Stealth

by John Hollenkamp

  “All yours, mate”. And he handed the bag to Rafe.

  CHAPTER 36

  THE WALLS HAVE EARS

  Matt couldn’t understand why so many people whinged about Canberra. He liked the open spaces and how the different clusters of suburbs were separated from each other. Matt much preferred the Canberra trips to the Sydney ones. Sydney traffic was a nightmare.

  He stayed in Braidwood overnight; at the Emperor Hotel. It was a familiar stop-over. The staff had got to know Matt and Martin’s favourite meals and were surprised when Matt turned up on his own. “Cousin’s got a lurgy, so I left him at home.” Fair enough.

  Finally meeting the mystery man. Relieved and excited at the same time, but also nervous, he found his way to Manuka. They were to meet at a Catholic Church.

  It was nine in the morning and it took Matt a good fifteen minutes of exploring the surrounding streets to find a parking spot. He walked for ten minutes to reach the church. Go to the main entrance and ask for Harry, the maintenance guy, he remembered. An unassuming elderly man doing some gardening introduced himself as soon as he saw Matt milling around the steps in front of the church. Well organised, Matt thought. He was instructed to follow the gardener, not behind but next to him, as if being shown a job.

  Old Harry led Matt through a side-door, past the amenities. “Please wait here.” Harry showed Matt a single chair against the wall of the small hallway. A few minutes later the gardener returned and asked Matt to follow him once more. He led him down a badly lit narrow passage way until they came to a door. Harry opened it to a tiny room with a single timber bench, which was only two foot wide. “Please sit here, your contact will speak to you through the grated screen.” And old Harry disappeared.

  So I don’t get to see the mystery man. Matt was disappointed, but understood the reason for secrecy and anonymity.

  A soft but assertive voice broke the eerie silence in the tiny room. “Hello Matt. Thanks for coming. I trust you can cope with the way we will discuss business.”

  “Absolutely.” Matt replied.

  “I wanted to discuss some business with you personally, rather than by phone. How is my property faring down there? I trust you have been looking after it since the last tenant.” The voice was friendly, but with little emotion.

  “Yeah, all good. We’re keeping the place maintained. Done a bit of tree-clearing, the road is good. Thanks for letting us stay there.” Matt said.

  “You pay your rent. I’m happy. To the point of this meeting.” The mystery man cleared his throat. “I want you to meet some new contacts in Sydney. Bikies. They are only a small outfit. I have done business with them before. I am giving this gig to you, because you have earned my trust. The stakes are higher now. Your first delivery is to our usual contact.”

  “Pardon me for asking, but I’d like to know what we’re going to be moving.” Matt was curious about the higher stakes. Higher stakes equals higher risk of going to gaol for a long time. He hated the thought of gaol time.

  “Cocaine. In one kilo lots,” the voice replied. “Demand in Canberra is high. Your drops will be advised in the usual fashion. Nothing different from before. The bikies are alright to deal with. No need to worry yourself about anything other than doing your job.”

  “Sounds alright so far,” Matt tentatively approved.

  “That’s what I like about you, Matt. You never dive into anything you’re not happy with. You minimise risk. You calculate risk. Of course, getting caught with a kilo of cocaine brings about a higher risk of long gaol-time. You’ll find the rewards will be higher as well. But, you won’t get caught, will you? You’re too smart for that.” He paused briefly. “Speaking of smart, brings me to mention an incident that was not so smart.” The voice spoke dryly.

  “A few months ago, my sister’s husband’s video shop was trashed. Although it was of little concern to me, information about this incident finally dribbled out into the open over a brother and sister discussion. You see her husband never recovered from his trauma. However ridiculous that seems to me, but the video shop that I financed has gone under. All over a small quantity of marijuana.” He stopped speaking.

  Perplexed, surprised, Matt buried his head into his hands. Then, he shook his head and shut his eyes. Get fucked. Seriously?

  “That’s unfortunate. I didn’t know that you had a connection. I apologise for that incident. It was my fault for letting my cousin rope me into this stupid deal.”

  “Apparently you stopped your cousin from killing my brother-in-law.”

  Matt swallowed, without an answer.

  “Keep an eye on your cousin. He’ll bring you down, if you’re not careful.”

  “What makes you say that?” Matt was surprised about the warning.

  “The walls have ears. Even the noise at the Marlin Hotel cannot drown out your cousin’s indiscretions. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Matt felt his heart sinking. Telling me that Martin’s a worry. Fuck.

  The mystery man continued, “The name of your new contact is Eddie. He’s the leader of the Devil’s Sinners Motorcycle Club. They are based in Narrabeen. His number is on this note.” A white bit of paper appeared through the gap at the bottom of the screen.

  Matt took it and briefly glanced at the numbers. “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER 37

  AN OPEN CHAPTER

  Lars, the once Viking bikie confined to a wheelchair, died from complications arising from contracting pneumonia. Silently, privately, the members of the Devil’s Sinners Motorcycle Club were relieved. It was a memorable funeral and a cracker of a piss-up afterwards. A befitting send-off for a great warrior. Eddie had organised a short obituary in the local newspaper. “Farewell to our courageous leader and brother, Lars. You will be remembered as a true hero. DS MC.”

  Sitting in the driver’s seat of his cab, Darren read the obituary column in the Manly Informer. He was stuck on that page for several minutes; his eyes glued to one particular square. Oh fucking spare me. He smiled and had a good chuckle after reading the news. Karma. It was going to be a good day.

  “You available?” A male voice interrupted Darren’s newspaper read.

  Darren quickly folded the newspaper and put it down next to him. “Yeah. Where to mate?”

  “Avalon,” the passenger replied, as he opened the back door of the cab.

  After delivering his passenger, Darren stowed the fare money in his collection purse. It was a good start to the day. He moved the column shift to D and sped off down Riverview Road.

  “Darren, are you in Avalon still?” The radio crackled.

  “Yeah, mate, I am.”

  “There’s a pick-up for Central Road, in about half an hour. Can you do it?” Pete asked over the two-way.

  “Guess I could stop for a coffee and a sausage roll.” Darren answered. “I’ll be at Central Road in half an hour.”

  “Roger that.” And the two-way went silent.

  On his way to the bakery he passed a green Holden one-tonner and Darren spotted Nick. He quickly pulled over and reversed towards the builder’s ute.

  “Life must be treating you alright. Look at you, big boy.” Darren surprised the filled-out tradesman. “Mate. Haven’t seen you around for a while.”

  Nick put the drill back in the tool-box and stepped over to greet the taxi-driver.

  “I must have put on a few kilos since I saw you last,” Nick remarked while stretching out his arm to shake hands. “Must be a year.”

  “Maybe. Glad to see you’re still around. How’s the missus?” Darren enquired.

  “No idea, we split.” Nick was casual about it.

  “Sorry to hear.”

  “Been living over at Rafe’s. Remember him?” Nick asked.

  “Of course, how can you forget a bloke who smokes a joint outside the emergency ward entry?”

  “Yep, that’s him.” Nick laughed.

  “So what are you doing with yourself? Still building looks like.” Darren answered his own question; he wa
s excited to meet Nick again. “We should catch up for a beer sometime.”

  “Sure.” Nick gladly accepted.

  Darren wrote his phone number on a business card. “Here you go, give me a ring.” And he handed the card to Nick

  As Darren turned to go back to his taxi, Nick stopped him, “Wait, mate, I was sorry to hear about John’s death. I know you two were good mates. Did anyone ever finish the renos?”

  “No. The bank took the property back, after he died.”

  “Did they find whoever killed him?” Nick asked.

  “No. That’s an open chapter,” Darren replied. “Take care, mate.” Darren sauntered back to the cab.

  “You too,” Nick mumbled.

  An open chapter. Soon to be closed, Darren thought to himself as he pulled away to pick up his next fare.

  CHAPTER 38

  MIGHT HAPPEN TO YOU

  “Guess who I ran into today? Darren, my saviour, the cab-driver. You remember him, don’t you?” Nick asked Rafe as he plonked his esky-bag on the floor.

  “Dude with the mo.” Rafe recalled and he licked the zig-zag glue edge, before finalising the creation of a perfectly rolled joint. “Did you sort your mortgage shit out with the bank?”

  “I spoke to Ellie today. She’s the sole owner of the house now. It’s all sorted. She’s going pay me fifteen grand.” Nick opened the fridge door, the cool air was welcome. “We are going to need some beer. Only two left.”

  “All this farting around over a fifteen thousand dollar pay-out.” Rafe dragged heavily from the marijuana joint.

  “I’m going to the Club. Coming?”

  “Nah. Staying in. Got to work out some quotes.” Rafe blew out the thick sweet smoke into the lounge-room.

  “I’ll get stoned just from those fumes, mate. Any work for me in your quotes?” Nick cracked the ring off the can.

  “Yup. Heaps.”

  As most of Rafe’s private work involved re-painting of older weatherboard homes, there was no shortage of rotten timbers. It was pointless painting over rotten cladding boards, or fascia boards. Having Nick on board was a great asset to Rafe’s painting business. They did have their differences, but both men were professional tradesmen and able to work as a team. Any grievances would be sorted over a beer, at home, and once the joints were rolled and shared, all grievances were gone, up in smoke. “Isn’t life more fun with a joint, Nicholas?”

  It was Saturday morning. And by the look of the tree-tops swaying across the road surfing was going to be a non-event. Nick returned his gaze to Rafe. “Planning any trips south?”

  Rafe raised his chin from the cereal bowl and replied, “In a week, but he’s running low, he reckons.”

  “I have to go to Wagga soon,” Nick stated.

  “Never been there. Something up with your family?” Rafe asked.

  “Looking for an invite? They do not allow migrants from Nordic descent.” Nick chuckled.

  “Ha, very funny.” Rafe was not amused, but at the same time, his feathers weren’t ruffled. His friendship with Nick was coloured with frequent tit-for-tat sarcasm.

  “Nothing major, I hope.” Nick finally answered Rafe’s question.

  “Maybe we can combine the Wagga trip with seeing Peter.” Nick proposed.

  Rafe considered the idea for a moment. “Yeah, that might work,” He paused pulling hard on the joint, ”I’ll ring him today and find out what the go is.”

  Wagga Wagga was freezing. Rafe was left to amuse himself, while Nick tended to family dramas. Rafe sought refuge from the blizzard-like conditions by staying mostly indoors. He divided his day into planned activity segments. First, get up late, and have a coffee and breakfast at the nearest café, then go back to the hotel and freshen up, have a steaming hot shower. Then a smoke; that was number two. After that, find a different café and have another coffee. Number three: walk around the shops and try not to freeze and get blown away. Number four: find a spot for a smoke, go and have a counter lunch somewhere. Number five: find a different hotel and have a few schooners, because it must be fucking four o’clock by now.

  Dressed in surf-wear clothing, covered by his arctic wind-cheater, Rafe hugged himself as he held a brisk pace towards the pub down the road. The Union Club Hotel was on the same street as the Victoria Hotel, where the visitors from the big smoke were lodging. Both pubs, especially the Union Club were traditional looking drinking establishments. Rafe marvelled at the décor, but marvelled even more at the near immediate service at the bar.

  “G’day, mate. What’ll you have?” the rotund bartender said at the ready. His after-shave was fresh and wafted over the bar. The styling gel flattening his slicked- back hairdo glistened from a dainty spotlight. He reached over the bar and polished the high-gloss timber bar top. The bartender eyed Rafe with an expectant smile, waiting for his order.

  “Tooheys Draught, thanks,” Rafe ordered once he had his breath back.

  The bartender pinched a clean schooner glass from the rack and held it up.

  “Ah, yeah, mate, a schooner is good,” Rafe approved.

  Quenching his thirst with a few large gulps, Rafe spotted a pool-table from the corner of his eye. He nodded at the bartender, who was repolishing the bar top where he had put Rafe’s schooner just a few seconds before. Respectful of local table etiquette, Rafe stayed back a few extra metres and followed the game. The current shooter adeptly swung the queue into position and perched the stick on top of his crossed thumb and first knuckle. With a ruthless jab, he connected the blue tip with the white ball and it cannoned the eight-ball into the far right-hand pocket. Game over.

  His opponent left the table without a word. To the victor go the spoils. The victor looked across the green battle-ground. “Want a game, mate?” And Rafe accepted.

  Nick, on the other hand, spent most of his two days in the bitterly cold town, going back and forth, between his sister’s house and the family home. With one deviation between the two – the bank – the Farmer’s Union Cooperative Bank.

  On the third day, Rafe and Nick resumed their journey to the coast. They left early. Nick was eager to leave the family’s problems behind. He had enough of his own.

  As they wound their way down the Clyde Mountain on the Kings Highway, the majestic views revived their spirits. So far, Rafe hadn’t felt like talking much, because he was too hung-over and tired from lack of sleep. Nick wasn’t in the mood for any idle chit-chat because he hadn’t had a drink or smoke for three days.

  Rafe who broke the impasse. “Farm gone bust?”

  “Yep. The bank has resumed the property. The old boy couldn’t pay the bills.”

  “That’s fucked.” Rafe commented.

  Nick shrugged his shoulders. “It’s got nothing to do with me.”

  “So what did you do for the last two days?”

  “Moved fucking furniture. Cleaned out the machinery shed. Watched my parents bawl their eyes out every night.” Nick stared straight ahead. “What did you do?”

  “Met a bloke last night, who trashed me at the pool table a few times. But I sort of got talking to him over a few beers.”

  “Would have been more than a few beers.”

  Sarcastic. Or maybe envy. Rafe couldn’t quite decide which one applied the most to his grumpy mate. So he put it down to envy. It was a nicer thought.

  “You are correct; more than a few beers. Turns out this dude was a bit of a player. Used to have a seafood wholesale business. He used to peddle pills and some dope around Wagga, he was telling me.”

  Nick shot Rafe a look of disbelief. “Why would he be letting you in on that?”

  “Fucked if I know. Bikies moved in on him and shut him down.” Rafe snapped and finished the story, before he suggested, “Never know. Maybe there’s an opportunity here.”

  “Oh please. Give me break,” Nick responded.

  The drive to the coast descended through winding and steep downhill sections where hairpins prevented you from taking in some of the spectacular views. In the mo
rning the lush rain-forest pockets rising up from the sheer drop-offs were a stunning sight. Nick marvelled at the wisps of mist filling in the spaces between the massive turpentine and ironbark trees which had been spared from loggers’ saws and axes many years ago. The gullies were too rugged and inaccessible. Too steep. Thank fuck for that. Too beautiful to cut down, Nick thought.

  Nick also thought about Rafe’s last words. “Might happen to you too,” Nick stated dryly as he admired the tree-ferns in the shallow gully they were passing.

  “What might happen to me?” Rafe shot back.

  “Someone moving in on your deal.” Nick had his hand out of the window. He felt the cool wind rushing between his fingers.

  Rafe didn’t respond.

  CHAPTER 39

  NEW BUSINESS ASSOCIATES

  “These blokes are coming up from the south coast, this arvo,” Eddie explained to his four disciples. “And we need to treat them with respect, but at the same time we suss them out. Word from Canberra is that these dudes are going to be moving a lot of stuff for us.”

  “Doesn’t that cut us out of making money?” Duke protested. “Lars would not have done that. Makes us lose control.”

  “Lars isn’t here anymore. I run this show,” Eddie snapped.

  From then on the gathering kept their mouths shut. No one wanted to be Eddie’s target.

  “Drugs are big business and improving distribution is not about taking over another club’s turf and getting into street-fights. Those days are over,” Eddie asserted. The gathering stirred with orchestrated nods and mumbled in agreement.

  “Lars is gone,” Eddie said with fire in his eyes.

  Duke cleared his throat, “Sorry, Eddie, didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  A white Land Cruiser wagon pulled up in the driveway of the automotive repair shop. Matt and Martin acknowledged the welcoming committee with a courteous nod. Eddie and four of his disciples stood in the driveway and returned a reserved greeting. Eddie had decreed the Club premises off-limits for the afternoon to all members except his chosen brothers.