On Thu, 27 Feb 97, S.T.M.Newman wrote: *** Start of forwarded message Here's #26 of the PCBH Round Robin - again, there's some nasty stuff, so those of a delicate disposition may prefer not to read it. Otherwise, hope you enjoy it! CHAPTER 26 Tuesday 22nd November 1983 14:00hrs Jimmy had called Dave Irvine earlier in the day, said to meet him at the old Clearwater Inc. warehouse, where the Fellowes' gang often used to stash stuff, back in the old days - the good old days. Now, as Dave climbed the creaking stairs to the warehouse's upper floor, he wondered what was up - something to do with those two women Jimmy reckoned were after him? Dave reckoned Jimmy was taking the threat way too seriously - not much scared Dave Irvine, eighteen stones of solid, bullet-headed muscle. Still, best to be wary, and today he was packing his favourite .357 Magnum revolver in the holster beneath his black leather jacket. No, Dave didn't reckon he had much to worry about from a couple of bloody Sheilas, no friggin' way. Dave reached the door to the back room and pushed it open - the room was dimly lit, there was Jimmy, feet up on the battered desk, idly toying with that little pistol of his. He got to his feet as Dave walked in: "G'day - got here at last, then? What kept ya?" Dave grunted, ignoring the question, and looked about him, taking in the ragged remains of what looked like a nurses' uniform lying on the desk. He came up short as he saw the room's other two occupants. The nearest was a small girl with a shock of messy blonde hair, no more than twenty years old, wearing an ill-fitting sweater and pair of jeans. She was slouched on a filthy beanbag near the desk, her hands tied in front of her. She looked miserable. However, most of Dave's attention was on the room's third occupant, her manacled wrists held above her head by the chain which looped about the thick water pipe that crossed the right-hand side of the room, just beneath the low ceiling. She was very obviously female, and a shapely one at that, for apart from her stockings and high-heeled shoes, she was entirely naked. A leggy blonde, good-looking too, despite the bruises on her face and upper body. Her long wavy hair had been tied up in severe style, beneath the nurses' cap which still perched incongruously atop her head. Now her hair was in disarray, and much of it floated free, falling to beneath her shoulders. She had been roughly gagged, with what looked like strips torn from her own clothing. She seemed maybe 27 or 28. Her bosom heaved, her blue eyes looked beseechingly at Dave, brimming with tears. He was transfixed. "Quite a bit of alright, eh?" said Jimmy, breaking the spell. Dave shook his head in wonderment. "Frack off Jimmy, what the Hell's going on? Who are these two? Not the Sheilas who broke outta Wentworth..." "Naw," said Jimmy, annoyed at being reminded that his troubles were not yet over. "The scrawny runt's a prossie called Bobbie Mitchell, she's a friend of theirs. The one with the tits says her name's Louise - I needed a nurse to help me get Mitchell out of Wentworth General. She got stroppy, so I had to give her a bit of a hidin'. You want a piece? She's all yours - look on it as a bonus payment." Dave tried to take it all in - he wasn't known for rapid thinking. He looked over the two women, and back to Jimmy. "I don't get it - what the effin' Hell are you playing at? What're you gonna do with them?" Jimmy grinned, a slightly maniacal gleam in his eye. "Whatever the effin' Hell I like, Dave. But the thing is, Kean and Desmond are out there, looking to waste yours truly. If the police don't get them first, they might just manage it. But while I've got Mitchell there, I've got insurance..." He produced a tape recorder, and pressed 'play'. A tinny version of Bobbie's voice came forth: "Reb, Myra - it's true, he's got me tied up here. If anything happens to him, he says a mate of his is going to kill me. He says you'd better give yourselves up, or he'll kill me himself. Myra, I'm sorry, I..." Jimmy's grin broadened. "Y'see, Dave? Long as I've got this on me, I'm safe as houses. I just need you to look after these two for a few days, just 'til it's over. There's a whole load of tins in the cupboard, and the dunny's still working. Easy-friggin'-peasy, eh?" Simpkins was nervous, despite his confident words. Dave regarded him shrewdly. "Okay, say I do it, how much do I get?" "Two grand up front, another three when it's over. That's five thousand dollars for doing bugger-all. Plus you get to shag the Sheilas whenever it takes your fancy - long as Mitchell's alive, I'm easy. Whadya say, mate?" Dave looked over at the nude blonde chained to the wall. Her full breasts seemed thrust forward invitingly as she struggled, tugging vainly at her bonds. He looked down at the scrawny one - Mitchell - who regarded him dourly. Not his type, but she didn't look like she'd be much trouble. He ran a hand over his shaved scalp, considering. Could turn out dangerous, he supposed, but wasn't that just the way he liked it? He reached a decision. "Alright Jimmy, I'm yer man. Let's have the cash." Simpkins breathed a sigh of relief, producing a thick wad of dollar bills. "There you go, mate - don't spend it all at once, ya hear? These Sheilas won't cost you a penny!" Dave Irvine pocketed the cash, both men laughing. * 17:00hrs Dave grunted, and rolled off the naked body of the blonde nurse, lying on the filthy mattress beneath the water pipe. He yawned and stretched, shoving her to the edge of the makeshift bed, then lit up a cigarette. He had ungagged her, but she still wore the manacles, now binding her wrists beneath her as she lay on her back. She hadn't said anything, apart from a few sobs. Boring bloody cow, thought Dave as he took a drag on the ciggy - the nurse flinched as he moved his hand, holding the glowing tip of the cigarette close to her bare skin. He grinned, and flicked ash into the cleft between her breasts - she shuddered, but he had lost interest, turning his head to look over at Bobbie, still slouched on the beanbag. She regarded him back. "So, Mitchell," he ventured, the first words since Jimmy had left, "You must be pretty special, eh? Jimmy reckons Kean and Desmond will give themselves up instead of letting you die - you reckon he's right?" Bobbie shrugged - it didn't seem to matter either way. Whatever happened, these bastards weren't likely to let her go alive. It was just a matter of time. She supposed she was lucky not to have been raped yet, though maybe that was still to come. Certainly, it didn't look as if this animal would stop at anything. "Don't talk much, do ya?" Dave tried again. Bobbie shrugged: "What's to talk about?" Dave considered this. "Oh, I dunno - like how you're gonna get out of this alive, for one thing. You could start by being a bit friendlier, eh?" Bobbie sniffed derisively. "Why? You're gonna kill me anyway, aintcha?" Dave shook his head: "That's up to Jimmy - right now, I got three grand ridin' on you staying alive." He yawned, and got to his feet. "I'm going to the dunny - don't go anywhere, eh? Try anything and it's goodnight nursey, savvy?" He drew his revolver for emphasis, waving it in the general direction of the nurse lying on the mattress. Dave continued: "Cos, I need you alive, but far as I'm concerned, you make one wrong move, and she's history." Bobbie nodded dismally. Satisfied, Dave holstered the revolver and headed out the door. Bobbie sighed, overwhelmed with misery. Bloody Hell. 23:00hrs It was raining heavily as the two women huddled in the alleway across from the strip club, its neon sign - "Haught's Stuff" - flickering, casting a pallorous light over the grimy street, passing cars, and occasional sodden pedestraian. Reb grimaced and turned her collar up higher against the rain, wishing she had a cig. The doors of the club opened, several men staggered out, clearly the worse for wear. None of them was Simpkins. Reb shrank back into the shadows. Her thigh ached, a tight knot of fear had settled in her stomach. She just wanted it to be over. Winnie McAllister had for many years run one of the most profitable brothels in Melbourne, and she still had plenty of contacts throughout the police force and the criminal fraternity. It had only taken a couple of days for her to pinpoint this place - an old watering-hole of the Fellowes' gang - as the likeliest place to find Jimmy Simpkins. After all, he owned a large chunk of it. Winnie had even come up with a picture of Simpkins - a police mugshot, though it dated from 1974, and he had apparently lost the moustache. Still, Reb didn't think she'd have any problem recognising the bastard. She coughed, glancing over at Myra. "I'd freakin' kill for a fag." Myra shrugged: "Maybe Jimmy'll have a packet." Reb forced a grin. "Yeah, maybe. You sure he'll be here?" Myra shrugged again. "Whoever gave Winnie her info was pretty sure." Reb scowled. "You reckon you can trust her?" Myra looked over as another group of men entered the club, before replying. "I think we can trust her -we have to, anyway. She's the only chance we've got. If it's a trap, they're certainly taking their time about it." "How did you get her to help us, anyway?" Reb had been wondering. "She owes me - I saved her life, once. Back in 1977, when Bea Smith was Top Dog, Winnie got brought in on a vice rap - living on immoral earnings. Winnie had smuggled in a big stash of dope - and this was about a month after Bea's daughter had died of a drugs overdose..." She trailed off for a moment, thinking of her own loss. "...When Bea found it, she went berserk. She would've killed Winnie there and then. Anyway, I stood up for her - it was quite a scrap, cost us both two days in the pound - I can still feel the bruises. The screws found the dope, and that was the end of that. Bea didn't bear a grudge. Afterwards, Winnie said that if I ever needed a favour, I should look her up. She just needed a little reminding..." Myra broke off, as another car drew up outside the club. Out of it climbed the stocky figure of the man they were both waiting for... "Simpkins." Both had spoken. 23:22 hrs, Haught's Stuff. Jimmy took a beer from the barman - free, as always - and went to sit at an empty table with a good view of the door. After three days cooped up in the warehouse, it was time to relax. With Davey-boy looking after his 'insurance', he reckoned he was pretty safe, though it was best not to take chances. He eyed up the new girl the model agency had sent over - she was just taking the stage as the music struck up, a slim brunette, she looked pretty awkward in high-heels, suspenders, basque and feather boa - like something out of the Rocky Horror Show. No, she didn't look happy at all. The quality of the girls was definitely declining - he'd have to have a word... The show progressed, the girl awkwardly divesting herself of various items of clothing. Jimmy started to enjoy himself - no-one was bothering him, that was good. Then the club's doors opened, and two women strode purposefully in, one middle-aged, the other small, both wearing rain-soaked denim and looking pretty bloody suspicious. His hand moved to the gun beneath his jacket... Myra looked around, searching for Simpkins - where was he, dammit? They'd seen him only a minute ago... her gaze alighted on the miserable-looking dark haired girl on-stage, she wasn't wearing much more than a sequinned g-string, but she still looked strangely familiar. Then their eyes met, and Myra's jaw dropped open, all thoughts of Simpkins momentarily forgotten in a terrible moment of mutual recognition: "Officer Rogers?!" ***************************** He used to give me roses... (Okay, not setting a single scene in Wentworth was maybe cheating a bit...) Andrew, I know that was an evil cliffhanger - good luck! *** End of forwarded message ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Prisoner Cell Block H Mailing List. He used to give me roses....... pcbh@chewy.demon.co.uk http://www.chewy.demon.co.uk/pcbh/ Team AMIGA --------------------------------------------------------------------------------