by Nell Grey
Ari winked at him.
“And when I saw her, I knew straight away. So did Mum. We all did.”
Shaun shook his head. There was a whole heap of questions to ask, a whole pile more than the answers he’d been given.
And judging by Claire’s face, it was the same for her too.
“What about the contract?” Claire breathed, overcome by it all.
King jerked his head and the gang moved over, away from their bikes towards the house. Shaun tensed and stood firm, reassured only by Ari’s large hand resting on his shoulder.
“The dude’s in Dargarei.”
“What? Irish?” Shaun asked.
The big warrior raised an eyebrow in confirmation.
“And he’s done some damage. Stole himself a couple of guns and he’s on his way up here.”
It was the worst news.
“What kind of guns?”
“Hard to say. Frank’s mainly got shotguns. Good for popping off the odd possum or wild goat.”
“Frank, did ya say? As in, Camping Store Frank?”
“Yeah.”
Shaun studied King’s face. There was something he wasn’t being told.
“Is he still alive?”
“Yeah… Last time I heard.”
King focused on the decking.
“He’s been airlifted to Auckland.”
Shaun rubbed his face and turned to face the house for a second. No way was anyone going to see that a tear had escaped from the corner of his eye.
His friend, the first one who’d welcomed him with open arms here was fighting for his life in a trauma unit.
Celia would be beside herself. And he was to blame.
“D’you think he’s already here?” Claire asked her father, scanning the horizon anxiously.
“Hard to say. But we’d better be ready.”
Chapter 24
---------✸---------
The swarm of motorcycles thundering past his hire car woke Irish up from his deep, dreamless snooze. He watched them as they roared past the public beach area up to the big house on the lake shore.
“Fuck!”
The Cobras had got to them first. That’d mean he’d have to pay out that bunch of amateurs, after all.
They were certainly turning up mob-handed, there had to be twenty of them, at least.
He slung the gun bag over his shoulder and locked the hire car door behind him.
He could simply rock up there? Be all English about it. Ask the nice leather-clad chaps if they’d be total sports and let him sort out those two young scallywags himself. If they wouldn’t mind awfully stepping aside for him … so he could splatter their feckin’ brains like burst watermelons across the decking.
Irish shuddered.
He’d let himself get soft. He’d been relying too much on others, people like Whitey, to do his dirty work. And he couldn’t deny the fact that he was enjoying himself now. That old nutter in the camping shop, it had been like the old days again. Feeling their fear, watching them fight back even when they were so obviously defeated, it always turned him on.
He followed the line of the bushes, trying to keep out of sight of the house. In the end, he found a clump of giant spiky grass that proved the perfect covering for him.
From there, he could see that ten or more bikers had quickly made themselves at home. They were sitting on the porch. Tough nuts in leathers and heavy metal band T-shirts. Biker outlaws with semi-automatics.
They were tooled up better than he was.
His eyes twitched when he saw her come out of the house. Claire Williams. She hobbled out of the door at the back towards the bikers. She had a bad ankle. That was good. Meant she couldn’t run.
He blinked then, not believing his eyes. What was she doing? She was offering them bottles of beer.
She went back inside and a little while later came out again. This time with bowls of snacks.
He’d seen everything now. How had this turned from an abduction to a goddam party?
Something had gone down. He wasn’t sure what it was, but she certainly didn’t look like she was about to meet her Maker anytime soon.
◆◆◆
“Frank’s out of surgery. The police are swarming all over Dargarei looking for Irish. They’ve set up roadblocks on all the routes south,” Shaun announces, coming off the phone.
Celia’s called him back. He’s not told her much about who did it. I’ve told him it’s not his fault but he still feels terrible about Frank. I do too.
“I’ll see ‘em right,” Tane says gruffly, studying me sheepishly.
He’s so big, his thighs scrape the underneath of the kitchen table he sits in the chair.
“Yeah, you should,” I add, and he raises an eyebrow at me.
I’ve said enough. He knows he’s not innocent in this. But I don’t push it.
“Why did you never try to contact me?” I ask him straight out.
It’s been bugging me. And I get the feeling that Tane, I refuse to call him King, Tane appreciates directness.
“Yer mum, when she wrote me, she sent me a baby pic. I’d got injured and I was skint. I offered to send her money when I had some, but she wanted more. She wanted me to come back. Be yer dad.”
“And you didn’t.”
It isn’t a question. It’s a statement of fact.
“I’m not proud of that. I was gettin’ mixed up in some heavy shit back then. I sent her a cheque a while later, but it never got cashed. I took it to mean she’d moved on.”
“And that was that?”
“Ah yeah, pretty much. I always wondered about you though. Always remembered your birthday. April 23rd.”
I bat away the traitorous drop rolling down my face.
I sniff.
“Seems to me like you’re still into some heavy shit?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Questionable lifestyle choices.”
Ari raises an eyebrow to that and his face is serious again.
“Doesn’t have to be, bro,” Ari says quietly. “Mum and Dad miss you. We all do.”
“I can’t leave the boys.”
“I’m glad I found you, Tane,” I tell him.
His eyes meet mine and I find a softness in them that takes my breath away.
“Me too, baby girl.”
◆◆◆
“Tell me about her scar.”
Ari and his brother moved out onto the porch with Shaun. Bottles of beer in their hands, they sat on the decking steps looking out at the lake.
Shaun stretched out his legs.
“It was them. The Scousers. Grabbed her, tried to get her to talk. Used her to get at me.”
“This Irish fulla?”
“An associate of his, yeah. He’d been Claire’s boss in the bar she was working in. He was trying to make a quick buck.”
Even though technically the big guy had been doing the same, Shaun noticed Tane’s free hand had balled into a fist.
“If I ever meet him, he’s a dead man.” Tane rumbled.
“He’s in prison for it.”
“Just as well.”
Tane Matene stared out at the lake.
“And what makes you so special? To be hunted halfway across the world?”
“I’m not gonna sugar-coat it,” Shaun said honestly. “I was in the special forces.”
“A soldier.”
“Hmm. Yeah. Then I was in the National Crime Agency. I infiltrated gangs.”
“He wants you real bad.”
“I killed some people. Got a lot of Irish’s mates banged up, including his little brother.”
King’s eyes drifted towards Ari. The look he gave him was thinly disguised. And Shaun could tell that if he had done that to the Cobras, King would have gone after him too. Hunted him down. For the honour of his brother.
The big man was quiet for a good while.
“You got quite a past too,” he muttered finally.
“Yes,” Shaun answered, “And I’m not proud of it.”
/>
“And you about to rat us out too? Tell the cops about the operation in the forest?”
“No,” Shaun answered flatly. “Your stuff. It’s none of my business. It was my job before but Sion Edwards is done. Now, I’m Shaun Cobain. And it feels… better. Much better.”
The gang chief sat quietly for a few more seconds.
“You startin’ over again out here, then?”
“Yeah,” Shaun meditated. “Thinkin’ of starting an outdoor centre.”
Ari chipped in, “What? For kids?”
“For everyone. But I was thinking about a kids programme too. For kids like I was.”
King swigged his beer.
“What d’ya mean?”
“Kids on the street, who get mixed up in bad stuff.”
“And that was you?”
“Yeah, that was me.”
Tane nodded, staring at the lake.
“Army saved me,” Shaun continued. “Got me fit. Taught me skills.”
“For me, it was sport,” King muttered half to himself.
Ari chewed it over.
“When I went back, Dad made me learn skills passed down from our tīpuna, our ancestors.”
“You guys in then?” Shaun asked quietly, taking a swig.
Ari nodded.
“Straight up?”
“Yeah.”
“Shaun, mate, you can’t handle the jandal without me around. Yeah, man. I’m in. You say when, you say how and I’m there.”
“And yer stickin’ around? No bullshit?”
It was Claire’s father talking now.
Shaun met him in the eye.
“Yeah. No bullshit. Like I said, I want a quiet life here... with Claire.”
Tane Matene stood up, huge, towering above him.
Sensing the challenge, Shaun lifted himself onto his feet too and faced him, fearless.
At six foot, his shoulders still came to the big guy’s chest. But still, he stood holding the stare. Two warriors. Face to face. Eyeball to eyeball.
“So, Sir?” Shaun said, his blue eyes fixed, refusing to blink.
“Do I have permission to marry your daughter?”
Tane froze. His ink-lined face set hard against the Pom.
But in their stare, Shaun could see something else behind those dark impenetrable eyes that were so similar to Claire’s.
Moving his head forward, Tane leaned and carefully placed his nose onto Shaun’s.
He took that as a yes.
The big guy turned silently from him and sat back down.
Taking his cue, Shaun grabbed more beers from the chilly bin behind them and handed them to the brothers.
Ari gave him a friendly wink.
“You know,” Tane broke the silence. “Things aren’t what they used to be up here, for those of us in the horticultural trade. They’re using drones and all sorts of sneaky shit, these days. Taking pictures. Spraying the forest. Raiding units.”
“Nowhere’s safe anymore,” Ari agreed. “P’raps it’s time to stop, bro. Before you push yer luck too far.”
Tane sat reflectively, watching the lake, drinking his beer.
“So, what do we do about this chancer, eh? I reckon my boys set up a rota. Keep you fullas safe.”
Shaun swept back his sandy hair with his free hand. “Ah, I don’t want to put you guys out. Irish hasn’t shown up yet. He’s probably seen the bikes and high-tailed it back to the airport before the cops get him for attempted murder.”
“Two of my men will stay,” Tane decided, “Keep watch on the house.”
“You sure?”
He nodded and gave Shaun the ghost of a smile.
“It’s my little girl in there.”
“I’ll stay the night too, if that’s alright?” Ari added. “Give you a hand if there’s any bother.”
“You’re just after a full night’s kip,” Shaun joked and got up to get them a bowl of crisps.
“You’re gonna come home, eh?” Ari asked his brother when Shaun had disappeared into the house, “Meet Michelle and Kauri. Mum and Dad’ll be stoked.”
Tane nodded.
“Yeah?”.
“Yeah.”
He put his hand on his brother’s arm.
“It’ll be sweet as, I promise, bro.”
Tane Matene, Cobra King, watched his future son in law handing out the stubbies and potato chips.
He called one of the guys and signalled for a gun.
“And ammo.”
Another tough dude passed him a box of cartridges.
“Keep her safe, son.”
He handed the 0.22 semi-auto to Shaun.
Shaun swallowed a lump in his throat.
“I will.”
◆◆◆
Irish racked his brains as he studied what was going on at the lake house.
What was happening? He didn’t understand.
They were the Cobras, alright. One biker had a huge snake inked across his bare back.
He’d paid them good money. What were they playing at? They should have caught the pair and got them ready for him, as per the deal.
Instead, they were all hanging out together. Kicking back on the porch. Hanging around the kitchen. Like happy feckin’ families.
Behind the large flax bush, he watched them closely. Claire was inside the house. Then, it was him. Sion Edwards appeared flanked by two huge Māori men, one in cargo shorts and one dressed like the toughest biker he’d ever seen. He was massive.
And what the…? Was he right in thinking that this guy’s face was tattooed over? That was one mean son of a bitch.
And they were sitting on the deck now, shooting the breeze and drinking bloody beer like they were three best buddies. This was insane.
He got one of the shotguns out of the bag and loaded it with the cartridges.
Edwards and his two new buddies were talking about something big. He watched then as the big hardcase stood up and squared up at Edwards.
Was he about to smack him one?
No. Something had been settled between them.
The hackles on the back of his neck rose. Someone walked over his grave, as his nan would say. Why did he get the feeling that his fate had just been sealed?
Pointing the barrels, Irish took aim. Fitting the shotgun snuggly into the crook of his shoulder, trying to find Edwards’ head.
It was a proper farmer gun, alright. Fine for rabbits, vermin. Rats.
One shot.
That was all he needed. One shot to hit the spot.
Argh!
The rat’s head was obscured by the giant’s shoulder and he didn’t have a clear shot. And with the guns they’d got, if he did have a pop the noise would give his location away immediately. With those serious semi-automatics he’d be plastered in gunshot in seconds.
He pushed his way back into the flax bush and put the gun away.
He had no other option but to wait it out.
And if the gang stayed?
He scanned the buildings. There was a big old barn over to the side of the house with the door left wide open. If the bikers were still at the house by dusk, he’d hide in the barn.
Then, first thing, he’d break into the lodge. And shoot them in their beds.
Chapter 25
---------✸---------
Irish got to the barn no bother.
Most of the bikers had cleared out from the house. The ones left were sitting outside on the porch drinking beer, playing a game of poker. They were tooled up but not battle-ready.
The big bugger with the mask face was still there too. Was that King? If it was, he’d be getting one in the head too. For goods and services not received.
The barn was big. He wandered through to the second room, where he couldn’t resist the temptation of climbing the ladder, propped up against a ceiling beam.
It was a lucky strike.
A hideout with a mattress. A blanket lay bunched up on the bed. And pillows. Had somebody or bodies been there recently? Hiding ou
t?
Irish sat down. His shoulders slumped as he tried to relax. It’d been one hell of a day. And it wasn’t over yet.
It was strange to think that his little brother would be waking up around about now. He’d be in his cell, opening the contents of the breakfast tray that they’d been given the evening before, getting ready for another day of pushing a mop and bucket around the wings.
He felt the anger rising within him as he thought about his brother. What age would Tony’s kid be by the time his dad could put him to bed? He did the maths. Christ! Who wants a bedtime story when they’re nine?
He pulled up the ladder for added security, then sat back down on the makeshift bed. He sniffed. Was it him or did it smell like sex up here?
It’d been far too long, if he was starting to imagine the smells. For the second time, he did a mental calculation. Realising that it had indeed been far too long since he’d had his leg over, he reached for his phone to distract himself.
There was a text message from Whitey,
‘Got the bird in yesterday and it’s been singing.’
Below it was a number.
Yes!
With Whitey’s knowledge of the prison layout, they’d been able to drop the dead pigeon from a drone when the groundwork boys were on duty. The bird’s leg was ringed with Tony’s cell number and inside the dead pigeon there was a mobile phone and charger.
Hastily, Irish called the number, listening to it click and then finally start ringing.
“What?”
His brother sounded groggy. Like he’d woken him up.
“Tony?”
He spoke quietly into the phone.
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Tony, it’s me. Connor.”
“Where you been? You missed the visit.”
He smirked. Tony was probably needing more magazines.
“I’m in New Zealand.”
“New Zealand? What the fook you doin’ there?”
“I found him, Tony. Sion Edwards. The Welsh grass who got you put away. I’m gonna get him back for yer.”
“Irish…”
There was silence at the other end. He could hear his brother breathing.
“Don’t say that,” his little brother mumbled.
“What, Tony?”
