Razorhurst (34 page)

Cait gasped and slid to the floor, her eyes filling with water. “You little shit! Broken me fucking ribs!”

“Well done,” Palmer said. “Though you should have stabbed her.”

“Come on!” Dymphna yelled.

Big Bill was down. Blood poured out of the side of his head.

Dymphna and Darcy were bolting. Kelpie ran after them, looking down to make sure she didn’t put her foot through any of the holes. Behind her Bill was swearing and Cait was screaming her head off.

Kelpie’s arm felt like it was on fire. She should have used the knife.

She followed Dymphna and Darcy through to the next house and then out the front and onto the street. All three of them were breathing hard.

“Jesus’s tits and Mary’s balls,” Darcy said.

Kelpie almost laughed. Old Ma used to say that and then make Kelpie promise never to blaspheme.

“This way,” Dymphna said, eyeing the motor-car parked two houses over and leading them in the opposite direction. “Don’t run, but don’t dawdle. Kelpie, hold my hand. You’re my niece.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Glory. I’ve got to tell her about Big Bill.”

The Harbour Bridge

Earlier that same year the whole city had had a party. There was a new bridge to span the sparkling water between the meat of the city and its northern outpost.

The folks of the Hills didn’t give too much of a shit about the proceedings, but they were proud in a general sense because they knew there wasn’t another city in their fine country that had a bridge as big or as beautiful. So they partied and then they pretty much forgot about it. Wasn’t like any of them would ever use it. Who wanted to go that far from the Hills?

The morning after the official opening, they were as one in outrage to learn that some jumped-up squatter type on an old nag had taken it upon himself to embarrass the Big Fella, who presided over their fine state and who everyone knew to be a friend of the working man. The bastard on the clapped-out horse had presumed to cut the ribbon before the Big Fella could get to it.

The nerve of the mongrel!

He was even wearing a sword. Rich-toff weapon if there ever was one. He was arrested forthwith. Wouldn’t you know it, this interloper and enemy of the working man had some kind of fancy Frenchy name. Well, of course he did. Should transport everyone with a name like that back where they came from. They weren’t fit for the new world.

Gloriana Nelson spoke for almost everyone in the Hills when she said that hanging was too good for him. Hadn’t many of their fine boys died in making that damned bridge? Then they should throw this bastard off the bridge first thing. How dare he embarrass the Big Fella?

There were roars of approval, and Glory shouted everyone a beer.

DYMPHNA

Dymphna had never wanted to scream so much. She held Kelpie’s hand tightly and kept her moving forward, though Kelpie twisted to see if they were followed. Perhaps she
was
sixteen, but she surely didn’t act like it. Dymphna realised she felt almost angry with Kelpie, as if the girl had tricked her. She pushed those feelings away. There wasn’t time.

Neal Darcy strode along by her side. She’d been hoping he’d have the sense to go home, or off bush, or somewhere, as long as it was far away from her.

They’d kissed, and it had been delicious. But now she had to make him go. He was too young to die.

Jimmy was, of course, still with them. Bastard could have warned them it was Big Bill. Though that wouldn’t have mattered if she’d run as soon as Snowy left. Cops be damned. But she was tired. All she’d wanted was to stop for a moment. Then Kelpie had fallen asleep. Then she and Neal had talked and kissed, when she should have been running, should have been getting them as far from this mess as she could …

Even now it was probably not too late to head to the Quay. But Dymphna had realised she needed to square things with Glory.

Glory would be at Lansdowne Street already. Sunset wasn’t too far off, and that’s when her parties always began. Glory loved sunsets. So that’s when she always cracked open the first bottle of beer, or, more recently, as her money had swelled, the first bottle of champagne that meant, yes, the party has begun.

Much as Dymphna hated Glory’s Lansdowne Street home, that’s where she had to go. She wished there was some way of preparing Kelpie. But with Jimmy and Neal by her side, that was impossible.

“I know how to get us out of the city,” Neal said.

“We’re not hiding,” Dymphna said. “I’ve had enough hiding. Do you see anyone? Is Big Bill following us?”

“Not yet,” Kelpie said.

“We’ll be fine up on Oxford Street. Too busy for even Big Bill to try anything.”

“You can’t go to Glory,” Neal said. “It’s not safe. You heard what Snowy said.”

“I’m not arguing,” Dymphna said in the same hard voice Glory used when she would hear no arguments. “You don’t have to stay. Be better if you went back to the brewery.”

“Glory could kill you,” Neal said.

Dymphna wanted to scream. Couldn’t he hear that what she said was final? Why did she have to point out the obvious? “She’s not going to kill anyone at her own party. Besides, who do you think told Big Bill where we were? It had to be Snowy. You can’t forget who he works for. Mr. Davidson ordered Jimmy dead. Snowy’s hardly the best guide to who’s safe and who isn’t.”

“Snowy never …” Kelpie began. The little girl—well, no, not little. Again, Dymphna felt that jolt of surprise and anger at discovering Kelpie was the same age as her.

Kelpie pulled her hand out of Dymphna’s. “Snowy wouldn’t. You heard him. He doesn’t think Mr. Davidson’s right in the head. Cait must’ve been following us. She’s sneaky.”

“Could be.” Dymphna wanted to believe her. But she didn’t. Snowy must have told. Perhaps he had a reason. But that didn’t matter. Everyone had reasons for what they did—including Mr. Davidson and Glory and, hell, her and Jimmy. Good reasons didn’t stop people from winding up dead.

“None of that mob can be trusted,” Neal said. “We have to get away from all of them.”

“
I
am one of that mob.”

Neal had the grace to flush.

Dymphna was not going to waste breath explaining that of the two crime bosses Glory was the sane one. The safer option. Dymphna was her best girl. Glory wouldn’t kill her. The problem was whether Glory was still capable of protecting her with Jimmy, and now Bluey, out of action.

“He’s right,” Jimmy said. “She should be heading to Circular Quay and purchasing a berth out of here. Tell her, Kelpie.”

So now he wanted her safe again, did he? When he could have warned them in time to get away before Big Bill and Cait showed up …

“I didn’t mean …” Neal paused. “It’s not safe for you here right now, that’s all. We could go bush until things cool down.”

Why were they both so stupid? Her odds of getting out of town or to the Quay safely were terrible. Every standover, razor man, cockatoo, errand boy, chromo, and cop in the city knew Miss Dymphna
Campbell. Word would get back to Glory, or Davidson, or the coppers, or all three before they’d made it to Hyde Park.

To prove the point that she hadn’t made to anyone but herself, as they turned into Oxford Street, two of Glory’s bookies walked past, both dipping their hats. The street was packed with people, mostly men, hurrying from their place of work to the pubs in the narrow window before six o’clock closing.

“Gentlemen,” Dymphna said.

“Heading to Glory’s party, Miss Campbell?” the taller one enquired.

“We are,” Dymphna said, smiling and resisting the urge to check if Cait and Big Bill were behind them. “Should be a ripper.”

“Hope to get there later,” the taller one continued. “Glory’s parties are always bonzer.” The two men nodded and moved on.

Kelpie held Dymphna’s hand tighter and pushed closer to her side. The little girl did not like crowds. Not
little
. She had to stop thinking of Kelpie that way. Kelpie was someone her own age, who could see ghosts same as her, who’d been living on the streets so long it had stunted her growth. She was
not
one of her little sisters. They were dead.

Dymphna held her hand out for a taxi. One pulled up beside them seconds later. Oxford Street was always awash with cabs, and, she had found, they were always likely to stop for her first.

Before she opened the door, she lowered her voice: “Get ready to run if we have to.”

Neal nodded. Kelpie muttered what sounded like a yes. They slid inside the cab.

“Going to Glory’s party, Miss Campbell?” the cabbie asked.

“Of course,” Dymphna said.

She wanted to sit back and close her eyes, but she couldn’t resist looking out the rear window for Big Bill and Cait. Kelpie was looking too.

“We’ll be all right,” Dymphna said, hoping that was true.

As the cab turned into Crown from Oxford, Dymphna and Neal were pushed against one another. Warmth radiated from him even on this cool day. What Dymphna wanted more than anything was for none of this to be real, so they could go back to her flat.

But if none of this had been real, they wouldn’t have met. She would have spent the day doing her shift for Glory and helping with the set-up for the party. She would not have finally met Kelpie.

Neal was a wonderful kisser. She hadn’t been with someone who
made her feel that way since Danny Dunbar, her first man, who died in Long Bay lock-up. Slipped in the shower, the coroner said, but everyone knew the screws had done for him. And good riddance. Nasty piece of work Danny had been for all he made her tingle.

Dymphna had to work out how to stay alive, how to protect Kelpie and now Neal. No doubt Glory already knew that Neal had been there, that Bluey had tried to kill him. She’d want to know why and whether she should finish the job for Bluey, and she’d
really
want to know why Snowy had intervened.

The cab was almost at Lansdowne. Dymphna’s heart beat a little faster. Was she making a mistake? Betting wrong on Glory?

And Glory’s house. Dymphna really hated going to her Lansdowne Street house.

“Can you pull up for a moment, driver?”

“Yes, Miss Campbell. Be happy to.”