Sold to the Devil by Blair Denholm

Author:Blair Denholm [Denholm, Blair]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blair Denholm
Published: 2020-06-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

The air became still again after Devlin’s furry backside squeezed between a couple of bracken shrubs and disappeared into the bush. As if in a corny stage play, Devlin’s exit was matched by Jordie’s entrance from the other side of the picnic area.

‘Where the fuck have you been? I was starting to worry,’ said Gary.

‘Mate, you were right saying no to eatin’ the wallaby. Meat musta been rotten. My guts were about to explode, had to duck into the woods for a dump. Toilets are padlocked.’

‘Fair enough.’

Jordie began packing up. He grabbed a pair of tongs, put them in a Tupperware container. ‘Reckon we oughta head back home before it gets dark.’

The trip would only take half an hour. Might not be enough time. Best do as Devlin said, cut to the chase. ‘Jordie. You and me. We’re good mates, right?’

‘Sure, Dylan. The best. I never had a friend like you, ‘cept me bruvver Steve. Most people make fun of me. Bullies ‘n that. You’ve seen ‘em at the oyster farm. Reckon I’m dumb.’

‘Here mate, have a smoke.’ Gary had pinched a packet of Tracey’s tailor-mades. Someone at the pub must be buying them for her; she sure as hell couldn’t afford them.

‘Cheers.’ Jordie’s face brightened. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

‘Now, you know I’d do anything to help you out in a jam, right? I got you the little job with Nugget, didn’t I?’ He prayed Jordie would see it that way, not remember it was the other way round, that the two of them had been approached by Nugget.

‘You sure did.’ The simpleton’s smile broadened. ‘And it helped me get this rifle.’ He patted the gun resting against the picnic table, already in its canvas bag.

‘I’m going to admit something to you. I wasn’t being totally honest about my shooting prowess.’

‘Wassat? One of them German semi-autos? Like a Mauser?’

‘No. I meant my skill level. I was embarrassed to admit it before. I used to be a crack shot, now I’m rubbish.’ Time to pull out the big lie. It was a ripper, helped him sell a house on the Gold Coast not too long ago. ‘I don’t tell many people this, so count yourself among the privileged few.’ He paused, looked up at the sky, cursed himself for using fancy words again. ‘I did a tour of duty in Afghanistan in my early twenties. Fifth RAR. One day, me and my comrades got into a spot of bother on a lonely mountain road. A terrorist disguised as a farmer bailed up our armoured vehicle. He was going to lob a grenade at us, so I pulled out my assault rifle in the nick of time and blew the bugger’s brains out. Haven’t been able to shoot since. Can’t sleep. It’s why I drink so much. And gamble. It affects everything. My relationship with Tracey. I can barely hold it together.’

‘Bloody hell, Dylan. That’s awful.’

‘Not as awful as the trouble I’m in now.’

‘What? How could it be worse?’

A gust of wind blew fat snowflakes across the picnic table.

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