Red Mist

by Angus McLean

  Ace continued on ahead, vaulted the gate with two hands on the top rail, and slowed to a walk to catch his breath. He followed the track into the camp ground, noting that the holiday makers were starting to trickle in even now in spring. In just a few weeks it would be heaving with the summer crowd.

  The camp had been called something else when he was growing up, and like most things back then, it had been more basic. He had spent many hours sliding down the foothills above the campground on pieces of cardboard with his mates, dodging grumpy holiday makers and the campground manager.

  Now there were barriers and shrubs to stop the kids from sliding down, retaining walls built to stop caravans falling off the side of the more precarious sites, and a bunch of permanent cabins had been erected.

  Ace turned right from the track and cut up through the camp, past the facilities block, taking slow breaths and walking off the lactic acid. The mountain towered above them and he could see a paraglider with a red chute twirling his way down on the air currents. Back in the day it had been hang gliders, with only the odd one crashing into the side of the mountain.

  He made his way up the track from the ground level Oceanside Camp to the Pilot Camp, perched on the top of a foothill with a magnificent view. The front row of sites, looking out to sea, were all caravans. The view was fantastic. He wondered what it would be like to live here. It had to be better than the Manukau tower block, anyway.

  He checked his watch. Time to get moving. Debs would be arriving in town shortly.

  He had a lunch date to get to.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sunday

  The house was quiet and still when Mike Manning pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The vehicle was a loaner from the base, a plain white Holden Rodeo ute that the MPs were waiting to get kitted out.

  The house was a small white bungalow clearly in need of some TLC. Mike hoped the Crowley’s were paying tradies to do the work for them-he knew what Dan’s DIY skills were like. The station wagon was in the drive, meaning Molly’s MG must be in the garage. The garage itself was a single-car affair with a small workshop-type space at the back of it.

  Mike went to open the driver’s door but paused, wondering if this was such a good idea. It was early, it was a Sunday, and he wasn’t sure he was in the right headspace just now. He glanced at his left hand, seeing the strapping across the knuckles, feeling the tightness beneath. The itch as scabs formed over the lacerations. Punching a guy in the teeth was never a good idea. Mind you, he hadn’t walked away unscathed himself. His head still throbbed and he had a new set of sprig marks down his back.

  He sighed. Stuff it, he thought. It had been a while, but he needed company right now.

  He grabbed the plastic shopping bag off the passenger’s seat and made his way to the front door. Two pairs of jandals were beside the door mat. One of them had a flowery design, the other were bigger, plain black and almost worn through.

  Typical Dan, not wanting to pay for a new pair.

  He knocked on the door and waited. No sign of life. He knocked again and waited some more. He was about to try round the back when he heard movement inside. The door opened and Dan frowned at him. He was wearing a white terry cloth robe that had seen better days. He was also wearing a moustache. Mike had to admit it was a fairly good effort.

  ‘You know what time it is?’ Dan grumbled, standing aside to let him in.

  ‘Yep.’ Mike hefted the shopping bag and forced a grin. ‘Breakfast time.’

  ‘Uh.’ Dan didn’t even seem to register. Mornings had never been his thing. Or maybe he had a head injury.

  Mike bent to unlace his boots. He was wearing a plain black fleece over his old DPM camo pants and a unit T-shirt. Dan shuffled off towards the kitchen, yawning loudly. Mike kicked off his boots and shut the door behind him. He noted the inside of the door had been sanded and undercoated but was still waiting for the topcoats. He knew that was pretty standard for the Crowley house.

  The house was quiet and the curtains in the lounge were drawn. Through the French doors in the dining room he could see the deck, with a pair of saw horses stacked beside the outdoor table and chairs. Several lengths of decking timber leaned against the wall.

  He recognised several photos in a cluster on the dining room wall. Dan and Molly’s wedding day. He had been the best man, Penny had been bridesmaid. It had been a great day-a great opportunity to rip into Dan in his speech. His eyes rested on a photo of Penny looking radiant in her bridesmaid dress. He lingered for a moment. God she was beautiful.

  ‘Morning stranger.’

  Mike gave a guilty start and tore his eyes away. He turned to see Molly emerge from the hallway, also in a robe. Hers was a deep purple and in much better condition than her husband’s.

  ‘Hey Mol.’ He crooked a grin. ‘Didn’t wake you up, did I?’

  ‘No, no.’ She smiled as she also headed for the kitchen. ‘Isn’t everyone up at seven thirty on a Sunday morning.’

  ‘Hopefully a cooked breakfast’ll make up for it, eh?’

  ‘Cooked breakfast, you say?’ Dan appeared again, looking slightly more alert now. ‘Welcome, friend.’

  Ten minutes later the barbeque was heated and Mike was sitting at the outdoor table, a mug of coffee in his hand, watching as Dan burrowed into the shopping bag.

  ‘Snags, bacon, hash browns, eggs,’ he said, looking more interested all the time, ‘nice one, mate.’

  Molly stood in the doorway, blowing on a cup of English Breakfast. ‘I think you’ve made his day,’ she said to Mike.

  Mike shrugged. ‘The least I could do. I know how Dan likes his sleep-ins.’

  There was a sizzle as Dan loaded beef sausages onto the grill. He positioned them with tongs and opened the box of hash browns.

  ‘What brings you up here?’ he asked. He slid the eight pieces onto the hot plate and put the box aside.

  ‘Just a training exercise,’ Mike said. ‘Had a few days at Papakura and Whenuapai, tied it in with an inter-unit footy game yesterday.’

  Dan pointed at his friend’s hand with the tongs. ‘Hence the strapping?’

  Mike glanced at his hand self-consciously. ‘Yeah. There was a bit of a dust up.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t think I made any friends with the Engineers.’

  Dan came over to the table and picked up his own mug of tea. He had changed into shorts and a T shirt now, with an old Billabong hoody to ward off the morning chill. He took a sip and looked at Mike across the table.

  ‘It’s good to see you, mate.’

  Mike nodded. They both knew it had been too long. With him based at Linton Army Camp in the Manawatu and Dan up here, it was difficult to catch up. The last couple of years had been hard, and it had been a Godsend to have a deployment to Timor-Leste to take his mind off his issues at home. Or wherever home was supposed to be. Penny’s move to Auckland hadn’t exactly helped matters. Hard to maintain a relationship in different cities, especially when she was busy climbing the corporate ladder.

  He felt Dan’s eyes on him and glanced up. Dan was looking at him expectantly.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Zoned out, mate? I asked how do you want your eggs done?’

  Mike shook his head. ‘However, mate. Doesn’t bother me.’ He gave a grin. ‘However I want them you’ll probably do them wrong anyway.’

  Dan smiled. ‘Probably.’

  Molly took the chair next to Mike, crossing her legs and adjusting her gown. She had fluffy slippers on her feet.

  ‘I s’pose you’ve heard from Penny then, Mol?’ he asked. It came out with more feeling than he had intended, and he cringed inwardly.

  ‘Yeah, a bit.’ Molly was careful with her words.

  Mike nodded. ‘She’s changed her name back,’ he said.

  ‘I heard.’ Molly gave a slight shrug. ‘Probably fair enough, isn’t it?’

  Mike felt his cheeks getting hot. ‘Surprised she didn’t do it sooner.’

  ‘Maybe it was kind of a final move for he
r?’ Dan suggested, pausing from flipping the hash browns.

  ‘Huh.’ Mike grunted.

  The smell of the food was making him hungry. He watched Dan move the sizzling bacon from the hot plate to the grill, turning the heat down, then begin cracking eggs onto the hot plate.

  ‘Have you guys filed for divorce yet?’ Dan asked. ‘Is that on the cards?’

  Mike sniffed and warmed his hands on his mug. His left knuckles were throbbing now and he reminded himself to take some anti-inflammatories.

  ‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘Some joker’s trying to get hold of me. I guess he wants to serve papers on me.’

  ‘Why don’t you just do it, mate?’ Dan suggested. ‘Get it over with.’

  Mike felt his cheeks flush again and he grit his teeth. It was another “typical Dan” moment-always full of helpful advice. He ran a hand through his cropped blonde hair, then rubbed his face.

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said finally.

  Molly brought out a dish and they ate at the dining room table. The food was hot and stodgy and delicious. Molly usually had one of everything, but today she broke the mould and had twin rashers of bacon and a second egg. Double down. It was insane. Between them the two men finished the rest.

  ‘Aaagghh.’ Dan sat back with a satisfied sigh and rubbed his stomach. He drained his tea. ‘Bellisimo.’

  ‘I’m thinking of leaving the Army,’ Mike said suddenly.

  They both looked sharply at him. For the second time that morning he cringed at his own words. It seemed to be a morning for double downs.

  ‘Why?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Dunno.’ Mike popped the last piece of sausage into his mouth, chased it with some egg and talked while he ate. ‘Just can’t really see myself still doing it at forty, y’know?’

  ‘You’ve got a while to go yet,’ Molly told him. ‘Why now?’

  Mike shrugged again. He had tried to prepare for this moment, knowing they would want an explanation, but he couldn’t translate his mood into words.

  ‘I dunno,’ he finally said. ‘I just...y’know...ummm, I dunno.’ He stopped to think for a moment. ‘I think I’m just over it. I’ve done my dash, y’know?’

  Dan nodded slowly, taking it in. ‘It happens,’ he said. ‘It’s good to know when your race is run.’

  Mike looked at him. ‘Is yours run yet, mate?’

  Dan’s moustache twitched. Mike guessed he was giving that wry smile he had.

  ‘Na, not yet,’ he replied. ‘Things annoy me, for sure, but not enough to make me want to give it all up. Put it this way, I see myself still doing it when I’m forty.’

  Mike finished his coffee. It was almost cold now. He considered his friend for a moment. He always had it so together, so in control. The career that was going places, the fantastic wife-who was smokin’, to boot-the house in Auckland.

  He had it sorted. He’d never lose it like Mike had. Lost the fantastic wife, lived in barracks while the wife took the house, lost interest in the career. Fourteen years in the Army and still a Corporal. Spinning out on the rugby pitch was the latest in a series of such incidents that were starting to worry Mike some. Sure, the guy was asking for a smack, but it had to be Mike who did it. The all-in brawl that erupted wouldn’t do him any favours.

  Neither would the punch up with the students at the pub back home, when the CO found out about it, as he inevitably would. Mike knew his anger was getting the better of him lately. It was one of the reasons he was seriously considering seeking a discharge. Better to jump than be pushed. Operating in a world of harnessed aggression was probably not the best place for him right now.

  He checked his watch. Eight thirty. He pushed his chair out from the table.

  ‘You’re not going yet are you, Mike?’ Molly asked, looking surprised.

  ‘Yeah, sorry,’ he said, standing up and starting to gather the plates. ‘We’re heading back down to Waiouru for a couple of days at lunchtime, got a few things to do before we go.’

  He carried the plates to the kitchen and left them in the sink. He knew he was running out, and he knew they were disappointed. He was torn between hanging round a bit longer and the need to keep moving. He couldn’t sit still at the moment, couldn’t stop his mind from racing. The lack of sleep was showing in his judgement.

  He met them near the front door, and they waited while he put his boots back on. He straightened up and shrugged into his fleece. He opened the patch pocket on his pants leg and produced some folded papers. He handed them to Dan.

  ‘Can you do me a favour mate, pass these on to Penny?’

  Dan took them and nodded. He didn’t open them up.

  ‘It’ll save her getting me served.’

  ‘Good call.’

  Mike reached for Molly and gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek as he bade her goodbye.

  He extended his hand to Dan, and was surprised when Dan ignored it. His friend pulled him into a hug instead and thumped him on the back. Right on the sprig marks, and it hurt. Mike ignored the pain and hugged him back.

  He grinned as they broke apart. ‘Softy,’ he said.

  ‘Marshmallow,’ Dan retorted with a grin. ‘Good to see you, man.’

  Mike headed for the ute. His headache had gone but his eyes were prickling. Must be hayfever. Auckland was bad for that, he told himself.

  It was time to get going.

  ***

  The morning was half over by the time Debs rolled out of bed. Her hair was mussed up and Ace had to admit, morning was not her best time.

  He’d already been for a swim in the ocean to freshen up and was now sitting on the tiny balcony of the rented apartment, across the road from Main Beach, a coffee in his hand and his sunnies on. It had been a late night at Freeman’s bar, catching up with an old mate while a local band did their best in the background. His friend was a lawyer with an office down the main drag. The catch up had been good, the band had been crap, and the hours afterwards with Debs had been, well, enough for her to look mussed up this morning.

  Ace ran an appraising eye over her as she shuffled out to the balcony and flopped into the other chair. He guessed she was probably wanting a smoke and a caffeine hit. He was okay with the caffeine. She wore short, fitted grey T-shirt which left little to the imagination. It was probably good they were four floors up, he figured.

  She shielded her eyes from the sun and stared at him.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘this is what the big bad detective does on his days off.’

  ‘Sometimes.’ Ace drained the last of his coffee. His togs were still drying and clung to his legs as he stood. ‘Java?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ She put her hand down and closed her eyes while he went inside, twirling his mug round one finger as he went to the kitchenette.

  He’d brought a jar of Moccona with him, and spooned a heap into a mug for her. The jug was almost hot already but he gave it another burst. He studied her again while he waited for it to reach the boil.

  She had something going for her, he had to admit that, but he knew within himself that this was not going anywhere. A single night-on a whim, no less-did not a relationship make. After two failed marriages, he should’ve known better than to jump at the first twinkling eye.

  Ace sighed and poured her coffee first, then a second one for himself. What the hell, he thought. It wasn’t like he needed the company; he wasn’t lonely. And why was it always like this the morning after the night before?

  ‘Is that coffee pouring itself?’ Debs called out, ‘or do I have to earn it?’

  Ace smiled despite his blues. At least she had a sense of humour. And, to be fair, not many inhibitions. He picked up the two mugs and turned, smelling smoke. He paused. Debs had her head cocked back, blowing a stream of death at the sky.

  The momentary lift he’d just felt crashed back down with a thud, and he started planning his exit strategy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday

  First thing every morning the daily occurrences from the previo
us 24 hours were emailed out from Crime Squad. Detailing the serious incidents and tasks dealt with by Crime Squad, it was a handy heads-up to the area staff as to what was coming their way.

  Ace had skipped the gym and gone straight into the office, his body still feeling the effects of a long surfing session the previous day. He’d caught some good waves but there had been a group of young rookies out on the water who clearly didn’t know the proper etiquette of surfers.

  One in particular was a bleach-blonde pretty boy whose confidence outweighed his ability, and he had dropped in on Ace’s wave, causing the detective to take a dumping to avoid a collision. He’d let the kid know what he thought afterwards, but it did nothing to ease the stiffness in his lower back.

  He could smell the liniment as he eased down into his chair and scanned the office. It was empty and quiet. That was okay with him. Ace was happiest working alone. It was part of what made him so good at undercover work. Operating within a structure but with autonomy to make his own decisions on the ground, to follow his nose, to think on his feet.

  He logged on and compiled his To-Do list while he waited for the desktop to boot up. Word had it they were getting tablets soon to replace the old machines. Ace couldn’t care less. It wasn’t that he had no use for technology, it was just that he wasn’t as reliant on it as some.

  He preferred getting out and talking to people than driving the desk. He was like Dan in that way, he guessed. He glanced across at his colleague’s desk. It was organised chaos like normal. He didn’t know how Dan ever found anything, but it didn’t seem to affect his performance at all. He was probably the best detective Ace had ever worked with.

  Not that he would tell Dan that. They hadn’t exactly bonded since Ace had joined the team. Dan was the big dog on the team, and Ace had the feeling Dan didn’t trust him. That was okay. He didn’t need to be liked, and he didn’t need anyone to rely on.

  The emails opened up and he saw the Crime Squad Occurrences at the top of the list. He flicked through. Nothing of interest until he got to the entry from the Sunday late shift.