Stealth

by John Hollenkamp

  Two, not so tall blokes, emerged from the wagon. One was chubby with a good crop of brown curly hair. His eyes were brown and quite dark. His white complexion showed evidence of an acne problem in the past.

  Eddie broke away from the line-up and strode over to his visitors extending his hand. The chubby man’s hand felt tiny.

  “Villo, call me Villo.” Matt introduced himself, looking up at Eddie.

  “Eddie. Nice to meet you, and…?” The tall biker looked to the scrawny fellow.

  “My offsider, and cousin, Martin.” Matt turned and presented Martin with an open palm as if he was royalty.

  Eddie sized up the skinny lad and stared at Martin’s eyes. Those eyes struck him as odd, nearly lifeless, without expression. He was scrawny, but his hand although bony and skinny, seemed to have some strength in it.

  The beady-eyed lad wasn’t relaxed like his fat cousin. There was an intensity about him that Eddie couldn’t quite put his finger on. Eddie was immediately wary of the scrawny lad. I’ll keep my eyes on you.

  “Let’s go into the house.” Eddie led the way.

  “Long drive?” Eddie tried to make some conversation. Stupid question.

  “Used to driving, mate,” Matt answered.

  “Come through and take a seat anywhere around this table.” Eddie had taken them into the ‘boardroom’, a room with a large rectangular table and eight chairs. It was a squeeze for anyone on either side of the table. Except for Eddie, because he was seated at the head of the wooden table; his chair was the only one with arm-rests. He could slouch back like a king.

  Matt and Martin slid into a chair next to each other.

  “Thanks for coming and I’ll get you organised for some coffee, or something stronger?”

  “Coffee will do, for both of us, white with two.” Matt replied.

  Eddie pressed the green button on the intercom device sitting on the table and ordered the coffee.

  “So let’s get down to biz,” Matt started things off. ”We have a unique service, we cart stuff from A to B, and we do it quietly and don’t ask questions. We also have some established contacts that we can share, when we feel good about it.”

  There was a hard knock at the door and a stocky blond-haired bloke came in with three cups on a tray.

  “This is Bushy,” Eddie introduced the scruffy and bearded bikie as he set the tray down and then nodded at the two visitors. His black short-sleeved T-shirt contrasted with his fair complexion and deep-blue eyes. Both his arms were adorned with an elaborate canvas of tattoo art. Although his appearance was not unfriendly he had a serious manner about him.

  “Bushy take a seat.” Eddie commanded and then he pressed the intercom button again, ”Mojo, need you in here.”

  The door to the boardroom opened up and a slender well-groomed man with nerdy spectacles silently entered and took a seat at the opposite end of the table, facing Eddie. Eddie watched Matt and Martin staring at Mojo, as he sat down. Mojo probably struck them as odd, since he looked more at home in an office. However, most office-workers did not sport blue jeans, a tight, black short-sleeved T-shirt and an intricate tattoo of a skull with a striking cobra head coming out of an eye socket. Mojo’s slender and neat appearance did not hide his firm, rounded biceps.

  “Don’t worry about Mojo, he’s every bit as one of us, although he dresses like a faggot.” Eddie didn’t mean it as a joke. And no one chuckled. He went on to elaborate that Mojo provided them with legal counsel, on account of his part-time job as a clerk at a local law-firm.

  Matt was fidgeting, clearly becoming impatient. To Matt, a meeting was an exchange of goods and money, no bullshit, just instructions.

  Eddie decided to move things along. “Look, boys, this is all a bit, shall we say, tense, for us, for you, so we need to get past this. It’s simple, your skills were recommended, because you’re reliable and you deliver. We don’t need to be friends, we just need to trust each other.”

  Matt rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. “Good, so let’s get to it. We are ready to take your gear. For your first delivery, I require two-thirds of the payment up front, in cash. Last third is at delivery point. No balance payment, no delivery.”

  “So what sort of assurances do we have paying you two-thirds up front? What if you don’t make it? We lose not only the freight coin, but our stuff as well.” Eddie knew this was a stupid question, but he had to bring it up. Gauge their reaction.

  “Look, let’s not get into hypothetical situations here, the job we do has some risk, all of the shit that you do, we do, can go pear-shaped. So, let’s cut out all this crap and get down to dollars and cents. We will deliver. Okay, I’ll settle on fifty percent up front. Final half on delivery. Fuck me around and we won’t be doing business anymore.”

  The two disciples eye-balled their boss and nodded discreetly in approval, while shrugging their shoulders to say ‘fair enough’.

  “Fair enough. Bushy, go and get the goods,” Eddie commanded. To Matt he advised, “Your first delivery is to Canberra.”

  Bushy entered the room with a parcel neatly wrapped in brown paper, and placed it in front of Eddie. The biker boss put his hand on the package and pushed it over to Matt, “A small parcel, but valuable. And in case your curiosity gets the better of you, this is a kilo of coke. For Canberra’s finest,” Eddie added with a note of sarcasm.

  “That’s a lot of money.” Matt gave the impression of being in awe. His eyes met Eddie’s and he reassured the bikie boss by articulating, “Your parcel is in good hands.”

  “Good.”

  After completing their business arrangement with the associated fee for shipping Eddie invited his new associates to hang around. “We’re having steak, beer and bourbon. Why don’t you stay? Leave in the morning after a cooked breakfast, it will give us a chance to get to know our new friends.”

  Matt politely declined. Don’t mix business with pleasure.

  Eddie and his two cohorts escorted the couriers to their wagon. The Land Cruiser had a raised floor built in the rear directly behind the back seats allowing for ample concealment of small contraband, tucked under the recovery gear. Matt and Martin got into their seats and without exchanging any further words they drove out of the bikies compound.

  As soon as the Land Cruiser pulled away, Eddie mumbled, “Wouldn’t trust those cunts with my mother-in-law’s dirty knickers.” He looked at Mojo and Bushy. Neither said anything to the contrary.

  Martin was used to long silent hours of driving. Sometimes his cousin didn’t want to talk. The drive from the northern beaches to the Princes Highway at Miranda was no different. Matt was a thinker and a planner; his driving style was one of blending in, going with the traffic flow, and making sure that he drove defensively and signalled appropriately. He kept to the speed limits and ensured that at stops and traffic lights neither of them looked sideways at other drivers or their passengers. Avoid eye contact. Rules and more rules. It used to shit Martin.

  The flow of traffic was slow as they passed Engadine and Heathcote. Martin cast an intense look towards Heathcote National Park, with bushland stretching as far as the eyes could see. Pity I never got to root her again. Martin sat up in his seat, scanning to see if he could get a glimpse of the spot.

  “Something wrong, mate?” Matt broke his silence.

  “No, what makes you think that?” Martin snapped defensively.

  The expression on his face and rapid movement of his beady eyes betrayed his anxiety. Matt took his eyes off the road for a few seconds and appraised his cousin’s reaction.

  “Oh, nothing, nothing, just forget it. You are a strange boy, Martin. But, you’re my cousin, so I don’t care if you’re a bit strange. You’re family.” Matt looked away from Martin and rolled his eyes.

  Another half hour passed and they were cruising at a 110 on the freeway heading towards Wollongong. Out of the blue Matt asked, “Have you been looking after those guns? Have you oiled them up and made sure they are not rus
ting away?”

  “Yeah, took ‘m apart a few weeks ago. Cleaned them, lubricated and polished ‘m up and put them away again.”

  “I reckon you can sell them soon. One by one, not all together. Maybe keep one. Come in handy, some day. Or keep two. One for me, one for you.” Matt proposed. “Early Christmas present to ourselves.”

  “Yeah, keep two, definitely keep two.” Martin’s face lit up as he moved around in the seat and sat up to attention. Now that was something to be pumped about. “Reckon those bikies might buy ‘m?” Martin was excited.

  “It’s no good having half a dozen handguns under the bed. They are not worth much under there. So I think, we suss out the bikies. Give it a few visits first. Get to know them a bit. See how much they’ll be prepared to pay.”

  That line of thinking was easy for Martin to follow. A lull in the conversation followed and then Martin asserted his intention. “I’m keeping the .38, the Smith & Wesson. It’s mine. Definitely keeping the .38.”

  Matt kept his eyes peeled on the road, “Yeah sure, buddy. After all they’re yours to sell. My commission for sorting the deal will be one of the twenty-twos.”

  Martin remained quiet. He was thinking and irritated. His commission for the deal? They are my guns. I’m the one to make the deal.

  “You’re not saying much, bud?” Matt teased with measured subtlety.

  “All good. Pick whatever you want. The .38 is mine.”

  “Sure, buddy.” Matt answered agreeably.

  The road ahead was very dark. Matt glanced in the rear view mirror. No headlights in the mirror. No cars behind. No cars in front. Just pitch black, all around. Other than the light beam from the Land Cruiser’s headlights. It wasn’t often that Matt felt unsure about things. Was it the bikies? Or was there really something wrong with Martin? The words, ‘your cousin, he’ll bring you down, if you’re not careful,’ resonated like church bells, here in the dark.

  CHAPTER 40

  GUNG-HO

  “Thanks for asking me along. Always wondered what was behind the green door.” Cate said as she looked at the sign above the door. Private Club. Members Only. “A few of us speculated that it might be a brothel. Since no one ever complained we left it alone,” she explained watching Darren unlock the door.

  As the door opened Cate was confronted with the smell of a gym: a mixture of sweat, body odours and testosterone. It wasn’t strong, but it was there. “A gym.”

  “No. It’s a home for like-wise thinking members,” Darren described.

  “Lots of punching bags, a boxing ring. And men doing karate stuff, I see.”

  “In answer to your question yesterday, this is what I do for sanity. And fun,” Darren added.

  “Again, I apologise for my ruthless line of questioning the other day. I get carried away in the moment. Sometimes it’s necessary.” Cate tried to justify her apology.

  “Forget it. The memory is raw. I’m dealing with it.” Darren’s answer was clear and concise. It also implied, ‘can we drop the subject’. Cate understood.

  Cate was pleased Darren didn’t carry grudges. None that she knew of anyway. She had rung him after he stormed off from Long Reef and had apologised for her insensitive words. Then she did something that surprised her as , it went against all she was taught by her father and her pop. Don’t get messed up with crims or victims. It only causes grief. She asked him what he did in his spare time; perhaps they could hook up.

  For better or worse, Cate was standing in a private martial arts club. She felt her world would probably change from now on.

  “Can I show you around?”

  “I’d like that,” Cate replied.

  For Darren, that was it. Full stop. And now I can’t get her out of my head.

  A month later at Carlos’ gym with the green door.

  “Hey, tough guy, can you pay attention?” Cate was tiring of her opponent’s lack of interest in the sparring.

  “Do you always kick that hard in a friendly spar?” Darren had just deflected the second of two turning kicks. He parried a few straight punches and then she let up, her feet nimbly shifted around the ring floor.

  “Yep, had a hard day at the office,” Cate answered while catching her breath and retreated to ready herself for another intense attack.

  “Well, try not to kill me in the process, will you? I might have to kick your arse,” Darren admonished.

  “As if. Go on. Give it your best, by all means.” Cate wasted no time, she advanced with a combination turning and back-kick. Darren shifted his weight further over his back leg and leant to avoid her attack. He felt the whoosh of air brushing past his face before er back-kick connected with his forearm. The force was not enough to deflect it and in a quick grab Darren pulled her ankle. Cate’s cat-like eyes distracted him, she wrest her ankle free, retracting her leg with the swiftness of a panther. She was back in attacking stance in a flash.

  “Oi, can you slow it up!” Darren spoke sharply.

  “Come on, another ten minutes and we can stop.” Cate was pumped.

  “And where did all this martial art stuff suddenly come from?”

  “I got my black belt in Tae Kwon Do when I was seventeen. I’m starting to remember some of my training.” Cate flew into a high side-kick from her back-stance finishing off with a lunging straight punch to the solar plexus, just connecting her knuckles with Darren’s chest.

  “Jesus Christ, you are lethal, woman!”

  “Oh, don’t be such a pussy.”

  The hands on the square white-faced clock centred high on the wall between the male and female change rooms were pointing at 8.50pm. Both sparring partners were drenched in sweat. Cate had enough and bowed politely to thank her opponent for the session.

  “Let’s have a beer,” she suggested, as they squeezed through the ropes around the boxing ring. Darren didn’t respond.

  “Well, don’t walk around like a stunned mullet. Are you keen for a beer or not?” Cate was straight to the point.

  “Yeah, sure. I mean, of course,” Darren finally replied.

  “I’ll have a shower here, instead of at home.” Her eyes displayed playfulness. Kitty eyes, this time, not the cougar eyes which would bore into him in a sparring bout. She was more placid now. Hypnotic. He watched her, as she turned her head with a smile, like she wanted him to follow her into the shower. It was only show, of course. Fuck she’s killing me.

  “Righto, I might do the same,” as he watched her swaying body disappear into the change room.

  In the change room Cate took off her sweaty T-shirt and her sports-bra. She slid her black shorts down to her knees and pulled her G-string undies down. She kicked them aside and got under the hot shower. As she imagined Darren over the other side of the common wall dividing the change rooms, she washed her arms and upper body, swooshing the bar of soap over her breasts. Her nipples had hardened. Holding the bar of soap in her right hand she foamed up her pubic hair. She placed the soap back in the holder and continued washing herself, lathering up as her fingers found her mound. She closed her eyes briefly and thought of her sparring partner washing his privates. Oh, stop it.

  Feeling a tad embarrassed she finished rinsing away the soap and turned the shower off. Her sports bag contained a set of clean clothing, blue jeans, a light-coloured western shirt with floral motif and high-heeled short western style boots. She unclipped and removed her hair bands, her long brown hair fell to her shoulders. She fluffed up the locks of lightly streaked hair and put on bright-red lipstick. She was ready.

  Darren’s jaw dropped to the ground when she came out. Even dressed in her work gear she’d stirred him on the inside. She was simply stunning in her casual outfit. Lucky for him he’d brought a change of clothing in his own sports bag. After all, it was Thursday night.

  “You scrub up pretty good for a copper,” was all he could say.

  “Why, thank you for your compliment, sir.” She faked a western drawl.

  Cate grabbed Darren’s hand. Bewildered, he
looked at her. But he didn’t let go and let her lead the way.

  “In case, you haven’t worked this out, it is a date.” She kissed him on the cheek. His face felt ignited with fire. He returned the little squeeze from her fingers.

  Distracted, Darren almost forgot that Carlos was watching from his big leather chair. He smiled and waved at them.

  “Have a good evening, children.”

  CHAPTER 41

  DATE NIGHT

  They didn’t speak much on the way out of the Club. Darren reached to make sure he opened the green door for her. “Thank you. I like how you treat me like a lady,” she commented as they walked towards the parked cars.

  “How about we take my car, leave yours here?” Darren suggested.

  “And how will I get home later?” She squeezed his hand with a little devil smile.

  “Taxi, of course,” Darren replied with a smile.

  “Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” she countered, with a smile.

  The Manly Vale Hotel sounded alive. As soon as they got out of the Falcon, Darren and Cate recognised the song coming from the building, both of them in unison without a stage prompt, sang to the chorus. They broke out laughing.

  “What? You know that song?” Darren was surprised.

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” she shot back. “The Angels is one of my favourite bands.”

  “No reason I guess,” Darren replied.

  “Just because I’m a copper doesn’t mean I don’t like good music, you know.” Cate grabbed his hand. Darren didn’t respond, instead he led her to the entrance of the bar area.

  Darren had not been back since the night he ran into Jimmy. In fact, he didn’t understand why he had brought Cate here. “I used to come here all the time.” He put her beer down on the table first.

  “Things were different a few years ago.” He commented. “Anyway, cheers.” He raised his glass and she did likewise. They clinked glasses.

  “Used to hang here with Johnno,” Darren said as he sipped from his beer. Cate gave him a curious look. “We were good mates.” He took another sip.