Floored by Ainslie Paton Read Free Book Online

he’d had to witness a scene that’d left him shaking with rage. Milo’s missus, a scrawny scrap of a woman with faded blonde hair and weepy eyes, had let him in and had put him in their tired kitchen while she went to get Milo from wherever the slimy bastard was lurking. Fetch had watched her go to the demountable shed in the yard. He’d watched as Milo appeared and heard his raised voice. He had to grip the kitchen bench to stop from doing something he shouldn’t when Milo struck his wife. Once, twice. She doubled over and went down on her knees. He turned his head away. It was a domestic dispute. Not his business. Not his job.
    This time there was no answer to his knock. If the missus wasn’t home and Milo was out back, he might not hear. Fetch pushed a flat palm on the door and it swung open. He peered down the dark hallway. No sound. No movement, except dust motes. He called out. Nothing. Driver had made up the lost time, he was bang on, someone should be here. He called out again as he stomped down the hall.
    In the untidy kitchen there was a chair knocked over. There was a spray of shiny wet blood on the door of the yellowed fridge. His vigilance went into hyper-drive. There was the sound of a bike outside. An auditor. He moved through the kitchen and into the family room. The missus was on the lino floor in a pool of dark blood. She stared at him in accusation like only the newly dead could do. This wasn’t Milo’s work. It took a certain kind of man to cut a woman’s throat. Milo was an evil bastard, but not a killer. Fetch bent down to touch her, she was still warm. Someone else had been here recently. Outside, the bike purred, waiting. He moved through the room to the backyard. He had to find Milo. He had to get out of here. Milo was tied to the clothesline. A vertical pig on a spit. Throat slashed, baking in the winter sun, marinating in his own blood. Pegged to the line above his head was the empty sealed packet.
    This was a deliberate hit. Very little to do with Milo, and everything to do with a strike against the Black Pariahs. He moved back into the house, went to the front bedroom and peered carefully out at the street through dusty venetians. He needed to sight the auditor. If he was wearing Black Pariah colours, Fetch could call on his help. If he was someone Fetch knew—even better.
    He could see the hire car parked at the kerb. Driver was looking towards the house. She’d been expecting him back sooner. He couldn’t see the bike. He changed positions. There it was. An unfamiliar fat-boy, and the rider was wearing red patches. Not someone he knew from the old days.
    This was a set-up, and he’d been positioned to take the fall. Was that why Wacker let him off last night, so he was in play today?
    He went for his phone. Dialled the number he could only use when something went wrong. Outside the bike went quiet and Driver got out of the car and leaned against the bonnet.
    “I’ve had an accident.”
    This time no funny lines from Stud. “Come in now.”
    “No. It’s a hit. And the driver is compromised.”
    “We’ll take care of her.”
    He scoffed. “You’ll take her home and forget about her.”
    “She’s not important to this.”
    “She’s outside now being eyeballed by whoever it is the Reds sent to confirm my role in knocking off Milo Newberry and his wife, and stealing the cash. She’s compromised and I did that to her.”
    “I’m telling you this is over now. Come in and bring her with you, if you want.”
    “If I come in, whatever this—set-up is about, we screw up. This is the start of something big. Fetch would run scared. That’s what I want to do now.”
    “You want to stay under?”
    “Under, but in the wind. If we need to we can reactivate me. If not, I’m out like you said.”
    “But cut the woman free.”
    He grunted. Let Stud think he agreed with that.
    “Where will you go?”
    “I think a trip to Perth might be nice this time of year.”
    “We’ll talk