of anime-eyed mistakes? It was Monkey’s
husband
who killed Rival’s husband, yet they’re all friendly now? It pisses me off. Seriously.

As for Rival, it makes my blood boil to think she’s going to have a happy ending while I am here. Though, I have to tell you, I don’t plan to stay here forever. Oh, no. I can never go away and I can never die. I am like a cartoon character – I am immortal.

As for dancing on my grave…pfft! As you can see, Teflon Scarlett is very much alive, and that is why Scarlett
will
always have the last word. Agreed? No? Well…fuck you, then. Who gives a shit what you think? I don’t. Seriously, I’m not kidding.

End of Derailed

Excerpt from

MALICE

(Release date: December 2016)

One fucking mistake, that’s all I made. One mistake and it cost me my freedom. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think,
what would have happened had I not touched those shell casings? What would have happened had Monkey not discovered the hidden shell casings?
I would be a free woman today. Sadly, I’m not. 

The poet Richard Lovelace was wrong – stone walls
do
a prison make. Count on it. Remington Correctional Services – that’s my crib these days. I’m behind bars. Or you could say, I’m doing time. Incarcerated. In the slammer. In the big house. In the jailhouse. In the rock. In the guard house – whatever the fuck you want to call it – I’m in a place where we have our own language. For example:

A
4 piece
is a full set of restraints – hand cuffs, leg chains, waist chains and a security cover.

A
7-up
means a guard is on the prowl.

A
fish
is a new prisoner.

A
38
means I’m masturbating, which incidentally keeps me and everyone around me safe.

An
all day and night
means doing life without parole.

Bugging out
means I’m going mad, which incidentally is what I’m doing right now. Why? Because my appeal has been unsuccessful.

“This is not the end,” my daddy, a hot-shot Sydney attorney who cannot do shit for his own daughter said earlier on. “We’re taking it all the way to the supreme court.” My faith in him is lost, so fuck him and fuck this appeal shit; I have made up my mind to blow this joint. The plan is to make my way to some third-world country, assume a new identity, and disappear for good. I can do it. I know I can. How, when, where…the fuck I know. But, I have a
will
, a rather strong one at that, so a
way
has to follow, right? Right!

In the meantime I go over my mental to-do list:

Torture and kill Rival MacMillan

Burn down Mabel’s house (with or without her in it)

Hatch a plan to destroy Arena Shaw

Smuggle in some hair dye to touch up my roots 

Taking a break from my to-do list, I eye the wardens, suss them out – which one do I seduce? I’m confident that I can seduce just about all of them. But I need someone with resources, someone who can help me every step of the way. 

A sound behind me intrudes on my reverie. I turn around and look into my nineteen-year-old fellow inmate and skivvy. Nicola Slay is serving eight years for vehicular manslaughter. She drove drunk from her high school dance and killed a father of three.

“You’d better have a customer for me,” I say in a warning voice.

“Yes, Scarlett, I
have
a customer for you.”

“About time. Who is it?”

“A fish. This chick, her brother killed his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend, then he like, gave her the knife to throw away. She threw it away, but like, she told her best friend about it, who ratted her out to the cops. Now she’s being charged with murder…after the fact…some shit like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, her life sucks – last year she lost her boyfriend in a car crash. Very depressed soul. I told her about you, and she wants a reading.”

“What’s her name again?” I ask, pulling out my secret phone.

Nicola points at my phone. “Google Evangeline Hawkins.”

“Got it.” For the next few minutes, I skim details of her charges and arrest, her devotion to her brother and her upcoming court case.
Interesting
. Then I log onto Facebook and check her out. I view her photos – there’s one of her wearing a blue sundress with an ugly yellow flower in front of it. I scroll down to view more photos. I find one that interests me. Evangeline poses with a beefy, swarthy guy who’s probably of Italian descent as well. I look at more photos. There’s one of her with a cake with Rocco’s name on it.

Evangeline Hawkins:
Darling Rocco, happy birthday. Hope you like the cake. You may be gone from my life, but you remain in my heart till I die. Love you 4eva, babe.

I look at more photos. There’s one with Rocco’s name tattooed on her lower back. I take note of the date of these postings. Then I check out her friends and read their comments as well.

After about ten minutes of online research, I look up at Nicola. “I’m ready for the fish.”

“Okay.” She starts to leave my cell.

“Make sure she has the money!”

“Okay,” Nicola says.

I lie on my bunk and wait, Rihanna’s voice ringing in my head:
Bitch better have my money!

A few minutes later, Nicola re-enters our cell and commences her act. “Scarlett,” she whispers, “this is Evangeline. She wants a reading.”

“Nicola, please,” I say, with my eyes almost closed. “I’m resting, can’t you see?”

“Please Scarlett,” Nicola begs. “She’s really keen on it.”

“Not today,” I say in a firm voice.

Nicola shifts around. “Oh, okay then.” From the slits of my eyes, I see her usher out Evangeline.

“Thank you, Rocco,” I murmur.

Evangeline freezes for a moment, before she turns around and walks over to me. “Excuse me,” she eventually says in a voice filled with shock. “Did you say…Rocco?”

I shake my head from side-to-side, my eyes closed. “Did not.”

“Yes, you did. You did! I heard you.”

With an exaggerated sigh, I open my eyes. Evangeline too looks Italian – curly brown hair, light brown eyes, slim build – nondescript, actually. “What if I did, new girl?”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

I shrug.
And
?

“He died.”

“Evangeline, just because he’s pushing to talk to you, doesn’t mean I want to.”

With her hands clasped together in supplication, she begs. “Please, tell me what he says. Please!”

With a shake of my head, I say. “I’m really not in the mood.”

Nicola nudges her. “Show her the money. Offer to pay double.”

“I’ll…I’ll pay you double,” Evangeline says, taking out money from her bra and shoving it at me. “All I have.”

“Please, Scarlett,” Nicola pleads on behalf of the fish.

“Okay, fine,” I say accepting the money and pocketing it. “Just be very quiet and don’t ask questions until the session is over. Deal?”

Evangeline nods vigorously.

We sit on the floor of my cell, a Ouija board in front of me, merely as a prop. Even though you don’t use a Ouija board in a situation like this, I use it because 1) it lends credibility to the situation, 2) most idiots don’t know shit about this stuff, 3) it’s all we could come up with.

With my eyes closed, I say, “There’s a bloke…Rocco…he’s smiling…he’s showing me his eyes, like telling me he’s watching you all the time.” Corny bullshit, yet immediately the fish starts to cry.

“He’s showing me a blue dress…with some kind of pattern…I’m not sure.”

She does not respond to the reference to the dress.

“It has some sort of flower on it.”

Silence.

The blue sundress on Facebook, you dumb bitch!

My eyes squeeze tighter. “A
yellow
flower. That’s right. Blue dress with a yellow flower or flowers.”

“Oh, yeah, now I remember,” she finally says. “I do have a dress like that.” 

Hallelujah
!

Moving on…“He’s showing me teeth and nodding. I think he likes you in that dress.”

She smiles through her tears.

All my fingers fly to my temples. “I’m getting a date…August ...2…no, 20…August 29?”

Evangeline gasps.

“Not sure why this is significant, but he’s showing me that date.”

“That’s his birthday!” she blurts.

“He’s touching his mouth like he’s eating…”

“Eating?”

“Cake. He’s giving me the impression that he is eating cake.”

Evangeline’s hands fly to her mouth. “I baked a cake for his birthday,” she whispers.

“Well, he’s seen it and he likes it.”

A fresh batch of tears flow down her cheeks.

“He’s showing me some figures…one…four…three…yes, that’s it. Just those. One, four, three.”

“What…I mean, like, I have no idea what those figures mean,” Evangeline says.

My eyes remain closed. 

“I think I do,” Nicola says. “One, four, three – I. love. You. Think about it, Evangeline – the number of letters in each word.”

By the time Evangeline leaves out of our cell, she is sobbing, while I am ten bucks richer. Later on I will send a message with Nicola that Rocco’s showing me her back. She’ll probably hurry back for another reading and …chi! ching!

Yes, I see dead people these days. Hey, a gal’s gotta make a living! All I got left in my bank account is twenty-five measly grand. I haven’t managed to secure a publisher for my book as yet, so funds are low and I have to rely on my father to support me. We all know how Milton feels about parting with his money.

Nicola barges into our cells a few minutes later with her hand outstretched. I place two dollars in her palm.

“Shouldn’t I get
four
dollars?” she asks. “After all, I convinced her to pay you double.”

“Nicola!” I snap. “I’m the mastermind here. Have you forgotten that?”

“No, no, I’m just –”

“Well, then shut your trap before I smash your thick skull into the floor.”

Nicola falls silent, her cushiony lips turning downwards. Nicola is a pesky cellmate and irritates the crap out of me sometimes with her simplemindedness. But her devotion to me, her willingness to carry out instructions, as well as baby face, which helps lure customers, makes her rather useful to me.

I walk out onto the courtyard and bask in the midday sun, my brain returning to my escape plane. I will go to Brazil. It will be easy to get lost there.

My daydream is interrupted by the sight of a man. A fine looking man sans prison uniform. Am I dreaming? Is it a mirage perhaps? Could my imagination be rebelling against the intense sensory deprivation prison life brings? But it isn’t a mirage, and no, I’m not dreaming. It really is a man. A mere fifty feet away, playing basketball with a few of the younger prisoners, is one of the most beautiful men I have ever laid eyes on.

With bulging eyes, I watch the six-foot-three
ish
man with dark hair in a ponytail run around the basketball court. Those unsightly sweatpants, that unflattering faded black t-shirt, his damp, disheveled hair, and even that scruffy three-day-old stubble does nothing to corral his sexiness. When I look around, I notice that he is in the crosshairs of just about every sex-starved female prisoner. Even the wardens salivate as they eye him.

I spin around to look for my skivvy. She is playing Scrabble with a stocky, short-haired, brunette in her twenties, who will definitely secure the role of one of the Seven Dwarves, should she audition for it.

I pull Nicola away from her game. “Who is that…that beefcake? And how is it that he’s here? In a
female
prison?”

“Oh, he’s Father Colin,” she says, shooting the dwarf an apologetic look. “They call him when patients get suicidal. Can I go back to –”

“
Father
?” I snarl, grabbing a fistful of her shirt. “How can someone that good looking go without sex? Altar boys? He must be gay.”

“No, no, no, no, Scarlett,” Nicola says in a chastising voice. “He’s mar…ried.”

“To the Lord. Pfft!” My voice is scoffing.

She shakes her head and in a reverential voice says. “To Clover Colin. She’s also serves the Lord.”

My eyes fly to Nicola ’s. “He’s married to a
woman
?” A bolt of excitement surges through me.

“Yeah. She’s also visits prisoners. Both of them do.”

“Oh, isn’t that sweet?”

“Yeah, he’s actually
Reverend
Colin now.”

“Callan?”

“Colin,” she corrects.

“Callan sounds better. Colin is far too common. I shall call him Callan.”

“Used to be
Father
Colin until he married Clover.”

“Seriously? He gave up the priesthood for a woman?” A stab of green shoots through me.

Nicola smiles. “Reverend Colin and the four leaf Clover. Has a ring to it, right?”

“No it doesn’t.”

“The story is they met in university, but –”

“He went to
university
?”

With a nod, she continues. “After he finished his degree, he went on to pursue the priesthood. Then years later, they came across each other, and he realized that he loved her too much and …” Nicola’s honey-colored eyes glaze and her body shudders. “So
Notebook!”

“
Notebook
is an insipid, run-of-the-mill movie, Nicola. Please don’t tell me you buy into that Harlequin romance crap, okay? Because if you do, we can’t be friends.”

“You’re right,” she says in a humble voice. “It’s a stupid movie. You’re right.”