Stealth

by John Hollenkamp

  “A couple of months ago. The person that sold him the Ruger, was of thin build, short, with light brown-hair and dark, very dark beady eyes. Strange eyes, was another description, the man added.”

  “Interesting.” Kevin nodded.

  “The shooter stressed that the seller’s unusual looks would be easily recognised. He stands out in a crowd,” the constable added.

  “Skinny, with dark beady eyes. Now where did I read about that?” the pudgy detective mumbled out loud. He looked into the room with contemplative eyes, but couldn’t quite place the description.

  “Do we have a name for the alleged seller?” He finally asked the motionless constable.

  “Yes, sir. Mick. Mick with no surname.”

  Kevin complimented him, “You’ve done well, young man. Being observant and diligent will get you far if you like investigative work. Carry on.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your encouragement.”

  The pudgy detective acknowledged the constable’s gratitude for the comment by nodding once. As the young cop disappeared through the door, he concentrated on recalling the name of the young man in the dead girl’s diary. The description seemed to gel. Skinny with scary eyes. Dark and beady. Mick. That was it. Same name, but Mick is a common name. Just coincidence? Stands out in a crowd. Might be the same Mick.

  The mobile phone was vibrating in his waistcoat pocket. With a sigh he retrieved it and answered the call, “Uhuh. Kevin here.”

  “Shootings must be on special this month.” Kevin mumbled into the phone, “I’ll be right there.”

  CHAPTER 22

  PAYBACK

  Darren was waiting at the Manly Vale taxi depot for the service inspection of his taxi to be completed. It was nothing major, but the vehicle seemed to be using an excessive amount of LPG. “Larry should have done it yesterday, but didn’t get around to it, sorry mate. He’s told me it won’t be long,” Pete had reported and gone about his business, leaving Darren to wait before he could start his shift. Darren picked up a newspaper which was a couple of weeks old. It was among a messy pile of magazines and other newspapers in the smoko room. After a casual gander at the first few pages he noticed an article about a shooting in Wollongong. …possibly related to bikie gang violence…drug links…victim was shot in the head… weapon used, a…22 calibre Ruger. The weapon was traced back to a quantity of handguns stolen from a gun-shop in Melbourne. He paused and reflected for a moment. One of Johnno’s missing guns was a .22 Ruger, and it came from Melbourne. Could be a coincidence. Might catch up with him tonight. His thoughts were interrupted by his boss popping his head into the smoko room.

  “You are ready to go, it’s in bay four, have fun out there.” Pete wasted no time getting back to his office. It was going to be a crazy night. A hot summer night and it was a Friday.

  The Mona Vale Hotel was overflowing with drunk party-goers. The heat made people thirsty and often made patrons more aggressive than they would be on a cool day; the result of a combination of heat intolerance and excessive alcohol. Johnno knew what to expect on nights like this.

  The two-way radio burst into life, “…Pick up four from Mona Vale Hotel, going to Avalon…” Darren responded before anyone else could. “…Yeah, got that…” It gave him a chance to hook up with Johnno for a couple minutes to find out about the Ruger. Could be useful in tracking that little shit bag. Johnno would love to get his hands on him. And so I would.

  Darren navigated the taxi through a few groups of drunks scattered in the carpark. It was too hot in the auditorium on nights like this, so people would escape to the carpark, smoking cigarettes and joints. Drinking in the carpark was prohibited, but too hard to police. The bouncers had enough to contend with without having to play nursemaid in the carpark. Occasionally, they would bail someone up and send them on their way after emptying their drinks. The carpark was packed. Darren parked the taxi and withdrew the keys from the ignition. Pete would have a fucking heart attack if he saw me leaving the cab. Darren quick-paced towards the entrance where he last saw Johnno.

  Approaching a thickening crowd, Darren observed Johnno issuing rules at the bottom of the stairs, “Hey boys, no alcohol out in the carpark, right. Finish your beers.” Christ he should have a fucking tape recording of that, Darren mused. He had caught the burly bouncer’s attention, who flicked him a glance and a nod. Darren beckoned his busy mate and Johnno responded by making his way through the crowd like an icebreaker. When the big man was close Darren started speaking, “Hey. I read something in the paper today about a shooting in Wollongong. Bloke with a twenty-two Ruger. Needle in a haystack stuff, of course, but wasn’t one of your missing ones a Ruger, from Melbourne.” Darren asked as he kept an eye on the vacant taxi.

  “From Melbourne? Talk to you later. Too busy, mate. Maybe you can pick us up around two, it’s fucking mayhem here tonight.” Johnno said, as he promptly returned to his post.

  Darren returned to the cab to a waiting young couple. “Only two of you?”

  “Sorry. The others decided to stay.”

  Typical, thought Darren as he ushered his fare into the cab. After seating his passengers he slid behind the wheel, turned the meter on and left the carpark, carefully negotiating the cab between groups of people. On his way out to the main road he heard the unmistakeable rumble from several Harley Davidson motorcycles approaching and turning the corner at the traffic lights. Four bikes thundered past the taxi. Darren spied the tail-lights from the rear-view mirror as they disappeared in the direction from where he’d come. Friday night. Everyone’s out for a good time. Except me, ‘cause I’m the silly bastard still working. Ain’t life just grand. Darren headed to Avalon.

  The bikie leader slowed and signalled for them to follow suit. The large rider up front dressed in black leathers brought his Harley to a stop. They all stopped and turned off the loud engines. The plan had been rehearsed and all they had to do was exactly what Eddie had instructed. The bikes were at a safe distance from the pub’s carpark. “Fan out and join the crowd at this end.” Eddie ordered in a low voice. “You know what to do.”

  It was two o’clock in the morning and the carpark at the Mona Vale Hotel was full. Not with cars, just people. The late-night temperature seemed warmer than earlier. Everyone was sweaty, pissed and loud. Johnno and his crew had a busy time pulling blokes and chicks apart. By this time of night the bouncers were getting jack of it. So tempers were short and measures were spontaneous and swift. A scuffle had erupted between a few blokes at the far end of the carpark. Johnno was the senior gatekeeper, so, he went over. The other boys were trying to round up the stragglers from the auditorium and in the carpark to get them to move on. It was a circus.

  Darren had just returned from Newport. His fourth trip from the Mona Vale, back and forth, to the suburbs close by, ferrying pissed passengers. He rounded the corner near the carpark entry and noticed three or four blokes punching and kicking at each other. No telling who was fighting who in particular, but he did see Johnno intervening. The bouncer grabbed one of the fighting men, the shortest of the three by the collar and roughly tore him away from the other two. Johnno kicked him hard in the guts and his victim doubled over and dropped to the ground. That’s the way, mate. Darren crawled the taxi forwards, until he could clearly see the fracas, some twenty metres away.

  Johnno went to concentrate on the taller ones; he charged his way towards the two men, standing and opposing him, but the tallest guy stepped aside. The one remaining backed up from Johnno and joined his mate. The other brawler on the ground had recovered and moved away a few metres. Darren brought the taxi to a halt. So what’s happening here? It was like a turning tide. These two men weren’t fighting each other now, but had their sights set on the bouncer. Although it wasn’t unusual for blokes to have a crack at a bouncer, this felt wrong. The big bloke had moved right out of sight. A crowd was rapidly gathering. Darren couldn’t see where the second bloke went. The two remaining in front of Johnno were shaping up but not making
any moves. Are they aiming to keep him occupied? What the fuck is happening here?

  A throng of drunken louts were closing in surrounding the stand-off, and Darren’s view of the fight became obscured. Fuck this. I can’t just sit here. Darren jumped out of the cab, nearly pushing the driver’s door off its hinges. The crowd was deep and dense; hard to see Johnno.

  In the arena, Johnno felt something pierce his lower back. It was sharp, but it did not stay in too long. Johnno swung around and saw the big guy with a blade in his hand. “Lars sends his regards.” Johnno twigged. Eddie, the bikie, Lars’ mate. It was a set-up right from the start. Retribution from a deal gone wrong.

  “You look a lot better than, you did last time I saw you. But don’t worry, I’ll get you back to looking like shit again in no time at all,” Johnno snarled.

  Darren was still held back by the jostling in the crowd. Standing on his toes afforded him a glance. He saw the other two blokes were circling, but out of reach of any potential kicks that the bouncer might throw at them, making sure Johnno wasn’t going to do a runner. Fucking Eddie. Eddie with his knees bent, shoulders taut and weaving his upper body, slithering around like a snake. With a blade in his hand! Darren tensed his shoulders and elbows.

  Now. I gotta help him now! Darren pushed his way through the crowd. “Fuck off mate, where’s your ticket!” Darren was jostled two steps forward and one step back. Fucking Jesus! This can’t be happening! Time felt suspended; felt himself going into an abyss of noise, and then silence, because he knew it was going to be bad. Panic. “Fucking let me through!” Darren yelled.

  Eddie was moving his right arm in a fluid motion, the long-blade knife clutched in his right hand. Changing the hold on the knife handle randomly for a back hand and then to a straight thrust. Playing with the knife like a circus performer.

  “How does that feel, mister gun-runner? A bit of a sting?”

  Johnno shaped up. Well that’s been a while coming. Going to have to sort this cunt out once and for all. The stab wound in his lower back was smarting. He could feel some wetness on his shirt.

  The crowd fell into silence, in suspense, like they were sitting in front of a TV, Shut up, listen to the next bit.

  “So where’s your mate Lars? Couldn’t face another beating?”

  “He’s in a fucking wheelchair, thanks to you.” Eddie was slowly circling his quarry while menacing with his knife.

  “Serves him right”. Johnno felt the sting of the wound in his back.

  Being distracted by conversation. Bad move. Don’t talk. Johnno thought, trying to maintain focus but feeling the energy in his body draining the blood from his punctured back.

  Darren heard the base-ball bat make a cracking sound as it connected with the back of Johnno’s head. Darren saw the short bikie swinging the bat up again. Fuck. Third row seat; Darren shoved harder at the press of clammy bodies. No give. He raised his left arm. Sorry cunt, but I gotta get past. Darren dropped his elbow on the bloke’s shoulder in front of him and shoved him aside.

  Should have stopped talking. Too late. Johnno thought, as his knees gave way. Things got a bit fuzzy. He fell to the ground and rolled over in an attempt to recover. Too late. A big weight jumped on him.

  The crowd was mesmerised. Dead quiet. The swan song. They listened.

  “Bye, Bye, Johnny, ever heard that song?” Eddie drove the blade into Johnno’s chest just under the solar plexus. He moved the knife up and down a few times and twisted it while pulling it out of Johnno’s chest. He jumped off his victim and he bolted, the other bikies followed. They ran into the darkness.

  Johnno’s eyes were wide open, the pain was excruciating. It wouldn’t last long. Darren threw himself by Johnno’s side. He pressed his hand on Johnno’s chest. Blood was pumping and flowing like a river. Darren’s hand became lost in red. He put his other hand over the top, frantically trying to stem the flow.

  Johnno gazed into Darren’s eyes. His eyelids started to flicker and he whispered, “Thanks bud…” Johnno closed his eyes. Darren’s world drifted away into a black hole, as if he was chasing after Johnno in the dark, running like mad: Come back! Where are you? Come back! I can’t see you!

  The crowd gasped. The show was over.

  Motorbikes. Harleys thumping in the distance. Darren heard the noise fading with Johnno’s heartbeat. Silence again. Silence for the dead.

  Minutes went past before a girl screamed. She screamed hysterically pointing at the pool of blood getting larger around the bouncer’s body. Darren sat motionless staring ahead into nothing. He felt his knees getting wet. The carpark broke out into a scream of sirens and flashing lights; blue and red mixing like disco lights.

  She was one of the last police personnel to arrive. Before getting out of the squad car Cate Hawkins perused the scene and her eyes settled on a lone figure kneeling next to a body on the ground; she studied him for a moment and reasoned that he was in shock, oblivious to the pandemonium. She got out of the car and went straight over.

  “Hey. Mate, are you alright? Come on. Come away with me,” said the female copper with the flawless olive complexion. She put her hand on Darren’s shoulder, comforting at first, then she squeezed a bit harder.

  “Mate, you have to move away from the victim. The ambos are here.”

  “Too late. He’s dead.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked in a kind but firm manner.

  Darren vaguely heard her, like someone pulling him back from a trance. Slowly regaining his wits, he recognised the commotion around him. The noise, the commands, “Come on people you have to move, don’t crowd. It’s all over.”

  He felt her touch on his shoulder. Firm but gentle. Reassuring.

  “Darren,” he said without looking at her.

  “Did you know this man, Darren?” she asked calmly.

  “No. I didn’t.” Darren replied flatly.

  The constable opened her eyes wide in surprise. She moved her hands under his armpits and coaxed Darren to stand up. He understood her intentions and complied. “I can get up on me own, you know.” Although unsteady on his feet Darren slowly got up.

  With his hands by his side, blood dripping from his fingers, he stared at Johnno’s body. He was unaware of the two armed police officers behind him with their guns drawn. Not pointed at him, but held in readiness for any unexpected turn of events.

  “Cate.” The older constable tried to draw her attention. The weight of the Glock was heavy in his hand. Nerves.

  Cate glanced at the uniformed officer to placate him. Her eyes said it all, ‘I’ve got it under control’. She gestured at both police officers. They looked at each other, understanding her silent order. Put them away, boys.

  Both constables holstered their Glocks.

  “I think we need to get you cleaned up.”

  “Huh. What?” Darren replied, he felt dizzy, and turned around. He felt drained and weak like he was glued to the ground. She took his arm and guided him. It was hard for him to think about anything. Nevertheless, even in this moment of shock, he was taken in by her incredible beauty. Her beautiful eyes. Beautiful iridescent, blue eyes that enveloped him and drew him away.

  She started to lead Darren to one of the ambulances.

  “I am Senior Constable Cate Hawkins. I need to ask you some questions.”

  Shouting erupted in the carpark. Cate turned to look.

  “Please wait here.” And she rushed off to assist her colleagues.

  Darren turned the other way and went to his taxi.

  CHAPTER 23

  RESURRECTION

  Finches were flocking from one end of the courtyard to the other, their noisy flights spurred by gentle gusts of wind. It was a clear sunny day. Although you could hear the traffic moving through the streets, the aura of peace and tranquillity floated like an invisible cloud and shielded the mourners from the rest of the world.

  Inside the sombre building next to the paved courtyard a low-key civil service was about to start. Darren stood at t
he back of the funeral parlour; in front of him, about thirty people were seated. A few people stood on either side of him, also late in arriving. The coroner had taken weeks to release John Reginald Watkins from the morgue, before he could be decently cremated. The gentleman standing next to Darren cleared his throat, a common sound in the stuffy room. “Friend or family?” The well-dressed gent whispered to Darren.

  “Mate,” Darren answered.

  “I didn’t know him well,” the man in the three-piece suit and blue tie replied. Darren didn’t respond or acknowledge the man’s comment. Then why the fuck are you here?

  A person who Darren had never seen with Johnno presented himself behind the lectern. The clean-cut middle-aged man conducting the service came across as eloquent, but at times Darren wondered whether he was actually talking about Johnno and his life. He realised that no one really knew the burly debt collector like he did. Darren was grateful for that privilege.

  Darren’s world had been in a spin. The first couple of weeks after Johnno’s murder, he drowned his grief in bottles of bourbon. At times, he was still under the influence the following day; at one point Pete, his boss, had sent him home when he turned up for his shift. Darren felt like a naughty schoolboy.

  “I can’t have you smelling like a bottle of liquor, mate. Go home. Come back when you’re sober, and if you can’t do that by the next shift, then don’t come back at all.” Pete’s warning shocked Darren. The rejection by his boss weighed heavily on his decision to wake up to himself. Losing his job was not an option. Turning into a drunk was not an option either.

  It dawned on Darren that apart from cab-driving most of his life revolved around his mate Johnno. He wouldn’t be going on road-trips up north anymore, at least not to pick up a load of bush-weed. No more debt-collecting either. Although he definitely wouldn’t miss the debt-collecting. Johnno was gone, so that only left cab-driving; without his job he wouldn’t have much of a life.

  For three Thursday nights he sat on his own, at the same table, where they used to sit, drink and talk shit. Shelley would bring some of his schooners out to him, a sympathetic look in her eyes.