Read Online A Dark Place to Die by Ed Chatterton - Free Book Online
Authors: Ed Chatterton
Ads: Link
sunshine,' says Koop. 'Two reasons. First, as you'll have noticed, you are bollock naked and ten kilometres from home. You've got more chance of being arrested for lewd behaviour than ratting out any story about me. Second, and this is where I want you to pay attention, you little ball of pus, if I get any heat from anyone over this little . . . etiquette lesson, I may have to let the police in on your little secret.'
'Secret? What fuggen secret?'
Koop jabs his finger into Thommo's chest. 'Don't act stupid,
Thommo
. I worked drugs for twenty-five years. I chewed up and spat out grubs like you quicker than I could find 'em. The amount of hydroponic supplies you've got knocking about your place means you're either an overenthusiastic cucumber grower, or you're farming a nice batch of weed in that slum you call home. It's a miracle you haven't been busted already. But, being a reasonable man, I'm willing to let things drop at this point if you are. OK? Now nod.'
Thommo nods and Koop straightens up. He gets back into the truck leaving Thommo staring up at him through a tangle of dirty hair.
'Wait!' says Thommo, scrambling to his feet, realisation dawning, his fear-shrivelled dick bouncing pathetically in a tangle of pubic hair. 'You can't leave me here like this, mate! Mate!'
Koop guns the engine and pulls away. He leans through the window and waves. 'I think you'll find I just have,
mate.'
As Thommo fades into the distance in Koop's rear-view mirror, his mobile phone blurts into life.
'Oh thank God,' says Zoe as he picks up on the second ring.
'Zoe?' says Koop. 'What is it?' Her voice has a panicky quality that he hasn't heard before, and following so closely on the heels of his run-in with Thommo, it rattles him.
'It's alright, Koop. It's just that the police are here and I . . .'
'The police? What do they want?'
'I don't know. They haven't come in yet. I was working and then I saw them and I, well I just thought the worst. Gave me a shock. You know what I mean.'
Koop knows what it could mean, what it often did mean. He's thought before about what it must be like to be on the receiving end of the news they brought into people's houses, like plague carriers. Dead fathers, brothers, mothers, daughters. The victims more often men than women. And the messenger frequently met with anger or bitterness, a couple of times with actual physical assault.
'I've got to go,' says Zoe. 'They're at the door.'
She hangs up and Koop speaks into dead air.
'I'm on my way.'
Ten minutes later Koop pulls sharply into the gravel driveway and revs the ute up the sharp incline. He parks next to the police car and hurries into the house, his face set.
'In the kitchen,' shouts Zoe. Koop relaxes fractionally. Her voice, while containing something he can't yet place, doesn't contain enough to panic him.
Koop walks through to the large open kitchen that is the de facto centre of the Koopman house. Two uniformed policemen sit on stools drinking coffee, their hats upside down on the counter. They're in the process of standing up when Koop comes in. He exchanges glances with Zoe but finds he can't read her expression.
'Mr Koopman?' says the taller of the two, a beefy, red-faced man in his late thirties. He holds out a hand which Koop shakes. 'Sergeant Sullivan, Northern Rivers Police, as you can see. Good to meet you. This is Constable Wheater.'
Koop leans across and shakes Wheater's hand.
'Now what's this all about? Is anyone hurt?'
Sullivan hesitates and glances at Zoe. 'No, no-one's hurt, Mr Koopman,' he says. 'Well, no, that's not quite accurate.'
'For God's sake,' says Koop. 'What is it?'
Zoe steps forward and puts a hand on Koop's arm.
'It's Stevie.'
8
Stevie is such a very long time ago, and so far away, that the story has acquired the air of a fairy tale that happened to someone else. Except it wasn't a fairy tale. It had happened, and it had happened to him, and is still the most painful thing Menno Koopman has ever
'Secret? What fuggen secret?'
Koop jabs his finger into Thommo's chest. 'Don't act stupid,
Thommo
. I worked drugs for twenty-five years. I chewed up and spat out grubs like you quicker than I could find 'em. The amount of hydroponic supplies you've got knocking about your place means you're either an overenthusiastic cucumber grower, or you're farming a nice batch of weed in that slum you call home. It's a miracle you haven't been busted already. But, being a reasonable man, I'm willing to let things drop at this point if you are. OK? Now nod.'
Thommo nods and Koop straightens up. He gets back into the truck leaving Thommo staring up at him through a tangle of dirty hair.
'Wait!' says Thommo, scrambling to his feet, realisation dawning, his fear-shrivelled dick bouncing pathetically in a tangle of pubic hair. 'You can't leave me here like this, mate! Mate!'
Koop guns the engine and pulls away. He leans through the window and waves. 'I think you'll find I just have,
mate.'
As Thommo fades into the distance in Koop's rear-view mirror, his mobile phone blurts into life.
'Oh thank God,' says Zoe as he picks up on the second ring.
'Zoe?' says Koop. 'What is it?' Her voice has a panicky quality that he hasn't heard before, and following so closely on the heels of his run-in with Thommo, it rattles him.
'It's alright, Koop. It's just that the police are here and I . . .'
'The police? What do they want?'
'I don't know. They haven't come in yet. I was working and then I saw them and I, well I just thought the worst. Gave me a shock. You know what I mean.'
Koop knows what it could mean, what it often did mean. He's thought before about what it must be like to be on the receiving end of the news they brought into people's houses, like plague carriers. Dead fathers, brothers, mothers, daughters. The victims more often men than women. And the messenger frequently met with anger or bitterness, a couple of times with actual physical assault.
'I've got to go,' says Zoe. 'They're at the door.'
She hangs up and Koop speaks into dead air.
'I'm on my way.'
Ten minutes later Koop pulls sharply into the gravel driveway and revs the ute up the sharp incline. He parks next to the police car and hurries into the house, his face set.
'In the kitchen,' shouts Zoe. Koop relaxes fractionally. Her voice, while containing something he can't yet place, doesn't contain enough to panic him.
Koop walks through to the large open kitchen that is the de facto centre of the Koopman house. Two uniformed policemen sit on stools drinking coffee, their hats upside down on the counter. They're in the process of standing up when Koop comes in. He exchanges glances with Zoe but finds he can't read her expression.
'Mr Koopman?' says the taller of the two, a beefy, red-faced man in his late thirties. He holds out a hand which Koop shakes. 'Sergeant Sullivan, Northern Rivers Police, as you can see. Good to meet you. This is Constable Wheater.'
Koop leans across and shakes Wheater's hand.
'Now what's this all about? Is anyone hurt?'
Sullivan hesitates and glances at Zoe. 'No, no-one's hurt, Mr Koopman,' he says. 'Well, no, that's not quite accurate.'
'For God's sake,' says Koop. 'What is it?'
Zoe steps forward and puts a hand on Koop's arm.
'It's Stevie.'
8
Stevie is such a very long time ago, and so far away, that the story has acquired the air of a fairy tale that happened to someone else. Except it wasn't a fairy tale. It had happened, and it had happened to him, and is still the most painful thing Menno Koopman has ever
Similar Books
