“Fucking, Martin, leaving shit untidy,” he bellowed to make sure Martin could hear and bent over to investigate the hard object on the floor. Matt grabbed for the bag, picked it up and to his surprise, it was very heavy. His curiosity was tickled by the way its contents moved around. “So what’s in the bag, fucking bowling balls?” Matt yelled out.
Martin was outside and he heard Matt loud and clear. Then it dawned on him. Oh no, the back pack! Horrified, he dropped the broom and ran back into the house. Too late.
“Whaohh, what’s this then?” Matt was holding a black .22 calibre Berretta clutched between his thumb and forefinger. Smiling, mouth wide, teeth showing. “Nice, one cousin. How long before you were going to share this?”
Martin’s jaw felt like it had dropped to the ground. “I… I was going to let you in on this secret soon, but I didn’t know what to do, you know if I could…” Martin stammered.
“What, trust me? I’m your fucking cousin! Flesh and blood, remember?”
Martin couldn’t respond, unsure of Matt’s reaction.
“Lots of little secrets, Martin. Better you share some of your secrets, and maybe I will share mine. It’s all good little buddy. Promise.”
Relieved at Matt’s assurance, Martin opened up. “I ran into this stash of guns, in Balgowlah, on a job. I took them, because I could. And I thought they’d be worth good money. Do you like that Smith & Wesson, the big, shiny one?”
“Tell me more.” Matt scrutinised his skinny cousin.
The intensity of Matt’s expression made Martin uncomfortable; the cogs in his brain started to align and arrange a believable story. “Okay, I’ll tell you what happened.” Martin bought another few seconds, before explaining.
“I was working on this job. Labouring for a concreter. Italian guy. And while I was looking for the dunny one morning, I saw this open drawer. So, I looked.”
“Why? Were you planning on stealing something?” Matt prodded.
“What? What makes you think that?”
“Come on, cousin. We’re all a bit bent. Our curiosity for getting something for nothing is a pretty strong instinct.”
Martin gave him a blank stare, and responded, “I don’t understand.”
“It means that wanting to steal something is a normal instinct.” Matt clarified adding impatiently, “Just fucking tell the story. Jesus.”
“Okay, so I found this shiny black barrel sticking out from under some cloth. And it turned out to be a gun.”
“That doesn’t explain the others in the bag, mate.”
“Yeah, righto. I fiddled around with the drawer to pull it out further to see if there was more. And fucking guess what? Under the drawer was another six of them.”
“Go on.”
“You see, I knew I couldn’t take ’m all right then, so I just took the .38 and come back the next day at lunchtime to snavel the rest.” Martin’s eyes had widened with excitement. “I made up an excuse to come back.”
“So why did you come back at lunch?” Matt was curious.
“Because I knew the boys would be sitting around the corner soaking up the sun. And I could then sneak back out without them seeing me with a backpack. You see I left a screed on the job on purpose the day before. I had to go back to pick it up.”
“So you’re a scheming cock.” Matt broke out laughing.
Martin looked at his cousin, puzzled. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. But welcome to our family, cousin. We’re both bent.” Matt laughed some more. Martin followed suit in a nervous half-hearted chuckle.
“Anything else you want to tell me? Like why are you here?” Matt’s face was suddenly serious. “You had to run away, didn’t you? And fucking don’t lie to me, because I need to know if the law is chasing you.”
“Not the law. But I did have to leave in a hurry.”
“And why was that?”
“I ran into this cab-driver that I knew and tried to sell one of guns to him. But it turns out that this cabbie was best mates with the guy who owned the guns,” Martin explained. “So I fucked off in a hurry.”
Matt broke out in laughter. He spat out the words in between his laughter, “You what …hahaha …tried to sell the gun to his best mate! … That’s so fucking funny! “
Martin let his cousin have his bit of fun. “It’s not funny, I had to run.” Martin shot his cousin an angry glare. “The guy that I took the guns from is also a bad-ass enforcer, a bad mother-fucker apparently.”
“Ah, that would explain your sudden departure. Bad luck, I guess.” Matt replied contemplating the implications of this revelation. But yes, there was a serious side to this.
Martin remained silent, as if waiting for a verdict.
Matt did not flinch, or blink. He stared dead ahead. Thinking. What the fuck am I going to do with him? I guess I’m stuck with him for now. Bloody hell, he’s my cousin. Flesh and blood. Gotta make this work.
“Glad you’re here. We’ll have to look after each other from here on out.” Matt stuck out his hand. Martin eagerly shook his cousin’s hand. Relieved that somehow his life was on the up. The interrogation was finished.
But he neglected to mention the kelpie-cross dismembered in a weed covered back-yard in Brookvale. Or the pretty red-head, a sweet girl from Heathcote, falling down into a deep dark crevasse. Or a black tabby’s head rolling onto the ground, after a block-splitter came down on its neck. You little bird-killer, you.
CHAPTER 20
HARD CORE
“How long since we’ve been doing this now? Three, four months? You should be looking at getting your driver’s licence one day.” Matt suggested, as he turned the key to start the Ford.
“I can drive you know.” Martin defended.
“That’s not the point, cousin. It’s the drawing of attention to the coppers to become suspicious when you’re driving unlicensed, and prompt them to search the car we’re driving. That’s what worries me. A real courier wouldn’t have an un-licensed driver working for him.”
“I suppose after riding around with you for the last few months, I ought to pull my finger out and get a learner’s permit.” Martin said, winding the window down on his side of the car.
“You know, it would help the business too.” Matt added.
“Why is that?”
“You could be doing some of the sideline work, you know, the stuff that keeps us lookin’ legal,” Matt explained as he backed the Ford out of the driveway. He glanced in the side-mirror and let a maroon sedan pass before hitting the accelerator.
“Suppose that’s a good idea.” Martin responded, but he didn’t sound very enthused. “Don’t even know why you bother with the pissy little jobs.”
“Learning something new about you every day.” Matt commented after a brief spell of silence.
“What’s that?” Martin replied while looking out the window to his left.
“That you’re basically a lazy cunt with no vision.”
Martin tensed. Pursing his lips, he continued looking away so Matt couldn’t see his anger. Calling me a lazy cunt. Who the fuck does he think he is? Martin spotted four pelicans sitting on a pontoon as the panel van followed a slow semi on Burrill Lake Bridge. The sight of the birds resting calmed him. He wondered how easy it would be to pick them off with one of his handguns; he pointed a pistol finger out of the window. Kapoof! There goes the head and beak. He imagined the explosion of feathers.
“You’re a bit of a wanna-be killer aren’t you?” Matt teased.
“I’m not!” Martin snapped.
Matt had a chuckle knowing full well that his cousin resented any form of ridicule. He kept the self-amusement brief and forced himself to compose. A sulking Martin made for an unpleasant trip. That boy has a few chips on his shoulder. More than a few chips, he’s fuckin’ disturbed. A thought that had started to haunt Matt in the last few weeks.
“Where are we going anyway? What’s it called?”
“A place called Adaminaby. It’s near the
Snowy Mountains on Lake Eucumbene.”
“Abbaminidy?” Martin repeated after Matt.
“Close enough. Close enough.” Matt confirmed. Jesus you’re fuckin’ thick.
“Guess it’ll be dark soon. Are we stopping in Braidwood?” Martin asked as he saw the ‘Braidwood’ sign whizz past.
Matt didn’t respond as he slowed the Ford from highway speed to sixty with the braking force of a landing plane. “Yeah, the shop might still be open for a coffee.” They stopped for a coffee and snatched up the last two sausage rolls.
“Bit fucking dried out,” Martin remarked as he scoffed the last quarter of the luke-warm pastry. Matt shrugged and continued chewing on the remaining half of his sausage roll. Within fifteen minutes they were back driving; the road stretching out as far as the headlights would shine in the pitch-black around them.
“How come you like the night-driving? Why don’t we do this earlier in the day?” Martin asked.
“Less traffic. Fewer cops. Less chance to get pulled over. I like driving at night, makes me feel relaxed. Is that enough of an answer?”
A wallaby darted off the side of the dirt road into the bush. “Lot more animals,” Martin remarked.
They were driving on the back road to Cooma, a dirt road which at times could be bony, shaly and had sections of bone-jarring corrugations. The Braidwood Road as it was commonly known, cut through National Park land. There was little traffic and no shortage of wallabies, roos and wombats. Especially at night. “Should have brought a rifle. Coulda had some fun.”
“So I wasn’t wrong. You’re just itching to do some killing.”
“Why else would ya drive on a shit road like this.” Martin snapped.
“It’s a short cut to Cooma from the coast. Cuts about an hour and a half from the trip when you by-pass Canberra, you dopey bastard. Anyway, I gotta stop for a piss.” As Matt focussed his attention back to the road ahead of him…
”Oh fuck!”
The huge grey kangaroo in the light beam was like an apparition. Out of nowhere. In mid bounce there was a quiet second, then a thud and a dark silhouette covered the windscreen. Matt slammed on the brake, the tyres grinding the loose surface of the dirt road; the car sliding, leaving the dirt road in a cloud of dust. The animal was thrown from the glass screen. The lights from the car shone at an odd angle, slightly up and onto the trees on the other side of the road. The panel-van sat amid swirling dust.
“Jeeezuz,” swore Matt. “Miracle the windscreen’s not smashed. And we missed all the trees.” He dropped his head onto the steering wheel.
Martin jumped out. He could make out some movement and he could hear something trashing around in the dark. His eye-sight had not adjusted to the darkness around him, but the adrenalin in his veins was driving him to a level of alertness akin to a tiger sensing its prey. The animal was not far from him.
“Hey! Reverse the car and turn it, so I can see where this roo is.” Martin was breathing fast and his eyes were desperately scanning for his prey.
Matt got out. “I got to have that piss first. Who gives a fuck about the roo”, He yelled, as he relieved himself next to the van.
Martin went back to the vehicle and after crawling over the front seat he ferreted around for his overnight bag. Out of which he pulled his Bowie knife.
“What are you doing?” As Matt slid into the front seat Martin exited from the passenger door.
“Give me some light, over there on the road.” Martin commanded and he disappeared into the dark.
Annoyed, Matt started the car. After a couple of attempts at getting traction on the loose embankment by moving the vehicle backwards and forwards he was able to reverse back onto the road.
I don’t even know which way is forward. The kangaroo was behind him, so he figured they were still facing the right way. Bloody pain in the arse Martin. What’s he need fucking lights for?
He reversed the Falcon further, on to the crest of the road. Slowly, because he couldn’t see anything behind him. Then the flailing, injured kangaroo and Martin appeared to his left.
One its legs was nearly broken off just hanging on by some sinew and skin. It was trying to get up and get away. That wasn’t going to happen. Stupid thing is fucked. Martin was hovering over the petrified animal.
“Well, what the fuck you doing now, just going to stare it death?” Matt shouted. They’d already lost enough time.
What happened next shocked even Matt.
Martin stepped forward and brought his boot down on the head of the injured roo pinning it to the ground. Next he raised his arm holding the large bladed knife, then he started stabbing the poor animal repeatedly, from the neck down until he finished in a manic and bloodied frenzy.
Matt watched speechless from behind the wheel of the car. What the fuck is he doing now? Martin reached down to the butchered kangaroo and suddenly produced a limp joey, triumphantly displaying the little creature as he sliced into its neck; the body of the joey fell to the ground. Matt covered his mouth with his hand. Not sickened, not nauseated, his mind was racing with mixed with thoughts of repugnance and anger. He watched as Martin faced the headlights of the car, still holding the severed head up high, and smiled; not an ordinary smile, but a twisted contortion of his lips. It was evil.
Matt flashed the high-beam, signalling for Martin to get in the car. Holy Jesus, he’s gone psycho on me. For now, Matt elected to forget about it. They had to get moving.
Martin chucked the joey’s severed head aside. Dropping his gaze to avoid the blinding headlights he walked to the car and got in.
“Had your bit of fun?” Matt remarked while trying to ignore his loathing for his cousin.
“Never killed a kangaroo before,” was all Martin said and he looked at the bloodied blade. Martin felt elated. Alive and well.
After a few minutes of driving, “I need a rag. I need to clean this knife.” Martin looked down at his shirt and jeans, “Probably should change me clothes as well.”
“You’ll have to wait until Cooma.” Matt said flatly.
“Be harder to clean, when the blood dries.”
“As I said,” Matt said again, slowly and with conviction,” You’ll have to wait until we get to Cooma. Get it?”
“Righto,” Martin sighed.
They drove for another hour and a half, exchanging little talk, which suited both of them. When Matt pulled into the BP in Cooma, he said, “Keep that fucking thing out of sight, and if you go to the men’s, make sure no one is watching you or is even in there when you stick it under the tap. Got that? And change your fucking clothes too!”
Martin nodded.
Before either of them moved, Matt faced his cousin and said, “It doesn’t do much for me killing an animal, it needed to die probably, because it was fucked. You’re hard core. I don’t know what to think about that.” Matt got out of the car and walked to the bowser.
Hard core. Martin was not unhappy with that description.
CHAPTER 21
SAME SHIT, DIFFERENT DAY
Kevin Thompson entered the bar area of the Balgownie Hotel. The barman on duty flicked him a casual nod. Kevin produced his badge and said, “Good morning. Having a look around.” The bar had been off limits since the previous day. Police and Forensics were still piecing together evidence. Kevin heard the news bulletin in the background coming from the radio. He could make out the words quite easily, although some of the thread of the news story was drowned out by a jackhammer being operated outside in the courtyard.
“…a man was arrested after a fight broke out at a local hotel in Balgownie, allegedly the man was defending himself when he shot another man, who has died as a result from several gunshot wounds to the head.”
Kevin sensed the presence of another person entering the room. The footsteps were muffled on the carpet. The pudgy detective noticed a pamphlet on the pool-table and picked it up. He surveyed the glossy advertising. Budget game fishing charters. There’s no such thing, he mused.
Th
e young policeman cleared his throat to get his superior’s attention and said, “I have a description of the alleged seller of the weapon.” Kevin Thompson looked away from his brochure and glared into the face of the junior officer, “My young colleague, are we in a hurry?”
“Just thought you’d be interested. Sir.”
“Of course, I am. I was inspecting some potential evidence.” Kevin tossed the pamphlet back on the table.
The young constable waited for the detective.
“Not long on the job?” Kevin narrowed his eyes.
“No sir, four months.”
“So what does this character look like? And where did this description come from?” Kevin asked while backing up against the pool table, his eyes boring into the young constable.
“The information came from the alleged shooter. I was present at the interview this morning. I was one of the first on the scene after the shooting, last night. Off-duty. I happened to be on the premises.”
“You were here?”
“Just having a beer with a mate. Not in the poolroom. But I heard the commotion and the shots fired.”
Kevin Thompson appraised the younger policeman and continued to question him, “What do we know about the alleged shooter? Where he obtained the firearm, motive for shooting and so on.”
“The shooter is a local man. A backyard mechanic. He works on motorbikes. Has dealings with bikies, he repairs Harleys. Although not very clear, it seems the victim and the shooter were in dispute. As far as the weapon goes, he bought it here at the pub a few months ago, from a person travelling through. He hasn’t seen the bloke since.”
“How convenient.” Kevin commented, “And why did he buy this gun?”
“Apparently it was very cheap. In the perp’s words, ’fuckin’ good score’.”
“Allegedly shot the bikie.” Kevin corrected the rookie.
“Sir?” The constable was confused.
“Get used to the term ‘alleged’, it can save your case, your job,” Kevin mumbled, as he looked into the constable’s bewildered face. “When did this sale occur? And is there some sort of description of the seller?”
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