Monkey Business (21 page)

Jack stopped abruptly and held up his hand.

I said, ‘What —'

He clamped his hand over my mouth and pulled me roughly into the bushes, dragging me deep into the thick foliage. Joe did the same with Kitty. I struggled to prise his fingers off my nose so I could draw breath. We crouched there, and while my body shook, Jack's was still and silent. I could hear footsteps. Lots of them. From within the jungle we watched a line of men walk past, Rupert Berringer in the lead. I stopped breathing. The blood crashed through my head. Jack was so still it was like being held by a rock. I could feel his heartbeat against my back. Slow and steady, unlike mine.

After Berringer, there was a bunch of those warrior guys, maybe ten of them, and Mick Jansen brought up the rear. I glanced sideways at Kitty, being held by Joe in the same way as Jack held me. I wondered if she wanted to call out to her buddies. She wasn't struggling, but I saw her eyes widen as she watched the procession. Jansen was maybe twenty metres away from us, but the boys hung on, not moving for another few minutes.

Jack turned my head so I could see his face. He released his hand, his expression warning, finger to his lips. He slid the knife slowly from the holster on his arm and held the point at Kitty's throat. She blinked at Jack, nodded.

Joe moved his hand. Kitty was quiet. Jack jerked his head, indicating for us to follow as he led the way slowly, silently out of the bushes and back onto the narrow track. We were so quiet that the jungle noises seemed even more pronounced. I could hear the birds and insects, the monkeys hooting, branches crashing above us. I glanced up, and stopped walking as I took in the strange sight, not understanding for a moment what it was. By the time I registered the writhing, plummeting snake, it was too late. The snake landed on my shoulders, flung itself around my neck, and as Joe was trying to wrestle it off me I screamed loud enough to wake the dead in Melbourne Cemetery.

Next thing that happened was the distant shouting. Joe threw the snake. Jack said, ‘Move!' and lunged at me, grabbing my wrist. ‘Split up,' he said, and Joe turned off the track, taking Kitty with him. Jack pushed me along.

I gasped, ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Run!'

We charged through a clearing and then I was falling. Not falling, flying! Flying through the air, straight up like a reverse bungy, screaming my lungs out.

I swung in the net, around and around, back and forth, a tangle of limbs. I could see Jack by a tree with his knife, trying to release the rope. But running feet were coming, lots of them.

Men charged into the clearing and surrounded Jack. He spun where he stood, knife and spear up, but dropped the weapons in an instant and put his hands on his head. The reason for his sudden surrender walked casually into the clearing, gun aimed at me.

Rupert Berringer said, ‘Ah, there you are, my love. Funny little minx, running off like that. Fancy a game of chasey, eh?'

My mouth started to water. Motion sickness and fear. I fought it down.

As I swung I had snapshots of the scene beneath me. More men emerged from the jungle carrying bows and arrows and with machine guns slung over their shoulders. Berringer was smiling. ‘Jones, old chap, we meet again. How nice.'

Mick Jansen walked up to Jack and punched him in the stomach.

Jack doubled over and two guys jerked him upright. Jansen punched him in the face and Jack's head snapped back.

I screamed, ‘No!'

Then something was poking me. Something sharp. I squealed. Whoever was doing it was laughing. I squirmed, twisted in the net. It was one of Berringer's men, jabbing me with Jack's spear.

I cried, ‘Make him stop.'

Jack yelled, ‘Back off!'

Without taking his smiling eyes off me, Berringer lowered his gun slightly and fired. It was a muffled pop, not loud at all, almost harmless-sounding. I heard a thud. Jack said, ‘Jesus Christ', and I twisted to try to see what had happened. The other men were backing away. And then I could see. Under me was the poking man, still on the ground in a growing pool of red. I whimpered and struggled, pointlessly.

Berringer said something in Portuguese, raising his voice. He addressed Jack. ‘I've told them to treat my girlfriend with respect. You don't mind sharing, do you, old chap? We've been through so much together already.'

Jack said, ‘Sharing what, Berringer?'

Berringer looked up at me, smiling, enjoying himself.

‘Help yourself,' said Jack.

What?

‘Not very loyal of you, Jones. If she were mine,' he laughed, ‘which she now is, I wouldn't let another man near her.'

Jack shrugged. ‘She's nothing to me.'

‘Really,' said Berringer. ‘We'll see.'

Jansen said, ‘He's lying,' and punched Jack again.

Berringer said to Jansen, ‘Leave it, man. Don't want to have to drag him.' He spoke again to the men and they lowered my net. I hit the ground harder than I would have liked, the net fell open around me and I stood, staggered.

Berringer holstered his gun, stepping over the net, pulling me into a tight hug. ‘Ah, I've missed you, poppet.' He kissed me on the mouth. I clenched my lips together, pushed him away and slapped his face.

He slapped me back, limp-wristed, mimicking me.

I raised my hand again, this time with a fist.

Berringer laughed.

Jack said, ‘Erica, don't.'

I lowered my arm and took a couple of steps towards Jack, but he shook his head, his expression grim.

‘Where's your friend?' Berringer asked Jack.

‘Which one?'

Berringer smiled.

Jack said, ‘He's dead.'

‘Really? How?'

‘Took a bullet last night.'

‘Don't believe him,' said Jansen.

One of the men tied Jack's hands while Berringer stood with his arm around me, giving me the occasional squeeze. His gun was drawn again, jammed against my temple. A lesson for anyone wanting to know how to be sweet and vile at the same time.

We all walked in single file through the jungle, one man ahead of Berringer and me, the rest following. I kept checking over my shoulder for Jack, but couldn't see past the guy behind. When there was room for us to walk side-by-side, Rupert held my hand as though we were on a romantic stroll through the Botanic Gardens. I kept squirming, trying to free my hand, but there was little point. I wondered where Joe was.

Berringer called out, ‘Tell her what a failure you are, Jones. Tell her how much smarter I am. She'll enjoy spending time with a real man, I think.'

Jack called back, ‘You're a cheat, a murderer and a traitor, Berringer.'

‘Cheat,' echoed Berringer and laughed. ‘How do you come to that conclusion, Jones?'

‘You're no better than your lackey Jansen.'

‘Oh, but I am. Much, much better in every way.'

We walked for a long time, a couple of hours I reckoned, mostly downhill. Rupert helped me along, gentleman that he was. I felt frightened and I was so tired and hungry but more than that . . . 

‘I'm thirsty,' I said.

‘I've got a nice Australian shiraz back at the camp.'

Finally we arrived. Rupert's camp. There were some tents. Rupert got Jack sorted first. Had him tied to a tree. The men scattered. Some lay on the ground to rest. Jansen hovered around Jack. He looked like he wanted an excuse to keep beating him. Jack gave him one.

‘You know what we do to scum like you, Jansen?' said Jack.

Jansen punched Jack in the stomach.

Rupert called out, ‘For Christ's sake, man. Leave him.'

Jansen stalked off and into a small tent.

I asked for water and Rupert sent one of the men to fetch it for me. Then, in the middle of the camp, with everyone watching, Rupert pushed his hand through my hair. ‘I like your hair,' he said.

At last.

Jack called out, ‘Let her go, Berringer. She's done nothing to you.'

Even if Berringer did release me, where did Jack think I'd go? Into the jungle to get taken by all those creatures of the darkness? Or to stumble around forever, avoiding orange frogs, thinking how nice it'd be to be Rupie's girlfriend instead?

‘Really, Jones,' said Rupert. ‘You have no idea. This little minx has been following me all around Sebastian. I think she's in love with me.' He turned me to face Jack and stood behind me, his arms around my waist, kissing my neck. He fondled my breasts, laughed, and ushered me to his tent.

Jack roared, screaming abuse at Rupert Berringer. I watched over my shoulder as men rushed at Jack to subdue him; I think he'd nearly broken out of his ropes.

Rupert's was a big tent with a table, two chairs, a double bed, a leather armchair and a heavy-looking chest in a corner with a monkey sitting on it, scratching its testicles. I stood in the middle of the tent, looking for a way out, but pretty much resigned to the fact that I was going to have sex with my captor. This theme was getting a bit too familiar – Jack's enemies forcing themselves on me. Why didn't they just torture Jack if they wanted to piss him off? Why couldn't they have sex with
him
instead? Rupert shooed Cheeta off the chest and opened it, taking out a long, blue, sequined dress.

‘You're a cross-dresser?' I said before I could stop myself.

He thought that was hilarious. ‘Oh no, sweet one. This is for you to wear.'

‘It's not really my colour.'

‘We're having a romantic lunch – just you and me.'

Great. Perfect.

The table and chairs from Rupert's tent were carried outside and Rupert left me in privacy while I changed into the sequined dress. More strangely gentlemanly behaviour considering his obvious plans for me. The dress was not my usual get-up for a casual lunch in the jungle, but who was I to argue? As I emerged from the tent, Rupert gasped and rushed to hold a chair out for me.

‘God, but you're beautiful,' he said.

What drugs was he on? I took the offered seat and he kissed my shoulder, and sat opposite me. On the table was some bottled water and that Australian shiraz I'd been promised (a nice one from Coonawarra). Jack was still tied to the tree, across the clearing, watching us.

I indicated the wine. ‘Did you steal that?'

‘Of course. I refuse to pay fifty dollars for one bottle of wine.'

‘So you just took it.'

‘That winery should be pleased I've chosen theirs. There are plenty of good Australian reds to steal.' He laughed.

There was a lot of smiling and laughing. I guess when everybody and everything was at your disposal, there was plenty to smile about. And sometimes things to laugh about. Rupert checked under the table.

‘Let me see your feet,' he said.

‘Okaaay.' I held them out. As well as the dress, Rupert had made me wear a pair of second-hand, glittery shoes. Unlike Kitty's boots, they were a perfect fit and divinely comfortable, even though they had quite high heels.

Rupert admired them, made me get up and walk around. He sighed.

Jack called out, ‘You
will
die today, Berringer.'

‘At your hand, Jones? You and whose army?' Berringer roared laughing.

A warrior guy with topknot hair brought some coconuts and put them in front of us. My stomach rumbled and I was reminded vaguely of
Gilligan's Island
, with Mary Ann making coconut cream pies. I loved that funny old show. The guy lifted the lid on the coconuts with a flourish. And inside . . . not coconut cream or anything that resembled something edible. I stared at the steaming lump. I knew what it was, even though I'd never seen one before – well, not like this, in front of me.

‘Monkey brain,' said Rupert. ‘Served slightly rare. Delicious and fresh as a daisy.'

Fresh? I wondered about Cheeta.

He informed me, ‘Usually the brain is served in the monkey itself, but I'm an animal lover, obviously, and I don't like to see them hurt.'

Obviously. ‘Why don't you become a vegetarian?' I thought about the poking guy's brains that were now splattered around the jungle. Not a lover of
all
animals.

‘We humans are carnivores. We can't help it.' He pointed at my meal. ‘Eat.'

‘Um. I'm not hungry. I had snake for breakfast.'

‘You need your strength. Eat up.'

‘No, really, you can have it.' I pushed the coconut away.

He pushed it back. ‘Eat.'

Maybe I could pretend to faint?

Rupert leaned across the table with his knife and fork, ready to feed me like a little kid.

‘I
will
vomit on you if you make me eat that,' I said.

He seemed to consider that for a moment, nodded once, and tucked in while I watched, fighting down bile. I sipped my wine.

‘What's your background?' I asked him. ‘What did you do before turning to a life of crime?'

He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. ‘I don't like conversations with women.' He considered me. ‘But I'm prepared to try it. For you.' He sat back, folded his napkin on his lap. ‘I'm both business- and military-trained.'

‘Well, why steal all that stuff? What are you trying to prove? Who do you want to hurt?'

‘I'm not
trying
to hurt anyone, my love. I'm simply building an empire.'

‘So, it's just about money?'

‘Power. One day I'll rule the world.'

‘The whole world?'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘Can't you be happy with just one country? But not mine,' I added quickly.

‘I'll start with this one. And then yours, probably.'

I looked at the warriors, mostly loafing around. They were tough-looking but didn't seem very competent.

Rupert clapped his hands, pushed his empty coconut shell aside and turned his chair to face the clearing. ‘Let the games begin!'

Games?

Four men with guns surrounded Jack while two others untied him. He walked slowly, suspiciously, to the middle of the clearing. I tried to stand, but a warrior guy pushed me back onto my chair. The guys with guns kept close to Jack.

A small line of dried blood ran from the corner of his mouth, the result of Jansen's earlier punch.

‘Who's first?' said Rupert.

Warrior guys rushed in.

Rupert yelled something then muttered, ‘Idiots.'

The men all backed away except one. He waved a machete around.

I clamped my hands over my eyes. After a minute I looked. Jack had claimed the machete and the guy was on his back on the ground, the blade at his throat, Jack's foot on his chest. I clapped my hands.

Rupert said, ‘This is boring, people. Next!'

The men lined up like they were in a queue at McDonalds. Jack beat them all, but he was getting tired. Each fight took longer to win. Eventually Jansen stepped into the ring, saying, ‘I want him while he can still stand.'

‘You should be ashamed of yourself!' I yelled.

Jack stripped off his camouflage shirt. He and Jansen were now dressed the same. Camouflage pants and black T-shirts. Jack held up his hands, beckoning. ‘Come on.' His fists clenched and his biceps bulged. Awesome. But, shit, Jansen was so much younger.

Jansen moved towards Jack. I could see Jack smile through the blood on his face. They started fighting. I put my face back in my hands; couldn't watch. I could hear the punches and the grunts. Men cheered. Rupert yelled, ‘Woo!' and clapped his hands. It went on for so long. Minutes passed. I put my hands over my ears. Squeezed my eyes shut.

And then, the cheers changed to jeers. I had to look. Jack was on one knee behind Jansen, his arm around Jansen's throat. Jansen was half lying on the ground, kicking out, struggling, clawing at Jack's arm, but then he was still. Jack kept up the hold, his face contorted.

Rupert shouted, ‘Let him go!'

Jack held on.

Rupert stood. The men moved in, looking to Rupert for instructions.

Rupert strode across the clearing as Jack released Jansen. Jack stood and wiped his arm across his bleeding face. His chest heaved.

Rupert said, ‘Good God, Jones, I think you've killed him.'

Killed him? I sat there, relieved and horrified.

Berringer put a finger to Jansen's neck. ‘He'll live,' he announced and two guards dragged Jansen to his tent. Rupert laughed. ‘Anyone else?' He looked around.

I jumped out of my seat, hitched up my dress and rushed over to Jack. He pushed me back.

Rupert took my arm and I grabbed his shirt, pleading, ‘Let him go now.
Please
let him go. He's proved himself. I'll do whatever you want.'

‘Quiet, Erica,' Jack said and staggered. He dropped to the ground and sat there.

I said again, looking down at Jack, ‘I'll do whatever you want.'

I had mixed feelings when I saw Cheeta alive and kicking in Rupert's tent. I was pleased that he wasn't lunch, but I wasn't very happy that the monkey was masturbating, and he seemed to like that we were watching. Outside, Jack was tied to the tree again. I'd cast a quick look over my shoulder as Rupert ushered me away. Jack was slumped forward. Rupert couldn't decide what to do with him, Jack having unexpectedly survived all the beatings so far.

‘And now,' Rupert said, ‘alone at last.'

‘Does Cheeta have to be here?'

‘The monkey? He likes to watch.'

Surprise, surprise.

Rupert sat in his armchair, waved his hand. ‘Walk around for me.'

‘What?'

‘Walk around. Let me see how you walk in those shoes.'

I walked in small circles.

‘Lift the dress a bit, so I can see. Yes, that's it.'

He knelt in front of me. ‘Lift your foot.'

I did it. He slid the shoe off, then very gently on again.

‘Yes. Perfect,' he said. ‘Absolutely perfect. I want you to wear nothing but the shoes.'

He slipped the dress straps off my shoulders. I pushed him away. He moved back in. I held up my hands to stop him. He swiped them away and kept doing that as my hands kept springing back. Finally he held my wrists together in one hand.

‘Be still, my sweet.' He tugged on the dress until it was pooled at my feet. He looked me up and down. Under the dress I was wearing a bra and G-string – sexy, but I'd had them on a couple of days. Shame I wasn't still wearing the insect repellent.

‘Now sit on the bed,' he said.

‘No.'

His smile vanished.

‘Ah, I need to go to the toilet. I'm busting.'

He slapped my face. It stung. And shocked me.

Rupert walked me backwards to the bed. Over his shoulder I saw Cheeta playing with something – something other than his genitals. He was tossing a brown thing from one hand to the other. Rupert pushed me onto the bed and knelt at my feet again, admiring them. I kept an eye on the monkey. There was something not right about what it was doing. Cheeta threw the thing. I watched it fly in an arc, right for us, and as it got closer I could see it was taking a very specific shape. I knew that shape but my brain wouldn't form the word. The thing landed next to me. I remembered now what it was called.
Tarantula
. Easily the size of my hand. It reared up at me.

There was a moment of shocked stillness before I starting screaming. I screamed and screamed, flinging my arms around, throwing myself away from the spider. Somehow in all my panic I flicked it and it landed on Berringer's face. He fell sideways, grunting. The spider hung on. Rupert threw himself backwards. Knocked over the chair. Stood. Staggered. Toppled like a felled tree, crashing to the ground next to the chest. I sat there staring at Rupert as he stared back at me. What would he do now? The spider dashed across his shoulder and disappeared behind him. I waited. Did the spider bite Rupert? Would he be angry and make me pay? But he did nothing. Just kept staring.

I stood warily, watching him, and walked slowly across the tent, looking out for Spidey, watching for Rupert to make a move. There was a trickle of blood from his temple. He'd hit his head on the corner of the chest? I stood close and leaned in, felt for a pulse in his neck, all the time expecting him to make a grab for me. I pressed my fingers to his throat, holding my breath, waiting.

No pulse. Rupert Berringer was dead.

I fell back, hand over my mouth. Cheeta and I locked eyes. He dashed out of the tent. Would he tell? Of course he wouldn't. Why weren't men rushing in here with all the noise we'd been making, screaming and carrying on? Okay, they're the noises they'd be expecting.

So, Rupert Berringer was dead, the monkey had run away, there was an Amazonian spider on the loose and a dozen armed warriors waiting outside. What the hell should I do now?