Stealth

by John Hollenkamp

  “What was that?” The last words uttered by a middle-aged bikie holding a can of Bourbon & Coke, before the wall next to him exploded and the impact from the large projectile cannoned him into the ground. The smashed up Falcon landed on the top of his chest. A few meters away another large bikie was thrown back from the bursting building debris and the furniture shattering in front of him.

  Darren kicked the driver’s door open. Coughing and bleeding from his face, he emerged from the wreck. Slowly he got to his feet and kicked away some debris. A cloud of dust hung tightly from the ceiling to the ground. Bits of plaster and building structure were still dropping to the floor. Darren was in a daze – from the last half an hour of a living nightmare, but also from the hatred that was consuming him.

  He heard a groan from under the car. The sound stirred him into life. Darren moved towards the pathetic gargling noise. The man was pinned by the cross-member under the front of the engine. Darren noticed the one front wheel of the Falcon off the ground. “You’re not fuckin’ going anywhere, cunt.” Darren spat.

  “Fack you.” It was a meek but clear statement coming from a few paces away.

  Darren looked up and saw another bikie lying in the rubble.

  Dieter felt disoriented as he emerged from blacking-out. He tried to lift his knee from the ground only to feel an incredible shot of pain in his back. “You facking cant!” He bellowed. ”I am going to kill you.” Brave words coming from a man who couldn’t move.

  Darren stood over the prostrate German. The giant moved his hand only to recoil from the pain. “Seems to me you ain’t killing nobody.” Darren touched the German’s leg with his boot, then he lifted it off and brought it down heavily on the biker’s knee. Dieter screamed.

  “Where’s Eddie?” Darren asked in an icy voice.

  “He’s gone.”

  “Where to?”

  “Facked if I know. And I vouldn’t tell you anyway.” The German groaned.

  Darren looked around him. Fucking coward, left his mates to hang dry. No doubt he’s done the bolt.

  “Come on. Where did he go?” Darren rested his boot on Dieter’s chest. Suddenly, a mobile phone started ringing. Darren quickly scanned the room to find the phone; there! … spotting the device on the floor. He snatched the phone off the dusty floor hoping to answer the call. “We’re off to Townsville, pack our shit.” It was Eddie.

  “See you there.” Darren replied.

  Click. Darren looked over to the biker.

  “Who killed the woman?”

  “Fack you. I got her first. Eddie finished it.” He tried to laugh but coughed instead.

  Darren picked up a large shard of glass from a smashed up table. “So you got her first.”

  “Facking bitch…I…” Those words changed to a gargle, as Darren pushed the piece of glass deep into the German’s throat. Dieter shook his head violently helping the sharp and jagged piece of glass cut further. Darren released the make-shift weapon and backed away from the spurting blood.

  “Seventy-seven, where are you? Please respond. Mango, where the fuck are you?” The two-way crackled. Darren shuffled to the cab and answered.

  “I’ve had a stack.” Darren dropped the mike and started to cry.

  CHAPTER 94

  I’M WITH YOU MY FRIEND

  The parking areas in the Northern Suburbs Memorial Gardens & Crematorium were overflowing. Processions of slow cars inched forward as the car-park attendants painstakingly guided each visitor to a vacant spot.

  Hundreds of mourners attended the funerals held for Senior Detective Inspector Catherine Hawkins, and Senior Detective James R. Kalnich.

  Today was the first day of sunshine for what seemed to have been a month of miserable weather with cold winds and incessant showers. The splendour of these memorial gardens was beautifully exhibited by a perfect spring mid-morning accentuated by a flawless morning blue-sky. Crisp new green foliage from spring growth adorning the manicured gardens added to the magnificence of this day, livened up by the chittering of finches fluttering about.

  Darren stayed at the back of the church, keeping his Ray-Ban sunglasses on. His attention was drawn to the young man with short-cropped dark hair who was being pushed in his wheel-chair, by a uniformed policeman. They kept going towards the front of the ceremonial procession. The front row was filled with police officials and immediate family. Darren wasn’t immediate family; he was her soulmate.

  Darren had heard that the young detective, who was Cate’s offsider, had survived the bloody battle of the raid. Miraculously, he was saved by the intervention of a police-woman who was a paramedic before making her career change. Shame that back-up arrived too late for the other two police officers, those were the comments in the precinct.

  Darren’s hands were shaking. He hadn’t slept for days. And when he did, it was only because he was too exhausted to stay up. The murmur from the funeral crowd made him feel like he was in a swamp of muffled silence, trying to stay afloat gasping for air. This was the last episode of the longest four weeks of his life. He had wanted to stop breathing forever when he saw Cate, lifeless on the ground.

  The ceremony droned on and on. Like time had stood completely still, Cate’s lifetime drifted away in Darren’s blurred vision. A soft touch took his hand. Carlos enveloped his strong hand in Darren’s and clasped his fingers around his friend’s trembling hand. Darren tensed his hand hanging on to Carlos’.

  “I’m with you, my friend.” Carlos reassured him and held his hand tight.

  “While marking the end of a life, this time also heralds the beginning of new life. Just like spring signals new growth, after winter’s hibernation.” So the priest said in finishing up his sermon.

  CHAPTER 95

  GOING NORTH

  “When will you be back?” Pete asked. The jittery, short cab-driver boss wasn’t surprised at Darren’s decision to take time off.

  “I don’t know. Not for a while,” Darren answered as he cleaned out his locker rummaging through a mess of bits of paper, notes and receipts, finding an old T-shirt and a couple of wayward pens right down the back.

  “You’re a good bloke and a good driver. We’ll miss you around here, mate. Pop in the office before you piss off.” The energetic taxi-owner flitted off to take care of other business.

  “Yeah, righto then.” Soon packed up, Darren called into Pete’s office and then his car.

  Behind the wheel, he mused: the start of week number six. It was a mental milestone to measure distance and time. He knew from experience that time would help him heal. Distance would help him revive. Week number five was spent inside a bottle of bourbon. Seven bottles, in fact. Then he had decided to wake up.

  He drove off, leaving the cab business in his rear-view mirror and cracked a smile. The first smile for five weeks, it felt like it was stretching disused muscles in his face. Pete had handed over two-thousand dollars to a loyal employee. In cash. Darren was stoked, not because of the money, but the biggest tight-arse in the world had given him a present. Darren was touched by the unexpected gesture of appreciation.

  His good humour lasted all the way to Nick’s place. He opened the side-gate to an exuberant dog with a rotating helicopter tail and springs for four legs.

  “Jesus, mate, you look like shit,” Nick remarked.

  “Steady, Nicholas,” Darren commented.

  “You need to eat a few bacon and cheese hamburgers, mate. With hot chips!” Nick suggested in earnest.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Darren replied while tussling with Patch.

  “It’s nearly lunchtime. Let’s go and get something to eat,” Nick proposed.

  Two months since Rafe’s death and Darren was pleased to see Nick was finally finding himself again. “Should be out surfing with me,” Nick boasted. Darren noted that the spare tyre Nick had cultivated around his waist since splitting with Ellie had all but disappeared. A few more weeks of his new physical training regime and he could even try for a six-pack.

  “Surfing
again? Wonder who told you to get back into the water.” Darren rubbed Patch behind the ears.

  “How are you keeping, mate?” Nick asked him on a more serious note. Darren took his attention away from the dog and stood up. “Alright, I guess.”

  “Come inside. A coffee?” Nick offered.

  “Yeah, why not?” Darren wiped the soles of his boots on the bristle mat in front of the sliding door. Nick went ahead, his attire was in total contrast to Darren’s dress-boots, crisp blue-jeans and a white T-shirt. Nick’s bare feet looked comfortable on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. His boardies painted his picture well: that of a tanned and fit surfer.

  “I’m heading to Queensland,” Darren said out of the blue.

  “Wow. That sounds pretty good.” Nick opened the overhead cupboard to snatch a couple of coffee mugs. “How long for?”

  “Don’t know. Depends on how long it will take for me to catch up with the bloke that killed Cate.”

  “Do you know who killed her?” Nick asked carefully. He was very aware of the sensitivities of her death. Ironically, her death had helped him recover from his own mourning, as he’d spent many nights staying up with Darren, just being there. They took quiet comfort from each other trying to come to terms with their own respective grief. A past casual friendship between two unlikely mates was transformed into a close bond. Patch had something to do with that as well.

  Nick would watch from the kitchen window as Darren would sit next to his dog for hours on end, on the back patio pavers staring into the ‘void’. Both Nick and Darren knew about the void, it was a place of no distinct colour or shape, not even dark, although sometimes it was black, very black.

  Nick knew very little about Darren’s connections with Johnno and the Devil’s Sinners Motorcycle Club. They did discuss Martin Villier – the skinhead’s future was still an open chapter in their lives.

  “You know Darren, despite you helping me out with Rafe and that, I know bugger all about what happened.”

  “You better sit down. This might take more than a few minutes,” Darren replied. “It all started with you.”

  Nick was shocked, “What do you mean, it started with me?”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Relax. But it did start with a scrawny arsehole called Martin bashing you senseless at the Mona Vale. You see, I met him again a little later, offering to sell me a gun. A .38 calibre Smith & Wesson stolen from Johnno’s when he was working for the concreter.”

  Nick narrowed his eyes. “Yes, now I recall. I never ran into him at Johnno’s, because I was crook. Knew nothing about a stolen gun.”

  “Not just one. The prick stole seven of them.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. You see, there was another complication. The guns had been promised to a couple of bikies. One of them was Eddie.”

  “I don’t quite follow.”

  “When Johnno couldn’t deliver the guns, the bikies got really shitted. We got into a blue with them. Johnno pounded this guy called Lars so badly he wound up in a wheelchair and died a year later.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Johnno was murdered by Eddie.”

  “Same Eddie from the gun deal?”

  “Yep.”

  “Heard Johnno’s killer was a bikie,” Nick recalled.

  “Yeah, leader of the Devil’s Sinners. In Narrabeen.”

  “Same bikies in the shoot-out, where Cate got killed?” Nick’s eyes were wide.

  “The very same.”

  “Jesus. And was this Eddie dude there as well?” Nick asked.

  “Yes, he was,” Darren answered with steel in his eyes.

  “Did he survive?” Nick asked carefully.

  “Eddie killed Cate,” Darren clenched his jaw with fire in his eyes.

  Nick decided to cut the history lesson short, “Come on let’s get something to eat.”

  They walked across the sporting grounds from Nick’s house, which was a stone’s throw from Pittwater. Rafe had rented this older cottage for about ten years and had made a number of improvements to the weatherboard home. The landlords were a retired couple living in the neighbourhood. Devastated after Rafe’s death, they offered for Nick to continue living there.

  “When will you be leaving?” Nick enquired as they hurried across the busy Barrenjoey Road.

  “Soon. Maybe Monday. Just got to sort out some stuff at Cate’s unit.” After mentioning her name, Darren went quiet.

  “Hey, mate. I can help you with some of that. If you’re happy for me to be there,” Nick offered.

  Darren didn’t answer. Without further conversation they arrived at the take-away shop.

  “We’ll have a couple of bacon and cheese burgers with a five-dollar bag of chips, thanks.” Nick didn’t even consult his friend.

  After lunch with Nick, Darren received a call from a young detective. His speech was strained and slow, a legacy from his injuries.

  “Hi Darren,” Adam spoke softly and slowly, “I am back at work.”

  “Hey Adam, how are you, mate?”

  “I am on the mend. I have some information for you,” Adam spoke clearly. “We retrieved a mobile phone belonging to Eddie from the scene in Manly.” Adam cleared his throat before continuing. “The tech boys deciphered the damaged phone. There was a message from M. It said he had the package. The text originated from a location in Townsville.”

  Darren’s face lit up. M for Martin – two reasons to go to Queensland.

  “I’m passing this on to you because I gathered from conversations with Cate, she was worried about your hatred for Eddie,” Adam explained. “We believe Eddie has fled to Queensland. He will be chasing Martin for the package.”

  “That makes sense,” Darren said. I already know Eddie’s destination. Martin, that’s a bonus.

  Adam continued, “I am also glad to hear that your ‘drive-by’ has been redefined as an unfortunate accident, steering failure. You’re in the clear. But I guess you already knew that. Now I am speaking to you, not as an officer of the law. The legal system will not avenge our loss. But you can.” The police officer had expended all the energy he could muster. “I wish you well, Darren.” Adam hung up.

  CHAPTER 96

  WHAT A HORRIBLE WAY TO DIE

  The pictures in the magazines were nothing like the real thing. Martin was disappointed. He’d envisaged a lot more palm trees. The travelling on the Bruce Highway had led him to Cairns. It was hot and humid. The South Coast seemed an eternity away. Martin’s past life sleeping on the streets of Sydney, under bridges and in quiet alleys, had prepared him well for this episode in his life. Sleeping in a car was vastly superior to sleeping on a concrete sidewalk. It was drier and warmer, and safe from marauding low-life youths bent on taking what little you had. Not that Martin had ever been affected. Once a couple of Abos wanted to harass him, but as soon as they saw his face and the stiletto, they fucked off.

  Two weeks since he left the NSW border and about a similar amount of time since he contacted the bikie. Although he still had plenty of cash to keep funding his life on the run, he was anxious to off-load the cocaine. Moving up to Queensland created a new life for him, but it wasn’t going to be in Cairns. He was already sick of the heavy downpours and the humidity. Townsville would be better to go back to. It was large enough to live in obscurity. Large enough to learn the ins and outs of the darker side of life. Maybe he could join a bikie gang.

  He pulled the Corolla into a Caltex in Innisfail. Before paying for fuel he opened the pie-warmer by sliding the glass panel back and took the last sausage roll. Breakfast. “Got any sauce?”

  The chunky girl behind the counter snatched a sachet from a basket and tossed it in front of him. “40 cents for that,” she said.

  “For that tiny bit of fucking sauce?” Martin protested.

  “Any fuel?” she asked.

  Without further comment, Martin handed over a fifty dollar note and double-checked the change.

  Martin parked the sedan in the corner of the ser
vo driveway out of the way from other users. He ripped the plastic packaging from the hot sausage roll and greedily bit into the stodgy meal. He squirted some tomato sauce on it before each following bite. He had a drink from his can of Fanta. Up the road he noticed a small handy-mart. After his morning ablutions he would call in and get some supplies for his journey south.

  The little family-owned supermarket had an abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables, none of which he was interested in. But the nuts and snack bins were very attractive. Martin went around collecting a few tins of beans, cans of soft-drink and returned to the snack section. He used the plastic scoops provided to fill several plastic bags with sugar-coated peanuts, salted cashews and soy-crisps. The old lady at the till was friendly and wrapped the plastic bags with nuts and crisps in old newspaper.

  Before driving off, Martin unwrapped the newspaper to get to the sugar-coated nuts. Excited about his first taste of these morsels for many months, it didn’t disappoint. Chewing on the sugary nuts he glanced at the newspaper, which was from a few days ago. An article up near the top right-hand corner of the crumpled paper caught his eye. It was about a tourist having been snatched from the edge of a creek bed and dragged into the water by a large crocodile …”on-lookers watched in horror, helpless, while the crocodile shook its human victim violently and then disappeared under water…”

  Martin was equally horrified by that scenario. Fuck what a horrible way to die! He couldn’t think of a worse way to die than in the jaws of a croc. It sent a shiver up his neck.

  Another snippet caught his attention.

  …Police and bikies involved in deadly clash in Manly…page 7

  CHAPTER 97

  NEW BEGINNINGS

  Eddie had gone into hiding straight after he, Vince and Dieter had fled from the Manly warehouse battleground. He instructed the two survivors to head back to the clubhouse. Eddie knew it was over for the Sinners. He wasn’t surprised to hear of a massive raid by the police the following day. His only regret was not being there when a cab-driver rammed through the front of the clubhouse, fatally wounding Vince and killing the big German.