Blood Junction Read Online Free Page B

Albert’s footsteps, the sound of
     the fly screen being opened. She heard Albert say brightly, “Hey, Stan, how’s it going?”
    “Where’d she go, Albert?” The voice was deep and weighted with menace.
    There were some shuffling sounds, then Albert said, “Dunno.”
    “Why are you fucking lying, Albert?”
    Another silence. Then Polly’s voice, defensive. “She’s nice. She’s going to buy me my brekkie.”
    There was a thud, the sound of a struggle, then a high-pitched squeal. India flinched. Her heart was pounding so hard she
     wondered it didn’t explode.
    “Polly,” the man said in a warning tone, “tell me where she went.”
    “Stan, c’mon, let Polly—”
    “Shut the fuck up! This is police business.”
    Polly started to yelp, little gasping sounds of panic and distress. India forced herself to move. On her hands and knees she
     crept to the corner of the counter and peered slowly around. Her wrist caught by the policeman, Polly was trying to free herself.
     The policeman had raised his arm so her toes barely scraped the ground. She flapped and kicked like a small fish on a line.
     Her panic-stricken eyes latched on to India.
Help me.
    India ducked back. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. Jesus. What the hell was going on? Had Tiger really
     been murdered? If so, why were they after
her?
Would Albert and Polly keep quiet? The policeman wouldn’t really hurt Polly, would he? Then she could sneak out, grab a lift
     and get the hell out of here, head for her little apartment in Melbourne and safety.
    “Tell me, Polly, or I’ll give you a belting. A real one with my belt, like I did last year. Remember?”
    Polly gave out a single piercing shriek, like a train whistle. That did it. India jumped to her feet, came to the front of
     the counter and stood there on legs that felt like cotton wool. “No need for that, officer. I’m here.” She was amazed how
     calm her voice sounded. The policeman appeared amazed too, because his jaw dropped. India made a tiny movement, a precursor
     to stepping forward. In a split second the policeman had shoved Polly aside and was in a crouch, pointing his gun two-handed.
     Right between India’s eyes.
    “FREEZE!” he yelled. “DON’T FUCKING MOVE!”
    India’s hands shot into the air. “Okay, okay, it’s okay.” Her breathing was uneven, her voice jerky. “It’s okay, I’m not armed,
     I’m—”
    “TURN AROUND!” he screamed. “HANDS ON THE COUNTER!”
    She turned, put her hands on the counter. Felt a barrel of cold steel pressed hard against her neck.
    “One move and I blow your head off, okay?”
    “Okay,” she managed.
    He started to pat her down. Shoulders, arms, armpits, flanks. He exhaled noisily several times. Perhaps as a way of collecting
     himself, regaining some calm. She felt his boot kick her legs wide. More pats. “I do like a pair of pretty legs spread just
     so,” he murmured when he had finished. “Now, hands behind your back.”
    She flinched when she felt the cold metal against her skin. He imprisoned her right wrist first, but as he grabbed her left
     she jerked it free, a bubble of panic forming in her breast. “It’s too tight,” she gasped.
    “They’re new.” He gave a rasping chuckle. “They’ll stretch some after a little wear.”
    He grabbed her left wrist and still she struggled. India tried to breathe deeply, to halt the panic, but she couldn’t allow
     herself to be handcuffed, she couldn’t…
    Click.
    She went quite still. Fear sat in her stomach like a big black bat.
    “You’re just like a mare I’ve got,” he remarked. “All fidgety at taking the bit. She settles down after a couple of minutes
     though.”
    He gave her a little tug. She turned around, looked at him straight. He had eyes the color of dirty ice and a face like boiled
     beetroot. His nose looked as though it had been broken a few times and his hands were ridged with scars. She found herself
     staring at his shirt,