Double Take (5 page)

She reached up to him, ran her hand over his cheek stubble and nodded. She was here, every bit here and wanting.

Jack raced around, closing all the curtains in the tiny bedroom. When he returned to her his manhood was full, standing up large and proud, and he quickly rolled on a condom. She raised her hips and he eased her underpants down before his fingers found her sweet spot. Electric shock tingled through her entire body as his fingers played her. Jack helped her body sing over and over, taking her to the brink of ecstasy and clearly enjoying her sexual releases as much as she was. But she wouldn't last much longer. Candice squeezed his bicep, letting him know it was time.

“Are you okay? You certain?”

She nodded, still breathless. Jack knelt between her knees, his rock-hard body as pleasing to look at as ever. A fine layer of sweat made every muscle shine. Candice parted her legs further and relaxed as Jack eased into her. She grew dizzy but didn't let him know. It was his turn for pleasure and she was prepared for this sacrifice.

Candice watched his eyes glaze and tilt, a sure sign he was lost in the moment. His rhythm intensified, he groaned a deep primal sound of rapture. And that was the moment she succumbed to her giddiness and slipped off into her own familiar paradise.

A
massive woman lay on her back with a crisp white sheet across her upper body. Mrs Sheryl Hilton, an obese mountain of a person, hadn't been able to shave her legs for decades. She had a regular booking to wax various parts of her body, alternating from her underarms, her eyebrows and upper lip to what she was having done now, a half leg wax. Gemma knew Mrs Hilton wasn't really here to improve her appearance. Her beauty treatments were an excuse to get out of the house.

“Did you have a nice weekend?” Gemma finished applying thick yellow wax down the length of Sheryl's shin and prepared to remove it, along with the coarse black hairs.

“Oh yes, we went to a lovely party…”

As Sheryl prattled on about the people she met and the food she ate, Gemma tried to remember the last time she'd been to a party. She couldn't. She worked six days a week and by the time she got home each night she was exhausted.

Setting up this salon had been hard work, but at least she was her own boss and she was doing something she loved. Her mind drifted to how she'd started this business. That foolish affair with her boss had cost her more than she cared to admit. Not only had she lost the man of her dreams, but she'd also lost her job, her confidence, and the one thing that angered her more than anything else…her innocence.

She yanked off a strip of wax, and realising she was a bit rough, quickly dabbed some soothing gel onto Sheryl's shin. “Are you okay?”

“Of course, luvvy.” Sheryl waved an aloof hand as if she hadn't felt a thing.

It had taken Gemma a long time to get back on her feet after that terrible time. But once she did, she vowed no-one would ever rule her like that again. Ironically though, her choice
had
led to her life being ruled—by her one-person business. She hadn't had a holiday since the day she threw open the doors.

She'd never told anyone about that affair. Even Murray, the first man she'd trusted in nearly a decade, would not learn of it. She didn't want to risk losing him by revealing an ugly part of her life she'd rather forget.

“So how's Murray?” Mrs Hilton asked. “Still working at the airport?”

“Murray's great. It looks like he'll be offered more work.”

“That's good, but it must be backbreaking moving suitcases all day long.”

Gemma grunted in agreement.

“At least it's a permanent job. Alfred was retrenched from the brewery when he was forty-eight and hasn't been able to find a full-time job since then.”

“Yeah, I know, but it'd be nice if Murray could do something he actually liked.”

Sheryl huffed. “Most jobs are boring. You'd be a lucky person to have something exciting to do every day.”

“I'm going to pull the wax off now. Okay?”

“Go ahead. So when are you two getting married? It must be time?”

A ghastly ripping noise emanated as Gemma pulled the wax strip, tearing out the reluctant leg hairs with it. “Hopefully we will one day. But it's so expensive. Besides, it's not like we need to get married. We're practically a family now.”

The bell above the door tinkled and Tiffany walked into the salon, looking like she'd come from another world. As usual, her black hair covered most of her delicate porcelain face and Gemma wondered how she could possibly see where she was going. “Hi, Tiff.”

“Morning, Gemma.”

Tiffany's tattoo and piercing business brought an interesting clientele and its share of variety to Gemma's beauty salon. When she'd listed the space to rent, Gemma had never envisaged a business like Tiffany's taking it. But so far it had worked out well. Tiffany looked through the small gap in her fringe and the fake diamond in her upper lip twinkled in the bright salon lights. She gave a lopsided grin, displaying her unnaturally white teeth through cherry red lipstick. Her eyes skipped about before a look of recognition worked its way across her facial features.

“Hello, Mrs Hilton,” said Tiffany. “Getting your legs done this week? Let me know when you want that little tattoo. I'll help you pick out the perfect one to drive Alfred crazy!”

“Thank you, but not this week. I don't want to give him a heart attack just yet. Need to update his life insurance policy first.” Sheryl's chuckle sent her whole body into a minor tremor.

Tiffany snorted a laugh, tugged at her short tartan skirt and meandered over to her corner of the salon. Gemma watched her go, amazed that her stockings could stay on with the amount of holes in them. Tiffany slumped into the overstuffed lounge below a wall of tattoo photos, flung her legs up and closed her eyes.

And that was it. Gemma knew she wouldn't get another peep out of her until her first client came in. She didn't know how she kept her side of the business going. But she did. In fact, Tiffany hadn't missed a single rent payment since she started two years ago.

“How are the kids?” Mrs Hilton returned to their earlier conversation.

“They're great. They come up with the weirdest stories, though. You wouldn't believe what they said yesterday. They told me they overheard a bunch of guys talking about robbing a bank.”

“Don't sound like somethin' kids would make up.” Tiffany surprised Gemma with her comment. She'd thought she was asleep.

“What? You think would-be robbers would use the old shed down the road to plan a robbery?”

“You never know.” Tiffany curled to face them. “All I'm saying is those boys would need a bloody good imagination to invent a story like that.”

“Oh, they do, that's for sure.” Gemma giggled as she ripped off another wax strip.

“Wouldn't it be funny if it were true?” Sheryl said.

Gemma huffed. “I doubt it. Trent's notorious for exaggerating.”

T
he two cars thundered along at maximum speed, barely braking to take the bend in the track. Both drivers were determined to win this time. The ground was rough, and not just with the odd pothole or two; heavy rain had washed away parts of the track making it downright dangerous. The leading car was a Mitsubishi Triton with roll bars on the back tray, but even with its four-wheel drive capabilities it was sliding all over the road. Up ahead the track split into two paths. One path wound its way above the other. The higher track, although shorter, was more rugged; the lower path longer and smoother. The Triton driver made a snap decision to take the higher one and prayed it would pay off.

As he'd anticipated, the other driver took the lower track. His Holden Monaro would be no match for the rugged top path. He laughed aloud when the Monaro only just made the swerve onto the lower route.

The downhill was crazy. Not only did the Triton have to avoid the giant troughs that would swallow the wheels, the driver also had to steer clear of the cliff on the right-hand side. Just going straight was a battle against the cavernous hollows.

The Triton driver couldn't believe the Monaro was actually leading when he reached the bottom. Their wheels skidded in the gravel, and both cars swerved at the last second to miss a stump in the middle of the track.

Suddenly the Triton driver rammed the Monaro and it ploughed into another enormous stump. The impact lifted the rear of the car into the air, but not before it clipped the Triton's front bumper bar. That was all it took to spin the Triton out of control. It hit a pothole, trapping the wheel and flipping it onto its roof. Both occupants were thrown from the Triton's cabin. One landed face down in the dirt and remained dead still. The other smashed into the stump and its head was ripped clean off.

The crash tackle took Trent completely by surprise. But he used the power of the tackle to roll right back onto his brother. Max was angry, his clenched teeth squaring out his jaw. He was unusually strong and Trent was only just able to pin Max's fists above his head.

It wasn't long before Max's angry growl became frustrated panting. “You cheated!” His high-pitched voice was closer to a squeal.

“There're no rules, Max. We never said you couldn't crash into each other to win.”

“I've never done that to you, you pig!”

“You're just mad because I won.”

“You didn't win, you idiot. We both crashed before the finish line. Nobody won. Now get off me!”

“Not until you say I won.” Trent released one of Max's hands to poke his little brother in the chest.

“NO! 'Cause you didn't win!” Max used his free arm to punch Trent in the stomach. “I'm telling Dad what you did to Action Man. You've ripped his head off.”

Trent looked in the direction of the cars. Action Man's body was on one side of the stump, his head was on the other. The other occupant of the Triton, an army-clad GI Joe, lay face down in the dirt.

“Oh man, look at my Monaro, you've dented the bonnet. Dad'll kill me!” Max always worried about things.

“No, he won't. He did things like this when he was a kid.” Trent climbed off his brother.

“Dad can't remember back that far. He's nearly forty, you know.”

“He's not forty, he's only thirty-five.”

“Like I said, nearly forty,” repeated Max.

Trent dusted off his clothes and checked his watch.
Fifteen minutes to go.
The robbers had said they'd be back at five o'clock today. Trent flipped open the lid on his lunch box, even though he already knew he'd eaten everything. He huffed at the emptiness. He was starving. “Let's move up closer.” Trent reached for the boom box and counted the beams overhead as he crawled towards the spot where they'd heard the voices last time. The space under the front of the boatshed was so low that in addition to being on his belly and dragging himself forward with his elbows, he had to duck his head. Once they'd passed beneath nine beams, they couldn't go any further forward. Trent flicked on his torch and passed it to Max. “Shine it over here.”

With the use of the narrow beam Trent found a level spot and brushed it smooth. He centred the boom box on the cleared patch so he could reach the record button easily without looking. Once the robbers were here he couldn't risk using the torch again.

Max nibbled on his fingernails. The munching sound was driving Trent crazy but he had to ignore it this time. He'd had to bribe Max with his Violet Crumble to even get him here. Which was a shame, because he could really do with a chocolate bar right now. His rumbling stomach was almost as loud as Max's munching.

Suddenly they heard a car on the gravel driveway. Trent lunged at the torch to turn it off but it fell to the ground and Max gasped at the tinny sound. Trent flicked the torch off, and even in the now-darkened space he could see the whites of Max's eyes. “Shhh, keep quiet.”

Trent's heart was in his throat as barely a minute later he watched feet in heavy work boots walk up the three steps only inches from his face. Then there was rattling of keys, the creaking of the opening door and finally footsteps directly above him. Trent only let out the breath he'd been holding when he heard furniture being moved about upstairs. Over the next four minutes, three other guys arrived and each time Trent held his breath until he was certain they'd cheated detection.

“Have you hit record yet?” whispered Max.

“Not yet. I'm waiting until they're all up there. I don't want to run out of tape.”

Trent's jaw nearly fell to the ground at the sight of the woman walking towards the steps. She was totally hot and totally not what he thought a bank robber should look like. Even so, she still went upstairs like all the others. Trent was just about to click on the recorder when another guy raced towards the building. The man's shaggy brown hair was sticking out from his baseball cap like a clown's wig, and even from this distance Trent could see the craziness in the guy's eyes. The man stumbled and fell on his way up the stairs and Trent froze like stone. It was all he could do to stop himself from screaming. But the guy jumped up as quickly as he'd fallen and seconds later he disappeared inside. He could feel his brother trembling and couldn't say he blamed him. That was scary. It's a miracle that guy didn't see them. His face had been close, too close.

“Good one, dickhead.” A man's voice was loud and clear from upstairs.

Here we go
, Trent thought as he pressed the record button on the boom box. Unfortunately his timing meant the first two words recorded were, “Fuck you.”

Shit.
Trent wasn't looking forward to playing that bit to his dad. Max, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten his worries, as he held both his hands over his mouth to hold back a giggle.

* * *