A Tropical Cure (A Darren Mangan Thriller Book 2)

by John Hollenkamp

  Bruce’s eyes followed his cousin, while picking up the phone. He then resumed his focus on remembering the number.

  “Gainesy.”

  “Boggo. Nice to hear from you. Still living in the tropics, aye? Too bloody hot for me.” Peter Gaines drew heavily from his smoke, then he coughed like an emphysema sufferer.

  “Fuck, Pete. That doesn’t sound so good mate,” Bruce said.

  “I think you got more problems than I do, my old friend.” Wheezing again.

  “Go on. What’s on your mind, big fella?”

  “One of our mutual friends here in Vic got an offer too good to knock back. From up your way.”

  “I don’t recall offering any cunt any good deal in Victoria.” Bruce tapped a pen on the desk.

  “The drugs aren’t destined for Vic, mate.”

  “They are for your backyard.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A bloke who operates from near you. He’s been undermining your biz. You know the Pom, he who sails the waters between Indo and the East coast, well, he’s struck a deal with someone from Magnetic Island. He’s cutting your grass, bud. That idiot gets the ole diarrhoea of the mouth after a few Gin & Tonics. Word on the street travels like Bali Belly, mate. Your Italian friend on the island is now the Pom’s best mate.”

  “Always thought that bastard was on the sly.” Bruce’s eyes narrowed, he snapped the pen he was fiddling with in half. “Magnetic Island, eh.”

  “Pommy was never shy with words. Not too many do business with him. He’s slippery. But, he comes up with deals that are too good to resist. By some.”

  “Fuck the Pom, it’s that little Italian turd in my employ that’s cutting my grass,” Bruce uttered scornful.

  “Anyway, mate. You know how these things go. Loyalties and so it goes. I can’t be your eye-in-the-sky much longer. Don’t let this get out of hand. It’ll bury you.” Pete’s voice trailed off, then he coughed again, persistently for a minute.

  Bruce winced hearing his mate’s violent cough at the end of the line. “Maybe you ought to flick the smokes, Pete. Not doing you any good.”

  Gasping for air, he strained, “Won’t matter, Boggo. Sentence has been passed. And you know what’s funny? I’ve managed to stay out of lock-up for the last ten years. I’d a been killed inside, quick, probably wouldn’t have even known about it,” Pete lit another cigarette, this time exhaling without a cough. “Instead, I can die outside, slow. I got cancer of the lungs, mate,” Pete said sober.

  Bruce cleared his throat, “Shit.”

  ***

  After the call ended, Bruce remained behind his desk, pensive and silent. The news that his old mate was dying had rocked him, overshadowing the other news, temporarily.

  Eddie came through the office door, “What are you all sour-faced for?”

  At first, staring into space Bruce didn’t budge, then he turned his gaze to Eddie.

  “There’s a problem festering down south,” Bruce spoke solemnly.

  “What sort of problem?”

  “The kind that needs sorting carefully, decisively, and soon.” Bruce spoke slowly, rubbing his smooth chin.

  “I’m all ears.” Eddie sat on the edge of his desk with his arms folded on his chest.

  “My Italian on the island appears to be doing business on the sly, with the Pom. That’s what the phone call was about. Peter Gaines is a long-time friend from Sydney days. He moved to Melbourne many years ago to … further his career, shall we say. Knows a lot of people. We keep in touch … not often, but always when it counts. He’s saying that they have been promoting cheap drugs in our backyard. Cunning little bastard. You know, he’s related to one of the big families operating down south. Melbourne. I don’t even know whether he’s pissin’ in the family pond, or he’s in cahoots with them.”

  Eddie listened intently.

  “Remember a few weeks back … problem with a shipment? … It’s beginning to make sense. Matteo told me the Pom had reneged on a deal about ‘cash upfront’. He needed more money to secure the larger amount of merchandise. It was going to delay everything. At the time, I thought it was a nuisance. Matteo is using my dough to finance his sideline. The delay …,“ Bruce breathed in, “ is his window.”

  Eddie watched as his cousin exploded in a fleeting rage, hurling the handset against the top window pane of the office door. The glass panel rattled, but stayed intact. The plastic phone dropped to the tiled floor with an unceremonious clatter.

  “His window of what?”

  “Time. Opportunity to convert someone else’s money into his profits.”

  “Sounds like he’d make a fucking good banker.”

  “Very funny.” Bruce eyed his cousin with some derision. “I’ve got to look after the supply line. Which means, I have to stay friends with the Pom.”

  “Why can’t you just fuck them both off?”

  “The Pom is valuable to me. At least for the time being. He knows his way around Indo and Papua New Guinea, has the connections to source the merchandise. It’s cheap, and the quality, good. Not too many go-betweens, semi regular. He’s managed to stay under the radar … so far anyway.”

  This show was different from the scene Eddie was used to.

  “Up until now, I’ve not involved you with the other crew. That’s going to change. I’ll introduce you to a few key players soon. But, like everyone else, you got to earn your keep.”

  “Thought I was doing that already,” Eddie nodded at the cars in the yard.

  “Out there, that’s our cover, a legit operation. Quite profitable at times. My banking associate doesn’t ask too many questions either.”

  Eddie bent over to pick up the handset still on the floor next to the door.

  “Still in one piece?” Bruce asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Pity, the bloke I just spoke to isn’t.”

  “What? Me? Nothing wrong with me, mate.” Eddie’s face darkened a little.

  “Not you. Pete.” Bruce rolled his eyes a fleeting moment. “Pete is going to cark it soon. So he says. Fucking lung cancer. How about that, aye.”

  He breathed in heavier than normal, then sighed. “Can’t dwell on that shit, it happens. Got other shit to sort.” Hesitantly, grabbing the ornate metal tin where he kept his special cigarillos.

  Eddie’s eyes fell on Bruce’s hand, touching the tin, lifting it slightly, then putting it down.

  Their eyes met. “Maybe, I ought to quit.”

  Eddie shook his head, and stepped to the window.

  “So, what are we going to do with your Italian?” Eddie’s question was loaded.

  Bruce didn’t speak at first, instead he ran his finger in front of his throat, from one side to the other.

  “That’s how you’re going to earn your keep.” Finishing the directive.

  CHAPTER 65

  RESTORED, HARDLY THE SAME

  The brakes were prone to squealing, Joel didn’t mind although one day he’d have to see a mechanic and find out why. Maybe they needed replacing. His love for cars didn’t go much beyond looks. He possessed basic knowledge about horsepower, cylinders and how to drive a car, and drive it fast. Since Darren was the previous owner of the XC, and because Darren seemed to have a better idea about mechanical issues, he would be the man to see. Joel parked the squeaky sedan behind Ruby’s scooter in the driveway. The big four-wheel drive Patrol was nowhere to be seen.

  Joel went around back, greeted by Patch he rolled the dog over and rubbed the cattle-dog’s tummy in rough play. He noticed everything had been restored to previous condition. No broken glass, smashed around paint-tins, or blood stains.

  By the time, Joel made it to the back door, Ruby had already opened it. Her face was stressed.

  “He’s gone. Must have left early this morning,” Ruby spoke rapidly.

  “Where to?” Joel questioned.

  “My guess. Cairns.” Ruby beckoned Joel to come in.

  “Doing what?” Stupid question. I know ex
actly what the bugger is doing. Joel followed her limping stride into the lounge room.

  “I think it’s got something to do with this Eddie chap,” she sighed. “Look at this.” Ruby picked up part of a newspaper from the coffee-table. “The newspaper. He’s torn out an ad of some kind. There’s a bit left. See, BRUCE’S BANG…it’s a used car place. He was reading the paper last night.”

  “Cairns Post,” Joel mumbled, holding the flimsy newspaper open on page 6 and 7. The ceiling fan kept blowing ears on page 6, interrupting his inspection of the ad.

  “He must have been getting that newspaper for a few weeks now. The recycle bin is full of them.” Ruby rolled her eyes.

  “How are you going? Getting the stitches out soon?” Finally, putting the newspaper down, roughly, like he hated the damn thing.

  “Next week. Thank God.” After a few seconds pause, “He’s been grizzling about this Eddie character, ever since I’ve come home from hospital. Grumbling about how lucky I was with Mister Knifeman, and how he wouldn’t forgive himself if Eddie would harm me.”

  Joel listened quietly, feigning concern on his face, but his brain was working overtime. Silly prick’s gonna get himself killed.

  “You’re still hobbling. Leg giving you grief?”

  “Not as much as Darren,” Ruby muttered.

  “Yeah, the bugger is good at dishing out the grief,” Joel raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll be good as new.”

  “You think?” How can you possibly come back normal after sticking a screwdriver into someone’s eye-socket? Joel stared, away from her.

  “He could have waited for me. I could have helped him,” Ruby moped.

  “Why? What were you going to do?” Joel huffed with a sceptical shake of his head.

  “Back him up!” she replied angrily.

  “Hey, woman. Take it easy. Might I remind you that Darren chasing down a dangerous criminal puts him on the other side of the law. You helping him out makes you an accessory. By the way, you did get lucky last week. Turns out that Mister Knife was a professional hitman, and he probably didn’t figure he’d be meeting a stroppy vet nurse.” Joel’s reply was intentionally harsh.

  Ruby looked at him, the anger in her eyes had not receded.

  The frustration showing on his face, Joel retreated towards the front door; it was not the way he’d envisaged this visit to pan out. Struggling with his emotions, and with his empathetic nature, which seemed to get him into trouble all the time, he hesitated. He had to cut her some slack. She had only been out of hospital a couple of days, and he wasn’t convinced that the trauma from killing a man would disappear in a week.

  His hand was on the doorhandle, “Must be hard dealing with having to kill someone.” Joel spoke quietly. “Even though he was evil as sin.” Adding, with sting.

  Joel was hoping he could douse the fire. He liked her. She was one of the most courageous people he’d ever met.

  “I was in Iraq. Six months. Not a pleasant place, especially for a female medic from a small seaside village in England. But I survived. Up here, as well.” Ruby pointed her finger to her head.

  “What about here?” Joel put his hand on his heart.

  Ruby stared at him empty, her face totally still, “It leaves a hole, when you kill someone. A hole in your heart. It’s devastating.”

  She sat herself down, her face hardened, “But sometimes, you have to put that hole into your enemy’s heart, by killing them. It’s life.” Her voice trailed into a whisper, then silence.

  She sighed.

  Joel relaxed his hand from the doorhandle and stepped towards her, “You were in the army?”

  “Yes. Six years. British Army, infantry. I had special training in the use of assault rifles, but I transferred, became a medic, still armed with an assault rifle, part of a special team.” Ruby revealed. “I tried to save the wounded. Once, I had to kill a man to save another. He wasn’t the only one.” Her eyes channelling into a thousand-mile stare.

  “I’m sorry to hear. Sorry, you’ve had to endure a part of life we have no idea about. Makes a mockery out of complaining.”

  “Complaining about what?”

  “Pretty much everything, that us, the law-abiding, upstanding, self-ingratiating citizens whinge about, including too much sauce on the burger.”

  Ruby remained silent.

  “I have to go.” And he turned to the door.

  Joel was surprised about Ruby’s revelation about her military past. Now wasn’t the time to ask her more. There were more pressing issues, like finding Darren and stopping him before he would do something stupid.

  “You were lucky to survive.” Stopping at the door.

  “What, Iraq?”

  “Iraq and the other day,” Joel said. “Third time, you might not be so lucky, please stay put and look after that bung leg of yours.” He went through the door and left.

  CHAPTER 66

  THIS BIRD HAS FLOWN

  Darren had tiptoed out of the bedroom. Ruby would have woken by the sound of him stepping on an ant.

  A light sleeper was inadequate to describe her nocturnal restlessness. A legacy from lying under the stars out in the field, the war-zone. Only back then she wasn’t on heavy pain-killers. Ruby’s wounds were healing, but the pain would still haunt her at night, interfering with her already poor sleeping.

  Darren had already moved the Patrol around the corner the night before, telling Ruby that he had to start work early, and he didn’t want to disturb her beauty sleep. Of course, she told him he was full of shit, and she didn’t need sleep for her beauty, for she was beautiful on the inside.

  The biggest problem for Darren was how to keep Patch from chucking a willy, and going off like ten barking silky terriers, because he was going to be left behind. In order to appease the dog, and keep him occupied Darren had stashed a bone in the shed beer-fridge. Yep, that worked really well. Darren rolled his eyes, and kept walking to the truck. Patch was stretching the wire chain clipped to his collar, trying his best to pull the shed off its foundations, while ensuring everything within a kilometre radius would hear his complaint.

  Darren winced at Patch’s protestations, deciding to ignore him as he started the big diesel, hoping Ruby wouldn’t be running out to ask where he was going at 4am.

  The cabin shuddered once, followed by the smell of diesel combustion, Darren eased the truck into first, and drove into the dark morning.

  Travelling to Cairns in the early hours before dawn came with dodging the odd, stray wallaby that would hop in front of an oncoming car. Darren was happy that on this morning no wallabies had wound up under the Patrol. Being a Friday, the Bruce Highway would feature many trucks and semis travelling both ways, combined with slow caravaners causing caterpillar-like congestion following behind. In turn, triggering stupid overtaking manoeuvres by impatient drivers. Thank fuck I’m not a truckie. I would have turned out violent.

  Leaving that thought behind, Darren slowed the Nissan, eventually stopping behind a dozen cars, stationary in front. Brake lights on. Waiting on the traffic control light sitting on a trailer, to change from red.

  The early glow from the rising sun was starting to warm the cabin, Darren pressed the electric window control, listening to the whirring sound as the glass dropped, letting the humid air enter. He wasn’t far from Cairns now. Another hour and a bit, he figured.

  ***

  Bruce’s Bang For Buck Cars wasn’t hard to find. Darren had parked the Patrol behind a number of parallel-parked cars along the street where the caryard was located. Not quite out of sight, but reasonably inconspicuous, at least for an hour or so, before someone might make a remark about a bloke not getting out of his truck.

  From the comfort of the driver’s seat, Darren could keep an eye out on the office and most of the caryard, about seventy metres away. It wasn’t until 8.30am when the first person appeared. A slender girl in her early twenties carrying a briefcase was unlocking the door to the office. Darren sipped from his take-awa
y coffee, his eyes peeled anticipating others to turn up for work. She came out seconds later, and unlocked the padlock securing the chain, letting it drop to the ground, then dragging it out of the way.

  A silver Beamer swished past the Patrol and turned sharply into the caryard’s driveway. Darren perked up, shifting in his seat, now paying focussed attention to the actions of the silver sportscar. With eyes peeled, Darren saw a broad-shouldered, tall, dark-haired bloke emerging from the BMW, sporting a blue shirt and light-coloured tie, with dark trousers. The dash clock read 8.52am. About fucking time.

  Eddie. A scrubbed-up Eddie.

  Darren’s heart started pounding.

  Brief rage surged through his veins.

  He just wanted to walk up to Eddie and rip him apart.

  No.

  Instead, Darren sank lower in his seat. Clenching his jaw, he could feel his teeth grinding. He reached for his sunglasses on the dash, with both hands he placed them carefully on his nose, Darren started the truck, wound up the dark-tinted windows and drove out from his parking spot past the car dealership. Stopped at the lights, a little further down, he noticed his hands trembling while resting on the wheel.

  His mind sinking into the past, it felt like a flashback from Warraba Road in Narrabeen. Only this time, Eddie wouldn’t be surrounded and protected by his bikie brothers.

  The lights had changed, and Darren started moving with the traffic.

  His heartbeat had steadied, calming him as he concentrated on the road. His mind going back to the thoughts of a few minutes ago, this time with greater distance. It was time to plan.

  Despite the absence of biker brothers, Eddie on his own wasn’t a push-over either. He would have to be smart about surprising the bastard, and he didn’t want to just kill him on the spot. But, to Darren torturing humans was an abhorrent practice played out by psychos and sickos. In this case, he was prepared to overlook his conviction, and ensure Eddie couldn’t repent, even if he begged for it. I’m going to make you squirm, scream and beg for your life. You deserve nothing less. His hands were tight on the steering wheel.