“Yeah, I was thinking about something along those lines. What about now? I want my stuff back.” Johnno emptied his glass and stood, turning on his heel leaving Darren to throw his beer down.
Great. No choice here. Guess I’m coming whether I like it or not. Darren glanced at the barmaid as he followed Johnno past the bar to the exit doors and wondered why she looked as if she was strapped to a bomb.
Darren drove the Falcon. Four schooners, should be right to drive. Yeah, that’s alright Johnno, I don’t really need my driver’s licence. Not that Johnno would have cared. Within fifteen minutes Darren slowed the car to a snail’s pace as they drove into the poorly lit street scoping out their quarry.
“See that timber gate? That’s the way in.” Darren pointed to the narrow gate in the short laneway.
“Let’s have a peep.” Johnno was already out of Falcon heading to the gate.
At that moment a dog started barking and broke the silence in the street. It set off another dog. And a few seconds later, a deeper, louder bark from a serious-sounding guard-dog. Thirty metres down the street a bright light came on. Darren was still seated in the Falcon, he bowed his head down. Let’s wake everyone up. Johnno stopped at the entrance of the laneway. He looked back to Darren. What are you looking at me for? I’m not the arsehole that woke up the neighbourhood. Darren returned an expression of ‘well-don’t-look-at-me’.
“Hey! What are youse bastards up to?” A voice bellowed from where the lights had come on. Darren saw the dark apparition of a man with a large dog on a lead. Like a searchlight had just come on Johnno was lit up like a candle. Without hesitation Johnno sprinted back to the car and dived into the front seat. Darren slammed the car into reverse and after fifty metres he braked heavily turning the wheel clockwise. The Ford screeched to a halt. Immediately he spun the steering wheel around anti-clockwise and stomped the accelerator to the floor. He sped off away from the bright lights in the street.
“Bloody dogs!”
“Yeah. Bad luck. But really, mate, shit like this needs to be planned. You do the same when you’re collecting a dodgy debt, don’t you?” Darren needled his mate.
“We are going to kill that little shit.” Johnno snarled. “I’m gonna neck him.”
Darren knew that not to be an idle threat. Over the top. Maybe. Do I really want to be part of a killing? He decided to let it go.
“Back to the pub for a coldie? I’m thirsty.”
“Yeah, why not?” Darren replied.
Behind the bar a ginger-head bar-girl was wiping down the stainless spill-tray. She glanced over to the two men, who had just returned and were back at their favourite table.
“Don’t think that tray has ever been that shiny,” the bar-manager remarked, as she eye-balled her top bar-girl. “You worried about something? You’ve been jumpy all evening.” Shelley stopped dead in her tracks. Shit.
“No. What makes you think that?” she replied, hoping it would appease her boss and stop the inquisition. She rinsed the sponge and wrung it out before folding it twice.
“Johnno doesn’t look his usual self,” her boss remarked.
Shelley felt her boss’ eyes stinging into her neck. Why does she always prod? God, she is so fucking annoying. “I don’t know, seems normal to me.” Shelley answered curtly as her eyes landed on the wall-clock over the side door. 10 o’clock.
“I’m going home. My shift is over. I’m buggered, it’s been a long arvo and evening, Belle.” And with that comment Shelley brushed past her boss and went to collect her purse. Within moments she was out in the carpark and relieved to be out of the stifling atmosphere in the bar.
It was dark and the heat of the day had been softened by a cooler evening breeze which was ever so slight. In the fresh air she could smell the sweet scent from the frangipanis, as she brushed past them on her way to the car. Unlocking the car door she felt unnerved by her knowledge of events; she wished she hadn’t overheard anything this evening. Not that she knew much, but it was just that Tony had been there on those days. For once in her life, it was all coming together; she had a job she liked, a new life with her boyfriend, Tony. Her future was set. But messing with Johnno was a bad move! Tony, what are you thinking?
“Shell. Stop for a moment! ”
She heard Belle and found her boss standing right next to the car. “Oh, did I forget something?” Shelley said with sarcasm.
“Come on, love. You can’t hide anything from me.” Belle said with conviction, her elbows out and knuckles tucked into her ample sides. “Tell me what’s going on. Something wrong between you and Tony?”
Shelley stared ahead. “You have to keep this quiet, Belle. Get in the car.”
“We may as well get a drink.” Belle urged. “Gypsy Rose?”
“Hmm, okay. You always seem to weasel your way into my life.”
“That’s what cousins are for, sweetie,” Belle replied with a smile, satisfied that she was going to be privy to some gossip.
CHAPTER 9
CHINESE WHISPERS
It was a long walk and Martin regretted not having organised his ride with Jimmy.
“You’re late!” Tony growled, as he slammed the last form board on the ladder rack. Martin ambled up the steep driveway.
“Yeah, sorry, boss, didn’t mean to ruin your routine.” With a bit of sarcasm.
“Look, mate, the others have already left, so now I have to drive you over to the job.” Tony snapped back at him.
“Weren’t you going there anyway?”
“Don’t be a smart-arse! Give us a hand with that rope, I’m already late.” Tony ordered.
The weight of the formwork boards had put significant pressure on the springs of the utility; the vehicle was sagging front and back. Martin was glad that he ‘missed out’ on loading the planks. The concreter checked the ropes, made sure that the load was securely tied. Tony’s mind was elsewhere, he was disturbed by Shelly’s story and couldn’t believe it took him an hour to placate her. He had nothing to hide and certainly would not dream of taking anything from anybody. He had questioned Zac, Mark and Jimmy earlier, but they denied any knowledge of anything being taken from Johnno’s house. They all knew better.
“Listen, Marty, apparently some stuff went missing from the job at Balgowlah.”
“What, the screed? I picked it up.”
“No, no. Not the screed. Stuff from the house. Johnno’s house. You don’t happen to know anything I don’t do you?”
Martin’s heart stopped. He blinked. No way. Don’t let on. Keep it together. “No. Nothing.” Martin turned away from the side of the tray.
“Come on, we have to go, boys are waiting,” Tony slipped into the front seat.
Martin hesitated briefly, but decided to get in the utility. Don’t panic. How could anyone find out? There was no one there. Not a soul. I’ll just play dumb.
Monday morning and there was no breeze; a stillness that held a predictable promise of an impending weather change. Tony’s ute came to a halt in front of the broken up driveway where the three men were busy breaking up parts of the existing concrete driveway with heavy steel spud bars. Tony quickly surveyed the state of progress and started barking orders.
“Jimmy, come and give us hand, please. Get to unloading my ute, straightaway mate,” Tony ordered waving his arms around like a fan while searching for his newest slave, “Marty… Martin! Don’t stand around. Go and help Jimmy.”
“Hey, Marty, what’s going on? Good night, last night?” Jimmy was pumped.
“Sure, mate”, Martin answered. He wasn’t into stupid small talk from some fucking surfer who was too high on life. And he wished he wasn’t here, working way too hard for his liking.
Tony took in the view from the road over the beach and ocean. A grey bank of cloud was hovering over the southern horizon. It was hazy, not overcast, the sun trying to burn through the atmosphere. A few beads of sweat were gathering on Tony’s forehead. Going to be a southerly change. Better get this excavation done b
efore it does. Probably rain later.
The morning tea break did not come soon enough. The men were sweaty, thirsty and hungry. Although the men kept shovelling they all took turns looking down the street waiting for Mark to return with the smoko feed.
Martin missed out on his smoko tucker. He didn’t care, he didn’t like sitting around with these blokes, always running around like idiots to please Tony. “I’m not hungry, anyway,” Martin commented, as he fumbled with his rolled cigarette. “May as well have a smoke at smoko, eh.”
There was no answer, the only sound came from four blokes chomping on their rolls, while hungry hands and fingers grabbed the hot chips spread on the torn butcher’s paper wrapping.
“That’s bizarre, shit getting knocked off from Johnno’s place.” Jimmy blurted.
Tony shot a look at Jimmy. But the lanky surfer did not cotton on.
“Who’d want to fuck with that dude, Jesus, you’d have to be nuts. Seen the size of him?” Jimmy kept blurting and stuffing his mouth full of chips at the same time.
Tony interrupted him. “Jimmy. Hey remember, this morning we discussed that this story was to be kept under wraps. We went over it this morning, and now, we forget about it. Because it wouldn’t be good for anyone to find out about Johnno’s private business, particularly if the stories came from us.” Tony pleaded his case calmly. “Jimmy, you wouldn’t want Johnno to think that you knew something about his shit being knocked off. Now, would you?”
That remark shut Jimmy up.
Martin ears pricked up. What’s that dickhead saying? Martin pretended not to have taken any notice. The crew kept snatching chips until last one disappeared in Jimmy’s hand. Tony signalled that smoko was over.
Nearing lunch-time, the tipper had returned from its second run. The site was nearly cleared and Tony had already started marking out the edges. It was still warm and the rising humidity was feeding the urgency on the job-site. Like ants scurrying before rain, so too were the TG Concreting team. It was after midday and Tony signalled the Bobcat driver to stop. Suddenly, all activity just ceased like a giant sigh blowing over the site.
“Righto, lunch, and don’t make it a long one boys!” As he looked up at the sky and then down further where cloud cover was gathering quickly in the distance on the southern horizon. Out over the water, the sky bounced a beautiful deep blue shadow. It wouldn’t be long before the wind would arrive in an uncontrolled blast. If you waited and looked long enough you would see it racing across the water’s surface, like an invisible paint-brush changing the bright blue colours into a light-grey mist on a canvas.
“Hey Jimmy, reckon I could get a ride with you down to the shops, mate?”
“Sure, Marty, no worries, dude. Ever been in a Kombi? It’s the best.”
They got into Jimmy’s light blue Kombi. Five turns of the key finally fired up the lazy engine. A splutter and a bit of blue smoke from the exhaust pipes, and Jimmy eased the van into first gear.
The trip down the hill made Martin quite nervous and unsettled. Fuck. He cursed in silence. First time and last time in this coffin. All the while Jimmy was trying to slow the Kombi’s descent. Martin wondered if the vehicle had any brakes at all.
With his foot firmly pressed onto the brake pedal and his hands clasped on the large steering wheel Jimmy gave it everything he had to pull the vehicle up while trying to keep it straight as they neared the main road.
“Brakes are still okay, but probably need some tightening or something,” Jimmy said triumphantly.
Martin’s eyes were wide open, his boots pushing against the lower firewall, legs nearly straight and his hands firmly gripping the seat’s edges. As the Kombi slowed and came to a halt Martin sighed with relief. Jimmy parked the van and they both got out without saying much at all and walked towards the fish and chips shop.
The southerly wind hit like a wave. The temperature dropping as she was gushing through. Jimmy’s shoulder length sun-bleached blond hair blew around his face. He smiled. Swell will be up soon. Awesome.
“So Jimmy, tell me, what’s the story with this Johnno character, mate,” Martin probed him, “Is he like some sort of bad guy?”
“You don’t know?”
Chinese whispers. In Johnno’s case, Jimmy held him as a bit of a local God, who presided over and regulated the northern beach marijuana trade. To Jimmy, he was a bloke to be respected, and obviously, you made sure never to cross him. He frequented the Manly Vale Hotel where Jimmy often went for a cold lager after a surf.
“Yeah, I’ve met him heaps. Really cool dude and I’ve even shouted him a couple of times, fucking oath. And his mate too, he’s a cab-driver, always drinking with him, when see I him at the pub.”
Jimmy seemed to be very tickled with himself to be acquainted with such celebrities, Martin noticed.
“Funny, the cabbie with the moustache, he looks like fucking Tom Selleck! You know the guy from Magnum PI, the cop show. It’s a top show. Seen the re-runs on TV, Marty?”
Martin’s eyes bulged and his heart sunk. His blood pumping more rapid as the words sank in,” looks like fucking Tom Selleck.”
Martin shrugged his shoulders and answered nonchalant, “Yeah, I seen some of it.” He ran his fingers through his thin hair and looked away from Jimmy.
“Probably best to keep some distance, aye.” Jimmy turned his mind to the menu board.
Distance. Yeah. I got to get out of here. The fucking cabbie. Got to go home. Martin’s brain was going into overdrive. He had to think of something quick. That fucking taxi-driver already knew, no one could be that stupid. How was that for bad luck? Got to get home. Soon. No time to waste.
“Hey, you reckon you could give me a ride to Brookvale, mate?” Martin clutched his gut. “I feel a bit crook. Like I want to spew, you know.” Thinking. “That’s why I was late this morning, I was having a spew at home, before I come to work.”
Jimmy dithered a bit, then, “Sure, buddy, I’ll take you to Brookie, just let me order my lunch and we’ll go.”
“Ta.” Martin went back to the Kombi, hunched over with his arm on his stomach. He bought it. Good. Get back. Pack my stuff and go. Another thought crossed his mind. Wonder what that commotion was about last night? Fucking dogs barking, some idiot going off his nut. Martin watched Jimmy approach the Kombi.
“Thanks, Jimmy. Tell Tony I’ll see him tomorrow.” Martin slammed the Kombi door shut. He rushed through his gate and was greeted by a little kelpie cross.
“Fuck off, mutt.” Nearly tripping over the small dog Martin hurried to the back door. His mood changed from fear to anger. He fumbled with the key to unlock the door. He burst through. Got to get the guns. The back-pack. And fuck off.
His beady eyes scanned the room for anything important, which he might have missed. His focus was interrupted by the whimper of the dog standing in the doorway of the kitchen entrance. The expression on his face tightened. A warm glow gripped his face, his heart beat a little faster and harder. The adrenaline in his veins progressively accelerating its spread to his fingertips and then back to pump up his body muscles. In the corner of his eye he saw the big carving knife on the side of the kitchen sink.
She had been so happy when he first picked her up, all her siblings had already gone. The last one in the litter. Her happiness was short-lived. Here and now, she waited, she was hungry. But she knew that food wasn’t coming. Her watery eyes, from her tears welling, repentant about her past mistakes, wishing she could have done better. Only the tip of her tail wagged nervously and she stopped, stooping her head a bit lower, turning it to one side. More submission. Then faintly, again a little wag from her tail. All in vain.
CHAPTER 10
LOST AND GONE
It wasn’t often that Darren was invited to Johnno’s home. Johnno was a very private man. But somehow, Darren felt like he had earned his stripes by remaining loyal to a bloke who mentored him he when first arrived in Sydney right from the start when they met at the Manly Hotel. Darren stumbled into h
is first job as a dish-pig at the Manly Hotel. He had Johnno to thank for that. Soon after, the big bartender gave Darren as much ‘shit’ as he could. It was on one of those busy, crazy Friday nights when Johnno had run out of clean schooner glasses, “Am I going to have to kick your fucking arse to get some glasses or what?” Darren recalled that event with a smile.
“Hey you, what’s your name again? What was that? Mango? What kind of fucking name is that?”
“It’s not Mango, you goose. It’s Mangan, Man-Gan.” Darren yelled back at him from behind the stainless benchtop, which was littered with dirty pots, pans and cooking utensils and a ‘thousand’ glasses.
“Well, fucking Mango it is tonight, mate!” And Johnno grabbed the tray of clean glasses and disappeared back into the madness.
“What do you mean, he’s fucked off!” Johnno barked.
“Exactly what I just said, mate,” Darren answered calmly.
“And what makes you so sure of that?” Johnno was agitated. Not only was he meeting with his buyer tonight, but not having answers as to the whereabouts of the merchandise was a double whammy.
“Most of his clothes are gone. The bed’s stripped. And …I found his dog, it was dead. Butchered.” Darren clenched his jaw.
“Who gives a fuck about his dog? It doesn’t tell me where my guns are,” Johnno was winding himself up like a spring. “You went over the place, didn’t you? I mean like a cockroach looking for a bit of raw chicken. Right?”
“Yes, mate,” Darren bit his lip. “Look I’m going back there later. I’ll go over it again.”
“I’ll be coming with you, two is better than one, never know, your eyes might have been stuck up your arse.” A huffing Johnno paced up and down the room, while his fingers fumbled his shirt pocket for a cigarette. Darren leant against the kitchen benchtop and let Johnno’s comment soak into nothing. Steam it off, good buddy.
“So what’s the story with your gun deal, mate? Can you fill me in?” Darren asked.
“Oh yeah some fuckin’ deal that’s going to be. Likely to cause some real dramas. I’m a fuckin’ idiot.” Johnno lit a smoke. “An old mate of my old man rang me a while ago asking for a favour. His cousin was chasing up some guns. Handguns. Because he knew my old man was a bit of a stand-over man he figured I could help him out. The old boy was no stranger to guns.” Johnno shifted away from the kitchen area. Darren followed him to the lounge.
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