The Last Motel (9 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Morrie used his Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifle for two reasons; primarily for hunting, mostly rabbits and ducks. The second reason, and heaven forbid it should ever happen, was as a self defence weapon in case somebody ever broke into their house. That had fortunately yet to occur.

Morrie’s father had given him an old bolt-action rifle, but his own carelessness had let the gun rust when he left it out in the rain years ago.

He got talked into buying a .223 semi-automatic by the sales assistant, and it took Morrie a while to get used to it. Now, he was in love with his Ruger. He took special care with the cleaning and handling. It was a slightly lighter and smaller gun than his old bolt-action, but it fit his hunting needs just fine.

He kept it hidden away in the bedroom closet. He had thought about buying a glass cabinet, or even a simple rack, but the thought of waking up in the dead of night to find a robber, or worse, lurking in the house, and the gun locked away somewhere in another room, didn’t appeal to Morrie. He wanted to be able to grab the rifle as quickly as possible, in case of an emergency.

And Morrie agreed with his wife. Two strange men dressed in suits and wearing sunglasses at night was an emergency, or at least a possible one.

In amongst their clothes and hangers, Morrie grabbed the rifle that stood propped against the closet wall, and pulled off the protective rags.

“Hurry up, Morrie,” Judy whimpered.

Morrie was filled with too much rage and exhilaration to bother shouting at Judy to be quiet. Instead, he said, “Go and get the cartridges.”

Judy nodded and rushed over to Morrie’s bedside drawer.

The magazine was stored in a large shoebox on the ground beside the rifle. With the gun in his right hand, Morrie bent down and picked up the shoebox.

The doorbell rang again.

“Shit,” he muttered.

He hurriedly opened the shoebox and pulled out the dark grey magazine.

“Here we go,” Judy whispered from behind.

Morrie moved over to the bed where he lay down the rifle and started thumbing the cartridges into the magazine. When it was full, Morrie picked up his rifle and locked the magazine in place.

Without speaking a word, he ran out of the bedroom, down the hall and towards the garage. Judy stayed close behind him the whole time.

Holding the gun firmly in his right hand, Morrie crept through the dim, cold garage. He knocked into the boxes, gave them no thought, and made it to the side door.

“You stay in here,” Morrie whispered. He unlocked the door with his left hand, and peeked through the small gap. He saw the two men not by the front door, but wandering around the lawn. They appeared to be gazing around at the house, talking to each other.

Wonder which one’s the gook
, he thought.

With a deep breath, Morrie stepped out of the garage. He held the rifle low by his right side. “Can I help you?” he asked. His voice came out strong, threatening.

The figure closest to Morrie started walking towards him. Just like Judy said, the stranger was wearing dark sunglasses, and an equally dark suit and fedora hat.

“Hey man, what kind of party is this? What are you supposed to be?”

Morrie could tell by the voice that the one venturing closer was the Asian. The other figure remained back.

“Don’t come any closer,” Morrie warned.

“Very funny, now let us in.”

The other person said something to the Asian, which Morrie couldn’t quite hear. The Asian turned around and answered him. He then turned back around and kept on walking.

“I’m gonna have to ask you men to leave,” Morrie demanded.

The Asian laughed. “Very funny. What took you so long anyway?”

Morrie still held the rifle by his side. His hand was twitching; should he bring it up?

The figure standing back removed his sunglasses. Morrie glanced over at the man, caught a glimpse of his face, but quickly brought his eyes back to the approaching Asian.

“Stop!” Morrie bellowed.

The Asian brought up his hands. “Hey, it’s cool.” He chuckled.  He then lowered his right arm and reached into his jacket.

Oh my God!
Morrie screamed in his head.

Before he had a chance to think twice about it, Morrie raised the rifle, aimed it at the Asian’s chest and fired.

The loud crack echoed through the night, and Morrie saw the Asian lunge backwards. He heard Judy cry out from behind him, and he fired once more, the bullet hitting the Asian just above the first wound.

He saw blood spurt out into the night; although it looked like black oil.

The Asian never made a sound.

He fell back with a dull thud. Morrie heard him gasping, then gurgle.

Then all was quiet.

Judy had stopped crying and the remnants of the blasts faded with the clouds of smoke.

Still with the rifle poised, Morrie blinked down at the dead Asian.

The only reason he looked away was that his eyes caught the movement of the other figure running towards the street.

Shoot him. Should I shoot him?

He placed his finger on the trigger, but before he could fire at the fleeing man, he had vanished.

Morrie remained in the same position for what felt like ages. When Judy touched him on the back, he gasped and turned around fast.

“It’s only me,” she said quietly. “Did you have to shoot him?”

Morrie stared at her blankly. “He was reaching for a gun.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “They were going to kill us? Who were they?”

Morrie felt himself shake his head. He turned around and walked over to the body. Judy remained near the door, watching.

He looked down at the lifeless body of the Asian. He had a white shirt on under the black jacket, so the two small holes in his chest stood out like shit in a flower shop. Blood dribbled from the two wounds. The grass underneath was considerably darker than the rest of the lawn.

Morrie crouched down.

“Don’t touch him,” Judy called out. Her voice sounded tearful.

Crouched by the body, Morrie realised he could now see the Asian’s eyes. Sometime, either while he was being shot, or as he fell to the ground, his sunglasses had come off, along with his hat. The Asian now lay sprawled on the damp grass with his eyes open. You could tell a lot about a person by their eyes.

The body lying on his front lawn looked no more than eighteen years old.

“Jesus,” Morrie sighed. “I shot a kid.”

Still, kid or not, he had been planning to shoot both him and Judy.

I had to
, he thought.
I had to shoot him
.

Morrie gazed over to the boy’s right hand, to the object clutched between his fingers. “Oh no,” he moaned. He straightened and stepped over to the boy’s lifeless hand. He squatted down and peered at the bit of paper lodged between the boy’s thumb and index finger.

Even in the dim light Morrie could see what it was.

It was an invitation to a Halloween party. He could make out the time and date, but not the address. He also noticed the grinning skulls that bordered the rectangular piece of paper.

Morrie hurried back over to Judy. “We have to get out of here.”

He saw the terror in Judy’s eyes. “What! Why don’t we call the police? It was self-defence.”

Morrie shook his head. “He was just a kid, Judy. Looked about eighteen.”

“So? He was still going to kill us.” After a long pause she asked, “Wasn’t he?”

Morrie took a deep breath. “He didn’t have a gun. He was reaching for a party invitation.”

Tears fell from Judy’s eyes.

“I thought he was going for his gun,” Morrie said softly.  “How was I to know...?”

“Come on,” Judy said. “Who knows how long it will take for the other boy to reach someone. He might’ve already called the police.”

They ran through the garage and back into the house, Morrie’s bathrobe flapping as he ran.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Four bags were lying on the bed: two large gym bags, and two suitcases. All were filled with their clothes and personal items. They had decided on one travel bag and one suitcase each.

“Hurry up,” Morrie called out to Judy. He was in the process of packing the rifle into the large Adidas gym bag, along with the unused cartridges, all of the spare boxes of ammunition, and the magazine. He zipped the bag, the faint smell of gunpowder still residing in the gun.

Judy was scrounging around in the bathroom. He wasn’t sure if she had heard him. He stood beside their bed of twenty years, sweat dripping from his face, and tried to clear his mind as best he could.

“Okay, have I forgotten anything?” he said aloud.

Morrie wasn’t a complicated guy. He didn’t have very many clothes –  didn’t need them. He only had the very basic of personal items; razor, toothbrush, deodorant and after-shave. His most important possession was in the Adidas bag.

His suitcase held all of his clothes and personal items.

They had quickly decided, as they ran into the house, that they would make it look like they were on a holiday. Hence the need to take things they could buy anywhere like toothbrushes and deodorant, but that they would take on holiday.

He searched through the wardrobe again. Positive he had everything he needed, Morrie went over to the bed and closed the suitcase. He spotted the two packs of Benson and Hedges sitting on his bedside drawer. He grabbed them both and shoved one into his coat pocket, the other into his front jeans pocket.

Judy came shuffling into the bedroom, her hands empty. “I think I’ve got everything from the bathroom.”

“Are you all packed, then?” Morrie said.

“I’ll check the lounge one more time.”

Morrie groaned. “Make it quick.”

She rushed out of the bedroom.

Morrie grabbed his two bags and walked out of the bedroom. As he hurried towards the front door, he heard Judy in the lounge. She was crying. He put the suitcase down, opened the door, then picked it up and sped out into the night. As he ran towards the car, Morrie glanced over at the body. In his mind he pictured the Asian getting up, his eyes blankly staring at him, the holes in his chest dripping gore. With his arms dangling lifelessly by his sides, the Asian began ambling towards Morrie, his zombified brain wanting nothing more than to eat his soft, fatty body.

“Fucking movie,” he mumbled. He shook the image away and hurried over to the car.

His Ford Falcon Longreach was parked in the driveway directly in front of the garage. It was old and grimy; the way Morrie liked it. He set the bags down and opened the double doors. The tainted smell of dead animals and guns wafted out. They filled him with sorrow. It took him back to his happiest times – alone, out in the quiet woods, with his Ruger Mini-14. He wondered if he would ever get to enjoy that again.

Not behind bars, you won’t
, he thought.

He threw the two bags into the back then closed the doors. He ran back into the house.

“Get your arse moving,” he shouted into the darkness. Only the hallway light and a lamp in the lounge were on. He darted down to his left and into their bedroom. He zipped up the travel bag and closed the suitcase.
If Judy still has things to pack, let her do it in the car, he thought. He ran out to the hallway.

Judy came out of the lounge, turning off the lamp as she went past, holding what looked like photo albums. He could see her eyes were still teary, and she seemed to be clutching the albums tighter than was necessary.

Morrie didn’t say anything about it. He smiled quickly at her, then waited until she was outside.

“Now are you sure you have everything?”

She nodded.

He switched off the hallway light, then slammed the door shut. “Try not to look at him,” Morrie told her.

She took his advice and never turned her head. Morrie couldn’t help but look.

Do as I say, not as I do
, Morrie laughed inside. But the sight of the bloody body spread out in the damp grass, out in the cold night, made him feel ill. It made him sick knowing that he was responsible, even if he was just a gook.

They hurried over to the car. Morrie opened the right back door and chucked Judy’s bags in. Judy was already waiting at the passenger door. She was looking over her shoulder at the dark road. Looking out for police car lights, Morrie guessed. After he had slammed and locked the back doors, Morrie stood for a moment and listened. Nope, he couldn’t hear any sirens.

He rushed around to the driver’s side, opened the door and then jumped in. He leaned over and unlocked the passenger door. Judy hopped in. She reached around to the back and dropped the photo albums softly on the floor beside the bags. She then turned back around.

His hands shaking, Morrie managed to slip the key into the ignition, turned it, and the car grumbled to life. He was about to flip on the headlights, but stopped himself. He didn’t want to see the dead boy grotesquely lit up like some attraction at the circus any more than he knew Judy would.

“We’re just going to leave him there,” Judy said; though it wasn’t a question, merely a statement.

Morrie stared at their modest house for what could possibly be the last time, and felt a ping of sadness. They had spent twenty long, but happy, years there. No children had grown up in there, but he had spent all of his adulthood cooped up in that small house, out in the lonely bush land of Lilydale.

Morrie backed the car out of the driveway. He saw a car parked over on his right. He knew it had to be the boy’s car.

He didn’t drive away
, Morrie thought.
Wonder why?

But he didn’t give the matter too much consideration. He just wanted to be away from the house, away from the body. Morrie straightened the car, and roared away from their house.

He switched on the headlights. Judy was gazing out the window, her body wobbling from her incessant crying. “Where are we going to go?” she sobbed.

Morrie hadn’t consciously thought about it, but he had automatically headed for the Maroondah Highway. That seemed like the most sensible choice; it was the closest highway, and it led through dense bush land and mountains. And Morrie knew that there were hordes of small towns littered all along, all the way up to Mansfield. After that, the Maroondah joined to the Hume Highway and that led to New South Wales and beyond. If they could make it to another state, hide out somewhere remote, they would be safe. “The Maroondah Highway,” Morrie said.

“Are we going to drive all the way to New South Wales tonight?” Judy asked.

“We’ll see.”