Authors: Ian Walkley
No Remorse (46 page)
“It’s just a little something to make you feel horny. Nitrous oxide. Laughing gas, same as they use in hospitals for chicks havin’ babies. Just relax and enjoy it, baby.”
But Kasey’s had enough. “Raid, Raid,” she whispers into the radio mike. They can take this bastard down now, even if she’s got no confession. She holds her breath.
In her earpiece comes Wayne’s puffing, raspy reply. “Car’s fucking bogged, Kase. We’re hoofing it on foot. Probably a couple of k’s from you. Keep him talking.”
Despite taking shallow breaths, Kasey can feel the effects of the gas and the whole situation is becoming very funny. But she has to delay. Must try to keep him watching from the front. She unbuttons her shirt.
“I’m taking it off, honey. You’ll wanna watch this. I was pretty popular up the Cross. Knuckles used to let me watch him bash people that owed his boss money, long as I was stripping and playing with myself while he was doin’ it. Made me so fucking hot.”
Mallard frowns, then grins. “Yeah, baby. Do it. And tell me about the girls you helped Knuckles get. What'd he do to them?” He's put on Johnny Cash and now he starts clapping as Kasey slowly unbuttons the shirt and shrugs it off, throwing it over her shoulder.
She’s feeling nauseous. Forcing a seductive grin, she slowly licks her lips and makes an O with her mouth. “Don't want to scare you. You don't look very experienced to me. How many girls you taken, Lenny? Killed any, have you?”
“Come on, baby, drop the bra.” He leers from the front, laughing, dragging on the joint.
Giggling fiercely now, Kasey leans back, pulls up her bra and flashes her boobs, then covers up again. Mallard howls his disapproval, then laughs. Kasey can’t resist the unstoppable urge brought on by the gas and wets her pants.
She drops the bra. “There you go, Lenny. Now, tell me how many girls you’ve taken? I wanna know how experienced you are. What you do with them, honey? Rape ‘em first? Or kill ‘em first and stick it into them cold?”
“Shut the fuck up, you sick cunt, or I’ll...”
She leans forward, nipples against the Plexiglas. “Hey Lenny, baby, you like my tits, huh?” She moans, leans back, rubs her hands over her breasts, puts one hand down her pants and gyrates, moaning, licking her lips, rolling her eyes. A giddiness swirls through her brain and she almost faints. “Oh… oh… oh. Oh no… not yet. Come on, Lenny. I have to fucking know you the real you. How many women have you done?”
Mallard blinks, his eyes widening. “Fuck! I can’t believe this. Keep goin’, baby.” He holds up a Bowie knife and waggles it.
The sight of the knife shoots adrenalin through her, instantly bringing her back to a heightened alertness. Her eyes widen. “Oh my, what a big knife you have.” Taking the hand from her pants, she puts two fingers in her mouth and sucks them. Reaching down again, she grabs the pistol, keeping it out of sight.
She can’t hold out much longer.
Where are those fucking backup guys?
“You know, I’ve never watched someone die before…”
“Jesus! You are some fuckin’ weirdo chick, know that?” Lenny’s panting now, his nose pressed against the Plexiglas. “You really wanna know? Well, I’ll fuckin’ tell you. Six. Six girls is what I’ve done. So you see, I know what I’m doin’. I go slow. Just love listening to the screamin’. And baby, you’ll be hearing it soon enough. Oh shame, you’re almost out. Going, going...”
Kasey’s vision blurs. Clawing the energy to rise up on her knees, she leans forward onto the partition, her nipples pressing against it. “Only six?”
Len’s tongue flickers. “Seven with you, baby. You’re gonna be the slowest. It’s gonna be fuckin’ brilliant!”
She brings up the Glock. Fires three times. The acrylic doesn’t shatter, but the bullets make it through. Red splatters the front of the van, smearing the windscreen. Len’s lifeless body is suspended momentarily like a puppet, before it collapses onto the seat. She fires another six times at the van’s sliding door lock before her world finally goes black.
***
Watch for BAIT – Available late 2012
I am deeply grateful to my editor, Jodie Renner, who was enthusiastic about my story and helped add layers to my characters, improve the precision of my language, and enhance the subtleties in plotlines. Apart from the absolute fun I had working with Jodie, the experience was incredibly efficient. Emailing the manuscript between Australia and Canada, Jodie edited while I slept, and vice versa, and we managed to complete the job in less than four weeks! Jodie also provided me with excellent advice about US idiom and helped my rusty French. Check out Jodie’s website at
www.JodieRennerEditing.com
.
Prior to this, I had wonderful input from Deonie Fiford, an editor based in Sydney who undertook a structural edit that helped improve the pacing of the story and fill in gaps and transitions. The staff and teachers at the Queensland Writers’ Centre, and particularly Kim Wilkins, were enormously helpful to me. Through QWC courses, I met a number of other local writers who, like me, aspired to be published. Inga Simpson from Olvar Wood, a private operation for emerging writers, also provided me with excellent advice. Sandy Curtis, a crime-suspense writer from Bundaberg, was also a tower of support, to the extent of writing me emails when her arm was broken.
The many other readers of various drafts of
No Remorse
are too numerous to name, but I would like to particularly thank David Hurley, Kathy Benson, David Vieritz, and the ladies of the Cerebella Book Club for their helpful feedback.
Other writers to whom I owe a heap of gratitude for their support via email and over coffee include Adair Jones, Thoraiya Dyer, Robin Storey, Katrina Bredhauer, and Jim Reay. And I’m grateful to the many friends I’ve made through the International Thriller Writers Organization, especially the inspiration and support from David L. Wilson, Karen Dionne, Jeremy Robinson, Shane Gericke, Kathleen Antrim, Gayle Lynds, Doug Lyle, JJ Cooper, and David Morrell.
Finally, an immeasurable thanks to my wife Ann who, as a teacher of young children, manages to always be incredibly patient and encouraging, reading every draft of a book that’s not even in one of her genres. And to my children Maddy, Jordan and Laura, for their tolerance and love.
