Fictitious Facts I "Cultivation of a Murderer" continued:
CH 12
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Chapter 12
Delinquency
Sterge was nearly fifteen and nothing at all changed, he was always in
trouble; in and out of school hours. The teachers and hierarchy within the
educational establishment wanted him gone, together with such grandiloquent
jibe in decree they gave him no alternative but to leave. When he was told of
their wishes it was obvious by Sterge’s scurrilous cachinnation and impious
tone he could not wait to go. In their wisdom the bureaucrats governing the
system said;
“We can’t educate you
anymore. It would be better for you to prepare for the complexities of life by
finding employment.” They were unperturbed he had no job to go to and no leads
to follow, or the problems he would encounter due to his likeness to
‘Quasimodo’. Just one look at him had the ability to turn the humanitarian into
a benevolent dissenter and resist offering eleemosynary relief. Besides it was
difficult for anyone to get a job within the immediate area because of the lack
of industry and the remoteness of his home. But they insisted he would be in a
more fortunate and prosperous situation by staying clear of them and the
education system; they wanted rid of him.
Sterge had plenty of spare time at home. To fill in the day he scavenged
old timber and tin and built himself a shed of sorts. It had a distorted roof
with three gnarled walls and an abundance of deformed shelves made out of
anything he could lay his hands on; wooden crates, logs, timber cut-offs and
other surplus material. The purpose was to house an array of plants. He
acquired an interest in flora of all sorts, and spent most of his day in that
shed procrastinating and amusing his-self while frittering away the time. The
effects of spending lengthy periods alone attending to his myriad of greenery
was a direct causative contribution to his exacerbating sociopathic
personality. The plants he grew were not all legitimate; he did dabble in
marijuana and was very secretive and egocentric regarding the arcanum of
acquiring revenue.
An old chair and small table positioned in the corner of the shed was
used for potting amongst other things. The shelves carried a variety of
fertilizers and insecticides and a few personal possessions such as lighters,
candles, books and tools. He even kept special toothpaste handy to rub in his
gums when pain persisted; maybe the marijuana also helped ease acute
discomfort. In the corner a hoard of fireworks was wrapped securely in plastic
to keep dry, they were easy to obtain and afforded from the sale of ‘weed’.
Mostly he detonated them for his own amusement in recreation, but sometimes his
over productive imagination and odd fetishes dominated a taste for bizarre
activities and they became a matter of barbarous fascination. Don and the
others used fireworks to blow up bull ant nests and in general use them for
stupid unsafe measures like throwing at each other, but Sterge was different he
targeted animals and hurt them from wanton cruelty.
Recurrent attempts were successful in catching magpies by way of a
wooden crate balanced on one end with the other end up in the air and held in
place with a stick; the stick had connected to its base a long cord which he
controlled from afar. The idea was to put bread crumbs under the crate and when
the bird entered he would pull the cord to dislodge the stick and the crate
dropped trapping the bird. Sterge held all animals captive for only as long as
he aspired to their extinction, and before their death he took great pleasure in
senseless torture. Diverse methods were applied, such as; putting a cat in the
inverted crate with the bird, or throwing firecrackers around the crate to
scare them, or using a knife to cut off one wing and let it flap helplessly
around the yard. When he got bored with such spite he secured a healthy bird by
tying string around its wings to keep it secure and taped a tuppeny ‘bunger’ to
its chest, then undid the string, lit the fuse and let it fly away. The
‘bunger’ would explode mid air and eviscerate the bird. Don thought it was one
of the sadist exhibitions of cruelty he ever witnessed. Sam and Weepy laughed
as if it was a big joke, but inwardly Don shed tears of sadness and rage, he
had no alternative but to hold back visible tears and opinion because he did
not want to show his weakness or encourage physical annihilation; mainly from
Sterge. Another time he put a firework under a dog’s collar and watched it run
around in circles in a funk while trying desperately to snap at the sizzling
powdery trace of burning fuse. Animal abuse was in accordance with conventional
intelligence for Sterge, the others hardened to the cruelty because of the
magnitude of its occurrence. He was always throwing firecrackers at animals and
took great delight in catching the chickens for dinner, placing them on the
‘chopping block’, and testing his skill with an axe by half lopping their heads
from their body and letting them run around the yard with their neck dangling
until lifeless; Sterge, Weepy and Sam would bet on the duration of its
suffering. Don was enraged with all his merciless acts but once again powerless
because of Sterge’s intimidating nature. While the others regularly attached
themselves to his inhuman treatment of animals Don was too petrified to
animadvert openly because he wanted to remain friends.
Over time Don witnessed many spiteful, vindictive and callous treatments
of animals, and was shocked by Sterge’s vitriolic diatribes and physical abuse
to those who disagreed with his activities. He would rant and rave over any
denunciation to his actions and was too uncontrollable for his mother, or
anyone else who tried to assert a positive influence. Look wrongly at him or
disagree and he would inflict harm, it did not take long to learn he was best
left to his own company. Don especially had to be extra careful around him
because his thoughts of Don could be likened to foibles such as; a spoilt,
rich, timid, brat who displayed no backbone. Sterge took every opportunity to
cajole his followers to his side and turn Sam and weepy against him. A constant
barrage of crude, crushing remarks and domineering tactics were forthcoming at
every instant due to his erratic and vehement resentments. Don, even others
considered themselves fortunate when just being submitted to verbal aggression
because he usually ruled by brute force. His derelictions was not just
contained to animals and acquaintances, he was mean to his family and was said
to have been involved in his younger brother’s death.
Rod died in the early sixties of an accidental drug overdose at age
eight. Somewhere or somehow he obtained a handful of unspecified illicit drugs
and took them without consent or knowledge of their terminal effects. People
suspected the drugs were stashed by Sterge in his garden shed for his own use
but no-one knew for sure. Rod could have got them from the people Sterge dealt
with in the marijuana trade, but the truth was never clear. Don heard Sam and
Weepy speaking together in confidence about their theories and Sam even
confessed to police his assumptions. He hinted the drugs could have been from
Fran’s older brother because they knew he smoked marijuana. The police
undertook extensive questioning, especially with Sterge, but failed to find
incriminating evidence against any of the suspects. Even if there was suspicion
surrounding Sterge’s involvement they probably thought the damage done was
enough punishment for the family as a whole. While the police were carrying out
their investigations, Sterge made comment to their relentless harassment and
mistreatment and it resulted in him harbouring an even stronger intense dislike
for them or any other authority. In the months following, his mother, Mrs Rob
turned into a sickly, cadaverous women. The loss of her youngest anguished her
deeply and the sustainable nurturing of her other three children dwindled to
levels of nonchalant disregard. Her parental skills were never militant, far
from it, but now she lacked integrity, had no gumption and even less motivation
to steer her children on the straight and narrow.
With so much freedom and even less parental control than before, sex,
alcohol, cigarettes and bad behaviour was an accepted part of their formative
years, and they developed as an avocation many abominable and scandalous
misdeeds. On a regular basis such one intentional wrongdoing was when Weepy,
Sam and Don stalked the corner shop after dark in wait for the owner to close.
They knew he went on his usual once-a-week trip into town to treat himself to a
good feed and a night of properly deserved relaxation. The plan was to break
and enter undetected and take a few cigarettes, matches if required, and
sweets. They never took money, did not steal more than their needs, and never
pilfered enough supplies to attract suspicion. If anything was moved or
accidently bumped it was always put back where it belonged; partly why they
were never caught. They grew criminally proficient in furtive thievery and
would be congratulated by any malefactor because the owner was never aware, or
at least never admitted or acknowledged any wrongful conduct or error referring
to his losses. They took great care in the realization fingerprints could be
lifted from the crime scene if ever there was suspicion or investigation, so
precautions were taken. There was always one timber framed window ajar, and
being young and easily influenced by television and film they wore socks on
their hands to prevent part biometric identification if ever the place was
forensically examined; therefore providing hope if suspected. Weepy was always
the first to be hoisted through the window, then Sam helped Don get in by
giving him a leg up. Sam rarely went inside he was usually trusted with the
important duty of being the person employed as sentinel in case of
unanticipated disturbances.
While they were inside rummaging around, Sam in his restricted wisdom
decided to go for a ‘crap’ on the ‘thunder box’ which was situated towards the
back of the yard. They were unaware of his call to nature as they moved
stealthily about their looting. Through the window they saw the reflection of
car lights from afar travelling the straight highway towards them. At that time
of night cars were few and far in-between, although it was always expected a
few would appear, so they were accustomed but cautious to passing traffic and
usually not overly troubled; but this was different. As the lights got closer a
sixth sense hinted danger, they looked at each other in discombobulated belief,
the car was nearing and veering towards the shop, the headlights beamed through
the large front windows lighting up the inside and come to a halt. The owner
was back early from his jaunt. Don’s first thought was: ‘SHIT! What happened to Sam? Why didn’t he warn us?’ Weepy
whispered with trembling panic in his voice;
“Fuck, let’s get out of
‘ere, it’s the owner.” He did not have to tell Don twice. It was a race and a
battle for floor space to be the first to dive out the window, and both
achieved the task with great alacrity. They hit the ground running and
scampered to the safety of the scrub, but in their haste to escape neither one
closed the window. Weepy took it upon himself to make a dash back before the
owner unlocked the front door, he got there in the ‘nick of time’ and gently
pulled down the framed glass shut before returning to the safety of cover.
“Shit! That was a close
call,” he said perspiring profusely.
With pounding hearts they crouched behind a large stump, mystified by
Sam’s absence. The wonder of his location was worrying, yet more importantly
they could not understand why he did not do his part and raise the alarm. They
stayed hidden and out of sight in an uneasy silence, remaining vigilant with
eyes fixed on the back of the shop together with frequent systematic scanning
of the paddock in search for Sam. The owner switched on the back porch light.
Don and Weepy ducked to conceal their shadows and peeked around the stump and
through the stalks of grass. The light must have been an unexpected intrusion
for Sam because it flushed him out of hiding with warning and fright, in doing
so he broadcast his position to Don who was first to spot him; Don nudged Weepy
to indicate Sam’s precarious locality. Luckily the back door did not open and
the owner stayed inside, but Sam was not to know, so with the elasticity of a
rabbit’s spring he jumped out of the ‘dunny’ with his pants down around his
thighs, inelegantly and frantically trying to pull them up for better mobility
while scurrying like a field mouse across the open paddock into the refuge of
the bush. It was impossible to contain their cackle. Fear of endangering the
risk of divulging their hideaway saw them leave without delay; they made a
desperate sprint for home. Sam caught view of their passing and quickly
followed in full flight. The propinquity of their legs in the race for safety
created chaotic stumble and roaring sounds of amusement, even they were unsure
as to how the owner did not hear them.
On return to the protection of the bush and closer to home they stopped
for a breather and sighed relief while heckling simultaneous nervous words of
mockery to each other’s darting flight. As a realization of how lucky they were
not to get caught became clear, it was evident, except for experience, the only
other thing they obtained from their daring break-in was one useable piece of
merchandise; a lousy box of matches. There was an unwanted bonus for Sam,
noticeable it was the beginning of his collection of grey hair. They took
comfort in seating near the glow of their much frequented setting around a
campfire and related to each other their desire to not gain illegal entry
again. They agreed the narrow escape was bloodcurdling and one heart attack was
enough, but this deliberation was brief in continuance because as the interval
of time passed, each gasconaded his vulnerability to the titillation and
excitement of avoiding capture; ultimately transferring dread into exhilaration
and giving them delusive courage causing later branching out into other
filching adventures. The more they looted the easier and less worrisome it became.
So far, none were ever taken captive or questioned for their misdemeanours.
Overall the night ended well for Don for two reasons; the first was
because of their tribulations the bond between them was reinforced with a bit
more mateship. The second was; Fran joined the group around the fire and in
servile tones expressed her immediate sexual desire with anyone who wished to
partake in the union. In the back of the Robs’ paddock next to her place was an
old plywood caravan, it was well weathered, about twelve feet long and rested
on bricks stacked under its hubs with the wheels removed. It had stumps under
each corner for stabilization. Years ago it was the Sturt’s accommodation
whilst they built their house and was later used as a play pen for the kids.
When it outlived its usefulness they sold it to the Rob’s fully outfitted with
worthless fixtures like a set of iron bunk beds and a few torn blankets, but
this was more than enough to saviour the forbidden delights of Fran’s
generosity. Sam and Weepy stayed by the fire while Don and Fran went into the
caravan. She was craving for a quick fix; sex was like a drug to her. She was
not concerned about how her partner attained satisfaction as long as he exerted
a level of fineness for her own delectation. She positioned herself on her back
on the bottom bunk, without underclothes, and with legs spread open in waiting.
Don removed his trousers and instantly she grabbed his dick, jerking it a few
times to ensure its readiness. He did not need extra stimulation because he had
been hard for a while thinking about it, the opposite transpired, he was
finding it difficult to subdue his nascent surge of semen. While endeavouring
to accomplish the simple tactical manoeuvre of getting on top of her he hit his
head on the top bunk and rubbed it briskly to ease the hurt. She was not going
to let anything interfere with her exigent desideratum for sex, she pulled him
towards her and guided his dick in the juicy opening, then she held her hands
over each cheek of his bum while wriggling her hips up, down, and around,
suspiring pleasurable moans and sending vaginal palpitations surging through
his penis; Don lasted for about thirty seconds before climaxing. It felt like a
bucket of crows flying out of his dick and giving a stinging sensation but with
a peculiar blissful contentment. Fran pushed him off her onto the floor in
disappointment and used a rag to clean herself out.
“You finished quick,” she
complained. Don had a jubilant grin. He was happy with his performance and replied;
“Yeah.”
Fran’s traits could be judged as below standard expectations in the
possession of ethics, decency and principles, but one good thing about her was,
she was not persnickety. Although Don’s short encounter did not even get close
to satisfying her needs it did not matter because, on this occasion Weepy and
Sam were still full of energized tension from their bungled aspiration to
pillage, and were promised favourable attention from Fran after she finished
with Don. Prior, when Don and Fran departed to the caravan for their forbidden
interlude the other two expressed their eagerness to take turns and told Don to
‘hurry up’. Hurry up he did, even if not intentional, nevertheless he was very
happy she allocated him preferential treatment by letting him go first, and
hereafter succeeded in spending many great times together; each meeting
enhanced his sexual proficiency.
