Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes) (18 page)

He was probably bingeing now, home alone. But worrying about that would only turn Rand into a fucking ‘mother’, scared to leave the house. The kid needed to learn responsibility. Besides, if Poss fucked up, Rand would just fix things. That’s what you did for your people.

Two alleys’ later he was on home turf — a block away — and the fact that he couldn’t smell fire was the first relief. A minute later, silently loping up the back stairs, he could see the door was shut and, on reaching it, found it was still locked, so that was the second relief. A quick flick of the key and he was in, padding around in the dark, looking for silhouettes that didn’t belong — silhouettes that might pounce on him as he walked past.

A beating was one thing — Rand had suffered enough of them to know you could switch off from the pain — but if someone was stealing his stuff they might be aggressive enough to pull a knife or a gun. Rand didn’t like weapons. Fists he could recover from, and so could Poss. But he’d seen enough streeters die of blood loss to not want that for himself or his people.

Every shadow looked familiar, however, so after his recon he made his way down the hall to Possum’s room, pausing outside the door, which for some reason was closed. But more unusual than that was the sound coming from behind it: the unmistakable grunting of penetrative sex, which was distinctively different to the moaning of oral sex or the quieter panting of a wank.

No, this was porking, and although it was Possum grunting, Rand couldn’t be sure if the kid had his dick inside someone, or if he was on the receiving end of someone’s sausage, and whose? Was this something to do with the missing twenty bucks?

Rand had never questioned Possum about his pants–life. Of course, he knew the kid had been pimped. Like all the boys who ended up in the Valley, Poss had learned to suck cock for money. But he could pick his own partners now, and might have found a preference for pussy. There wasn’t any question about Poss prostituting out of the house. Rand had laid that law down in blood. This had to be a pleasure hump. But who?

Rand’s hand slid down to the doorknob and curiosity warred with his innate respect for privacy. True, he was responsible for the kid and should probably check that condoms were on and that the ‘other’ wasn’t going to get his or her jollies by hurting Poss. That happened in the Valley a lot — suburbanites coming in for a thrill, thinking they could do anything to streeters and get away with it, as if no–one protected them.

Well, Poss was Rand’s ‘people’, and he was protected. So on that self–righteous note, the knob turned under Rand’s hand and he cracked the door a couple of inches. It was just as dark inside Possum’s room as it was in the hallway. Only a sliver of moonlight illuminated the corner where Possum’s bundle of clothes lay. The mattress in the middle of the floor was shrouded in mystery, which meant Rand would have to turn on the light to get closure on the situation.

Of course, Possum probably wanted ‘closure’ of his own before he was interrupted, and Rand knew there was little point in stopping him now. The kid’s grunts were getting louder, so Rand slipped into the room and silently shut the door, waiting, realizing he was going to turn on the light when the show was over, whether that embarrassed Possum or not.

This was his place. He made the rules. But that didn’t stop him feeling embarrassed. He’d seen sex lots of times but never on the sly, always by invitation. People who got off on being watched were happy to pay for the privilege, and it was certainly easier work than fucking.

Possum wouldn’t want anyone watching him, though. Rand knew that. But he stood there anyway, consoling himself with the fact that he couldn’t actually see anything. Still, the noises were graphic. He’d heard Possum wanking enough times to know the blow–off would be marked by a prolonged groan, any time soon. What surprised him was that the kid’s partner in this noisy exchange of bodily fluids wasn’t making a sound. It was just Poss. Was the body even conscious? Christ, Rand hoped the kid hadn’t found a Rohypnol victim somewhere and dragged it in.

“Oh, oh,
ohhh!”

Touchdown.

Rand reached up for the light switch, but he didn’t flick it on. Orgasm was disorienting and he wanted to give Possum a few seconds to come back to himself, to be able to think before he was squinting in the headlights.

“Oh,
God!”

Rand had to smile. So, it had been good for the kid. Well that was nice. Until the next bad thing happened he’d have a happy memory to overlay the crappiness of their lives.

Then Possum groaned softly, “Tight bitch,” and Rand’s smile widened. Until he heard an odd noise. A jarring squeak. Like hands catching on tight vinyl pants. Or an animal? Fuck! Rand flicked on the light switch and Possum, who was kneeling on the stained mattress, threw his hands up to cover his bloodshot eyes, his knees wavering for balance.

On the mattress in front of him, lolling on its side, was a plastic blow–up sheep.

Twenty bucks worth of blow up sheep, Rand guessed. Half the price of a blow up girl.

When Possum realised who’d sprung him, his hands dropped to fumbling with his dripping pecker, trying to cram it back into his jeans. “Shit, man!” he yelled, his cheeks brick red. “You’re a fuckin’ vor–
er.”

Rand would have corrected the pronunciation – he usually did.

Only he was too busy laughing his guts out.

Thursday

Chapter Twenty

Knock, knock.

B
az pulled the pillow off his head and gazed blankly around his room. A sound seemed to be echoing in his ears but he wasn’t sure if he’d dreamt it or if it had been real. And something was wrong with the lighting. It was way too bright for the middle of the night.

Knock.

“Balthazar?”

“Dad.” Baz shook his head, trying to clear the fog.

“Why is your door locked?”

To keep you out.
Baz glanced at his bedside alarm clock. “Fuck!”

“What
did you say?”

But Baz was too busy diving across the room to answer. He lunged through the ensuite and opened Wynne’s door without a single thought for her privacy. The room was empty.

“Jesus Christ.” Baz ran back and flung open his own door.

His father stood looking like thunder on the other side. “If I hear you blaspheme like that again, boy, I’ll get my old switch out of the cupboard and put you over my knee —”

“Out of the way, dad.” Baz pushed past him and ran down the corridor, stopping at the front foyer to look down the other hallway. He’d seen clothes folded on the chair in Wynne’s room. She hadn’t bailed on him, so she had to be in the house somewhere. Thank God he’d locked the guest suite door.

Blood was pounding in Baz’s temples and his mouth felt furry. Too much coffee and not enough sleep. He looked down and noticed he was wearing boxers and nothing else — then ran back to his room.

Ted was inside, sitting on his bed, looking through his beside drawer. He held up a diary. “What’s this?”

Baz took it out of his hand, threw it back in the drawer and shut it. “Address book, dad. Where’s Wynne?” He went to the cupboard and pulled out a checked shirt, shrugged it on and snatched up some shorts. “Is she in the kitchen? The dining room?” It was almost noon. She’d have to be hungry by now.

Ted shook his head. “Didn’t she go home?”

Baz finished buttoning the shorts and started on the shirt. “No, she’s my guest. She was sleeping next door.” Or, at least, that’s where he’d left her at 1am, after watching two movies and only getting as far as holding her hand.

Not that Baz was disappointed. If anything, Wynne’s physical reserve, coupled with the way she’d teased him verbally, was a huge turn on. The masochist in him wanted to be made to wait, knowing it would be
so
worth it when they finally made love.

See, he was even thinking of it as
making love,
not having sex. So clearly he’d decided Wynne wasn’t just after sex and could well be a keeper. He just had to make sure she didn’t bump into Venus before the teenager went on her way. And damn it! He’d meant to get up early and quiz Venus — to have that
nothing but the facts
conversation she’d been deflecting.

“You definitely haven’t seen Wynne?” he asked his father.

Ted stood and wobbled towards the door. “She wasn’t in my room. And she’s clearly not in your room.”

“Well, that covers most of the house,” Baz said, waiting for his father to exit so he could too, then he turned back and locked his door. “I’ll look in the kitchen. You try the dining room.”

“I’m hungry,” Ted said, predictably.

“Then I’ll make you a sandwich while I’m in the kitchen.”

“Ham,” Ted insisted. “Bone ham. None of that processed muck.”

“Fine, dad. Bone ham.” Baz gave him a tap to start him moving and Ted toddled off down the hallway. Baz quickly overtook him and said over his shoulder. “If she’s in the dining room keep her there. I’ll bring you both a sandwich.”

“She can have the processed ham,” Ted called.

“By all means. And let’s give her the day–old bread while we’re at it.” Baz gritted his teeth. It would be a bloody miracle if Wynne lasted the day before leaving in disgust.

“I might want that for the birds,” Ted called after him but Baz was beyond caring. He was too busy running down the hallway, devising a plan to have a deep and meaningful with Venus then ring her a taxi and escort her out the door, maybe to a motel. Pronto. Or, at least, as soon as he’d put Wynne somewhere she couldn’t see it happening.

Only… a taxi wouldn’t be able to get past Wynne’s bogged car. And once the car was cleared, Baz would have Constable, Moore, to worry about. Shit! He needed to get Venus sorted before then. Maybe after dark, after Wynne had gone to sleep, he could take off with Venus in the four wheel drive and run along the beach and then the coastal tracks to Bundaberg where he could drop her off somewhere she’d be safe. Anything to avoid having her there when Moore returned.

That decided, Baz skidded to a stop just short of the kitchen door – so as not to scare Wynne by barging in — and swung it open silently to peek inside at the sun–warmed kitchen. Glare shone off the pale timber floor and he blinked against that for a moment before his heart stuttered to a standstill.

Wynne was standing at the kitchen sink beside Venus who wore an overlarge wrap–around apron that didn’t quite meet at the back. It was giving him, and anyone else who might walk in, a far too generous a view of her backside clad only in what looked like a tie dyed g–string. Wynne was speaking softly, as if she was explaining something, and it was all completely innocent except that something about the way they were standing so close together and Venus was leaning towards Wynne screamed intimacy. Had Venus given up on trying to get pregnant and was flirting with Wynne?

He stared, unable to think of a thing to say until Wynne turned and smiled at him expectantly. “I’ve met your housekeeper,” she said, then turned to show him her rubber gloved hands. “I was showing her how to scale fish, although that’s probably made the kitchen a bit stinky.” She wrinkled her nose prettily. “Carlos dropped them off here and Venus wasn’t sure how to prepare them for freezing.” She gave Baz a slightly embarrassed smile. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this in the kitchen but I wasn’t sure where —”

“And Venus didn’t know.” Baz nodded, trying to regroup. “She’s new.”

“She said,” Wynne replied, and turned back to smile shyly at Venus who was gripping a fish in her dye stained hands and staring at Wynne with the same carnivorous glance she’d been giving Baz the day before.

He tried not to be unnerved by that. “You’re in here early,” he said to Venus, wondering how the hell she’d escaped the locked guest suite.

Wynne smiled brightly. “I came in for coffee and saw her on the veranda. She went for a swim and locked herself out, so I let her in.”

“Oh. Good.”

Wynne’s took her rubber gloves off and turned to wash her hands.

“That was lucky,” Baz added, his first lie for the day. Then while she wasn’t looking he edged around the table towards Venus, hoping grab her reaching hand before it landed on Wynne’s bare back, but he had to stop when Wynne turned around.

“Oh,” she said, when she saw Venus’s fishy hand, now hovering hear her breasts which were tucked into a pretty lime green halter neck top. Luckily she misinterpreted the gesture and went to grasp it and shake hands.

“I like you,” Venus said, getting fishy stuff all over Wynne’s newly washed hand. “You smell nice. I want to –”

“Dad’s hungry!” Baz blurted. It was the first thing that had come into his head. Apart from thinking his fleeting joy at finding a prospective Miss Right was unraveling in front of his eyes.

“Me too,” Wynne said and smiled at him with such confused innocence he wanted to drag her away from Venus and put her back into the safety of her room, preferably with him as her bodyguard.

“Let’s all eat,” Venus said, and this time there were no prizes for guessing where her imagination was.

She was a bomb about to go off and Baz wasn’t sure how to disarm her.

After ten seconds of silence, Wynne, who had released Venus’s hand and was holding her own away from herself, clearly too embarrassed to wash it again, said, “Do you want me to wait in the dining room … ?” Her voice was small and unsure and that helped Baz refocus. Her family wasn’t wealthy. She’d probably never had a housekeeper — probably wondered if she should offer to continue helping Venus or if that would be gauche.

In her confusion Baz found his direction. He stepped forward and said, “That’s exactly what we should do,” and he gestured for her to follow him to the door, away from Venus who was gazing at her possessively. “Dad’s in there now. Would you mind keeping him company? I just need a word with Venus about the menu. We’ll keep the fish for another time. Dad doesn’t eat it. Are ham sandwiches okay?”

Wynne’s brow smoothed. “Fine,” she said, then turned back to Venus with endearing shyness. “So glad to have met you, Venus. It was a real pleasure.”