“I’m going back on the road. Those two guys will hang here for another twenty.” Eyes pointing to the two officers guarding the Charade. The humourless patrolman walked off to his car.
Joel sighted the white Transit van, indicator signalling. Forensics.
“Hope you guys are in a good mood today,” Joel mumbled to himself.
The Ford Transit pulled up next to where Joel was waiting. The passenger window whirred and lowered. “They give you all the good jobs, don’t they?”
“I’m just a lucky bloke,” Joel countered.
“Take us to your treasure.”
The Forensics team consisted of two today. Anna, an ex-paramedic, a wiry mid-forties woman who said very little, and never smiled. Brody, a casual good-bloke with a sharp sense of humour.
“Who’s got a twenty-cent coin?” Brody’s eyes jumping from Joel to Anna.
Anna rolled her eyes, and carried on with prepping her camera gear.
“Why?” Joel asked.
Anna had her camera out by now, and had started clicking like there was no tomorrow, circling the Charade.
“Dibs on who gets to open the can of worms,” Brody replied.
“Out of coins, fella,” Joel said with open hands up.
“Guess it’s me.” Brody brought his arm up to cover his face and nose.
The opening of the door sounded like a puff of wind. Brody stood back to release the fumes from inside the car. No matter how many bodies he had dealt with in the last ten years, the first whiff was always bad. It would take him about five minutes to adjust, and not worry about it after that.
“Been here for more than a few days. The heat and locked up windows don’t help,” Brody muffled from under his forearm.
Joel had walked up the hill five metres, the foul stench seemed to follow him.
By this time, Brody had his head stuck in the open door.
“Can’t see any injuries, although his head sits a bit awkward. Won’t be able to confirm until we get him out. Coroner’s crew coming?”
“Soon as you give me the nod,” Joel replied, hand covering his face and nose.
“I nod,” Brody said.
“You’re a fast nodder. Didn’t even see a flicker,” Joel answered with a wide grin.
“We’ll wait for the Coroner to get him out. By the look of him, it’s probably a neck job.”
Anna had poked her head in the Charade and started snapping pictures of the dead man. Her face didn’t twitch, her eyes didn’t flinch.
CHAPTER 55
TRUTH OR DARE?
Darren woke with a start; Patch’s high-pitched barking was loud and ear-piercing. He sprang out of bed and went to see what all the fuss was about. Patch was at the door, grumble-growling while Darren came up behind him. “Good boy,” he whispered.
Ruby had gone home late last evening, leaving Darren to polish off his bottle of Beam. Maybe it was Ruby coming back. Patch had stopped his growling now, his tail started wagging. Must be Ruby, by the look of his tail.
A light knock on the door.
Darren unlocked and opened the door wide. Patch jumped up to greet the visitor.
“I’ll have you know that I still like girls more than boys,” Joel said with a surprised look, and widening grin.
“Holy fuck!” Darren quickly covering his genitals with his hands, stepping back. His eyes were scratchy, his vision sleep-blurred from a grog-induced crash out.
“Glad you cupped those jewels, bloke. Reckon the dog might have a go at them when he sees those morsels.” Joel couldn’t contain his mirth any longer, and broke into a knee-slapping laugh. Patch disappeared down the stairs in a hurry.
Darren shook his head in disgust, and turned towards the safety of his bedroom.
He found some shorts on the floor, carried them to the bathroom, had a piss and came back out into the loungeroom. “Fucken hell, you’re a pest. Can’t a bloke have a sleep-in?”
“It’s bloody lunchtime. There’s already drunks out on the streets, bruddah.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just saying.”
“Cut the crap, will you. Too early for that.” Darren went to the kitchen sink and grabbed the jug. “Wanna a brew?”
“Since you’re offeren,” Joel replied, seating himself on the couch.
Darren dawdled in the kitchen, opening cupboard doors looking for things eluding his misted mind. Never drinking again.
“You’re making a bloody racket in there. All you need is two cups, one teaspoon, coffee and sugar.”
“Milk.” Darren grunted.
“Look in the fridge, bruddah.”
“Smartarse.”
By now, Joel was tapping the heel of his boot on the timber floor board. He wasn’t here for the coffee, or the company of a grump. He decided to take the punt and ask about a woman called, Cate.
“Tell me about your friend, Cate.” Expecting a terse and blunt reaction.
The only thing heard in the silence was the kettle rumbling until it went “click”.
“Where did you get her name from?” As the boiler settled.
“From a bloke named Adam.”
Darren nodded in silence.
“I believe you know him. I rang him about Simon Rowe’s homicide. We spoke about your interesting mortgage arrangement with Simon. You know, the car that chased you around, the dark-green Commodore. Similar one got stolen a week ago, and torched. A twelve-year-old Aboriginal kid got killed; he was part of the crew that pinched the car, his body was dumped, severely beaten and had an ignition barrel from a Commodore shoved down his throat so deep …” Joel paused and cleared his throat. “Never mind, it makes me sick.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Darren commented. Shit, what else does he know?
“So, there’s Simon Rowe, there’s the Commodore, there’s you. Reckon there’s a link? It’s no coincidence, is it? He tortured Simon before cutting his throat. Cut four of his fingers off, with secateurs.” Joel’s face was angry. “Then, poor Billy.”
“That’s pretty fucked up,” Darren agreed.
“I’d say, you’ll be next.”
“Me?”
“You reckon the Commodore driver wanted to lure you into a street race? Even I know an XC is about as much a muscle car as a Hillman. Your mate was killed on orders from a crime syndicate. Your close association with Simon places you next in line.”
“Says who?”
“Says Adam.”
“How come my name came up in all of this?” Darren’s eyes narrowed.
“Because I brought up your name. I knew about your connection with Simon.”
Darren stared blankly, “And what about Cate?”
“There’s a crim called Eddie. Got an arrest warrant for him, wanted by the coppers in NSW.”
Darren’s face reddened with anger. “Go on.”
“I know what happened with Cate.”
Darren sighed heavy, staring at the wall. Silent and reflective. Joel let the moments pass.
“I started connecting a few other dots … this Eddie - you turning up at the bikers’ joint - right on the money. How did that happen?”
“Scanner, mate. Old school but it helps me keep tabs.”
“On what?”
“Never mind.”
“Tell me about this Eddie.”
Darren’s face was drawn. Bringing back the past brought pain he had been trying to forget.
“It’s a long story. First time I crossed paths with him was a few years ago in Sydney. Cunt killed my best mate, Johnno. A premeditated murder, an ambush.”
“I didn’t know that. Was Cate involved in investigating this murder?”
“Funny you ask. That’s how we met.”
Joel didn’t want to press further about Cate, seeing the pained look on Darren’s face.
“You reckon he’s here in town? Eddie, I mean.”
“It was him that stabbed Patch.”
“I fucken knew it. Tick bite. You’re a classic.�
� Joel’s eyes lit with glee.
Darren didn’t share the elation.
“Don’t think Patch was the target, poor bugger got in the way. He was after me. You see, Eddie went to visit Pete, my boss, before heading over to my place. Sent Pete to hospital too. Was following the copper’s frequency the next day and heard about the fracas at the bikers’ club. Figured Eddie wouldn’t be too far away. Should have thought about the bikie link before. Might have found the bastard earlier.”
Darren was drained. Hung over.
“Eddie came to Townsville chasing a kilo of high grade cocaine. Which ended up in my possession. Another long story.” Darren returned to the kitchen, turned the tap and drank the water dribbling from the spout.
“The coke deal with the bank manager. I get it now.”
Darren finished his drink from the tap. “You’re right about the stalker. They want me to pay for the cocaine, and a lot more. And yes, they have threatened to kill me, unless I come up with four hundred thousand bucks.”
“You are in a pickle. You ought to sit down and work out what you want to tell me. I can’t stay, ‘cause I got shit to do.” Joel stood. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Darren looked at the jug, unmoved since it had boiled.
“Shit. Sorry, too much excitement.”
“You know you could sell me the XC, might help you pay off those gangsters.”
“Piss off. I gotta have a shower,” Darren said wearily.
“See you soon, alright?” Joel extended his hand. “Friends, bloke. Friends.”
Darren took it, nodding. “Yeah. No worries.”
“Make sure you got your dacks on, next time I front. Might have to charge you with threatening an officer of the law with a dangerous weapon.”
“Very funny.” Darren closed the door behind his new mate.
It was going to be a long day.
***
Not long after Darren got in the shower, the bathroom door opened with a smiling blond woman standing in it. “Hi there. Room for another?”
Darren rinsed the soap from his face, waving her in. Ruby was undressed in three seconds. The door was left ajar. A minute later, Patch appeared at the slightly open door, he nudged it further, standing in the doorway with a wagging tail.
“No room for you. Go on, fuck off, Patch.”
“Not into others watching?” Ruby laughed.
They showered for fifteen minutes, making absolutely sure that they were clean.
After towelling off, they retreated into the bedroom. Darren stood erect, naked with a devious smile. She closed in on him and held him in her hand. Darren felt her hand tightening from his swelling.
“Do you think there’s time for hanky-panky?” That sweet, British voice.
Darren ran his fingers down the small of her back, slow and gentle. He stopped where her bony spine disappeared into the smooth, tight cleft enveloped by her full-fleshed, muscular buttocks. He cupped his hand over her buttock, his fingers caressed her silky skin, a thousand sensors guiding him further until his hand reached her thigh. He sensed her deep breath, his chin nestled in her tussled, wet hair. Her face was buried in his chest.
“It’s awfully tempting, isn’t it?” she said suddenly.
“Tempting? Aren’t we past temptation yet? I am tempted, well and truly.” A wide smile appeared on his devilish face as he held her dreamy gaze.
“This place has to be vacant in five days,” she reminded him. “And, today is already halfway spent. Do you propose to wave a magic wand?”
Darren frowned and agreed reluctantly. “Fair enough. We would emerge from our temptation, weathered and worn, too … spent, to do anything. Sounds like an exercise worth giving up.” He rolled his eyes.
“At least you understand that quickies are out of the question.”
“Feels military,” Darren chided.
“What? Just because I think quickies are boring.”
“No. It’s your forward planning thing. But I probably do need a kick up the arse from time to time. There’s a few that have said that.” Darren mumbled.
He snatched his dacks from the bed.
“Like who?” Ruby retrieved her clothing from the bed.
“Who what?”
“People who think you need a kick up the arse,” she replied.
“My mum, my old man, god rest his soul, and Caye … Cate.” Darren held his breath for a moment.
Ruby’s eyes narrowed, “Probably a good time to tell me about, Cate.” She grabbed her bra from the bed and vanished into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Darren shook his head. Tell the truth, nothing but the truth.
“I’m hungry. Wanna go for lunch somewhere?” He had his mouth close to the bathroom door. No answer.
“I promise to tell you everything about Cate.”
“More to tell, is there?” Muffled, and not friendly.
“Yes.” Reluctantly, at the door.
“Good.” Her reply was blunt, but agreeable.
Darren heard the retracting of the door latch, and stepped back. Ruby opened the bathroom door, “There was more to Cate than her being just a sparring partner at your boxing club, wasn’t there?” Attempting to dry her hair with a towel, her green eyes projected like lasers. Darren swallowed.
“I’m sorry. I only told you half the story.”
CHAPTER 56
OLD NEWS
The new battery kicked the eight into life with much greater ease. Slice had renegotiated after the test drive. A laboured start to kick over the 5.0 litre V8 for the first drive didn’t inspire him to part with four and a half thousand dollars. Although Eddie had pointed out that the deal was already rock-bottom, he eventually succumbed to his customer’s threat to walk. Because Slice did walk, knowing the salesman was already hooked on the sale. Upon reaching the footpath at the exit from the caryard, he heard the rushed footsteps coming from behind. “You made your point. I’ll throw in a new battery. Alright.”
Paperwork completed, documents signed, Eddie held the keys in his fingertips and smiled broadly, “Enjoy your new ride, my friend. Come and see us, if there’s any problems.”
Slice smiled thinly, nodding once and then made his way out. After opening the door, he settled behind the wheel and turned the key, bringing the eight to life with throaty rumble. Before driving off, Slice spotted another man approaching the office, remarkably similar in looks to Ed, the salesman.
He wasn’t overly impressed with the XR8, he much preferred the Commodore. Dismissing the irrelevant criticisms as petty compared to other pressing issues, he cast his mind to the more important questions. Where did Matteo fit into this caryard thing? What about this Ed character? DSMC? D-S-M-C … Devils … Sinners … Motorcycle Club. Was it coincidence? He had to know for sure. Only one way to find out: contact the idiot biker from Townsville. Today would be busy.
There were other issues: loose ends, lots of them. His job to deal with the cab driver hadn’t been completed. Sal wanted the money the cab driver owed him, first. The mob boss had Buckley’s chance of getting his money back. He wondered how far the cops would get with his identity. When he had signed the rental agreement for the apartment unit, he had ensured that his physical description couldn’t be easily matched by subsequent physical descriptions. Slice was excellent in the art of make-up. It was unfortunate that the coppers had seen him in his natural state. All the more reason for him to consider his future. The police now had an accurate description of his real self. Living like a chameleon had become an immediate necessity.
Back in his hotel room, Slice looked into his call history for the biker’s number. After finding the number, he pressed the redial, waiting for the ringer to start.
“Ryker.” A deep voice.
“Remember me?” That always got someone’s attention.
“What? Remember who?” Gruff.
“The guy who paid you to send a message to a taxi driver.”
“Oh yeah. Didn’t recognise your voice.”
A whole lot friendlier now.
“I have another favour to ask.” Slice looked at the ‘No smoking in this room’ sign, putting his cigarette packet back down on the side table.
“Sure, mate. Ask away.”
“Ever heard of the Devil’s Sinners Motorcycle Club?”
“Yep. Why?”
“Is there such a club in Townsville?”
“Nope. But I know the arsehole that used to run one in Sydney.”
Slice sat up.
“Who was that guy?”
“Cunt called Eddie.”
Bingo.
“And, where is this Eddie now?”
“A rough guess, but a good one…north…Cairns, I reckon.”
Bingo again.
Slice was about to say something, when the biker interrupted him.
“We actually sent Eddie to do the message job, but he fucked up. Got bitten by the cab driver’s dog…hahaha.” Ryker laughed, husky, and not for long.
My-oh-my. Bingo for the third time.
“What happened to the taxi driver?”
Ryker cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t going to have to repay the money.
“Eddie didn’t get to him.”
Silence for a moment.
“Okay. No worries.” Slice ended the call.
He was more relaxed now, happy to have finally found the elusive Eddie.
Earlier, Slice had parked the XR8 in the underground parking area, secure behind a locked gate accessible only by using the correct PIN with a security tag. Recent events in Townsville had made him edgy. While in the lift, he had tried to calm in anticipation of a difficult call to Salvatore.
His room was a perfect twenty-four degrees, nevertheless, he had to wipe the sweat from his brows. He was happy with his decision to ring the biker first, but not looking forward to The Old Boy’s chastising. Salvatore always insisted on punctuality. Now, Slice was late for his scheduled call.
The last conversation with the mob boss didn’t finish on a great note either, so he had to be careful with his words, and news. That was the problem, there was nothing new to report, other than Eddie, but Slice had decided to keep an ace up his sleeve, and that card was Eddie. There would be no mention of Eddie. To Salvatore the old adage, ‘no news is good news’, was a load of horseshit, no news meant that you didn’t do your job – grounds for dismissal or termination. Neither would happen to Slice; nevertheless, the old bastard could make life very difficult. Slice pressed the speed dial.
A Tropical Cure (A Darren Mangan Thriller Book 2) Page 27
