Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Frank
Title: Too smart for her own good
People who ask too many questions don't live long out here.
That's not a threat. That's just how the world works.
Curiosity's a disease. Starts small. They look at ya weird. Ask dumb questions. Next thing ya know, someone's pokin their nose into shit that don’t concern ‘em.
I've never had a problem with enemies. You see enemies comin. You know where you stand with ‘em. Witnesses are the ones you gotta watch for. They don't wanna fight. They wanna know shit. And that makes ‘em dangerous as hell.
Years back, when that fancy prick Paolo Rossi turned up from Sicily and started sniffin round Koolaroo, I told him to piss off. Koolaroo was cattle country. Always had been. Always would be.
Then he said two things that made me stop listenin to the sound of my own voice.
First thing was tea trees.
Said he'd heard I'd experimented with tea tree oil years ago.
That stopped me cold. I hadn't thought about that experimental oil hustle in 20 years. I’d tried to grow tea trees for a few years.
The Hendersons did too. But those damn trees just shriveled up and died when the air got too hot.
But I asked him how the fuck he knew bout that.
Then he dropped a name that shoulda stayed buried.
Rebecca Hartley.
Paolo said her name casual-like. Like he had no idea what that bitch had done.
That's how he’d found his way onto my land.
Rebecca worked for me years earlier. Did the books. Smart girl. Too smart for her own good. She watched everythin. Asked questions she shouldn't have. The kind of woman who noticed things and stored ’em away like ammo.
Then she caught me with Edith and threatened to tell my wife, Joy. Like she thought she had the right.
Nobody threatens me.
I didn't touch her. Let's be clear on that. Didn't need to.
But I musta scared the crap outta her. She shot outta Koolaroo so fast she damn near left scorch marks behind her.
Fear's a useful thing when applied right. Teaches people limits. Teaches ’em when to pack up their shit and disappear.
I didn't chase her. Didn't have to. The scared ones always run far and fast. That's not on me. That's on their weakness.
And then, years later, her name crawls back out of the dirt attached to that slick Italian bastard with his gold chain around his neck and his olive oil dreams.
Funny how things circle back.
Rebecca talked when she should've stayed quiet. Paolo listened when he should've walked away. And when Paolo's own people decided fake oil was worse than murder, that wasn't my call. That was pride. And pride kills as dead as bullets.
After Paolo was murdered, I expected Rebecca Hartley to come slitherin back onto Koolaroo one day and blame me for what happened over there. But Paolo's death is on Rebecca. She put that mess in motion.
I guess fear made her stay away. Like I said, she was smart.
So here's the lesson for you boys:
Don't ask questions if you can't handle the truth.
And don't mistake fear for cruelty.
Fear keeps ya alive.
Anyway.
That's it.
Frank Branson.