Davo's Little Something (41 page)

Glowering with rage the tall hood began to move towards the grinning Davo, just as Colin came round the front of the car to take a hand in things. He needn't have bothered. The hoodlum had barely moved into range when Davo whacked him with a left hook that, gloves or no gloves, hit him in the face with a sound like someone throwing half a house brick at a pumpkin; and it did about the same amount of damage. Arms flailing crazily, his feet went from under him and he crashed down onto the pavement half on his side. He raised his head up in amazement for a split second, wondering what on earth had just hit him, then lay there out cold, blood bubbling over his lips and down both sides of his mouth.

Automatically Davo shaped up and began to advance towards the hood's mate—who was just about to get on the toe and leave his friend rather than cop another one of Davo's surprise thunderbolts—when the sight of Colin standing wide-eyed at the front of the car stopped him.

‘Jesus bloody Christ,' was all Colin said. The two girls just stood there with their hands over their mouths not saying anything: but they were echoing the same sentiments.

Like he was coming out of a trance, the sound of Colin's voice stopped Davo in his tracks and he then realised what he'd just done. He silently cursed himself. Christ, now he'd blown it for sure. But there was only Colin and after tonight they'd probably never see the two girls again. Maybe he was still safe.

‘Christ almighty,' said Colin again, slowly shaking his head as he stared at the unconscious hood lying in a steadily increasing pool of blood on the footpath. Not only was he shocked at
the mess the bloke's face was in, but since they were kids Colin had scarcely ever known Davo to throw a punch. ‘Jesus, Davo. What did you hit him with?' he said again.

‘I didn't hit him,' said Davo quickly. ‘I only pushed him. He must have been drunk and fallen over. He must have hit his head on the footpath.' Davo looked over at a highly sceptical Colin who obviously didn't believe him. ‘Come on. Let's get in the car and piss off.'

Colin had another look at the unconscious hood and at the other hero who was still standing there trying to dissolve into the wall. ‘Yeah righto,' he blinked, still not quite believing what he'd just witnessed. He got the door open and they all bundled inside for the short drive back to Davo's.

‘Are you sure you only pushed that bloke?' said Colin, watching Davo in the rear-vision mirror. Davo was sitting in the back next to Ailie.

‘Yeah, that's all. He was pissed and fell over.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Anyway it served the goose right,' said Davo, trying to sound flippant as he put his left hand on Ailie's knee. ‘You can't go around saying things like that in front of nice country girls.'

Ailie put her hand on top of Davo's. ‘So you just pushed him eh?' she smiled.

‘That's all,' replied Davo. ‘I was only trying to protect your honour.'

‘And you just pushed him.' There was a sizeable piece of skin missing from one of Davo's knuckles where his fist had caught the hood in the teeth. Ailie ran her fingers gently over it then smiled at Davo again like a cat that had just eaten all the cream.

Before long they were all settled comfortably in Davo's lounge listening to the FM stereo. The Irish coffees had been made, the lights were dimmed and they were sitting back on opposite lounges sipping their hot drinks. The incident with the hoodlum was over but for Colin Andrews it was definitely not forgotten. The Bob Davis he was out with tonight was nothing like Bob Davis his butcher mate of old and what had just happened in Bronte Road only added to the enigma. There was something wrong here and something more than just a little bit frightening;
however, for the moment he would put it out of his mind. Donna's loose-fitting top had begun to slip over her shoulder to reveal her black bra-strap and a fairly firm mound of nicely tanned tit, and with the Irish coffee starting to surge through him he was just about ready to rip her collarbone out with his teeth.

They had another coffee each and chit-chatted away for a little while longer to allow for a certain amount of protocol before they paired off into the bedrooms—they didn't want the night to be a straight-out orgy. Naturally, it was Colin who made the first move. Davo was giving Ailie's neck a bit of a stroke and she was beginning to breathe a little heavy when he saw Colin quietly take Donna by the arm and lead her towards the spare bedroom—it was a photo-finish who went through the door first before it clicked shut behind them.

Davo slipped his hand behind Ailie's head and softly drew her face towards him. It started off as a gentle kiss but then her arms suddenly snaked around his neck and she crushed her lips hungrily onto his; the next thing she gave a little sigh and her hot sweet tongue darted hungrily into his mouth.

Davo ran his hand under her top, hooked his thumb in the front of her bra, lifted it up and cupped his hands over her breasts, gently stroking the firm, erect nipples between his fingers. Ailie squirmed against him on the lounge, pushing her crotch against his thigh and moaning softly as Davo ran his tongue around her ear, over her neck and slowly and agonisingly across her nipples, then he slipped his hand onto her crotch rubbing it steadily while he kissed her lips and breasts. Ailie squealed some more then bit his lip and grabbed at his fly.

‘Oh God. Take me into the bedroom,' she moaned.

It was then that Davo noticed that something was wrong. Normally, by now, after a heavy bout of kissing and groping and specially after having a nice tongue slipped into his mouth and ear, Davo would have had an erection hard enough to jemmy open a window with. But now there was nothing. He was flaccid, completely limp: and he was more than a little worried. Since he'd got out of hospital and started training, concentrating only on that and killing skinheads, he'd never even thought about sex. He wasn't going out anywhere so why
bother. As soon as his head hit the pillow at night he was asleep and as soon as he got up in the morning he went straight into his training. He'd never really noticed he hadn't had an erection in all that time, sex was the last thing on his mind. Though he imagined when the time did come he'd be more than up to it. But now this.

‘Come on, Bob—for Christ's sake. Take me inside.' Ailie was almost screaming as she started getting up off the lounge.

‘Yeah righto,' replied Davo glumly. He was going to have to try nevertheless.

There was enough light in the bedroom for Ailie to see where the bed was; she quickly stripped down to a pair of skimpy blue lace knickers and jumped on top. Davo stripped down to his jocks and got in beside her though his predicament remained the same; even the sight of Ailie with her long legs spread wide open, panting as she ran her tongue around her lips did nothing to improve it. He kissed her breasts again and placed his hand on her crutch which was hot, wet and sticky. He found her clitoris, rigid and swollen and began vibrating it with his middle finger. Ailie squealed and moaned and writhed around the bed in ecstasy as Davo kept rubbing away firmly but gently. Before long she snarled at Davo then closed her eyes and gave a muffled scream as she bit into his shoulder and orgasmed all over his hand. The sounds she was making were enough to turn a normal man into a raving sex maniac—but still Davo was completely limp.

Ailie tore off her knickers and flung them to the side of the room. ‘Come on you bastard. Fuck me,' she demanded and spread her legs further across the bed.

Davo swallowed hard. ‘Ailie,' he muttered. ‘I can't do anything.'

In the darkness he could see the whites of her eyes staring at him. ‘What do you mean you can't do anything?' she bristled.

‘This is what I mean.' Davo took her hand and put it down the front of his jocks.

‘Jesus!' she gasped in disbelief. ‘What's the matter with you?'

‘It was that car accident.'

She stared at him for a second then crouched down over him and put her mouth around him: but still nothing. Davo
felt awful. He was confused and angry at himself—and starting to get angry at her too. Ailie was just horribly frustrated.

‘Oh Christ, I don't believe this,' she cursed, and threw herself back on the bed. ‘Well give me another hand job for God's sake. Finger me. Do some bloody thing.'

Davo did: if only for peace of mind. But he was that angry he could have thrown her out of the flat: and Colin and Donna too. The night had turned into a disaster. Not only had he blown his cover, now this had to happen. As he lay there stroking and working on Ailie with his hand, for some reason, probably because he was frustrated and angry at himself for being so useless in bed, he suddenly found himself feeling disgusted with her. Jesus I wish you were somewhere else out of here you stupid, soapy moll he thought to himself.

Ailie turned and twisted on the bed obviously not enjoying herself. ‘Ohh shit, this is no good,' she said through gritted teeth. ‘Can't you do something else?'

Davo looked at her contemptuously. ‘Hold on a second,' he said, and got up from the bed.

‘Where are you going?'

Davo ignored her and started rummaging through one of the drawers in his dressing table till he found what he was looking for beneath a pile of T-shirts. Christ, it's been months since I've used this. I hope the bloody batteries still work he thought. He gave the base a twist and the large vibrator hummed into life in his hands. You beaut. Good old Mister Buzz. And good old alkaline-energisers.

‘What have you got there?' panted Ailie, still writhing around on the bed like a snake.

‘My mate Mister Buzz. You'll love him,' replied Davo.

He lay next to her on his side and placed the pulsating vibrator between her legs. Ailie's tongue stuck out as she choked in a gasp of surprise and ecstasy then she buried her face against Davo's neck and began writhing around the bed more feverishly than ever, while Davo lay there watching her impassively.

‘Ohh, put it inside me,' she groaned.

Davo obliged and Ailie let out a high pitched squeal of pure rapture that quickly turned into a scream of blissful agony as Davo plunged it in deeper; but still Davo could not be aroused.

‘Ohh shit! How good's this,' she gargled.

‘This is my other little something,' said Davo, in a private joke to himself.

‘Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhhhh!'

Davo lay there in the soft darkness watching her going through the throes of sensual abandonment, though to Davo, in the state he was in, it was nothing more than a drag. God I wish I was somewhere bloody else he thought.

As he lay there on his side watching her he began to reflect on how this whole rotten thing had come about. His beating. Wayne's death. Hospital. His training. The killings. The girl. The two detectives. That young bloke out of the blue tonight. And now this. A terrible sense of foreboding suddenly overcame him and he began to think, or to realise that this couldn't go on forever. Sooner or later something had to happen. Something bad. He'd either end up in gaol, or more likely a mental institution pumped full of sedatives for the rest of his life. Or even more likely—dead. Either at the hands of the police or he'd get overconfident one night and a gang would beat him to death or knife him. Dead eh. But what sort of life was he leading anyway. Women were obviously of no use to him, so what was he going to do? Go on killing people to get his kicks. God, if only things had been different. And to think, if he hadn't gone to that Santana concert with Wayne that Thursday night he'd have been taking out that beautiful Sandra Lessing the following Saturday. Sandra Lessing. God how lovely she was. So sweet. So innocent. Jesus, how would it have been?

The more he watched Ailie wriggling on the bed and felt her slobbering all over his neck the more she began to repulse him. He closed his eyes and let a mental picture of Sandra and himself take over his mind. They were having a picnic or a barbecue out in the country somewhere. There was no one around for miles, just birds and trees and a beautiful crystal-clear stream gurgling happily past them. They were sitting on a blanket on the soft grass sipping some chilled wine and stealing a kiss every now and again. Then he'd lower her on to the blanket and they'd make love under the warm sun. Tenderly, wonderfully, naturally. Not like screwing and having to satisfy this half drunken pig of a thing on the bed next
to him for the sake of an empty. He kept his eyes jammed shut and thought of beautiful Sandra.

Ironically, at that very point in time Sandra was sitting in the front seat of a Holden panel van parked in Bronte Cutting, where it runs up from the beach through the cliffs, not far up from the shops. Sandra didn't particularly wish to be there. She'd been out earlier with a young surfie from around the Bronte Clovelly area to see a band at the Golden Sheaf Hotel in Double Bay. The guy was goodlooking enough and he'd been alright at the start until he got a few middies and a number of Bacardi and Cokes into him. He'd promised to drive her straight home but instead they'd finished up here in Bronte Cutting. She'd given him a few kisses to try and keep him happy but now he was all over her, groping at her breasts and trying to get his hand between her legs; while some Midnight Oil tape howled through the speakers in the back. As the young surfie kept groping at her and Sandra kept trying to move her face away from his, quite out of the blue she suddenly found herself thinking about Bob Davis. God—Davo. I wonder how he is now?

Almost a year to get through to the big loveable larrikin, and when I do that had to happen. One lousy stinkin' Thursday night and now he refuses to see me. God—Davo. The one person, the one man she genuinely cared for: even if he was years older than her. But he was nice with her. A little shy maybe but always funny and kind. And the look on his face that afternoon she'd said she'd go out with him. He'd tried to hide it but he looked like he was about to fall straight through the floor in the chemist's. Wouldn't they have had some fun together. Where would they have gone? Anywhere. Imagine a picnic with Davo somewhere. A barbecue. He would have got the best steaks possible from the butcher shop and they'd have driven off into the country somewhere together. Somewhere with no one around. Sandra could picture it now almost as if she was watching a film in her mind. They'd be near a stream or a lagoon. They'd cook the steaks and drink wine and listen to the birds singing in the sunshine. Then they'd go swimming in the lagoon and eventually they'd take their
swimming costumes off and make love together, bobbing around in the clear warm water. Oh how lovely that would be. And somehow it all seemed so real to her as she sat there—as if somehow for that brief few moments her and Davo's thoughts had become intertwined through space and time. A little shiver of happiness suddenly ran up Sandra's spine as if for some reason she felt that in a strange way she and Bob would get together again. Forever.