Alan Baxter - The Gulp - Five Tales of Horror

“Take out a loan,” Justin said.

“What if there was no time for that, like it was a weekend and you needed money fast. And couldn’t afford a loan anyway. I’m talking about a real chunk of change. Say fifty grand.”

Ahmed whistled. “If I could raise fifty grand I’d be long gone.”

The echo of his own thoughts made Dace nervous all over again. “Me too. But for the sake of argument…”

Justin laughed, shook his head. “There’s no legitimate way to make fifty grand fast short of luck. Like a lottery ticket or something.”

“Right.”

Justin frowned. “So you’d have to fucking steal it or something, dickhead.”

“Or you could, you know,” Ahmed said, nodding past Dace.

He turned to see the Stinson brothers walk in and head out into the enclosed courtyard, where they always spent their evenings. Craig, the younger sibling, was stocky, shorter than his brother, William by a few inches. Both well-muscled, lean and mean-looking. Both with straight brown hair cut short and sharp chins. They ran all kinds of rackets around The Gulp, hardcore bastards according to some, petty criminals according to Carter. But the rivalry between the Stinsons and Carter was well-known.

“What do you mean?” Dace asked.

Ahmed raised an eyebrow. “Use your noggin, mate. They fucking hate Carter. If you owe Carter fifty grand – and that is a deep well of shit, by the way – maybe you can offer them something. Tell them something for the money, maybe, or give them shit to use against Carter.”

Dace shook his head, waved one finger. “For one thing, I didn’t say I owe Carter fifty grand. For another, it would be suicide to deal with those two! What do you think I would have to give them for that kind of money, and how would that ever help me?”

“Guess you’re fucked then,” Ahmed said. “You’ll have to think of somewhere that holds that sort of cash and rob them. You any good at bank heists? The banks are open Saturday mornings.”

“Jesus fuck, you’re worse than useless.”

Ahmed shrugged, Justin laughed. Dace’s stomach curdled.

“What about the Nikolovs?” Justin said after a while.

“The who?”

“Nah, that’s a band. The Nikolovs.”

Dace sighed. “Mate, you’re going to have to be more forthcoming.”

Ahmed nodded. “Yeah, what the fuck are you on about?”

Justin took a swig of beer, then said, “Okay, this must be one of The Gulp legends that’s slipped by both of you. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed. Anyway, the Nikolovs are this weird ass old Macedonian couple here in town. Proper eccentric nutters. But rich eccentric nutters. Rumour has it they don’t trust banks and sit on a fortune in cash they keep at home. Thousands under the mattress kinda thing.”

Dace grimaced. “Yeah, but this town is full of bullshit rumours.”

“I reckon this one’s true though.”

“Why?”

“Lots of little things, but here’s an example. When I was going out with Tracy Briggs, her dad’s a plumber, yeah. She told me about how he had to install a new hot water heater outside their place. While he was at it, he had to replace a bunch of pipes in the back yard to cope with their roof runoff or something. Anyway, the bill ended up being nearly three grand. Old man Nikolov asks Briggs how much, and Briggs writes up the invoice, expecting a bank transfer or something in a few days like normal. Except Nikolov looks at the bill, tells him to wait and goes inside. He comes back a few minutes later with the full amount in cash.”

“That is a bit strange,” Dace said quietly.

“We hear stuff at the accountancy office too,” Justin went on. “I don’t give much of a fuck, but Dad keeps an ear to the ground. He said they’ve never used a bank in town, never used any of the local area accountants for their taxes or anything like that. Dad’s convinced they’re loaded and hoarding cash.”

“Why are they so eccentric anyway?” Ahmed asked. “I mean, not using banks doesn’t make someone a complete weirdo.”

Justin laughed. “That’s barely the surface of it. You know that house halfway up Tanning Street with all the guinea pigs in cages all around the front yard.”

Ahmed frowned and shook his head, but Dace said, “Yeah, I’ve seen that place. That is fucking strange.”

Justin smiled and nodded. “That’s them. Old man Nikolov is sometimes in Woollies, but all he ever buys is milk, white bread, and tinned sardines. He apparently has a deal with one of the farmers out on the Gulp Road for bales of hay once a month or so. To feed all the fucking guinea pigs, I expect.”

Dace’s mind began to race. He knew the house Justin was talking about. An old couple sitting on a pile of cash. It might not be sixty grand, but it might be a good start towards it. Maybe enough to show good will and buy more time with Carter. And he could go tonight, just an hour or two to plan. But he needed to change the subject. No one would have overheard them in the busy pub, but even his two mates thinking too hard on it was risky.

“Robbing a weird old Macedonian couple,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m glad you two aren’t in any crime syndicate. Honestly. Another beer?”

They grinned and raised almost empty glasses, and Dace went for another round. After taking his time with that one, he said, “Well, the gig tonight was a blow out, and much as I love your company, gents, I think I might take an early night.”

“On a Friday?” Ahmed asked.

“It’s been a long week. And I can’t really afford to get drunk, so no point staying here.”

Justin looked at his phone. “It’s only ten.”

Forty-seven to go , Dace thought, but kept his expression as neutral as he could. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Outside, the spring night was warm and fragrant. The salt of the ocean and sweet, cloying night pollens filled the air. Several people were about, a short queue at the noodle shop a few doors down grabbing a last-minute feed. The place stayed open until ten on Fridays and Saturdays. Times like this The Gulp seemed almost normal, not such a bad place to live. Usually. Right now, Dace felt as though he stood on a precipice, his toes over the edge and the rock beneath his heels beginning to crack and crumble.

“Fuck,” he spat softly, and got in his car to drive home and prepare.

Forty-five minutes later he was beginning to buzz with a combination of stress and adrenaline. Underlying it all was a building fatigue. It wasn’t yet eleven pm, but he felt as though it were the early hours of the morning and he’d been out all night. He stood in the lounge of his small one-bedroom flat on Kurrajong Street and stared at the stuff laid out on the sofa. Leather gloves, thin for driving, which had been a gift from his grandmother years before and were still tagged together as they had been in whatever shop she bought them from. He’d never imagined using them, but also never thrown them out. He was thankful for that now. Next to them lay a rubber Freddy Kruger mask that went right over his head and neck with a skirt of rubber to tuck into a shirt or jumper. It was part of a Halloween costume from a couple of years before. He had no balaclava like the arseholes who’d robbed him, so this was the best anonymity he could manage. Once he’d decided on that, he felt like keeping the theme, so next to the mask was a baggy red and green striped jumper. The Freddy mask had come with an oversized glove with plastic finger blades, so he’d asked his mother to knit the jumper for him. He’d shown her stills from the movie and she had been thoroughly horrified, but like any good mother, she’d indulged him. The jumper was exactly like the one in the film, right down to the ragged neck and cuffs. The combination of mask, glove and sweater with a pair of dark brown cargo pants with big pockets and black work boots was perfect for Halloween. The pants and boots sat on the sofa too, but the Freddie blades would stay home in favour of the driving gloves.