Stealth

by John Hollenkamp

  Should have worn a long sleeved shirt too, silently regretting not heeding the advice that Darren had given him before they set out.

  “So what’s this place called?” Nick asked, while he probed the light leader line around the split ring on the top of the fluorescent green lure, squinting his eyes in the hope of looping the line through the ring, but with little immediate success.

  “Stony Creek,” Darren replied as he lowered his drink bottle and spat the warm water he had just drunk from the bottle onto the ground. Following that, he poured the rest out, wetting the dry ground next to his feet and spat the last drops. “That tastes really bad. Anyway, today should be good for a few jacks or a bream, mate.”

  “Have you done any good here in this spot?” Nick finally threaded the leader line through the split-ring.

  “Don’t really spend much time fishing. Not that keen. Never have been.”

  “In that case, thanks for taking us here then.” Nick looked up at Darren.

  “No worries. Thought that we could catch up on stuff and I’ll clue you in on our friend,” Darren answered. Pensively, he stared into nothingness.

  “Mate, can you pass us that can of spray? Bloody mozzies and god knows what else is biting my ankle.” Nick broke the silence while slapping his lower leg.

  “Midges, mate, sand-flies. Lots of stinging creatures up here in the tropics, mate. On land and in the water,” Darren explained.

  “Plenty of things that can harm you up here, mate, don’t you worry about that.” He handed Nick the can of insect repellent spray and looked him straight in the eye with a big smile.

  Nick finished rigging up his gear and walked towards the edge of the creek; he stepped down a two foot embankment, where the ground was dry, a bit gravelly and uneven. But as he landed onto the softer soil, at the water’s edge his right thong slid sharply sideways as it found some slick and greasy mud, where the tide had only recently receded. He struggled to maintain his balance. Nick gasped for air. “That was close, nearly into the drink!”

  Skittishly he backed up the embankment, eyes darting from left to right scanning the water surface in front of him.

  Darren chuckled with a quick and short snigger, “Yeah, mate you don’t want to fall in there, never know what’s beneath.”

  Darren was still standing next to the Nissan as he pulled the big blue icebox over, closer to him. He lifted the lid and while holding up the lid with one arm he rummaged with the other and pulled out a plastic bag, its contents were bulging.

  “Can’t beat fresh bait,” He said as he paraded the plastic bag. “Don’t know why you are using those plastic things, you can’t even use them at night, I’ve never caught any bloody fish with them.” Darren removed a small wooden cutting board from his backpack bag where he kept his tackle and other fishing gear.

  “That’s because you don’t know how to fish with lures, mate,” Nick answered.

  “Oh, mate, I know how to lure.” Darren replied, smug. “I also know how to use bait.” And he smiled to himself. “Wager on it, mate. First fish gets shouted the first two rounds at the pub.” Darren challenged, while cutting the top of the bait bag and spilling dead bait fish onto the cutting board.

  “You’re on.”

  Nick took a deep breath and swung the rod back over his shoulder and with a smooth flick of his wrist he cast the lure towards the opposite bank. He retrieved the lure with a slow wind pausing it a few times while he flicked the rod tip up. He pondered and looked around to figure out what was next. Methodically he started surveying the creek, the creek edges and the more open spots which separated the clusters of various sized mangroves. He was searching for a bit of overhang over the water surface, ideally with a submerged tree trunk, knowing that even in new and unfamiliar territory, there would be some fish seeking protection and hiding from a predator under the cover of darkness.

  CHAPTER 100

  TIMETABLE

  It was the wailing from a bush-stone curlew that woke Martin from a restless sleep. He hated those birds. Their eerie calling and those cries always disturbed him. He’d never heard the sound of any bird like it down south. It wasn’t until a visit to Billabong Sanctuary that he actually saw a couple of them in real life. Martin thought they were ugly birds with their large eyes and head, their funny long legs compared to their smallish body. He used to hate the hooting from owls in the middle of the night out in the bush as well. On their property, which seemed a life-time ago. Matt, it’s a shame you’re not here. Only 4.52am. The radio-alarm clock digital light shone its red numbers too brightly in the room and there it was again, the wailing cry of the curlew. Fuck. I wish I could get my hands on that bird! The fan whirred in monotony, occasionally slapping like a helicopter blade rotating in disturbed air. Guess I’ll sell the Berettas to him.

  First light in the morning was tainted red. Red in the morning, sailor’s warning. Although he thought a weather change to be unlikely. Sometimes sunrise would be a colourful display of orange, red and purples hues. Some would think it signalled a change, or for some it signalled more ominous things. Superstition, Martin thought. Stupid.

  Martin went to work early again. It was already warm and humid. The humidity disappeared by the later morning, which was just as well. The searing heat of the summer months was a small price to pay for the land of opportunity. Martin was convinced that today’s trading proposal would mark the start of his new career in local crime. As yet, the phone had not rung and it was well after smoko. It made him edgy. Today his job was to follow the small five-tonner cleaning out the drains on the site. It was cruisy and all he had to do was drag a shovel around and tidy up as the excavator moved along the bank. 11.32am the mobile finally rang. “You said you were going to ring me early.” Martin was cross.

  “Did I say that?” Darren questioned, perfectly aware of his calculated response.

  “Yes. I told you, don’t fuck me around!” Martin snapped.

  “Sorry, mate, don’t mean to muck you around. Let’s find a place to meet,” Darren responded immediately. Don’t hang up. Please don’t hang up. Darren shut his eyes and waited.

  “Where?”

  “I’m going to meet him at seven-thirty, tonight,” Darren told Nick as he got off the phone.

  “Sweet,” Nick commented. “What then?”

  “You’ll see, my friend. You’ll see.”

  Darren didn’t want to tell Nick about his ruse. Nick was soft, emotional, and prone to overthinking with indecision. Although he liked Nick, he was too gloomy. Darren remembered a few of his mate’s past life events, Ellie, the stoush at the pub, when he first met him. His friend wasn’t a ‘victim’, blaming his life’s woes on everything and everyone around him, but he lived very much in an ‘I wish world’. Wishing was for children before Christmas pressies.

  The plan for Martin was to exact justice and implement a solution to rid the world from absolute evil, but in a manner befitting Martin’s heinous crimes. The plan for Eddie was different. His final demise would be for outright revenge. A reckoning, payment for Cate and for Johnno. Eddie’s punishment would be very personal.

  CHAPTER 101

  TRAP

  The evening traffic along the busy road had subsided from peak hour. Darren set up his ambush early, with Nick in tow. Predictably, Nick was nervous and reticent in understanding Darren’s abduction plan. The school grounds were a perfect location for a hide-and-seek game. “Look at all the possibilities to hide and sneak up on him,” Darren crouched behind a large tree trunk and he pointed to the spread-out school buildings.

  “I guess.” Nick wasn’t convinced. He wasn’t used to creeping around like a ninja and surprising someone who would most likely be armed with a gun.

  “Nick. Listen carefully. All you need to remember is to wait for my signal, a cough. I will distract him, you come up from behind and wrap your strongest arm around his neck and hold on tight.”

  “What if he’s too far away for me to sneak up without him hearing me?”


  “I will draw him closer,” Darren replied.

  “How are you going to do that? He might get suspicious.”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll be suspicious regardless. It’s in his nature,” Darren replied flatly.

  Nick sighed and looked around. “How long?”

  “An hour.”

  “Where are you meeting him?” Nick asked.

  “That’s the tricky part. He just said ‘the school grounds’.”

  “So how do we know when he’s here? Or where?” Nick was panicked.

  Darren held up his mobile.

  The brakes on the Corolla squealed as Martin slowed the car. He was around the corner from the school. He decided not to park in the carpark next to the grounds. Too obvious. Instead, he did a U-turn and parked a few hundred metres further back around the corner. He turned off the engine and reached under his seat for the Smith & Wesson. After checking in the mirrors he was satisfied that he was the only living soul in this street. He stuffed the .38 into the small of his back and slung his backpack over his shoulder. On his way to the school grounds he felt the weight of the switchblade in his back pocket. You better not try anything funny, taxi driver. I’ll be watching you.

  By now Martin’s eyes were adjusted to the ambient shadows of the evening. He walked as if he was going to the movies. A steady pace, eyes darting left to right. The low metal gate was unlocked. He was in school grounds now. Martin went further in, closer to the first building, which looked more like a fibro and timber cottage than a classroom. Can’t see anyone. He must be hiding.

  Martin retrieved his mobile. 7.23pm. He pressed the saved number for the taxi-driver and listened intently, hoping to hear a mobile ringing somewhere near him. Instead the taxi-driver answered, “I’m here. Tell me where you want to meet.”

  “Come to the first building near the front, it’s a creamy coloured cottage.”

  Darren looked at Nick and pointed in the direction of the main road. Nick appeared hesitant, “How the fuck am I going to surprise him there? There’s too much open area,” he whispered harshly.

  “Do your best,” Darren said as he left the concealment of a toilet block.

  Martin saw a lone figure making his way towards the cream cottage. The man wasn’t in a hurry, but wasn’t dawdling either. Martin put the phone back into his pocket and reached for the Smith & Wesson. Next week I’m buying a holster.

  “You can stop there, taxi-driver.” Martin’s voice filled the evening quiet on the grounds.

  “Whatever you like.” Darren came to a halt after sneaking in a few extra steps. "I come as a friend, not a foe.”

  “I don’t have friends. Especially not friends like you.”

  “Alright we might as well get on with business,” Darren suggested and carefully brought his hand up to his mouth to stave off a cough. He cleared his throat. “Sorry mate, got a lurgy coming up.”

  Nick had not waited around for the cough signal. He had already made his way around the long way, jumping the low fence to the adjacent parking area and back around towards the main road. From behind a parked car on the side road, Nick could make out two silhouettes near the light-coloured cottage – about fifty to sixty metres away. The path between him and the target was quite dark. You can do it. Just do it. Nick’s heart was going a million miles an hour. He leapt like a ninja and scaled the low wire fence with the agility of a hurdle runner. The soft grass muffled the noise from his long running strides. He stopped behind a large tree and stood erect trying to catch his breath. Fifteen metres. You can do it. Run like the fucking wind. Pummel him.

  Before Martin could level the revolver at the sudden apparition to his left Nick charged into the diminutive target. The force of Nick’s muscular body knocked Martin off his feet. The revolver flew out of his hand. Both Martin and Nick skidded onto the grass. Even Darren was surprised at the sudden ambush. The gun! Jump for the gun. Darren threw himself on the ground like a cricketer. In one fluid motion he snatched the .38, rolled over and up on his feet.

  Martin quickly recovered from the charge. He kicked out. Instinct: start kicking. His boot connected with Nick’s head. Stunned, the carpenter rolled away and lay on his back with his head spinning.

  Martin sprang to his feet and searched frantically for his gun.

  “Looking for this?” Darren pointed the .38 at the scrawny and angry Martin.

  The skinny lad turned and bolted. Not expecting Martin to do a runner, Darren hesitated for a second, then he tossed the revolver to Nick and broke into a fierce run after Martin.

  The skinny lad’s legs were no match for Darren’s long and powerful strides. Within a few minutes of weaving and darting from left to right Darren slammed his hand on Martin’s shoulder and jerked him around. Martin tripped and fell to the concrete pavement. Darren fell on top of him and recovered straightaway. He brought his arm up high and slammed his fist into Martin’s head.

  Panting and trying to regain his breath, Darren remained sitting on top of the lifeless Martin. You’re not going to die on me now.

  Two Berettas, a grand, you fucking beauty. It seemed like days ago, that happy thought. Bouncing around tied up in the back of the roughest ride of his life, Martin was angry at himself for being such a fool. How was it that he ever got involved with this arsehole? A fucking cab-driver picking up his ride. That was it, wasn’t it? It was pitch black and his wrists were burning. Every time he wrestled with the cable-ties they seemed to dig in further. His legs were wrapped with thick rope from his ankles to his knees, his toes were electric. His head was throbbing. The cab-driver had removed Martin’s runners and ripped his socks off his feet. With his arms tied behind his back, it was really difficult to stop from rolling around on the hard metal tray. A few big bumps threw his light body up and his head bounced against the flat surface as he came down. When I get out of this I’m going to gut you like a fish, taxi-driver cunt. I’ll make you watch your innards spill out in front of you. And whooshka, up and over another ditch. Martin dropped with thud.

  “Oops.” Darren cocked his head and glanced at Nick sitting in the passenger seat of the big four-wheel drive.

  “Are we going to shoot him?”

  Ever since they surprised the skinny would-be gun dealer in the grounds of the primary school, Nick had been quiet. His head was sore from Martin’s lashing kick.

  In the back of the truck Martin’s head came down hard, despite trying to stiffen his neck before hitting the metal tray. He couldn’t even scream out. The rag tied around his head that held the cloth in his mouth was tightly knotted. The foul smell of fish, rotten fish, dried fish blood, it wanted to make him gag, but he couldn’t. To vomit meant drowning in his own spew. Every breath through his nostrils was like swimming in a pool of dead fish. He hated fish. He hated curlews and owls.

  “No, we’re not going to shoot him,” Darren finally answered.

  It was not the answer Nick wanted to hear. Because he feared that other options would probably not be as quick. Can’t we just get it over and done with? Nick silently wished. God, I don’t want to be here anymore. A dark anxiety started building in his mind. No. That can’t happen. Think of Rafe. Poor Rafe.

  It was hard to measure time, but Martin figured at least half an hour since they left the bitumen. The canopy couldn’t stop the gravel road dust from entering. Sweat was pouring from his neck, his face and even his T-shirt was feeling wet. Oh that cunt is going to pay.

  The headlights on high beam shone ahead. Darren had slowed the truck from sixty kays down to nearly crawling speed. He dampened the headlights altogether and he brought the big vehicle to a halt. The diesel was idling. The parking lights were still on. After a minute or so, his eyes adjusted to the new dark conditions. Just enough light for him to slip the truck into first and amble forward still giving him some vision of the track. They progressed another two hundred or so metres. Then he stopped, turned the key in the ignition to the off position. All you could hear was a crackle of gravel under the ty
res as the vehicle came to a complete stop.

  Nick was silent and breathed very shallow.

  “Nick. Time to be really quiet. As in like a church mouse. Okay?” Darren whispered.

  Relieved for some respite from the rough ride, Martin lay still for a minute. Nothing was happening. A feeling of dread overcame him. That was new and he didn’t like it much. Hate, triumph, power and the first deep breath after he killed someone, intoxicating, invigorating. Those were beautiful feelings. Dread, what was that?

  Movement from outside the canopy sharpened his senses. Someone was fiddling with the vinyl and he heard the sound of the heavy-duty zippers. The metal latch at the rear squealed as it was forcefully turned to release the tray side-rail. Martin stared at his captors. It was hard to make out their faces because it was dark, but also his thin long hairs had combined with the sweat on his face to obscure his vision. A strong pair of hands grabbed his legs and violently jerked him towards the open rail of the tray. His elbow grazed on the aluminium ripple of the tray.

  Darren heard the muffled protest from his captive. Oh, you don’t like that eh? As he completed the second stage of his violent pull. Martin felt the back of his head collide with the edge of the tray as he was roughly off-loaded. He was dropped to the dusty ground like a sack of potatoes.

  Darren crouched down on one knee and with his mouth close to Martin’s ear he whispered, “This is better than how you treated a little kelpie-cross a few years ago.” He started to get up, but changed his mind and bent down again. “Think about that, when I stick a pig-knife into your gut. Shortly.”

  Nick stood silently, feeling empty.

  “Nick, bring us that short rope mate.”

  Without a word like a robot, Nick fetched the thick rope which had a noose on the end. Hanging him from a tree, Jesus. God help me. He passed the rope to Darren, a sad look from his eyes betrayed his reluctance to play a part in this theatre.

  “You okay, mate?” Darren whispered with a cold stare in his eyes. It was neither a yeah or a nay. Nick’s eyes were sad and full of fear.