Got 'Em Page 8

I then move around to the other two, clobbering them over the head with the gas cylinder, one of them shouts out, “No, don’t do this man., you don’t need to do this—” as the cylinder comes down on his head which knocks him out. The other one, with the light brown hair tries to get up for another whack as I swing the cylinder around and smack him straight in the face. Bringing the cylinder back up, I notice he is some-what out of it, so I place the cylinder down beside the warehouse.

  I quickly jog back up to the truck as my heart is pumping with adrenaline. Grabbing some left over rope from the truck, I bring it back to the men. The one I clobbered in the face is trying to get back up. Demanding in a stern tone, I pipe up, “Oh no you don’t!” as I grab the cylinder again and smack him on the side of the head. He drops. A few moments later, I tie them up in a truckie kind of knot, so they won’t be able to get out in a hurry. I begin dragging them down into the first room of the basement, one by one. Leaving the light on, I tie them together around a circular table that I found down there; it has four chairs, but I only need three of them.

  Leaving them down there, I stay upstairs and go back to creating my designs. Then I think, I want to know who these guys are. Dropping the pen I have in hand and kicking my seat back, I make my way down the stairs. From the looks of it they are pretty much conscious. Pulling up the fourth chair, seating myself, I begin looking around the table at the three of them. In a low toned deep voice I ask, “So what are your names?”

  The dark brunette states, “Charles,” as he lifts his head in pain only to put it back down.

  The blonde looks up at me as he has his head resting on the table and says, aggravated, “What are you going to do with us?”

  I put my head on the table and look deep into his blue eyes and giggle. In a disparaging voice, I insist, “The longer I wait for your name, the worse your punishment’s going to be,” as I laugh creepily to end my sentence.

  The blonde says frustratingly, “Fine!” and pauses for a second. Then he continues, as I look at him in question, he takes a deep breath and mumbles, “My name’s Jackson.”

  The light brunette very quickly pops up and says anxiously, “My name’s Bill.”

  I reply to the lot of them, with a big grin on my face, “Good, have fun down here for a while—I have work to do.” I stand up and begin to walk up the flight of stairs to the warehouse, then make my way towards the forklift, as I have already picked up the gas bottle to replace the empty one on there, so I can start it up.

  Getting to the forklift, I make sure the gas bottle is secure. After plugging up the gas line and turning the gas tank on, I hop into the forklift to turn it over. It starts churning, then the gas finally makes it through nicely and she starts up and sounds rather healthier. As I let the forklift warm back up, I take a walk through the warehouse and unlock the entry door from the inside and walk back out to the truck.

  Hopping in, I reverse the truck carefully back to the loading doors, park it and pull up the handbrake so it won’t move. After doing so, I hop out and jump back onto the forklift and begin unloading again.

  A few hours go by as I have unloaded the truck to where I want the material placed.

  I end up spending days up at the warehouse, eating and sleeping there, feeding the mongrels down in the basement and giving them a slap here and there just for calling me an asshole. I have made a few trips back to the metal place to grab more stuff, including a welder and a heap of tools. Each time I go there, I repeat the same thing, until Tuesday.

  On Tuesday, at about 2.30 am, the last time I leave the metal factory, a car pulls out of the driveway next to the factory and drives behind me. Taking turns here and there, I notice the car is keeping its distance but is actually following me. As I am heading out of the city up towards the mountains, this person continues to follow.

  Coming to my grandfather’s street, turning right, I proceed to head towards his house. Pulling up in the driveway, I remain in the truck as the person, a man in a tux, drives past slowly but continues down the street.

  --In the car that drove past, the man pulls up a UHF radio and says in an instructive voice, “I believe I have your truck in sight, and the fella is driving it with a trailer full of your goods.”

  Another man replies, on the other side of the UHF, in a demanding tone, “Keep with him and don’t lose him!”

  I see the car pull over to the side of the road and wait. More than a few hours pass. The man in the car falls asleep. Unknowingly though, I suspect the driver of the car is asleep. And in assuming that, I start up the truck and reverse out of the drive way as quietly as I possibly can. Successfully, I drive off without being noticed.

  Waking up just as I leave, he notices the trucks taillights going down the road in his rear view mirror. He quickly starts up the car and does a U-turn. Coming to the T-intersection, I turn right, heading towards Lithgow. The man in the car puts his foot down on the accelerator to catch up to me. As he comes to the intersection, he is confused by which way he should go. There is now no sign of me anywhere. Out of interest and suspicion, though, he turns right just to see.

  Finding a street on the left I make a swift turn, knowing the man would have caught on or awakened and seen the truck is gone. So I tuck the truck away and wait for the car to bypass.

  Only moments after I take my hiding spot, the man in the car drives past heroically as an impression to try and catch up to this stolen truck. Waiting here, I sit for about an hour, pulling out cigarette after cigarette to eat up the time. In my thoughts, I know I am wasting precious time, but for a good reason. Finishing my cigarette, I hop back into the truck that is still idling, and carry out the rest of my journey. Performing a U-turn, I make my way to the main road, to turn left then proceed on course, towards Lithgow.

  Along the drive, I keep my eyes peeled so that I don’t become oblivious to anything abnormal and so I can keep safe. As I concentrate too hard, bopping along to music, lighting up another cigarette, I must look a lot like a trouble making truck driver.

  As I keep at speed, my eyes catch a small green hatchback Toyota Corolla with the number plates TRYM31. Grinning, I say to myself in a dark, whimsical voice, “Let’s play.” I push the clutch in and rev the engine to shift back a gear. Bringing the nose of the truck about a metre away from the Corolla’s rear end, turning on my high beams and flashing them, I sound my horn, wanting to play.

  As for the young man with brunette hair and blue eyes and the young woman with a great figure, brunette hair and hazel eyes in the Toyota Corolla, both of them look at each other in question, as the man says in an arrogant voice, “Oh, what does this guy want?”

  The woman replies, turning around from the front passenger seat with her arms up defensively, “What do you want mate?”

  The man rhetorically asks, “I wonder if I brake, he’ll brake too?” As his foot leaves the accelerating pedal and pushes on the brake pedal, the truck rams into the back of them—BANG!—launching the Corolla forwards. At this point, the man pronounces accusatory, “Yup, the fella wants to play, and I ain’t playing with a truck!” Out of fear, the man puts his foot down on the accelerator pedal and slowly pulls away from the truck, luckily getting away to where I can’t see them.

  Backing off the accelerator, I go into hysterics. Laughing so hard, I lose concentration and begin veering off the road. Not helping myself, I continue to pull off to the left of the road. Coming to a stop, I jump out of the truck and continue laughing in hysterics. I laugh so much that it puts me into an excited rage as I start punching the bull bar of the truck. Then the ‘hysterical laughs’ turns to plain rage as I begin screaming angrily, “FUCK!” calming down, and in a grieving voice I say to myself, as I lean on the trucks bulbar, turning my head to rest on it, “What’s wrong with me?” as I continue punching the bull bar.

  After a few minutes of me trying to grasp for air as tears run down my face, I stand up straight, turning around to lean with my back against the bull bar. I bring my left hand up to my c
hin with an almost closed fist, rubbing my chin in frustration. Bringing my right arm up to wipe away the tears that were still falling, I begin to sniffle.

  Taking two steps away from the front of the truck, I turn around with an evil look in my eyes, staring into the headlights of it. With a determined posture, I walk on back to the driver’s door which is left open to hop back into the truck. Closing the door, I proceed to drive and merge back into the lane I had pulled out of.

  About an hour goes by as I cautiously drive, heading towards Lithgow. Just as you come into Lithgow, there is a fuel station on the left where both the man and woman with the green Corolla have pulled into to top up the fuel in their car and grab a bite to eat. It is a servo, so they aren’t keen on spending too much on food there.

  The man walks in and grabs a Mrs Macs meat pie for himself and a beef sausage roll for the woman, then proceeds to the checkout to pay for the items and the fuel. As he approaches the Irish lady behind the counter, the lady says in a concerned voice, “Hey, are you okay?”

  The man replies in a shallow voice, as he is still shaking with a bit of fear, “Yeah, I’m a little stunned—there is a truck just down the road heading our direction that tried to run us off the road.”

  The lady behind the counter grows a shocked expression with so many questions; she asks in a suggestive voice, “Did you grab the number plate?”

  The man replies sadly, “No, I wasn’t thinking. I was just concerned about my girlfriend.”

  The lady replies remorsefully, “Well, I hope you are both okay?” as the truck I am driving turns left down the street that the service station is on and the man’s girlfriend screams in horror, “STEVEN!” kicking and screaming, “STEVEN!” Steven peers through the window to see the assaulting truck and the driver drive past the service station, the lady behind the counter catches the number plate and goes to write it down, mumbling under her breath, “A… H, Y… uh… 2, I, 0?” and continues to say rapidly, “Here’s the number plate, call the damn cops! Now!”

  Steven replies in a distressed voice, “Okay, thank you.” He runs out of the service station and starts the car, taking off away from where the truck went…

  As this is my last load with the metal that I need to create what I have in mind, I rush back to the warehouse as fast as I can, driving the big truck. Pulling into the property and rushing down the corrugated road, I pull up beside the warehouse and look at the time, 7:38 a.m., Tuesday.

  Looking up and out of the windscreen of the truck, I glance at the warehouse for a few minutes, stuck in a moment that time captures me in. I snap out of it and reverse the truck up to the side-loading door, where I have been loading all of the other metal pieces.

  Pulling the truck up to a stop, I turn it off as I hop out and walk into the warehouse, pulling out the keys of the forklift. I jump into the seat and start it up. Smiling I say happily, being convinced by the forklifts start up, “Nope, no problems this time.” laughing hysterically as I pull the forklift out. I leave it to run whilst I organise the doors on the truck so I can remove the remainder of the metal.

  Opening the left door, which is the last door on the trailer of the truck, I pull it back and lock it so that it stays open. I stop frantically, as I get an eerie, weird feeling as I look around the truck. I feel some kind of suspicion coming on. At this point I shrug it off and go back to the forklift. Jumping into it, I drive it to the rear of the truck to start unloading.

  At about 9:07 am on Tuesday, I finish unpacking the truck. After doing so, I drive the forklift back into the warehouse and park it alongside the inside wall, on the far end of the warehouse. I proceed walking on up to the driver’s side of the truck, to jump in and start it up. Driving it out to the front of the warehouse beside the little shed.

  Hopping back out of the truck, I walk into the little shed which I didn’t close, and pull out a gernie with an additive bottle, a hose and a strong heavy-duty detergent that Pop used to clean up all the grease and oil stains with. It isn’t degreaser, although it looks similar, nor is it WD-40. It has a slightly stronger and more pronounced smell then any of them.

  Filling the additive bottle up with this chemical-like detergent, I connect the hose which is beside the little shed, and then waltz around looking for an outdoor power supply. I think to myself, There is none I can see around the outside of the shed, or the warehouse. So I pace myself back to the little shed to have a quick peek around as I start hearing a hissing sound.

  I reach down to this little tool box where I can hear the hissing sound coming from. I move the toolbox out of the way as a strike comes towards me from a snake. Out of fright, I grab things from around me as I stumble back making a mess inside of the shed. I fall over as things fall down on top of me, giving me a mild concussion.

  I push myself up, relieving my right arm and leaning on my left arm. I wipe my head as I can feel a liquid substance. Wiping my head, I bring my arm down to just in front of my face as I see blood from where I got hit by another small toolbox on the head. Looking around for the snake that had struck at me—which I can’t see or even hear anymore—I get myself up using the wall of the shed as support and brush myself off as I look around to where the snake is, and see its body coming out from underneath one of Pops’ vices. I reach down carefully to lift the vice up off the snake. As I remove the vice, I see the snake’s head has been caved and squashed. I bring my hand up to my mouth, convulsing and almost about to vomit at the sight of it. Saying to myself in a disgusted voice, “Eww, ehhh… yuck!” As I step back away from the squashed snake, I notice a power outlet on the inside of the shed and say to myself in a shocked but pleased voice as I glance at it, “Hmm, everything does happen for a reason.”

  Grabbing an extension cord which is near where I stumbled and fell, I pick it up and plug it in, then attempt to turn it on. But it won’t turn on. Feeling a little frustrated, I voice, “Come on, turn on man!” As I swing a closed fist at it, it dislodges and turns on. Turning around with a smile on my face and feeling strong, I say to myself in a derisive tone, “Yeah, that’s right, now who’s the man? Aye!”

  Taking the lead to the gernie, I plug it in and connect the hose. I make my way back to the tap where the hose is connected to turn it on. Getting back to the gernie, I turn it on to test it. It’s working perfectly!

  Heading back to the truck with the gernie in hand I take all the rubbish out of it, then walk back to the shed to grab a sponge. Returning to the truck, I grab the gernie nozzle and pull the trigger on it to start washing the inside thoroughly. After doing that I continue with the rest of the truck, sponging it down before using the gernie to wash it off.

  After I finish, I put it away. I try to avoid making any eye contact with that horrible snake. Then I make my way back to the truck. Hopping in, I conjure up plans on what I am going to do. I start the beast up and drive away from the warehouse heading out and up the corrugated road.

  As I am pulling away, the three men down stairs are yelling in anger, “Hey! Where are you going? We are hungry! Don’t leave us here!”

  Charles says to Jackson and Bill solemnly, “Do you think he has forgotten about us, or that he will forget about us being down here?”

  Jackson replies, snorting in a wretched ambivalent way, “Please don’t say that man. You know he’s a fucking psycho.”

  Turning left onto the main road, not being on the road for long, I pull over to the left. Turning the truck off and leaving the keys in it, I leave the door open and start walking to the service station where I use the payphone to call a taxi. On the phone to the operator, I say in a positive and kind voice, “Hi there, I would like to catch a cab to Sydney.” I pause whilst the operator asks me where I am going again, so I reply positively but frustrated, “Yeah to Sydney, uh, I’m at the service station just as you come into Lithgow on the left.” I pause again whilst the operator on the phone finishes describing my current location, then I continue, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  About half an hou
r goes by and a taxi pulls up into the service station. Opening the passenger door, I hop in. Telling the man driving the taxi arrogantly, “This is the address of where I want to go.” The driver puts the address into the GPS. Setting the trip, he proceeds out the driveway of the service station. Coming to a stop sign, after making sure it is clear to go, he takes off with me towards Sydney.

  Chapter Seven

  Revealing Discipline

  After a long day at work, Andrew pulls up in his driveway and parks his Commodore. Taking his keys out of the ignition as he opens the driver’s door and hops out of the car, he walks to his front door with his keys jingling. Bringing them up to the height of the front door’s dead lock, he sifts through his keys to find the dead lock key. Finding it, he places the key in, unlocking it as he turns the door handle to open the front door at the same time.

  Entering his house, it is like a short hallway with the lounge room on the left, the entry door to the garage on the right, opposite the lounge room opening, and about a metre up from the first bedroom door and three metres after that, there is the second bedroom door, then the dining room on the right and opposite it on the left of the kitchen. Then it leads to the third bedroom on the right, following another short hallway. Then opposite that bedroom door is a door that goes into the laundry; in the laundry there is another door at the end of the house where the laundry ends which leads to the backyard.

  Walking into his house, Andrew empties his pockets onto the coffee table that is just in behind the wall as you first enter the lounge room area. He sees Amanda lying there on the couch, eating ham and cheese toasties. He asks in a distressing and tiring voice, “Hey sweetie, how was your day?”

  Amanda mumbles out a reply as she finishes taking a mouthful of her third slice of toasties, “It was good!” As Andrew stares at her toasties, she continues as she grabs the plate with a mouthful of food still in her mouth, “Would you like one?”