Blood on the Rocks Chapter 16
Frank was lying on the ground with his eyes closed, listening to how he was about to die. He surreptitiously tested the strength of the cable ties binding his ankles and wrists – no give. There had to be a way out of this, but at that moment Frank could think of nothing.
Dalton’s two thugs hauled him back into the tray of the ute. Frank played possum, hoping that if they thought him unconscious after Dalton’s wack with the pool cue, they might lower their guard and make a mistake; he may be able to get out of the ute as they drove. But they bound Frank securely to a mounting point on the tray, reattached the tonneau cover and took off at high speed.
Frank braced himself but soon enough motion sickness overcame him. He groaned out loud – surely his body wouldn’t inflict this on him at such a time? No hope. After about twenty minutes Frank couldn’t fight it any more. He tipped his head as far as he could and heaved up everything he’d eaten that day. Then the ute turned a corner and the whole putrid mess oozed his way, making him chuck up even more. The stench was disgusting. By the time the ute reached Mullaway Beach, Frank was almost ready to swap sick for death. Almost.
Frank heard the roar of the waves even before they cut the engine. It sounded close: he assumed that they’d parked at the end of the access road. The thugs got out, chatting like an old married couple. Frank could only just hear them over a surf, which was surging like an angry crowd, loud and dangerous.
‘He was in a good mood: you let him beat you again?’ That was Gaz; the Gasman laughed.
‘Nah, didn’t have to – he wore his specs,’ Gasman replied, in a light voice that sounded almost feminine. ‘Hey, how’d he break his fav cue? Shit, thought we were all for it when I saw that.’
‘Over the head of the cop, I think.’
‘Better’n beating up his girlfriend, the prick – dunno why she put up with that… Agh, disgusting!’ said the Gasman as he undid the tonneau cover, adding a few expletives for good measure. ‘The cop’s chundered.’
‘Shut it Gasman – want everyone to hear?’
‘But it’s bloody disgusting,’ Gasman complained.
‘Yeah, shame he didn’t choke on it. Get him out,’ said Gaz.
‘I’m not touching him.’
‘Don’t be so effen sensitive. Get his feet, come on. The boss must have caught him a beauty – he’s still out.’
‘Could be faking it,’ the Gasman said.
‘With puke all over him? Yeah right. This’ll sort him if he is.’
Frank was dragged down the tray by his feet like a bale of hay. He braced himself for the fall from the ute, keeping up the appearance of unconsciousness – they would have to untie his bonds at some point and that was his only chance. Luckily it was a soft landing on to sand. One of the thugs laughed and kicked him in the side.
‘Can’t we drag him from here?’ asked Gasman.
‘Nah, to obvious if anyone is looking and it’ll leave marks on the ground and on him – can’t risk it.’
‘Shit.’
The burly thugs hauled him upright and carried him to the water’s edge.
‘Shit,’ said Gasman again, ‘I got puke all over me. Whatta we do now?’
‘I reckon we strip him off and just chuck him in. He’s so out of it. Wait for a big set. If we strip him to his jocks it’ll look like he was taking a midnight dip, y’know?’
‘What about the cable ties?’ asked Gasman. ‘It’ll look a bit suss if he’s all trussed up, won’t it?’
‘Oh yeah, crap. Got your knife?’
‘Yeah,’ Gasman replied.
‘Okay, then we gotta take him out the back ourselves and cut the ties before we put him under, yeah.’
‘Right. At least that’ll wash the puke off,’ said Gasman.
‘Shift it then, we gotta get back pronto and sort out the bitch before she does something stupid. You get the burner from the office?’
‘Yeah, but there’s no reception here.’
‘No worries, we’ll pick her up closer to town.’
They dropped Frank face first on the sand. He felt his boots and socks pulled away. Then they rolled him over and went for his belt and pants, only to be stopped by the cable tie around his ankle.
‘Shit,’ said Gaz. ‘We gotta cut this one off.’
‘What about his shirt?’ asked Gasman.
‘Ah, crap, leave that – too risky if he comes to. But bloody fold the pants, mate – make it look right.’
After stripping Frank of his trousers, the two men dumped their own boots, belts, keys and phones. Then they picked him up and dragged him in.
Despite their bulk and muscle, they struggled with his supposedly inert body, swearing as each wave threatened to tumble them all. The undertow was as fierce. Frank clamped his mouth shut as successive waves delivered stinging blows, made worse by the necessity to feign unconsciousness. At just hip-deep, Gaz swore loudly and lost his grip.
‘Mate, this sucks,’ he shouted above the surf. ‘Cut the ties now, we won’t get him any further.’
Frank had just enough time to take a breath before the Gasman dropped him face-first into the water, and Gaz held him down. Jostled by the surf, Gasman slashed wildly at the cable tie and Frank felt a burning sensation along his arm. Gasman swore. He took another slash, which flew wide of its mark and Frank felt another burning sensation. His throat started to constrict as his body begged for breath. Could he manage to wriggle free before he drowned or the thug with the knife cut him wide open? He didn’t think so.
The third slash cut his wrists free as a large wave broke on them, toppling the Gasman. Gaz lost his hold and was swept off his feet. In the confusion, Frank managed a quick breath before taking himself under, reaching out his hands to dig into the sand, hauling himself as best he could, kicking with all his might. He followed the bottom, which dropped off suddenly.
His lungs screamed for air but he kept going. When he could hold on no longer he pushed to the surface, emerging in time to cop another wave in the face. He took a quick breath and went back under, kicking away from the beach, he hoped, but in the pitch black of underwater it was difficult to tell. He rose again, this time risking a look around. The beach seemed empty, which was good, but he was being pulled dangerously close to the rocks, which was not. Frank struck out towards the open ocean, only to be stopped by the next big wave, which rushed past him to crash over the rocks in a way that he knew would have had him in pieces.
Frank struggled to keep afloat, his breath coming in short gasps. He rose to the surface yet again and looked over to the rocks. To his horror a dark figure stood just twenty metres away from him, on the ledge, staring in his direction. They raised an arm towards him, then dove neatly into the water, emerging quickly and striking out towards him with an expert stroke. Panicking Frank turned, splashing like a pre-schooler at swim class, trying to get away. And failing. A hand grabbed his leg. Then his shirt. He swung around, trying to get a punch in, but they pushed him under. This was it, he thought, the drowning.