Incy Wincy Spider Read online

  Chapter 11

  Sydney - Saturday: September 26

  Saturday afternoon, Steve found me brooding in my flat, taking in the view and in a somewhat drunken state. I had made a considerable dent into a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  "Hi," I said "How're you doing?"

  "Okay, I guess," he said. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all.

  "Yeah, what a trip ? It was a bit way out there, even for us," I nodded.

  "I keep telling myself that I did not hit him that hard, but maybe I did," he said.

  "Look mate, it's better this way. Tarasoff was vermin. His kind understands nothing but violence and death, you know that. Plus, had he lived, we could not have held him for long. Once out, he would have made it his vocation to hurt Maria. No, it's better this way, way better," I argued.

  "I guess you're right," he said.

  "Too right I am," I said.

  A long pause in the conversation followed. I got up patted my friend on the shoulder and went to get him a drink, a chair and another drink for me. In silence, we sat and stared at that beautiful Harbour, with its play of sails, colourful spinnakers and aggressive ferries.

  "That Vasiliev guy and his friends were released from hospital this morning ? That's what I came over to tell ya," he said, morosely, after a while.

  "I guess we'll have to keep an eye out for them," I said.

  "Guess so," he said.

  "Maybe we'd better forget about seeing Maria tomorrow and wait until this is over one way or another," I suggested.

  "Guess so," he said.

  "I'll give Pip a call right now," I said.

  "Guess so," he said.

  I dialled the number and Pip answered right away.

  "How you doin'?" Pip asked.

  "Good, thanks and you?" I said.

  "Good," he said.

  "How is she?" I asked.

  "Who?" he asked. A funny feeling started to climb up the back of my neck.

  "What do you mean who? Maria, how is she?" I said with strain to control my voice, I felt like screaming into the phone.

  "Isn't she with you?" he asked, now alarmed.

  "No, she isn't fucking with me. For fuck sake Pip you said Sunday!" I barked.

  "I know I did, but this little old lady from the AIA, said that it was OK and that you had sent her ? She knew all about you and Stefano. So, we had a family meeting and it was decided that it was OK," he said.

  "OK what?" I screamed into the line.

  "OK that she could go with her, what the fuck else?" he screamed back.

  "What about Maria, didn't she have a say in it?" I asked, controlling the exasperation in my voice.

  "She said it was okay too ? That she'd been too much trouble already ? and that this was probably the best way," he answered, uncertainty creeping into his tone.

  "Probably? Probably? What the fuck does that mean? When was this, anyway?" I asked.

  "Why, yesterday, Louie ? If we fucked up ? I am sorry Louie, truly sorry," he said, all aggression gone from his voice.

  "You didn't fuck up, Pip. I fucked up. I should have told you about Robyn, the tricky bitch! Don't worry, Pip, I'll fix it from here ? You did the best you could," I said, my mind in overdrive.

  "Are you still coming for dinner tomorrow, Louie?" he asked.

  "Probably not Pip ? I'll let you know. Kisses to Ma ? see ya," I hung up, and then bashed the phone repeatedly against its cradle screaming out, "Fuck ? fuck ? fuck ? FUCK! Fucking bitch. Fucking cunt!"

  "Robyn's got her?" Steve concluded quietly. "That explains why she rang you on our way back from Melbourne. She was checking up that we were still on the road. Bitch."

  "Bitch!" I agreed.

  "This is turning out to be a real cluster fuck-up," he commented.

  "It is a cluster-fuck-up already, and it can only get worse," I corrected him.

  "Hard to believe," he said.

  "Believe it," I said.

  "What the fuck do we do now?" he asked, after a while.

  "Fucked if I know, I need to think," I said.

  "What I don't understand is what that spy-bitch wants with Maria now? I thought the whole idea was to remove Tarasoff, and then she would be free and clear," Steve said.

  "Yeah ? Maybe that list is not what she told us it was?" I said.

  "You mean AIA would lie to us?" he asked with mock surprise.

  "Of course not, they are here to protect and serve," I said.

  "Protect and serve ? my arse," Steve said.

  "Protect and serve ? your arse," I agreed.

  I was about to add some other useless comment about AIA when our attention was diverted by shouts and noise coming from downstairs, these were followed by at least two shots.

  "Fuck me. Talk about bad timing. It must be that Vasiliev prick; you have your gun with you?" I asked.

  "It's at home ? I'm off duty," he said, lamely.

  "Fuck! Mine is still in my car. We sure are a pair of idiots; I told you it was going to get worse. This week, really sucks, you know that?" I said, taking another suck at my JD and coke.

  "It sure does," Steve agreed, then standing up and looking down to the footpath below. "How far is it to the ground from this balcony?" he asked.

  "Does it matter?" I asked. "We have no other option."

  "Might as well go over then," he said.

  "OK, you go first and then catch me," I suggested.

  "Fuck you," he said.

  "Might as well, we're pretty close to being fucked as is," I agreed.

  "Can we rig up somethin' to delay the pricks? We don't want them to be shootin' at us while we lie down there with broken legs and all," he asked.

  "If I'm down there with broken legs, I might want to be shot dead," I said. I thought for a moment. "Yes, I can delay them, but you'll have to clean up the mess!" I added.

  "Uh?" he said.

  "Get ready to jump. As soon as they get to the door, jump ? and don't forget to catch me ?" I instructed on my way to my small fridge removing a dozen eggs and two glass bottles of coke and popping the lot in the microwave. I turned the setting on high and waited to press 'cook' for the right moment.

  The right time came along two nanoseconds later. Five or six bullets went through my front door lock; I pressed 'cook', shouted "GO!" and ran for the balcony. I was over without even looking; as I was sailing down, I heard two things: my door splintering and the exploding microwave.

  The bright ones among you would have just said, "hang on a minute Louie, you told us that you had nothing in your flat but a bed and a stereo system, where did the microwave come from?" Too right you are ... I did exaggerate a little. The truth is that the flat did come with a small kitchenette and this had a little fridge and a microwave in it, happy now?

  You know, heights piss me off. If I would have taken just one look down, I know I would not have jumped, not in a million years. So, jumping without thinking about it, without looking, was the only way. There was no decision to make - I literally dove from my lounge room through the balcony and sailed way past where Steve had just landed. I hit the grass strip on the footpath with a bone-crunching blow; I rolled as I had been taught to do in boot camp when landing from a parachute jump. It was a lot worse than a parachute jump, but after rolling a couple of times I landed sitting down, dazed. I shook my head to clear it, but that just made the pain worse. I noticed that I was sitting off the pavement and in the gutter.

  I alsonoticed that my bum was wet; I hoped it was from the gutter and not something that had leaked out of me. That would really be too embarrassing and Steve would remind me till the end of the universe.

  I moved my legs and my arms around a bit and took a few deep breaths. Everything was sore, but it did not seem that anything major had broken, fractured, split or exploded.

  "Are you going to sit there on your arse all day?" Steve asked, pulling me up by my collar, and pushing me toward the corner. "No way I'm cleaning up the mess in your flat! Those eggs sounded like they went a
ll the way to the North Pole!" We hobbled with sore legs away from the scene, toward where my car was parked.

  "I hope they did lots of damage" I said, trying to breathe at the same time.

  "Did you wet yourself?" Steve asked, as I could have bet my last dollar he would.

  "No way, it's the crappy water from the gutter," I answered, but remembering that awful empty-stomach feeling and the instantaneous stop that had followed it, I wondered.

  "Yeah right. You wet yourself, Scary Baby."

  "I did not wet myself. If I'd wet myself the front of my shorts would be wet not my bum, you moron." I answered, exasperated.

  "You shat yourself?"

  "I hope Vasiliev shoots you in the arse. Now stop dicking around and run!"

  As we were running toward the corner, I turned around and saw an image of Vasiliev taking aim at us with his gun from my balcony. But all his shots missed us completely, even Steve's bum, worse luck. I guessed that all the white and yellow muck that covered him from head to breakfast time and the flying shards of glass must have thrown his aim off.

  "I hope he likes his eggs 'over-easy'," I commented.

  "You are a funny prick, you know that?" Steve said.

  "I know that," I said.

  When we got to my rented Mustang, I got my gun and hunted around for spare for Steve. All I had was an old police .38 revolvers, like the ones you see on TV.

  "What am I supposed to do with this piece of shit?" Steve grunted.

  "Look dangerous. You never hit anything anyway."

  "True," he agreed. He then got his mobile out and started dialling.

  "Calling dial-a-gun?" I asked.

  "Better, calling the cavalry," he smiled back. "I said the magic words: there will be a SWAT team in a few minutes."

  "We don't have SWAT teams in NSW," I reminded him.

  "You know what I mean," he answered, waving his arms.

  "What were the magic words?" I wondered out loud.

  "Home Invasion."

  "Good thinking."

  When we got around the building, we saw Vasiliev and his dildos come running out of the building. They all paused, confused. They had not expected to see us calmly strolling back in their direction with guns raised. Their goon-instruction booklet probably stated clearly that the prey always runs in panic - it does not come back at you with guns.

  "Police! Put your guns down and lie flat on the ground," Steve whispered, barely audibly. "You heard me warning them right?"

  "You bet," I said and we both opened fire.

  It definitely wasn't Vasiliev's best week. Three of his pals went down with leg wounds, the fourth one just dropped to the ground and threw his gun away and put his hands behind his head.

  But not Vasiliev, this guy was resolute. He stood there for a few moments, looked around and saw that all his support had evaporated. With a scream of frustration, he lifted his gun toward us and started running and shooting. His scream died in his throat and so did he, as bullets from our guns brought him down (actually it was probably my bullets, Steve' s no doubt hit the tree two metres to the side - at least he tries). On the positive side for Vasiliev, he no longer had to worry about all the extra injuries from the exploding eggs and flying glass.

  See? I always look for the silver lining.

  Three squad cars arrived not long after and a truck full of excited men in black and sporting assault rifles poured out of the back like water from a glass. In no time, everything in sight was surrounded. They were a bit disappointed when they found out all the action was over, but Sergio's lovely waitresses and free coffee and cake for all, visibly raised their spirits.

  We gave our statements to the pair of Ds that turned up. My apartment was declared a crime scene, along with most of the building.

  "I need a drink," Steve said after a while.

  "Me too," I said.

  "Pub or my place?" he asked.

  "What's to drink at your place?" I asked.

  "JD and coke," he said.

  "Sounds good," I said. "hang on a minute ? What did you feed Roger 'the-farting-road-kill' last night?"

  "Refried beans and burritos, just like me," he announced proudly.

  "Let's go to the pub," I said firmly.

  We went to a small pub within walking distance from my block, found a couple of seats and Steve went to the bar to order our drinks. While he was at the bar, I got my mobile out and dialled.

  "Where's Maria?" I barked into the phone before she could even say hello.

  "Louie, you're pushing your luck. I don't have to answer any of your questions ? As a matter of fact, I don't even have to talk to you at all," the bitch answered in an icy tone.

  "Where is she? I want to talk to her ? see her," I screamed.

  "That's impossible," and she hung up.

  "Bitch! Fucking Bitch!" It was all I could say into a dead line. Shaking my head, I looked up and Steve was back.

  He looked at me. "Robyn?" he asked.

  I nodded. We remained there with little to say for a while and sipped our drinks. Soon, as an idea took shape in my head. I started nodding my head with my eyes focused on a distant horizon, my mouth set, my jaw clenched. A plan was opening before my mind's eye. As it came into focus, I felt my lips curl into a smile.

  "Oh no, you don't! I know that fucking smile! NO fucking way, Louie! Are you fucking insane?" Steve said, alarm mounting in his voice with every word.

  "No worries, Steve." My voice was icy calm. I had reached inner peace now that my mind was made up. "I'll understand if you want to bail out. After all, you have a job, a wife, kids, a mortgage, a boat, and a very hungry dog to look after," I said, with serenity in my voice.

  "You are a prick, you know that?" he said.

  "I know that," I said.

  "So what's the plan?" he said.

  "I thought you were out of it," I said.

  "And who is going to make sure you don't fuck up and get yourself killed?" he replied. I smiled back at him; I knew he could not keep out of it.

  "Welcome aboard, mate."

  "Please tell me. How in fuck's name are we, and that's just the two of us, going to take on the whole of AIA?" he asked, after a long pull at his drink.

  I hesitated, had a drink myself and then smiled at him.

  "We are not, that could be a Mission Impossible!" I reassured him.

  "Uh?"

  "We are going to take on just Robyn. The bitch works for AIA, but she is not AIA. She is just a human being, like you or me," I explained.

  "Bull shit, she is not human - she is an insane bitch. How are you going to handle that?" he asked.

  "True, but a simple question, deserves a simple answer: next time I talk to the old cunt, I am going to be talking from a position of strength. Strength and power are the only things she understands," I said.

  "Uh?"

  "You are not going to say 'uh' all the time now. Are you?" I asked.

  "Uh-uh," he said, nodding.

  "This, Grasshopper, is what we are going to do," I said to him and I explained my plan. As I talked, his eyebrows slowly got higher and higher and his smile got broader and broader.

  When I was finished, he nodded and said, "Not bad, Master, not bad at all. We need to work on some of the details, but it should work. It's highly illegal, but who's counting. The part I really like is that we get to fuck Robyn without even touching her"

  "Uh-uh," I said.

  That night I had to sleep at Steve's place. Initially, it was Steve's plan that I share the lounge with Roger.

  "Sure," I agreed easily. "But, one fart and he gets a bullet in the head."

  "Come with me, Roger." Steve motioned to the dog, and then pointing in my direction. "That is one very bad man." They both left and closed the bedroom door in a huff. I smiled and was asleep before I hit the lounge.

  Half way through the night, I realized that I had been conned: Roger was now on the lounge with me and he was trying his level best to push me off it. But I was too
tired to do anything about it and so I just moved onto the floor and faded back into a deep sleep, probably aided by the toxic nature of Roger's emissions.