Stealth

by John Hollenkamp

  Before leaving through the back door he gave the place another quick once over. There would be a short cut from the bush to the railway station.

  CHAPTER 12

  THUNDER COMING

  Johnno lit his second cigarette. The nearest streetlight was a hundred meters away. The lighter flame cast a quick silhouette on the red-brick wall of the abandoned factory. It was a stupid place to meet, in Johnno’s opinion. Too quiet. Better off meeting in a real public place. People were less suspicious.

  By now, he suspected Lars was part of a bikie group. Johnno hated getting involved with bikies; they were unpredictable and dangerous.

  Johnno liked simplicity and control of how business was done. He wasn’t hungry or greedy. This whole gun-deal was bad mistake. The theft of the guns was like an omen. How the fuck did I get involved with this? Dad woulda kicked my arse. Dad. Poor bastard finally paid for all his meat-pies and chips. How fucked is that? Croaking it on the job at smoko in front of ya mates. Massive heart attack, fuck - who woulda thought that could happen at fifty-four years old.

  His thoughts were broken by the distant thump, thump from a Harley. Don’t tell me he’s going to ride up here. What and no one is going to notice? Johnno shook his head and stamped out his smoke on the pavement.

  Two sets of head-lights rounded the corner and the noise from the bikes bounced from the walls. The closer they came, the louder the exhausts boomed in the narrow street. Although they sported leather-jackets, no club colours were displayed. No patches of any kind to identify them with a motorcycle-club. They pulled up in tandem and killed their engines simultaneously. Johnno welcomed the silence.

  “Evening, boys”. Johnno initiated the greeting procedure.

  Lars dismounted his bike. He was even taller than Johnno remembered.

  “This is Eddie,” he grunted, and casually waved his hand towards the other bikie. Eddie stayed seated on his Harley and nodded once.

  “Unexpected company, but that’s okay. It won’t be problem.” Johnno commented. I’m in enough shit now to worry about protocol.

  “I’ve had a problem with delivery, my contact didn’t show up. I’m going to need another three or four days. Shit happens, unfortunately,” Johnno explained and he put another smoke between his lips. After lighting it, he offered his buyer one, as if to say ‘you’re not number one here’. Lars narrowed his eyes and declined the offer. But Eddie put his hand out and fingered a cigarette out of the packet.

  “That’s not good enough, mate.” Lars eyeballed Johnno.

  He stepped back, and lowered himself onto the bike seat, sitting sideways. His eyes reconnoitred the area and he seemed not be in a hurry to make his next move. Johnno waited.

  The Viking biker bobbed his head before speaking. “My uncle told me you’re old man was a solid guy. He trusted your father and spoke highly of him. He assured me that his son, John, would be no different. This John fellow is good as gold, he said. So going on his word I decide to trust you. All good. You get paid and I get my merchandise.” He paused and looked to the pavement, “Except, that you have the money and I don’t have shit.” Lars looked up and stared directly into Johnno’s face.

  Johnno felt the cold steel stare piercing his head. The last analogy stuck to his mind. I’d be pissed off too. I have to buy some time. These cunts are dangerous I can feel it. “Give me a few days and I’ll have it sorted.” Johnno took another drag. He exhaled heavily.

  “Sunday night, same time, here, unless I tell you otherwise.” Lars started to mount his Harley, but turned, “Don’t fuck with us.” Then he jumped on the Harley. Johnno watched as Eddie followed his mate’s movements.

  In synchro, both bikes started, filling the street with deafening thunder. Their exit was louder than their arrival. He was left standing in the dark street, waiting for the echo from the thundering bikes to dissipate. When the stillness finally came, he mused, I’m fucked unless I find those guns. He flicked the cigarette butt into the street. Bits of orange spark scattered over the ground.

  CHAPTER 13

  BE MY BACKUP

  Later that night at the Manly Vale, Darren agreed to meet with Johnno to help him figure a way out of the botched deal. The bikies weren’t going to be satisfied unless they got their guns. The only option was to find the stolen guns. Darren waited patiently for Johnno to get out of his circle of pointless questions. “So how did that little arsehole get those guns in the first place? How would he know I kept those guns in my house, it’s like needle in a haystack stuff. No one knows about these guns. No one.” Clearly frustrated he groped for his smokes.

  “I do remember something like him working for a concreter. He said he was labouring for a concreter. In Balgowlah. Didn’t you get some concreting done?” Darren was steering a line of thought.

  “I did. Tony did a slab for me not long ago. He’s got three or four blokes working for him. Yeah.” And the penny dropped. Johnno’s brain was starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together. I’ll need to see Tony, bet he knows more. “Fucking wog.” Johnno shot up from his chair and nearly knocked it over as he shoved it back to go over to the bar.

  Johnno waited patiently for Shelley to hand the change back to her last customer. Shelley glanced nervously at the big man standing next to her customer. She tried to compose herself. Her efforts to feign indifference failed in Johnno’s appraisal. Guilty as sin, bitch. Johnno decided.

  “Johnno, hi mate, another two?”

  “Sure. But, you come over here,” he directed his eyes over to the far side of the bar and made his way there. Shelley’s heart felt like exploding but she followed him from behind the bar. “I want to see Tony. Tomorrow. Tell him my house, at 8 am. You pass that on to him. Okay. Rain, hail or shine, right?” Without another word or wanting an answer from her, he returned to his table where Darren sat. The big man sat back down and downed the rest of his schooner.

  “Your shout,” is all he said and lit up another smoke.

  Shelley was already on her way over with two fresh schooners. “On the house, boys”. They accepted the freebie with grace and clinked their glasses.

  “I guess talking to Tony might help you find him.” Darren agreed.

  “Got to start somewhere.”

  “Like the coppers do. How well did you know the perp? When did you meet him?” Darren said half-joking.

  “Yeah. Something like that,” Johnno didn’t appear amused.

  At precisely 8 o’clock in the morning Johnno heard the squeal of the side gate. That reminds me. Tony has to fix that. Ten seconds later, the short and stocky concreter appeared at the sliding door. Johnno appraised the tradesman from behind the tinted glass doors. Is he nervous? Has he got something to hide? Guess I’ll find out shortly. He grabbed the handle and flicked the tab up to unlock it.

  “Morning Tony. Come in,” Johnno greeted his visitor.

  “Shall I take my boots off?”

  “Good idea. Just leave them there,” Johnno replied and he pointed to a spot just outside the door. “Know what this is about?” Johnno dispensed with any further niceties.

  “Not really. Are you unhappy with the slab?” Tony pretended to be ignorant.

  “The slab is fine.” Johnno cut to the chase. “You have a guy working for you. Don’t know his name. But apparently, he’s a scrawny kid with weird eyes.”

  “Marty. I hired him, one day when he walked onto the job. A few weeks ago.” Tony quickly added, “But he’s gone.”

  “Gone, as in?” Johnno interjected.

  “He left the other day, half-way through the day, at lunch. Jimmy took him home, because he reckoned he was crook and he never came back.” Tony cleared his throat and avoided eye-contact with Johnno.

  “Where to? Where did Jimmy take him?”

  “Brookvale, I think,” Tony replied.

  “Any paperwork on him, you know like, tax file and full name?”

  “Nah, just a cash arrangement with him, mate. Day to day. He didn’t even pick up his half
day pay. Never came back. Some of these blokes are just hopeless.”

  “Have a last name?” Johnno asked.

  “Can’t remember. Don’t think I ever asked,” Tony excused.

  Johnno couldn’t think of anything else to ask. Just as well his boots are outside, otherwise he’d be shakin’ in them.

  “Anyway, mate, thanks for coming to see me.” Johnno put his arm around Tony’s shoulder and slowly guided the concreter to the door, “You getting enough work, Tony?”

  “More than I can handle at the moment, but it’s all good.” Tony bent down and arranged his boots so he could slip into them.

  “Oh, and Tony, mate, sort that fucking gate will ya? It’s driving me nuts, that fucking squeal.”

  “My word. Have it done by Monday arvo,” Tony promised and hurried out of sight. Relieved, he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and shut the gate behind him.

  Back to fucking square one. That little bastard is long gone. Going to eat humble pie on this one. Johnno pulled the sliding door shut.

  Sitting at the kitchen breakfast-bar, Johnno contemplated his predicament. Finding the fictitious delivery man for the handguns and pretending the guy hadn’t shown up probably wasn’t the most sensible excuse. At best, he bought a couple of days to come up with a solution. The truth of the matter was simple. You couldn’t deliver goods that were stolen from right under your nose. Not happy about the situation with Lars, he was upset about losing the .38 Smith & Wesson revolver.

  He groped for his smokes in his top shirt-pocket. Remembering the day, his dad pulled him by his arm and coaxed him to follow. From behind a metal locker in the garage he retrieved a shiny, black revolver. A Smith & Wesson .38 with a four inch barrel. “Look here, Johnny, it is supposed to be on the bottom of the frigging harbour, but I kept it for you. It was given to me in trust, to be buried in Sydney Harbour. Serial number is filed off, but don’t be waving the fuckin’ thing around.” In awe of this gift, he treasured it and ensured it was well-hidden. From time to time, he would retrieve it from hiding and inspect it, clean it and put it back for safe-keeping.

  This deal gone wrong was a real dilemma for Johnno. Somehow he would need to appease the bikie, otherwise, the consequences would be dire. He schemed to go into damage control. First thing to do is give them back the money. Take a bit of sting out of the bite. They’d still be pissed off, but at least they got their money back. It was not an inspiring solution, but it was a start. Fuck. Can’t believe I got myself into this shit.

  He lit his cigarette, inhaled heavily and blew a few smoke rings. It would be naïve to think that the bikies would just let it pass. No. Pride and “you’re fucking with us” feelings would overwhelm Lars, the Viking, forcing him to defend his honour and make things difficult.

  “Fucking bikies. That’s why I hate doing business with them.” But no one answered. He was alone in his kitchen. He needed help. Back up. And his trusted friend, Mango, would be the only person he could call on.

  The muffled sound of a ringing phone caught Darren by surprise. The taxi was available at the moment. No passengers. Darren groped around on the floor directly in front of his seat when he finally realised that it was his phone ringing. His jumper was scrunched on the floor partially tucked under the driver’s seat. Who the fuck is calling me on the mobile? Tempted to let it go, Darren pulled over instead and stopped the cab. He snatched the phone from the floor. It was a two-fold mission, first to stop the annoying sound of his mobile ringing, and second to satisfy his curiosity. Private number. Who is that?

  “Working mate?” The first question as soon as Darren pressed the receive button. Darren recognised the voice immediately. Relieved and concerned at the same time.

  “What’s up?” Darren asked.

  “You working Sunday?”

  “Until six, mate.”

  “Reckon you could back me up?” Darren heard the distinct blow from Johnno’s mouth exhaling smoke.

  “Someone not paying their bills, eh?” Darren had a chuckle.

  “No, mate. Gotta meet with Viking Lars and his mate. They are not gonna like the news.” Johnno stated matter-of-fact.

  “Figured it must be important.” Darren replied, waiting for a comment. Johnno didn’t respond. “Okay, I take that as a yes,” Darren replied to himself under his breath.

  “What do you want me to do?” Darren asked.

  “Back me up in case the shit hits the fan.” After another drag from his cigarette Johnno added, “I think the shit will hit the fan. It might get ugly.”

  Darren considered for a moment. When did he ever let Johnno down? Never. Of course, I’m back up. “Count me in bud.”

  “Call in to mine tomorrow. I’ll have the coffee brewing.” Johnno hung up.

  CHAPTER 14

  ROAD OF NO RETURN

  The meeting was held in the same dark street as the previous appointment. It was a lot cooler this time and there was a wind gusting between the two-storey brick warehouses lining both sides of the street. Johnno’s keen sense of hearing picked up the distant rumble of the Harleys moving closer. The warhorses came thundering down the narrow street, the exhaust thumps echoing from the buildings. Their arrival did not seem as ominous as last Thursday because some of the noise of the motorbikes was dissipated by the wind. This time he was ready for them.

  Despite being able to handle himself in a fight, even when the odds were stacked against him, Johnno was unnerved by the whole deal. His only joy was knowing that Darren was ready as back up, not far away. Darren was dependable and no slouch in a brawl. Although a fight was not on his opening line agenda, it was wishful thinking that the bikies were going to scamper off without drama. But he had to try as a gesture of friendship, an apology by way of returning their payment plus a small bonus. In the back of his mind he knew that was futile. The cash was safely hidden in his back pocket. Four thousand dollars. An extra thousand. To help them cover costs. A gift. An apology. Some recompense. Got to give it a go.

  The Harleys pulled up. As before, Eddie remained in his seat. Lars casually took his gloves off and offered his hand. A surprised Johnno quickly stuck his hand out to meet that of the Viking.

  “Have you got the items?” Lars demanded.

  “No, I have to disappoint you, and report that I can’t fill the order. My contact has fucked off. I have also lost my dough.” Johnno decided not to beat around the bush.

  “I don’t give a fuck about your money,” Lars snapped.

  Johnno held up his hands and quickly offered, “I have some money for you, four grand to re-pay what you gave me, plus a bit extra, for the hassle. Can I take it from my back pocket?”

  Lars broke out in a mocking laugh. “You think you can smooth over this fuck-up? Oh, I just give them some money back, and everything is hunky dory.” He had stopped his fake laugh and let his anger build. The Viking’s blue-eyes were raging, and his face reddening. “You can get fucked. You are going to regret ever setting eyes on me, you double-dealing fuck-up. Your goose is cooked!”

  Darren heard threatening words thundering in the narrow street. He ventured a peek from his hideout in a recessed doorway. He could make out the tall long-haired bloke squaring up in front of Johnno. He was at least half a head taller than Johnno. The other bikie had dismounted his Harley while his boss was carrying on. Darren felt his heart pumping faster. The stand-off wasn’t going to last. But he remembered Johnno’s instructions, “Don’t come out until he starts to swing.” Then he heard Johnno.

  “Well arsehole, do you want the fucking money or not?”

  Darren stepped out of the alcove. The tall biker with the beard lunged out with his gorilla arm and fist, but Johnno stepped sideways and turned on his heel. Darren sprinted over as Johnno countered with a low thrusting kick connecting with the giant’s groin. Lars buckled over as he grabbed for his jewels. Darren chuckled at the sight, but the wounded warrior soon recovered and threw himself forward into Johnno who took the full impact and fell to the ground fr
om the inertia of Lars’ charge. Lars tripped and followed Johnno to the ground. Darren watched the two men grappling on the ground, arms and legs flailing. Johnno then tried to kick the monster from him. Eddie joined in and kicked Johnno in the kidney with his heavy motorbike boot. Johnno groaned. Lars rolled away as Eddie continued to lay into Johnno. Eddie wasted no time jumping over his mate to finish off the burly bouncer. Darren surprised Eddie as he flung himself on the back of the attacking bikie sending him towards the pavement. Although much lighter than his opponent, Darren pounded Eddie’s head repeatedly. They both fell to the ground, the bikie going first and hard. Darren’s elbow connected with the bikie’s nose and he heard the crack of something giving way.

  Eddie was a powerhouse of strength and threw Darren off like a tackled footy player. Darren tumbled over and saw the big biker get to his feet. He was quite nimble for a big bloke, Darren mused. Eddie’s face was covered in blood. Darren flew to his feet. Once up he decided to get serious. Sizing up his opponent Darren figured he must have busted his nose or smashed some teeth hitting the ground. Good. Some damage to work with! Now he was ready for a serious rumble. Like Muhammad Ali, Darren began to dance around. He was in his element. His fists loosely clenched, his arms up and ready to jab, block, and strike.

  Darren called on the fighting techniques he had learnt from one of his sparring buddies; Josh, a black-belt in karate. One of those techniques was to confuse and harass in a fight. Darren sensed from his opponent’s lack of direction that he was confused. Not used to a dancing boxer in front of him. As a straight punch came, Darren blocked and thwarted the attack with an inner left-hand deflective move and in the same fluid motion he retracted his left blocking arm while his right arm shot upward with an instant hardened fist, which connected with the biker’s already bleeding nose. The crunch was sickening. Eddie screamed. Darren finished his counter-attack with a front snapping kick to the biker’s lower abdomen, he completed the onslaught by turning on his heel and swivelling his body around to jettison a perfect back kick at chest height. To an onlooker it would have looked like a scene from one of Jet Li’s Kung Fu flicks. The chest crunch winded the hulking biker and he crumbled to his knees as he cradled his face with both his hands.