The Girl in the Hard Hat (38 page)

‘Really?’ He peeled his lips back from his teeth. ‘Still not seeing that knife. What about a gun then? Your brother wasn’t a very good shot. But who knows? You might be able to aim straight.’

Peter’s fist whipped out and caught him on the side of his jaw. Gavin didn’t need much more provocation than that. Fuelled by fear and adrenaline both his fists shot out, catching his enemy once in the face and once in the gut.

Peter doubled over, laughing. ‘Is this because I invited your girlfriend to join us?’

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

‘Still,’ Peter mused, ‘I would have loved her to be here for this.’ He rammed Gavin, throwing both fists into his belly.

But Gavin’s fury protected him. He felt almost no pain. A man possessed, he hit back without even stopping to consider his own injuries. He punched Peter across the car park until he had the man on his back, groaning and looking up at him.

‘I think it’s time for me to go.’ Gavin turned and hurried towards his ute. Maybe he could make it while Peter was down.

Just before he reached the car, he felt two kicks to his calves. Even as his legs folded and he sank to the bitumen on his knees, the blow to his nose came out of nowhere. His cheek hit the ground. He lay there not knowing whether the wetness on his face was a result of his own blood or the fact that it had started raining. He could see Peter sitting on the ground and realised it must have been his men who had taken him out.

Peter rested his arms on his kneecaps. ‘We haven’t finished our conversation yet.’

A booted foot placed itself on Gavin’s cheek, preventing him from getting up. He was forced to lie there and look at Peter’s gleeful expression.

‘You see, last time,’ Skinner explained, ‘I didn’t think things all the way through. I came to your house in anger. I acted without precautions. It was actually good you got away. The thing is,’ Peter spread his hands as though he were addressing a rapt group of students, ‘I don’t want to be done for murder. Knives, guns, they give a man away too easily. Why should I be punished for something you did?’

Gavin said nothing. Not that he could have even if he wanted to with his mouth squished painfully against jagged edges of red gravel, the metallic smell of soil and blood filling his nostrils.

‘Rope,’ Peter explained, ‘on the other hand, can be purchased anywhere. It’s such a common commodity, so much harder to trace.’

Peter’s man removed his boot from Gavin’s cheek and he was yanked to his feet and held fast.

‘You’re going to hang me then?’ Gavin demanded derisively, spitting blood and dirt as he spoke.

‘Oh no,’ Peter said dismissively. ‘Then the fun’s over too quickly. You’ll be pleased to learn that I’ve decided that I’m actually not going to kill you at all.’

Gavin felt no relief. Time had obviously cooled Peter’s anger to the point where death simply was not enough.

‘Why should I?’ Peter asked with all the satisfaction of the Cheshire Cat. ‘When Mother Nature can do it for me?’

Gavin realised for the first time what Peter intended to do to him. For two stunned seconds he did not resist as Peter’s faithful dogs began to push him towards his ute. Then he began to thrash about and a roar erupted from his throat. But against three men he was unfortunately no match. Every time he managed to get out of one person’s grip the other two would hit him until the first man had recovered. It wasn’t long before they had him tied to his own windshield. His arms were stretched wide and taut, each wrist held tight by rope that was then wound around the side mirrors and pulled through the windows into the car. They tied the two ends together inside the car. His legs got the same treatment, both pulled straight and spread-eagled across the bonnet. They held fast his ankles with rope that knotted several times around the roo bar.

‘What do you suppose Mother Nature has in store for our Gavin?’ Peter whistled as he worked. ‘A good flogging no doubt. I hear the rain hits as hard as a nail gun and the sand rips the first layer of skin off. The screaming of the wind is so loud, prolonged exposure can burst your eardrums. Of course,’ he mused, ‘you won’t be able to see anything with all that sand and debris blowing about. And if it’s a big bit of debris that hits you, it could take your head off, but with any luck it’ll just be your arm or your leg. Or maybe both before anything that drastic happens. Did you know,’ he taunted further, ‘that if you leave the windows or doors of a donga open, the air pressure generated inside can sometimes literally lift the box off the ground and fling it somewhere?’ He finished the last knot and came over to pat Gavin’s cheek affectionately. ‘I wonder if it’s the same with cars?’

They drove his car further into the camp so that it couldn’t be seen from the main road and left the windows of his ute open.

After they deserted him, he struggled till his wrists and ankles were burning and bleeding. But it was to no avail. He could do nothing but wait. And pray.

The entire drive to Karratha, Wendy was deeply unhappy with Gavin’s departure from their plan.

I shouldn’t have left him. I should have stayed with him.

Then I would know he was safe.

Skinner didn’t exactly look like a responsible individual. Maybe Gavin knew him well enough to ask him to collect his mail. But that didn’t mean he was smart enough to do what Gavin told him before the arrival of James in now under eight hours. He certainly wasn’t local. Would he know how to handle himself? Wendy hoped Gavin wouldn’t get messed around by his friend’s ignorance.

Her concentration was down when she reached the evacuation centre but luckily Carl and Chub had done a great job with preparation for their arrival. They were using the central block of the school: a gymnasium surrounded by classrooms on three sides and a cafeteria on the final side. At red alert they would close and lock up this entire block. But as people were still arriving most of the main doors and windows were open. There were people setting up camp in the gymnasium. She could hear the buzz from a hundred different portable radios. People were sitting on their blankets, propped up by pillows, playing cards or following the storm on TVs and radios stationed around the room. She wondered how long they’d have reception. It was good to see torches and gas lamps everywhere for the inevitable power failure.

The thing about cyclones was, once they started, it was mostly a waiting game. After it passed, and FESA gave them the ‘all clear’, then they could go outside to survey the damage.

The camp chefs were preparing a proper lunch in the cafeteria. It would probably be everyone’s last hot meal for a while. There were also a few televisions on in various classrooms around the place where people were avidly watching and chatting.

Barnes Inc was sharing this safe house with their major contractors and TCN, so there were many faces that Wendy didn’t recognise. She did see Bulldog come in though, and also Frank.

For the next couple of hours, she did her final checks, welcomed the newcomers and continued to pace the floor with one eye on the main doors. Her worry escalated as Gavin’s absence continued. She tried calling him several times but his phone rang out.

Where the hell is he?

At ten she heard the wailing of the SES sirens again, both from outside the building and echoed in the various radios and televisions switched on around her.

They were on red alert.

Six hours to impact.

And still no Gavin.

Everyone knew that at red alert, preparation should be over. It was time to get to shelter and lock up, no matter what. Wendy sat down in the chair nearest to her as the orders to secure the building were shouted around the gymnasium. She looked down at her hands; they were trembling. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. The shaking wouldn’t stop.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

‘Wendy, what’s wrong?’

She started, unaware that anyone had been watching her. Her eyes flicked up and she said weakly, ‘Lena.’

The young engineer was accompanied by Sharon, Carl and Chub.

‘You want something to eat, little mate?’ Chub sounded worried. ‘You’ve been running around all morning and you’ve starved yourself again, haven’t you?’

‘You do look fuckin’ pale,’ Carl commented. ‘Chub, go get her some tea.’

Her large friend nodded and moved away to fetch it.

‘It’s Gavin,’ Wendy said, ‘he’s still not here.’

‘What the fuck is the bastard doing?’ Carl demanded. ‘Where is he?’

Lena turned quickly to the project manager, wringing her hands. ‘Just before we left camp, some of his friends from out of town turned up to see him.’

‘The man’s fuckin’ entertaining during a fuckin’ cyclone!’

‘Well, it was yellow alert back then,’ Lena reassured him. ‘And it seemed like he wouldn’t be long. He said he would catch up. We did leave him a ute.’

Wendy winced. ‘I’m thinking we shouldn’t have left him at all.’

‘He told us to.’ Lena shook her head. ‘In fact, he looked bloody desperate that we go – something about a private family matter. Don’t worry, Wendy, knowing Gavin he’s probably taken up shelter with those mates of his and in typical inconsiderate style has just forgotten to tell us about it.’

‘Call his mobile, honey,’ Sharon suggested to Wendy.

‘I have. It’s switched off.’

‘Dickhead.’ Carl rolled his eyes. ‘I can’t send someone for him now.’

Just then Dan joined their little group. ‘Are you talking about Gavin Jones?’

Wendy turned to him eagerly. ‘Yes.’

‘I just received a message from a friend of his. Apparently, he’s taking up shelter with them.’

‘There you go.’ Lena smiled, patting her shoulder again. ‘I told you. Nothing to worry about.’

But he said he was going to play poker with me.

Twice.

It just didn’t seem right.

‘I don’t know.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘I know this may sound dumb, but I’ve just got a bad feeling.’

‘Wendy,’ Carl warned, ‘we can’t send anyone to go look for him now. It’s too dangerous.’

‘Well there’s no need to,’ Dan nodded, ‘he’s fine.’

‘I know.’ Wendy got up from her plastic chair, which was normally some kid’s seat in Science class, and moved slightly away from the group. Her friends began to chat quietly between themselves about other things, throwing her the occasional look of concern.

She went to the window. It didn’t look too bad yet. The wind was brisk but trees weren’t bending or breaking. She went to the television where an anchor was showing the progress of the cyclone and where meteorologists predicted it would hit first. Chub brought her a cup of tea and she watched the TV for a little bit, but was unable to quieten the warning bells in her own head, let alone the ones on the television.

There’s got to be something else on apart from just weather reports.

She started flicking channels just as her Uncle Mike walked into the room.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, girl. Why aren’t you in the gymnasium?’

She took in his sudden concern with a shrug of annoyance. ‘I wanted some place quieter.’

‘Well, the gymnasium is the centre of this structure. It’s the safest area in the building.’

‘Relax,’ she sighed. ‘The storm hasn’t even hit yet.’

‘All the same –’ Mike began.

‘I think I’ll stay here.’ She cut him off. It was mightily forward of him to start playing protective now when the entire lead-up to this storm he hadn’t given a crap about her. She turned back to the TV and changed the channel again. Her body froze as a familiar face suddenly came on screen.

Something shrivelled and died inside her as she took in the image in horror.

The hair was a different style and colour, and he was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt that revealed tattoos on his skin that had not been visible to her either of the times they’d met. But there was no mistaking that heavy silver stud or that twisted grin that seemed to take delight in her sudden and overwhelming fear.

She turned up the volume.

‘Wendy,’ Mike started again.

‘Shut up,’ she hissed. ‘I’m trying to listen.’

‘. . . a warning to North West residents. Police Media advised this morning that they believe disgraced Sydney businessman Peter Marshall has left Perth in a stolen vehicle and is heading towards Karratha. A warrant for Mr Marshall’s arrest was issued out of New South Wales last week where he allegedly engaged in organised crime activities. Mr Marshall made the news five years ago following his brother’s conviction and sentencing, with open remarks against the witnesses in his brother’s case. Mr Marshall’s brother, Eddie Marshall, died in custody on 29 August this year. Members of the public are advised not to approach or deal with Mr Marshall. It is believed he is armed and dangerous. Anyone with any knowledge of Mr Marshall’s whereabouts are urged to contact Crime Stoppers.’

‘Oh God!’ Wendy dropped the remote.

It hit the vinyl floor with a resounding
THWACK
as scenes flashed past her eyes in quick succession like the highlights of a movie she hadn’t realised she’d been watching.

Gavin complaining about the lack of fun in her life. ‘Because I’ve limited my choices because I must. You, you beautiful girl, don’t need to bury yourself.’