Davo's Little Something (42 page)

Sandra snapped out of it, back to reality, and jammed her elbows into the young surfie's chest to heave him away.

‘Look, are you going to take me home or what?' she snapped. ‘I've had enough of this.'

The young surfie looked at her sourly from behind the steering wheel. ‘You can get out and bloody walk if you like,' was his rancorous reply.

‘Alright,' said Sandra defiantly, taking hold of the door handle. ‘I bloody well will. It doesn't worry me.'

The young surfie glared at her. Annoyance and frustration stamped all over his face. Plus the thought that in the course of the night he'd blown almost fifteen dollars. ‘Alright. You pain in the arse,' he said bitterly, as he turned the key in the ignition. ‘I'll bloody well be glad to get rid of you.'

Davo's hand was now starting to feel like it was ready to fall off. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there but it seemed like hours and the way Ailie was going on she would have laid there and copped it all night. But Davo had had enough.

‘Come on,' he almost barked at her, taking the vibrator away and switching it off. ‘That's enough. I'll finish up being here all bloody night.'

Ailie's eyes flew open and she made a startled movement with her hands. ‘Ohh what are you doing?' she snapped.

‘Come on get dressed. I want to go to sleep.' Davo got his tracksuit, that was folded up on a chair, and started putting it on.

‘Yeah. I think I will,' sneered Ailie. She found her panties on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed while she put them on. ‘I might go out and see if I can find myself a real man.'

‘Don't bother looking for a man. See if you can find a horse. You'll need it to fill that thing of yours.'

Even in the darkness of the bedroom, Davo could see the filthy look on Ailie's face as she started climbing in to the rest of her clothes.

‘You miserable prick,' she said.

Davo ignored her and went out into the kitchen to get a glass of orange and mango juice from the fridge. A minute or two later Ailie came out of the bedroom plonked herself down on the lounge and lit a cigarette. Davo didn't offer her a drink. They didn't exchange glances.

It wasn't long before Colin and Donna came out of the spare bedroom. Donna's hair looked like a burst sofa, her makeup was smudged all over her face and she had her shoes in her hand. She stood there looking at Ailie while she adjusted her jeans with this foxy satisfied look tugging at her eyes and the sides of her mouth. Colin had certainly done some sort of an outstanding job in there, that was for sure.

Colin's hair was streaked with sweat and the rest of his head too, and even from the kitchen Davo could see several ugly purple welts around his neck; for all that he had a look on his face like someone who had just won the Opera House Lottery. The look on his face quickly changed when he saw Davo standing moodily in the kitchen and a sour-faced Ailie sitting on the lounge sucking testily on another cigarette. The way Davo was now he didn't know quite what to say, but he knew something was radically wrong.

‘How's it going, mate?' he said quietly.

‘I've got a headache, Colin. I want to go to bed. Can you drive these . . . these two home?'

Colin stood there and blinked at him for a second. ‘Yeah sure, mate.'

That was Ailie's cue. She jumped up off the lounge without bothering to even look at either Colin or Davo. ‘Yeah, come on. Let's go,' she said, and headed for the door.

Donna looked curiously at her girlfriend, then at Davo and followed her to the door. Somewhat puzzled, Colin shuffled along behind her. Ailie jerked the door open, stepped outside and started down the stairs; she didn't say goodnight to Davo,
she didn't even look at him. Donna gave him a brief smile and followed her. Colin hesitated in the doorway while in the background you could hear the girls' high-heeled shoes thumping down the stairs. He stood there, still not knowing what to say to Davo standing stony-faced in the kitchen.

‘Well—I guess I'd better get these sheilas home,' he shrugged. How about I ah . . . give you a ring tomorrow?'

‘I won't be going out on the weekend,' replied Davo flatly.

‘Yeah, okay, mate.'

‘In fact leave it for me to ring you through the week. Okay?'

‘Yeah sure, mate.' Colin paused for a moment. ‘Is everything alright, Davo?'

‘Everything's fine, Colin. I'll ring you through the week.'

‘Okay, mate.' Colin moved towards the open door. ‘I'll see you then.'

‘Goodnight, Colin.'

‘See you, Davo.'

Colin stepped out onto the landing and closed the door behind him. He was extremely puzzled and his face was a mask of disappointment; he stood there for a few moments completely mystified. Even though it had been a good night—a ripper really—it had also been a complete mystery, especially the way it ended on such a strange, sour note. Even though he was disappointed and knew he could again kiss going back to Davo's for the good times goodbye, it was more, much more than that. Davo had changed completely. He was a different man altogether now. Colin was convinced he'd just lost one of the best friends he'd ever had and he also had this awful feeling that for some reason or other he was never going to see Davo again. Buggered if I know he thought, and shook his head as he ran down the stairs to the girls waiting on the footpath ouside.

Davo glared moodily at the door for some time after Colin left while he slowly finished his glass of fruit juice; his face looked like it was made of granite. ‘You rotten, stinkin' bastard' he cursed bitterly, then flung the empty glass into the sink smashing it into a thousand pieces. He slept reasonably well but he was in an absolutely ropeable mood when he got up the following morning.

Hatred filled Davo's heart as he stood there in the bedroom.
Hatred for himself but mainly for Ailie and what she had said to him. He sensed, he could still feel her presence in the room; he noticed the stains on his sheets and with a curse he tore them, plus the pillowslips, from the bed, bundled them up and stuffed them into the washing machine. The loungeroom stank of cigarettes when he walked out there. He saw the ashtrays half full of cigarette butts with lipstick all over the ends, cursed out loud and flung the lot, butts, matches, ashtray into the kitchen-tidy, then sprayed the loungeroom with Glen-20. He imagined he could still feel her presence on his body and with another string of curses got into an almost scalding shower, scrubbed himself and his teeth and gargled with Listerine. Good thing I didn't stick it up her, he cursed to himself again as he climbed into his tracksuit. She probably would have had the jack anyway.

Davo's foul mood manifested itself in his training; it was the only way he could seem to get it out of his system. The chest expander sang, he couldn't seem to skip fast enough and this time he did punch the heavy bag right off the hooks. He did three hours in the morning and another three in the afternoon; which he topped off with twenty muscle-wrenching sprints up and down the steps in the Oval.

After a huge evening meal of pork chops and fried rice he was sitting in the loungeroom feeling a little better but still brooding into a mug of coffee about what Ailie had said to him. Go out and find herself a real man. Real man. I'd like to give the moll real man he thought. If I knew where her and her black slag of a girlfriend lived I'd go round later tonight and smash both their heads in. He gave a contemptuous chuckle into his coffee. Wouldn't that give the cops something to think about. Colin would know who it was though and then I'd probably have to kill him too. So what shrugged Davo. He only wants to use me up half the bloody time anyway. So I kill him and the two girls. Then what? Where does it end? Do I go and try to kill everybody? He sucked in a deep breath and clenched his teeth. I wouldn't bloody mind.

Davo finished his coffee while he studied the TV guide, eventually flinging it back on the coffee table in disgust. Not a bloody thing worth watching. He put the empty mug in the
kitchen, looked at it for a moment, then walked across to the sliding glass windows in the loungeroom and stared out into the night and at the lights of the cars streaming up and down busy Bondi Road. It was a perfect night for killing. A slight breeze and plenty of cloud cover. Should he risk it? Jesus there'd be some cops around after him killing those two detectives. But what about if I try somewhere else. What about Glebe or Balmain. Or go right out in the Western suburbs. The cops will only be looking for me around the Cross and Taylor Square. They can't be everywhere. But the Cross and round Oxford Street and the inner city are where all the skinheads hang out. Or at least the ones I'm looking for anyway. The ones I'm looking for. The one I'm looking for.

Then it dawned on Davo what he was really looking for. Even though by now he definitely enjoyed killing—and after what happened with Ailie last night and what she said that was about all he had left—there was more to it than that. Just one burning desire that he had to quench. He had to find the skinhead with the red hair and the swastikas on his boots. If he could find him and kill him the poison and hatred eating away inside him like a cancer would be flushed from his body. He'd probably get his virility back. But how could he find him? And what would he do when he did? Davo sucked in another deep breath through his nose, held it for a second then let it out again. It wouldn't be very pretty and it wouldn't be very quick either. But how was he going to find him? One thing for sure: he wouldn't find him gazing out his loungeroom window.

Davo rubbed his hand nervously across his face. He couldn't go out killing tonight. He hadn't had his afternoon sleep, he was confused and he knew there'd be police everywhere. But the bloodlust in him was too strong. In fifteen minutes he was changed, the gloves were jammed in the front pocket of his black cotton jacket and he was driving over the bumps in the freeway behind Bondi Junction heading for Kings Cross.

It was after ten when Davo turned right off Bayswater Rd to take the back way into the Cross and come up Victoria Street. He'd hardly got past the El Alamein fountain when he noticed the increased numbers of patrol cars and uniform police
on foot. Even from inside his utility he could see they weren't just walking aimlessly around but appeared to be intently checking out all the passersby, especially any men on their own. They'd stop them, take notes and talk into their twoway radios for a few moments before letting them go to continue on their way. There was fear and apprehension on the faces of the police too, and although Kings Cross always has that atmosphere of danger about it, tonight Davo could notice a sense of urgency in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Shit! This is no good he thought. If the cops are as thick as this in the main streets you can bet the back alleys will be swarming with undercover ones: like those two the other night. He hung a left at South Dowling and further on turned right into Oxford Street. The strip was the same. Police everywhere and people walking around that looked like police. But the more this hampered and frustrated Davo the more determined it made him to get out and kill someone. Anyone. He turned left into Riley Street and came up Bourke past the old Crown Street Women's Hospital, all rundown and forlorn and daubed with graffiti now that it was closed down, then turned right into Bourke. It was a lot quieter here and there didn't seem to be any cops around. He cruised slowly through Surry Hills, carefully scanning the streets for both cops and victims when just up ahead on his left, walking past a deserted hotel, he noticed what could be promising.

Two punks. Fairly big blokes in overalls, boots and denim shirts with close-cropped hair. As he cruised past Davo couldn't help but notice their surly faces and an air of aggravation about them in the way they hunched their shoulders and swaggered as they walked. Well, well, well smiled Davo. These two big punks or whatever they are look like they're out for a bit of ag. Well they've come to the right place. In the rear-vision mirror Davo saw them abruptly turn off into a lane on their left. Davo had to kill someone tonight and this was too good an opportunity to miss. That'll do me. He swung left into a narrow street, quickly grabbed the first parking space he could find, locked the car and dashed off into a lane opposite which he was sure would make his path cross that of the two men in overalls.

He sprinted to the end of the lane, stopped on the corner and there were the two punks, still walking towards Moore Park, about twenty metres to his right. Apart from the three of them there didn't appear to be anyone else around but it was a narrow street this time, there were houses on either side and it could have been a lot darker. It was risky, but it was a chance he would just have to take: he had to kill someone tonight. This'll be just like the first one he thought, as he sprinted past the two big punks and stopped a few metres in front of them, the adrenalin pumping through him, the gloves on and his arms hanging loosely by his sides.

The two men slowed down slightly but the swagger was still in their walk and they showed absolutely no signs of fear. There was a street lamp not far away and as they got closer Davo noticed something odd about the two men. Their faces were still full of aggro, which seemed to intensify at the sight of Davo bobbing up in front of them, however there was something else about them that Davo couldn't quite put his finger on. Then it dawned on him. They weren't men. The two punks were women. Davo's victims had turned out to be a couple of huge vicious lesbians.

The two lesbians didn't hesitate when they saw Davo standing there on his own. They hated all men and as far as they were concerned Davo was a rapist; the worst kind. They'd spent months training and getting advice at the Rape Crisis Centre for just such an occasion and were really quite delighted at Davo dropping in. They'd have his balls for this. Davo was still staring at them slightly uncertain what to do. He just had time to get his hands up and hear one say ‘you go for the bastard's balls' when they attacked.