Red Mist

by Angus McLean

  ‘I think we may be going to have trouble with our new boss,’ Dan said.

  Buck nodded.

  ‘I heard,’ he said. ‘Ace overheard some of your conversation. He relayed it to us.’

  Dan gave a short nod and turned back to the window again, saying nothing. Buck could tell he was annoyed.

  ‘He said you went into bat for us,’ Buck said, ‘but the boss was just being a dick.’

  Dan nodded again and turned back to him, his face expressionless.

  ‘Watch your back,’ he said quietly.

  Buck wasn’t sure if Dan was talking about the new boss or Ace, so he kept quiet and just drove.

  ***

  Some bizarre cover of a syrupy Michael Bolton number was playing in the background, and it was giving Molly a headache. The original was bad enough, let alone this bastardised version.

  She was doing her best to ignore it, but was fighting a losing battle. She glanced over her shoulder at the other desk and realised Ailsa wasn’t even there. The iPod was sitting in its docking station on Ailsa’s desk, flanked by twin speakers. Molly didn’t have an iPod herself but was sure she could figure out how to turn the volume down. A hammer should do it.

  She pushed up out of her chair and was halfway across the floor when her colleague walked back in, a sheaf of papers in her hand. She was short and dumpy with bad skin covered by thick foundation and dyed red hair. The dye was wearing out and had gone a rusty orange in patches.

  Molly smoothly diverted towards the stationary cupboard as if she was looking for something.

  ‘Have you got todays invoices prepared?’ Ailsa asked as she resumed her seat.

  Molly took a package of letterhead paper from the cupboard. ‘Not yet.’

  Ailsa made a tsk-tsk sound in her throat. Molly ignored it and went back to her desk.

  ‘RD wants the invoices for him to sign,’ Ailsa said.

  She was the only one who referred to Renee de Wik as RD. Molly hated it.

  ‘They’re not due till lunch time,’ she replied evenly, trying to concentrate on the one she had up on her screen already. She felt Ailsa’s eyes on her.

  ‘I know that,’ the other woman replied waspishly, ‘but he’s the boss and what the boss wants, the boss gets. Isn’t that right?’

  Molly felt her shoulders tighten and she fought the urge to snap back.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied tersely, ‘and he will get them when they’re done.’

  Ailsa made a harrumphing noise. Molly closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. There was no point arguing with her colleague-she’d tried that previously and it just made things worse. Ailsa was an obnoxious cow at the best of times and she didn’t like being challenged.

  Molly decided that, at least for now, avoidance was the key. She kept her head down and got on with it.

  ***

  Ace drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he waited, his eyes constantly scanning the car park of Mount Richmond Domain. The domain was home to a park with bowling and footy clubs, and was also a handy meeting point for informants being just a few minutes’ walk from the Otahuhu town centre.

  Van Halen were rocking out Panama on the crappy stereo of the equally crappy orange Toyota Corolla, David Lee Roth giving it his best. And his best was great.

  Ace didn’t listen to the lyrics so much as the rhythm section though. Panama was one of the covers he played on in a throw-together pub band with a bunch of mates, and he knew that a tight rhythm section was what made a good song great. He hadn’t played as much recently as he would have liked, and he missed it. The smell of stale beer and sweat, the strobe lights, the wisps of dry ice drifting across the stage, the heaving mass of a drunken crowd.

  Undercover work tended to interfere with regular commitments and he knew the boys couldn’t rely on him for regular gigs. That was okay. He did what he could, when he could.

  The sloping movement of an approaching figure caught his eye and he watched as the guy ambled across the gravel towards him. He was barely fifty kilo’s, but every one of them was full of attitude, and he wanted the world to know it. His worn trackies were baggy and his sneakers barely held together. He had a blue cap which signified his allegiance to the Crips. It was a safe bet in an area dominated by Black Power thugs; red was an invitation for a beating.

  Ace knew that his informant had no true allegiance to anyone, hence his status as a nark.

  ‘Hoani,’ he said as the teenager dropped into the back seat and slid down low. ‘All good mate?’

  ‘Chur,’ the boy grunted.

  He had a comical habit of sucking his top lip down every time he sniffed, which was usually every time he spoke. The movement only served to make a wide flat nose look even wider and flatter. Ace suppressed a smile and glanced at him in the rear view mirror.

  ‘How’re things at home? Mum okay?’

  ‘Eh.’

  Hoani’s Mum was in and out of hospital with diabetes and related issues, and Ace knew that young Hoani carried a lot of responsibility for her and his siblings. Dad was long gone of course and they lived a hand-to-mouth existence in a tough part of town where everybody ripped everybody else off and every day brought new challenges.

  ‘When does your course start? Ace asked. ‘Next week eh?’

  ‘Yeah, sweet.’ Hoani sat up a bit now, his interest pricked by the mention of his course.

  Having officially left school at 15, although the couple of years prior to that had been strictly ad-hoc anyway, he had no qualifications and no real employable skills. This was the latest in a number of courses he’d tried, but the only one that had ever interested him. “Introductory mechanics” would hopefully lead to further education, an apprenticeship, and the chance to do something constructive with his life.

  Ace wasn’t holding his breath.

  ‘Sure you’re clear?’ he asked.

  ‘Eh.’

  ‘Where are you now, if anyone asks?’

  Hoani sniffed. ‘Jus’ driftin’.’

  Drifting was how he described most days-wandering the streets, bumping into mates, scabbing a smoke here and there, drifting through the day until night fell.

  ‘So what’s the go with the cash van job?’ Ace asked, getting straight to the point.

  ‘Oh eh, that’s the one I’s telling you about eh.’ Hoani gave a squashed-nose sniff. ‘That was those dudes from Mangere, those dudes on Mayflower eh. They done that job th’ other day, that one in Mannix, and I think they done one other too.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Which one’s that then?’

  ‘Oh I dunno, there’s been some more eh, all round town. I think one was in Paps eh, another um, whatchu call it? A van.’

  ‘Yep.’ Ace nodded. He knew there had been robberies at both Manukau city centre itself and in Papatoetoe in recent times.

  Cash-in-transit vans had been getting hit recently after a long drought of nothing, and it seemed to be the same crew. The Major Crime Team were collating the jobs but so far as Ace knew, they were flying blind.

  ‘How d’you know this?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh eh, you know how it is bro.’ Hoani adopted a sly smile as he tried to fob it off.

  ‘Come on mate, stop muckin’ around,’ Ace told him firmly. ‘You know the deal. I can’t work with half stories.’

  ‘Oh Ace man, come on bro. That’s it eh, that’s what I know.’

  Ace caught his eye in the rear view mirror.

  ‘Spit it out Hoani, you know the deal; no info, no payment yeah? You know I’ve got your back don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Hoani nodded reluctantly. ‘Straight up though, they’s bad dudes Ace. I dunno if they’re running with any particular gang or whatever, I don’t think so eh, I think they might just be their own syndicate. That’s what they say.’ He shook his head. ‘They’s heavy dudes though eh.’

  Ace nodded, giving him time. No point rushing these things. The boy wanted to talk and would do so when he was ready.

  ‘I just heard from my
cuz eh, he stays on Mayflower.’

  ‘That Trey?’

  ‘Oh eh?’ Hoani sat up in surprise. ‘How you know him?’

  Ace gave a wry smile.

  ‘I know people,’ he said. ‘And I know Trey.’

  ‘Straight up...anyways, he knows them coz they stay on his street. He was telling me.’

  ‘When was he telling you?’

  ‘Yesterday night.’

  ‘At his place or what?’

  ‘Eh, down where he stays.’

  Ace nodded, committing it all to memory. There was nothing concrete so far, but it was a start.

  ‘He mates with these guys?’

  ‘Na, not even.’

  ‘How does he know them then?’

  Hoani shrugged.

  ‘You know, just from around. They there, so you gotta know who’s around you all the time.’ The boy nodded sagely and gave a squashed-nose sniff. ‘It pays to know.’

  ‘You know it.’ Ace turned in his seat so he was face to face with Hoani. ‘I need names, mate. I need to know who these guys are, the address they’re staying at, and I need to know how Trey knows they’re the guys. Okay? Can you do that?’

  Hoani nodded.

  ‘Course, you know I can Ace.’ He frowned for a second. ‘How come they call you Ace, anyways? That’s not even your real name?’

  ‘You sure?’ Ace cocked an eyebrow at him. He had thick dark eyebrows that did their best to be one, and any movement was pronounced.

  Hoani looked at him for a long moment, trying to suss if he was being played or not.

  ‘Oh true,’ he said finally, still not sure. His squashed nose gave a bubbly squeal. ‘Oh well, gotta go. Got business to take care of, eh.’ He paused. ‘You ain’t got a smoke, Ace?’

  Ace passed a pouch of tobacco to him, a yellow pack of Zig Zag skins tucked under the flap.

  ‘You know that’ll kill ya,’ he said.

  Hoani grinned, exposing his stained teeth.

  ‘May as well die young and beautiful, eh bro?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Ace watched him get out. ‘I’ll call you at nine on Friday.’

  ‘All goods.’

  Hoani gave him a toss of the chin and a sniff before swaggering off, already rolling himself a smoke. Ace watched him go and gave him a few minutes before firing up the Corolla. He checked his watch. He needed to get the car back to the yard he’d borrowed it from.

  Chapter Three

  The sound of a drop saw was music to her ears when Molly pulled into the driveway.

  She parked the MGB behind Dan’s trusty-but-boring green Toyota station wagon and alighted, the smell of fresh saw dust drifting in the light breeze as she stepped off the driveway and approached what could charitably be described as a bomb site.

  The drop saw was on the path to the clothes line, surrounded by wood chips and saw dust. A bottle of water was nearby. Various other tools were scattered about. His old radio-or ghetto blaster, as he called it-was pumping out something that may have been Texas. Or was it The Baby Animals? She was never sure with those two.

  The old bungalow was a basic two-bedder they had bought nearly two years ago, scrimping and saving to buy the worst house in a good area. It was amazing how long you could live on two-minute noodles for, but it had been worth it. They’d got on the property ladder in Ellerslie in a weatherboard box with no insulation, a single pokey garage, and crappy piping that continually leaked.

  Wallpaper needed to be stripped, painting needed to be done and the carpet was threadbare in more than one spot.

  As much as Molly loved her husband to death, he was no handyman, and the first few efforts at DIY had been complete disasters. Over time though they had both learned a lot of new skills and she was now relatively comfortable with leaving him to do some of the work-although the first aid kit had taken a beating and his collection of scars had become quite impressive.

  She stood and watched as he leaned a length of weatherboard against the side of the house and turned, removing his earmuffs. His T-shirt was stained by paint and sweat and had holes under both arms. His eyes shone when he saw her.

  Molly ran an eye over the mess on the ground then back to gap in the wall where Dan had removed two rotten boards. She had learned not to comment on the mess anymore, so gave an approving nod instead.

  ‘Looking good,’ she said with a smile, and came in for him to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘I like to put some thought into what I wear.’

  Molly glanced down at his pale legs sticking out of rugby shorts that were too short, and down to the worn jandals. Health and safety had never been high on his list.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she said.

  ‘What’s for tea?’ Dan asked, and she pulled a face.

  ‘Really? I’ve just got home.’

  He shrugged and waited.

  ‘Penny’s coming over for a walk first, then I’ll think about dinner.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Isn’t it your turn, anyway? I’m sure it is.’

  ‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘Whatever,’ she said with a smile, and headed for the open back door.

  She stepped over his sneakers on the doormat and entered the kitchen. She saw a packet of beef mince defrosting on a plate, a tin of tomatoes and an onion sitting beside it. She glanced at the stove. A pot of water sat ready to be heated.

  Molly smiled to herself. Spag bol-Dan’s favourite. Her eyes fell to the large bottle of supplements on the bench top and she felt the familiar kick in the chest. They were supposed to help you fall pregnant. So far, like everything else, they hadn’t helped. Two close calls in the last year but she’d been unable to keep either one. So close but so far, encouraging but crushing at the same time.

  Dan had remembered to pick them up on his way home. It meant more to her than the reno’s or the dinner.

  She walked through to the lounge and opened a window, seeing Dan emerge from the garage with his hammer and a box of nails. They were about the only tools he didn’t already have out.

  She leaned out the window.

  ‘Stop winding me up,’ she called out, and he grinned.

  He came over to the window.

  ‘And thanks for going to the chemist,’ she added.

  ‘No worries babes,’ he said, unashamedly looking down her top. ‘I’ll do anything for a peek.’

  Molly straightened up.

  ‘Devo,’ she said, and started to close the window.

  ‘Is Pen staying for tea?’ Dan asked, and Molly paused.

  ‘Not sure, I didn’t specifically ask. Why’s that?’

  He hiked his shoulders, but chose his words carefully.

  ‘Nothing. Just got a text from Mike earlier, that’s all. Says she’s engaged a lawyer.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Molly gave him a questioning look, and he immediately regretted the slightly accusing tone he’d used.

  ‘I just don’t want...you know...’ Dan trailed off, not wanting to go there but realising he’d already opened the door.

  ‘To get caught in the middle? Bit late for that, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’ He rubbed his face and gazed at her. ‘It just sucks, you know?’

  ‘Yep,’ she nodded, ‘it does. If he’d just...’

  ‘I know, I know. I’ve told him, he knows he’s been an idiot.’

  He shook his head, as he had done a thousand times in the last couple of years. The disintegration of their best friends’ marriage had caused a wide span of ripples. He looked back at the beautiful face gazing down at him. There was sadness in his wife’s eyes, the same sadness he knew she could see in him.

  ‘Reminder,’ she said, and he nodded.

  Nothing more needed to be said. “Reminder” had become their catch-phrase; Mike and Penny’s break up was a reminder not to let it happen to them. A reminder not to let the little things become big things. A reminder to keep talking to each other.

  Dan nodded again, and turned away as s
he closed the window. He set down the hammer and nails, grabbed a weather board and slotted it into place again. Measure twice, cut once had become his mantra lately. Shame Mike hadn’t done the same with his marriage-if he’d taken the time to take its measure again then the cut probably wouldn’t have been needed.

  He stepped back from the wall, satisfied he was good to go. He wiped his brow, leaving a trail of sawdust across his forehead, and caught a glimpse of Molly through the dining room window. She was carrying her sneakers from the laundry to the bedroom. She saw him looking and poked her tongue out before disappearing from view.

  God he loved that woman.

  ***

  ‘I’ve dropped his name,’ Penny said, her voice breathy as the two women powered up the grassy slope.

  ‘Back to Perry?’ Molly was also panting, but determined not to show it.

  ‘Of course.’

  Molly mentally recoiled from Penny’s sharp tone. Her friend had been snappish and irritable since they’d met up, and Molly was looking forward to the end of the walk. She hadn’t extended the dinner invite, and the latest snap was another reason not to.

  The question had been legit. Penny’s scatter-brained mother was on her third marriage and as a result, growing up, Penny had had various surnames. Perry was her father’s name, and to Molly it seemed the most logical to revert to.

  Both women concentrated on their feet as they completed the last few metres to the top. Molly noticed the extra effort Penny was putting in to finish first, and let her friend take the win. Penny was extremely competitive and sometimes it was easier just to let her win.

  They stopped at the top, lungs heaving. Molly put her hands on her hips and slowly paced, sucking in air as she looked down at the park below. Other people were jogging, walking their dogs, or heading to the YMCA.

  The slope round this side of the park wasn’t high, but after ten climbs it seemed like a mountain. Her thighs were trembling and she could feel the sweat running down her back. She glanced over and saw Penny had dropped to a forward lean, preparing to start a press-up.