The mood changed somewhat as Adam slapped handcuffs around the defiant bikie’s wrists. The crew anxiously stirred and sought their leader’s direction.
Eddie shook his head and ordered calm, “Everyone chill.” He turned his attention to Cate, “Is this necessary? He’s just upset about his mate.” But Eddie trod carefully; Mojo getting hauled in was the least of his worries. The sooner the cops were out of his domain the better. Besides, Mojo was nearly a lawyer, he could handle himself.
While the theatrics were playing out, a group of three police personnel were busy establishing their crime-scene. The senior forensics officer whisked everyone out of the immediate area where the body lay. The photographer busied herself with taking an incessant number of images. Crime scene contamination, can you people please piss off, Karen Souter thought.
The commotion was soon over. Adam grabbed the errant biker and escorted him to the dark-blue Commodore wagon and directed his charge to take a seat in the back. Adam lingered near the wagon. Not so much because he was afraid his arrest was going to escape, but to keep a vigil, in case of another hit.
“Anyone else here that can help us out?” Cate pleaded.
The crowd mumbled and lost interest, looking at their leader for guidance. “Come on boys, we’re having a beer. Have a toast to Bushy. Our fallen mate and brother,” Eddie said and like sheep they followed their leader to the clubhouse.
Cate surveyed the garage and stood in front of the murder victim looking out towards the street. The distance from the workshop to the street was a good fifty to sixty metres she estimated. It would have been a narrow line of sight from where the shooter aimed his rifle. A good shot. So was this man the intended victim, as she dropped her gaze on to the body on the floor. Or just a lucky hit? No, she surmised. The shooter was a professional. The hit was planned in retaliation for losing a package worth a shit load of money. James is lucky to be alive, it could have been him on the floor.
Oh well, a few pints will gloss over tonight’s event. Any excuse will do. Cate watched the last of the bikies disappear into the clubhouse. The raid will have to wait. At least we can come back and start rattling the cage. Who am I kidding? The cage has been rattled. The Sinners are going to war. They won’t have a choice. This will spill over into a giant shit storm.
Cate walked back to the car.
CHAPTER 89
NO TURNING BACK
Before he snatched the hook from the desk-top phone, he quickly lit his Camel. “Lewis here.”
“First one down.”
Good. He opened the middle drawer on the right hand side of his solid oak desk and retrieved a mobile phone. He pressed the speed dial button, the number was ‘1’.
“Message has been delivered, so maybe they will try harder.” The person on the other end grunted and hung up. Lewis took another drag. Fucking rellos, he thought.
Adam sat next to his partner in the back seat of the Commodore. They avoided eye-contact, it had been a long road and this evening’s events were still in different wash-cycles in each other’s minds.
Well my life as a bikie is over, is that good or bad? James thought.
Jesus, James. That could have been you, Adam thought.
I wonder if I can still have sex with him, James reflected.
Cate drove the wagon in her usual efficient manner. Fast. Hope you two aren’t going to kiss, she thought as she glanced in the rear-view mirror, where the two handsome young police officers intently avoided each other’s eyes.
Back at the station, as they got out of the car, she stopped momentarily and faced both of them. “It’s business as usual, I don’t care about what you do in your personal lives.”
“Adam, can you get us some coffee, maybe some snacks, it’s going to be a long evening. Keep those handcuffs on until we’re in my office. If you guys want thirty seconds, that’s okay. Keep it discreet. The walls have ears.” She made her way to the lift. “See you in three.”
After a few tequila shots, followed by a couple of Coronas, Eddie retreated to his boardroom. Sitting at his end of the big wooden conference table, he looked at the empty chairs. What would Lars be doing right now? He stretched his back against the high-backed chair and folded his arms in front of him on the cool wooden table top. Like a sermon from the grave, he could hear Lars’s indictment on his leadership. You fucked up. You should have built an army. You are too careful, you think too much.
It was going to be up to him to sort out the Italians. Trying to find the money for the package was a joke and Bushy had paid dearly for that laugh. The Sinners would have to front these sleazebags and show them who was running things. Tomorrow we get prepared for payback.
Eddie’s phone rang: ‘No caller ID’.
He pressed the answer button. “Who’s this?”
“Martin.”
Eddie paid attention, “So the snake rears its ugly head.”
Martin didn’t reply. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. The biker corrected himself and waited for a reaction.
“I’m no snake. But I do have something that belongs to you.” The juvenile voice reverbed through the crackly line. Not quite a man, and definitely not a boy. Eddie contemplated, remaining silent while considering his next move.
“Do you want it back?” An impatient Martin asked him.
“Of course I do. Where are you?”
A chuckle came through the phone. Not a funny chuckle, but a cat and mouse one. Eddie rubbed his weary eyes with his free hand, a thumb and forefinger spread massaging his eye-lids thinking about a nice Balinese nubile pressing her fingers into his neck and over his scalp.
“Queensland.” The reply instantly brought him back from a Balinese beach.
“That’s a long way from here. You going to send it to me via Express Post?” Sarcasm kept Eddie’s top from blowing. God, I need a drink. And he got up from his throne, opened the boardroom door and shouted over the twenty-strong crowd, “Someone get me a fucking drink!”
“Not sending a thing. You can come and collect it. Pay me one-hundred and fifty thousand in cash and it’s yours,” Martin declared.
“That’s a lot of dough for that little package. It’s not worth that much,” Eddie retorted.
“Fuck off. You know what it’s worth.”
James looked at the stunning panorama photo of the “Bommie” framed in a light-coloured timber surround. Suddenly, he longed for the surf, the feeling of a wave picking him up and gliding in front of it.
“Are you okay, James?” Cate enquired.
“Yeah, fine. Nice photo.”
“Nice thinking back there. Very good way to debrief. We should call you Mel,” She joked. James didn’t react to her flippant comment and Cate made a mental note.
“It was a hit, to set an example. Eddie has been worried about the Italians. Ever since that coke went missing he stressed about having to pay the Italians back a large sum of money,” James explained.
“One bikie dead is not such a huge loss to mankind,” Adam commented.
“Bushy was actually a pretty decent bloke,” James snapped at Adam.
“Okay, let’s get on with it,” Cate intervened.
“You need to release me and send me back in. Eddie is not going to rest until he avenges Bushy’s life. The brothers will be right behind him. They might all have jobs and families, but they are still ‘one-percenters’. Outlaws. That’s how they see themselves. It’s why they joined up, to be with other like-wise thinkers. They will want blood. And believe me, Eddie will give it to them.”
Cate narrowed her eyes. “I’m reluctant to send you back.”
“I don’t think you have a choice. Besides, there’s nothing of any significance to pin them on. What were you going to arrest them for? Losing a bag of cocaine? Owning a couple of illegal shotguns? Tax evasion? There are no drugs of any quantity stored at the Devil’s Sinners’ clubhouse. They move the merchandise around. The only way to catch them is to raid them in the process of a transaction.”
/> “I see your point,” Cate agreed with a half-hearted nod.
Next to the under-cover cop, Adam nervously shuffled about in his seat, doing his utmost to hide his discomfort in his partner’s presence. But it was more than that. Something had changed. Sadly, he knew what it was. A lover knows these things.
James got up from his chair. His manner wasn’t abrupt, but it was determined. “I’ll keep you in the loop.” Before he turned to leave he paused locking eyes with Adam. “I’ll see you.” And James left the room.
“Undercover work is not only dangerous, it can bring a person to the brink, where some choices become harder to make. Questions arise. Black and white becomes grey. We need to get this resolved soon. I want him out,” Cate stated.
Adam stared ahead. He silently resolved that he would hang in there and give their relationship time to heal.
CHAPTER 90
THE THRILL OF LIFE, AND DEATH
Patch greeted his new master with his tail rotating wildly and by hopping on his hind legs. The licking and dog-hugging was intense as Darren crouched on his knees and patted and stoushed with his new mate. Nick watched the display, which reminded him of a similar scene not so long ago. The memory was too raw to give any rise to a smile, instead it provoked a mixture of hate and hurt. Nick turned his back on the pair and walked away. He passed Rafe’s coffee table, another reminder of his friend’s legacy that added to his stirred feelings. He stopped.
“What the fuck possessed Rafe to get into dealing dope? I thought painters made good money?” Darren suddenly appeared at the sliding door opening.
Nick also sought answers to that question. He took his eyes off the ‘mull-drawer’ that was built into in the coffee-table.
“I don’t know, but I think it had something to do with his stupid sense of adventure. He didn’t really need the money.” Nick stared into space.
“The thrill of life. I suppose I can see where that’s coming from,” Darren replied without conviction. After a few seconds, Darren added, “Such thrills can cause you much grief, or death even.”
“When do you think you’ll take Patch with you?” Nick asked.
“Mate, I’d take him today but we are still looking for a house. Could be a few weeks.” Darren pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, “I’ll come over every day and take him for a run. Is that cool, mate? Here’s some money for food.” Darren pinched a fifty and held it out to Nick.
“Yeah, that would be alright,” Nick answered.
“Mate, it gets better with a bit of time. It took me a while to deal with the hate. You still surf? Get yourself in the water. I went to kicking punching bags for a few months. Sorted me out quick smart.” Darren said, “You can’t let it chew you up.”
“Suppose.”
“Mate, I promise you’ll feel a better man.”
“Guess so. Suppose I should go for a surf,” Nick mumbled and started forhis bedroom.
Darren watched him saunter off, “Going back to bed ain’t going to help.”
“Just leave me alone,” Nick shot back.
“Sure, I’ll leave you be. You want to fight demons in your head while trying to sleep, that’s up to you. You really want to help yourself and pay respect to your friend, then maybe you ought to think about retribution.” Darren upped the tone of his voice. Poor bastard needs a wake-up call.
“What was that?” Nick finally replied.
“You’ll have to come out here, mate. I don’t do fucking bedrooms talking to a bloke, right.” Darren pursed his lips.
Nick emerged from the door opening. “What do you mean, retribution?”
Good. He picked that up. So he’s not totally deaf to the world. Darren mused. “Get even in an old-fashioned way.”
“What like revenge?”
“Yep, old-fashioned revenge. Eye for an eye.” Darren’s expression went the coldness of steel.
“What? You mean killing as in ‘eye for an eye’?” Nick’s words came out ponderous, but tickled.
“Absolutely. Killing, as in dead. That ugly bastard has left a bloody trail of misery. You don’t know the half of it.”
Nick stared at the taxi-driver and realised he’d never seen Darren this serious and intense. “I might go for a surf.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow when I’ll bring some more food for Patch.” Darren gave his furry friend a quick pat and a belly-rub, then he left.
Cate was anxious and agitated. It had been a day and a half since hearing back from James. She lost count of the times she ogled the phone or checked her mobile for messages. The tension had rubbed off on Adam. Although he appeared collected, she could tell Adam was coming apart at the seams.
The door to her office was open. Cate saw Adam get up for umpteenth time in the last hour, “You’re wearing a track in the floor to Archives.”
Adam stopped and stood still without turning around.
“Come in here, please.”
Adam entered her office without a word.
“We’re both going home. We have phones.” She grabbed her jacket.
“Have a good evening boss,” Adam turned on his heels and left.
The door was unlocked. Standing at the sink, Darren pressed the flick-mixer handle down to turn the water off and shook his hands, flicking water everywhere.
Cate engaged his guilty look. “Washing the kitchen floor?”
“Hey good-looking,” Darren replied.
“Thanks for the compliment. T-towel’s next to you, hanging from the oven door.”
“Ah, yes.”
Cate dropped her bag on the lounge. She kept her duty-belt on.
“Cuppa?”
“Sounds great, handsome.” Cate flung her arms around Darren.
“Hmm. Hard day at the office?”
“No. Just waiting for the storm to come,” she replied and kissed him on the lips. Should not have said that, she regretted and embraced him tighter.
Darren held her close. “So tell me a bit more about the other night.”
“I told you. There is not much to tell.”
Darren disengaged from her embrace. “Oh, a bikie gets shot and there’s not much to tell.”
“It’s early days. I promise I will keep you in the loop. It is all under control.” Please stop badgering.
“Nothing’s under control when Eddie’s involved,” Darren snapped.
Cate reacted and with her hands planted against his chest she pushed him back, “Excuse me, but I don’t have to tell you shit. I am a copper, Darren. Don’t you forget that!” Cate stormed off to the bathroom.
“You might be a copper, but you’re not fucking superman. Eddie will kill you at the drop of a hat!” he shouted. She didn’t respond.
Darren heard the toilet flush, then Cate came out. “I know I’m not superman. I do realise that Eddie is a dangerous criminal, but that is no reason for me to not do my job. I am a police detective,” she looked Darren in the eyes. “And I am superwoman.”
“Looking for cheap thrills. Smart-arse.”
“Now that you mention it, yes. One of the perks of the job. Don’t you have to go back to work?” Cate questioned.
“Thrills will get you killed,” Darren muttered.
Without kissing her Darren walked past her and left the unit. She’s got no idea who she’s dealing with. The sooner I sort Eddie the better. Even if it means she won’t talk to me for a while.
CHAPTER 91
TO ARMS, MY BROTHERS
It was a quick progression from a cleansing beer at the end of the day to a shot in the head – a trip to the morgue – an appointment with a funeral director. And, yes, there is an available spot this week. Bushy’s funeral was held well before Rafe’s. In fact, Rafe’s wasn’t even tabled yet, but the successful murder of the motor-mechanic bikie club member was an open and shut case in a gangland killing. No need for him to be laid out on a cold slab of stainless steel for any length of time to figure out what killed him. It was simple: one hollow-point bullet shot from a .22
Magnum rifle aimed at the victim’s forehead.
The funeral procession was a sombre affair, but a loud one. Eddie marvelled at the fifty-six Harleys polished and gleaming; seventy two bikies including pillion riders accompanied the hearse. It was music to Eddie’s ears hearing all fifty-six bikes doof-doofing in an un-synchronised orchestra of four-stroke thunder. The Devil’s Sinners’ flag was proudly draped over the casket. He looked at Mojo standing next to him; Mojo was the only Devil’s Sinner not on a bike. Eddie had invited him to by his side, the new Sergeant-at-arms for the Devil’s Sinners.
The piss-up after the funeral was grand, even grander than Lars’, although no one dared to voice that observation out loud.
The next day Eddie summoned his new inner circle: the war-party gathering. It included Gator, Bushy’s trusted off-sider, and Duke, he was ex-army, a rifle-man. Eddie also picked Dieter, the tall German migrant, he was just large and unstoppable in a brawl. Vince, one of the oldest brothers and most seasoned in a scrap. And lastly, Mojo. It would be a test for Mojo, whether he could replace Bushy as the official sergeant-at-arms.
The boardroom was abuzz with the excitement of an impending sortie. The brothers were primed, the sad memory of standing around their brother’s casket still raw in their minds.
“We’re going to fuck this Italian cunt over. Send a message to his boss that we’re not to be fucked with. If they kill one of our brothers, we kill two of theirs.” That was Eddie’s edict.
“The first guy, our main man, has an office in Manly. His name is Lewis,” Eddie continued. “The second cunt is a relative who cleans up and does the dirty work. His name is Paul. Might be a bit tricky to get them both at the same time.”
“We fack them both,” Dieter volunteered in oz-deutsch, and the small band of brothers mumbled in agreement.
“What’s the game plan?” Duke asked as he drew hard on his thin cigar.
“I am setting up a meeting with him to hand over the first instalment. That’s my invite,” Eddie put forth the idea. “He might even invite his cousin Paul for a cuppa. Two for the price of one. No doubt, the cousin would have done the dirty deed. These arseholes make me sick.”
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