“You are staying in Townsville?”
“I have some business in Townsville.” Slice looked away as he responded with disinterest.
Matteo decided to drop the questions that he knew would lead nowhere. Although he’d only met Steven once at a family gathering, a Christening many years ago, he had heard dribs and drabs about his special talents. It would pay to tread carefully around this visitor. I am not here on his behalf.
Those words were like a mission statement. His uncle always speaks with forked tongue. Steven was here to check on him. Simple as that.
“Let me show you around my house, and then I take you for coffee. Real Italian coffee. Bellissimo, eh?” Matteo kissed the tips of his bunched-up fingers in true Italian style.
“Sure, Matteo. Sure.”
The highlight of the home tour ended at an aquarium, which took pride in the open living area. Although the outside of the home was run-down and messy, the interior was clean, but cluttered. A bookcase with at least a hundred books of different sizes and colours adorned the large wall at the back of the lounge area. But a large fish tank was the focus in the room.
Its size was truly imposing and its contents were bright and elegant. Coral. Living rock. Reef fish with the wildest, most beautiful colours, some darting and some gracefully gliding forth. The flow of water was vigorous and added to the vibrancy of life in the aquarium. The fish tank in the centre of the room was a piece of living art.
“Wow. I’ve never seen a tank like this in a house.” Slice was absorbed by the view.
“It is my pride. Take me five years to get right. It is difficult to learn how to keep a large tank so healthy.”
“That’s definitely a big tank.”
“About seven hundred and twenty litres of water,” Matteo replied, “And here, look here, all the pumps and plumbing under here.” Matteo pointed to the cabinet under the glass structure. He scooted forward and opened one of the cabinet doors. “Beautiful, yes?”
Slice was impressed, “You did a brilliant job. Very professional.”
The hitman slowly made his way along the tank, admiring the marine scape like a kid in a lolly-shop. Slice had never paid much attention to fish tanks. Once, he had to stalk a job into the Manly Reef Aquarium, surrounded by the glass enclosure he was startled by a large shark with a thousand sharp teeth gliding above him. That vision had distracted him from his quarry, allowing the woman he was following to escape. Not his best day.
“I catch the fish myself. Look even the shrimp I catch.” Matteo pointed to a dainty crustacean with long feelers whipping around and little round black eyes which seemed to be neurotically searching. Slice was intrigued, a rare feeling for a man who cared for nothing other than spicy food, a nice red wine, a fast car and the occasional boy, preferably about eighteen.
Excited, Matteo stood up, beckoning Steven to follow.
“Steven, I have not shown you my true love. Come with me.”
Slice turned his head unsmiling. He hated the name Steven, the name Salvatore had bestowed on him, some years ago. But he couldn’t argue with The Old Boy, who reasoned it was a common enough name, easy to remember and forget about.
Matteo ushered the hitman through the kitchen into a dark room. In the subdued light, Slice saw another fish tank. It was small compared to the other aquarium, and its colour was different. Mesmerised by the subtle blue light Slice was drawn towards it, he moved slowly, completely entranced by the shape of the creature which was still in the glass enclosure. The special lighting accentuated the iridescent shape and the transparent body of the jelly-fish.
“That’s not a jelly blubber, is it?” Slice remarked with childish amazement.
“Not a jelly blubber at all. It is a stinger, a Box Jellyfish. Deadly. Very deadly to small fish, shrimp and other creatures, it likes to eat. Also, deadly to humans.” Matteo’s face was not far from Slice’s.
Slice couldn’t peel his eyes off the magnificent looking sea-creature. It was like he was bewitched. The transparent hood appeared to have a squarish shape, its tentacles were long and there were many of them, coming from each corner of the cubed hood.
Standing back, he noticed the tank was high rather than squat, “You catch him too?”
“I have a contact at the university. A girl, she works with the research people. I give her what she wants and she give me what I want. Sometimes, I give her extra.” Matteo made sure what he meant and grabbed his scrotum, laughing out loud.
Slice smiled thinly at the silly gesture.
“Kills a man too? This thing.” Slice stood straight and eyes narrowed.
“Oh yes. A very dangerous creature, this one. That’s why you must wear a stinger suit when you go into the water here.”
“How does it kill?” Slice studied the jellyfish intensely as he stooped to get closer to the glass. It was then that Slice removed his cap, exposing a matted but crisp, salt and pepper head of hair.
“It injects poison from the tentacles.” Matteo replied in slow admiration.
Matteo gawked at the strange man who was enthralled by the jellyfish. This man was a friend of his uncle. The man’s persona had changed when he had taken off the faded Broncos cap: from an ordinary, albeit intense man to someone who was wearing the wrong clothing to disguise his real self. Who was this man really? And why is he here checking up on me? A man who spoke hardly any Italian, who rarely smiled.
“What a fascinating creature!” Slice straightened with a radiant smile.
“Yes, Steven.” Matteo agreed with a nod.
“Can you touch it at all?”
“Yes. You can touch the bell.”
“The bell?” Questioning.
“Sorry, Steven. The head…you can touch it or pick it up from there.” Matteo pointed his finger to the jelly-fish’s head.
Slice nodded, and turned stepping back into the kitchen.
Matteo followed him.
“Coffee. Take me to your café.”
A command or suggestion, Matteo couldn’t work out which, but it irritated him.
CHAPTER 43
STIRRING THE POT
Joel read the phone number from the piece of paper Wilder had given him, pressing the corresponding numbers on his mobile. A long moment of nothing. At last, it started ringing. Six ring cycles. Joel’s pulse started to rise.
“Adam here.” The answer was crisp, businesslike.
“Good evening. I am Joel Shallowater from Queensland Police. I would like to ask you some questions. Is this a convenient time for you?” He had rehearsed the introduction about fifty times, playing it back like recording in his head.
“Convenient? No. But will I answer questions? Perhaps.” His tone was not entirely unfriendly, but definitely direct, catching Joel off-guard.
It took several breaths before Joel responded, “It’s about a wanted criminal, Edward Li … Livanescunic.” He cleared his throat.
“Eddie. A nasty piece of work. What do you want to know?”
“As much as you can tell me. I only know of the bad things he’s done. I understand he killed your boss, Catherine Hawkins. And that he is a former bikie.” Joel added.
“Eddie has only ever done bad things.” A blunt, instant response. “But first, why are you asking me? I am no longer with NSW Police.”
Surprised, “Oh. Sorry mate, I didn’t realise…err, I wasn’t told…”
“You weren’t to know. Let’s cut to the chase. Much of Eddie’s past is well-documented, and available to you through normal information sharing channels. Who are you with? Homicide or Organised Crime.”
“Neither.” Joel’s ears tingled.
“Okay?”
“Sorry, mate. I’m based in Townsville … General Duties, but I’m assisting our Criminal Investigation Unit with intelligence gathering on this Eddie character. My senior is Richard Wilder.”
“I’m afraid there’s not a lot I can add in relation to Eddie. You have an arrest warrant out, I take it?”
“Yes. Th
ere is.” This is going nowhere.
“Well, good luck with that.”
Time to play that trump card. “Can we talk about Darren Mangan instead?”
Instant silence.
…three, four, five seconds. Joel counted.
“How do you know about Darren?”
Joel shifted his butt on the chair, “Okay. I’m going to cut the official crap. I’m an acquaintance of Darren’s and he’s messed up in some stuff with Eddie. I’ve been looking into a murder case involving another taxi-driver. Eddie is on top of the list of suspects. I know there’s a connection between them and I believe there is history in Sydney. I think Darren’s life is in danger.”
Again, a pause.
Joel heard the deep sigh. Don’t fucking hang up on me.
“Catherine Hawkins, or Cate, as she was known, was my superior and friend. We were investigating the Devil’s Sinners Motorcycle Club for drug dealing activities. Eddie was their leader. Darren was Cate’s boyfriend and had history with Eddie. I don’t know exact details, but there was bad blood between them. Cate did not divulge many personal details about her life. There was a raid in Manly to intercept the Sinners who were about to start a gang-war with a notorious Italian family. The whole thing blew up in our faces. We didn’t have back-up. Eddie executed Cate and as well as another officer. An undercover operative. He was a very good friend of mine.”
Joel allowed a moment of quiet to pass.
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“Off the record. Darren went on a rampage after he found Cate. He returned to the Sinners clubhouse, drove his cab into the building, killing a couple of bikies.”
He added, “Eddie got away.”
“Hmm. Never realised any of that happened.”
“Darren hasn’t told you?”
“Not yet. Anything else I should know about?”
“Ask him. He knows a lot more about Eddie than anyone else.”
“Darren get charged for killing those bikies?” Joel asked.
“No. We arranged it to look like an accident. Taxi lost control due to brake malfunction, and all that. Cate had a lot of friends. One other reason: there were a few of us who didn’t want to see Eddie arrested to go through a lame-duck judiciary to be sentenced to ten years gaol with television privileges. We knew this much: Darren wasn’t going to leave a stone unturned to find Eddie and kill him. We were happy to let Darren do the punishing.”
“Who’s we?”
“Classified, my friend.”
“Unusual thinking for modern day law-enforcement. But off the record, I can see your point,” Joel said.
“By the way, how is Darren? I understand he still hasn’t learnt how to pick friends.”
A leading question, Joel was sure. “He’s alright. A bit skittish. He’s dealing with a few issues. Like having to settle a debt.” Joel offered a leading response.
“Darren’s association with a certain bank manager has put him in a precarious position. This organisation doesn’t tolerate thieves in its ranks. I am not at liberty to discuss any details, but as a favour to Darren: tell him he needs to watch his back.”
“Darren has other skeletons. Keep digging, Mister Shallowater, but don’t dig here from now on.” Adam ended the call.
Joel flicked the mobile next to him on the lounge, and slouched.
It wasn’t late, but that didn’t stop Joel from yawning. After mulling over the conversation with Adam, he had to consider carefully how to deal with his new-found knowledge of Darren. Bugger me! The murdered cop was his girlfriend!
No wonder Darren was cagey about Eddie. And his dog, all that blood spatter – a fucking tick bite, my arse. There was no sense in stirring the pot with Darren. No. Joel had to be subtle about this. It was about building trust.
Speaking of which, he mused. What about Wilder? Should he share with Wilder that the murdered copper was the cab driver’s girlfriend? Only, if asked, and he hoped that wasn’t any time in the next few days. Joel rolled his eyes, Wilder’s World. A top common-sense investigator but at times, painful to listen to.
Joel picked up his mobile and scrolled through his contacts, ‘Darren Cabbie’, keeping his gaze on the name. His thumb hovered over the dial button. No. Not now.
Joel sighed, got up from the lounge and went to the front door. He turned the key twice to deadlock the door, leaving the unit.
He needed to follow up on Billy’s progress.
***
On the way to Dover Plains something had come loose under the Civic. Whatever it was, it caused the car to sound like a boy-racer. Joel shook his head, and kept driving.
It was like Busta, the lazy ridgeback cross, had never moved since the last visit. Joel looked down at the big, brown dog lying against the stained weatherboard wall. Busta acknowledged Joel’s presence with a light slap of his tail, continuing his shut-eye.
Auntie Jilli stood at the open door, she had seen and heard the visitor arrive. “You bluddy fix that noise Joeley. The boys will steal it, they think it’s a jalopy racer, … hahahaha,” Her belly-laugh was infectious. She finished up in a cough, shaking her head, loving her own humour.
“Steady, Auntie, that’s my new car.” Joel roared in laughter.
The boisterous noise stirred the others in the house, Billy the first to appear in the kitchen, followed by Gemma with a disapproving face.
“Wasso funny?” Billy smiled, rubbing his eyes.
“Joeley got a new car, hihihi …” Jilli covered her mouth, giggling.
“Hey Billy, what’s goin’ on bruddah?” Joel held out his hand with open palm.
“Nuthin’.” Billy slapped it half-hearted.
“Billy bin a good boy. He bin helping me with de washing and de grass.”
“Good onya mate.”
“Wanna Coke Joel? Here ya go.” Jilli had already snatched a can out of the fridge, before he could decline. Too late.
“Sure, thank you.”
“Next time I’ll make sure to save some tucker. Billy eat lots. Nuthin’ left.” Jilli shot the boy a stern, but affectionate look.
“I came to say hello to you and Gemma, but would like to talk with Billy.” Joel looked back at Billy. Gemma had already returned to her room.
“You done the hello, go with Billy,” Jilli ushered them, arms wide.
“Wanna see my new car?” Joel laughed, and beckoned Billy to come with him.
Billy stood motionless at first, like his feet were stuck to the floor. He didn’t protest, but the reluctance to participate was apparent. He relented without a word.
Chin low and eyes down he dragged his thongs over the timber floor boards. Once out on the concrete patio, Joel stopped him, “Cheer up. We are not going to a funeral. We’re just having a yarn.”
Billy stuck his hands down his pockets. The camouflage shorts were too big, came past his kneecaps, and hung low on his skinny frame. The noise of his thongs lazily sliding on the dirt covered concrete accentuated the mood. The boy didn’t respond to Joel’s attempt at easing the atmosphere. The pouting on Billy’s face translated into things that Joel already suspected. There was a lot more on Billy’s mind than helping Auntie Jilli with her laundry and mowing.
Joel couldn’t help being torn between two worlds: one that championed helping a kid who was part of his own heritage from becoming another statistic – the other, getting a drug-dealing juvenile criminal off the streets, to stop the scourge of crime cycling through another generation of his peers.
CHAPTER 44
A NEW MAN
It was raining in Cairns. Driving around in a town where Eddie had never been before was testing his patience and stirring his anxiety. Traffic was slow to move. Peak hour through the roundabouts, heading towards the CBD. Where would he begin to look? He inched the Camry forward in the queue, the windscreen wipers slapped a thousand drops off the glass, only to do it again in ten seconds. Eddie’s eyelids were getting heavier, sitting in traffic, his mind having been in overdrive for the last tw
o hours. A casual glance to his right drew his sudden attention. A big yellow billboard. That was it. Why not look there first? Yellow Pages.
McDonald’s for breakfast. Eddie pulled into the drive-through, ordered his meal and coffee. Once through, he parked in the carpark and attacked his breakfast. Post office was the next stop.
His hunch was spot-on. The yellow billboard with the Yellow Pages icon proved to be true to its slogan. Eddie found the name, B. Livanescunic, in the White Pages section. Get fucked. How good is that?
The address line showed a mobile number and a landline. Eddie sat back behind the wheel. How long had it been? 15 years or more? He tried to recall the last time, it was at his cousin Becca’s thirteenth birthday. Big family gathering, lots of music, old codger’s music, his second taste of Slivovitz and first taste of Milania – the girl from next door who had dragged him into her backyard, lifted her dress, pulled her undies to one side while pressing Eddie’s face with her other hand, against her sodden pussy.
***
“Bruce’s Bang for Buck Cars. How can I help you?” Eddie was impressed with the greeting. Bogdan’s voice had a familiar ring to it. Relieved that he had the right number, Eddie decided to play a little game.
“Yeah, mate. I’m looking for a Beemer, no more than twenty years old, manual, with a six, and … only in pink, with two blondes in the back seat, legs wide open.” Eddie waited.
“Wouldn’t we all? I do have a black BMW in the yard. You’re welcome to inspect.” The answer was sober and without a flinch of humour.
“Shit Bogdan, is that all you got?” Eddie broke out in a guttural laugh.
“Who the fuck is this? Only family used to call me Bogdan, and last I remember I don’t have any!” The car dealer hung up.
Eddie pressed the redial.
“Bruce’s Bang …”
“It’s Eddie, you mug! Your cousin.” Eddie paused to listen for a reaction.
“Young Boris. I’ll be buggered.”
“No one’s called me by that name for a long time,” Eddie replied.
“It’s been twenty years since I … left.”
A Tropical Cure (A Darren Mangan Thriller Book 2) Page 20
