A Tropical Cure (A Darren Mangan Thriller Book 2)

by John Hollenkamp

  Eddie gunned the car into the first fifty or so metres, trying to vanish out of sight from the main road. The Statesman bucked a little. He could now hear the banging from the boot. No doubt, his prisoner would be thrown around, and hopefully, not having to swallow too much dust. Did he really care?

  Other tracks branching from the one he was on were going in different directions. The bush around him was dry and thin. Eddie figured he was a good half-a-kilometre into the scrub. He remembered the clearing, and decided to stop. He switched the car off, and killed the lights. The courtesy interior lights came on as soon as he opened the door.

  Leaving the door open provided some light.

  He held the Walther loosely in his left hand, unlocking the boot with the keyless entry held between his thumb and fingers on the other hand. The cuts and tears from the dog bites had healed well, but bruising to the bony parts was still a lingering issue, when clenching a fist, or holding a gun too long.

  Eddie lifted the boot lid about thirty centimetres, switching on the pen-light, shining through the gap.

  She squinted at the bright light.

  But she was calm.

  “You gonna behave?” Clearly showing her the Walther in his hand.

  Ruby nodded.

  “One wrong move.” Eddie held up one finger, lifting the boot fully open.

  Ruby shook her head.

  Eddie wrapped one hand firmly around the front of Ruby’s T-shirt and pulled her up straight. Awkwardly she sat, the back of her head touched the inside of the boot lid. Ruby lifted her hands to her face, with wrists bound tight she tried to further loosen the duct tape covering her mouth. Eddie slapped her hands away.

  “I see you’ve had a go at the tape. I’ll have to fix that up.”

  Ruby put her hands down and clumsily pointed to her groin. She tried to verbalise what she wanted. Eddie understood the muffled words.

  “Sure.” And he picked her up under the arms and set her down on the dirt. Ruby stood on two feet trying to balance herself. Her ankles were still bound. She shot her captor a questioning look.

  “Oh. Suppose it’s hard with pants on.” Eddie put his fingers down the front of her jeans, and unbuttoned her with his thumb and finger, the knuckle digging into her soft belly. Then he pulled her zip down.

  Ruby looked aghast.

  “Well you wanna piss your pants or do ya want me to pull’em down?”

  Ruby’s eyes were mortified. Tears started to well.

  Eddie put both hands on her hips and slid his thumbs in, then he steadily pulled her jeans down to her ankles. He let go of her and stood over her.

  “Bend over, bitch. You might be lucky and stay dry. I’ll be watching you.”

  Ruby’s eyes fixed his for a moment. The dim light cast from the interior lost its glare at ground level. Eddie backed off some, now looking away from her. Ruby tensed her abdomen.

  Determined not to lose her balance, she carefully squatted. The strain on her knees and thighs made her tremble some, trying not to lose her balance, she let go. She felt the warm spatter spraying her bare ankles. It didn’t matter now, feeling better. Waiting for the last droplets to fall before standing could only serve to strengthen her resolve, to recover from the humiliation of the last three minutes.

  She bent down, her fingers searched for her jeans. She drew them up carefully, managing to wriggle herself into them. All the while she kept her eyes peeled on the man she vowed to kill. He had his back turned to her. Lastly, she found the zip, the button took longer, but she determined not ever to let him touch her again.

  “Done? Good. If you behave you can have some water, seeing as you can at least pull up your pants next time you need a piss.”

  Ruby shook her head, refusing the offer for a drink.

  “Right. Back in the boot.”

  Eddie pushed her backwards forcing her to fall back into the boot, on the way she grazed her head on the edge rail. Ignoring the impending discomfort, she pulled up her legs, rolling into the cavity to settle in for what would be a long night.

  The boot lid slammed shut on top of her. Back to total darkness. She started crying.

  CHAPTER 71

  FANTASY ISLAND

  Darren thought he hadn’t slept, but the phone call had woken him with a start. Dazed, pain from a throbbing arm, hazy visions from last night’s events flashing before his wide-open eyes, none of it came together with any clarity. But the voice brought it all home in an instant.

  “Wake up, sunshine. We have business to do.”

  Darren rubbed his eyes, and sprang to attention.

  “She better be in one piece, mate,” Darren scowled.

  “As I said. You want her and I want the dope. Easy as that. And I want it today. If you can’t deliver by say, five this arvo, I’ll consider the deal void. She’s not a bad looker. Bet she fucks like a pro. Don’t worry, I’ll leave her untouched, unless of course, I don’t get my dope. Then I’ll fuck her like they do in prison, before I cut her head off.”

  Eddie hung up.

  Joel was standing in the doorway, eyes blinking with fatigue.

  “What’s the plan?”

  Darren closed his eyes for a moment. Then he asked, “Do you hunt?”

  “Not so much, speaking for myself. But my ancestors did. What’s your point?”

  Darren swung his legs off the bed, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

  “When you hunt there are a couple of things to consider. One of them is, limiting the options for your target to escape, the other is finding a way to contain their movements to improve your chances for a kill.”

  “Trapping him, you mean?”

  “Of sorts. This is what I think. We need to lure him to a spot where his options for escape are limited. A spot where we can contain his movements to a limited area. A place where it will be easy to dump his body.” Darren looked directly at Joel.

  “Send him to Palmy. He’ll never make it out alive.”

  “Palm Island?” Darren screwed his face.

  “I was only kidding.”

  Darren ignored Joel’s attempt at humour, “I think we entice him to go to Maggie.”

  “Fantasy Island?”

  “Magnetic Island, you dick. And why would you call it Fantasy Island?”

  “For a few people, it’s a place where dreams have turned into nightmares, like on the TV show, Fantasy Island.”

  Joel sauntered to the kitchen, where he filled the electric kettle.

  Darren picked up his mobile, and went into his call history.

  “I’m going to ring him.”

  Joel came out of the kitchen, “Hey mate, we need to plan this.”

  “The plan is simple, we save Ruby from certain death, and pass that certainty to Eddie.”

  Darren pressed Eddie’s number.

  Three rings.

  Darren spoke first, “I got your coke. But it’s not here. It’s on the island. I’ll have to go there first. Meet you back in town.”

  Silence.

  Darren felt his pulse racing.

  “I’ll meet you there. I won’t tell you until it’s time. Better get a move on. Time’s a wastin’.” Eddie ended the call.

  Darren smiled for the first time in days. “He’s taken the bait.”

  “Guess I have to call in sick today,” Joel muttered.

  Darren got up from the lounge, “You can bail out. I won’t stop you. Just don’t stop me.”

  “And let you have all the fun. Hah.”

  ***

  A cold sausage roll at the crack of dawn, a can of Pepsi to wash it down with; it wasn’t Eddie’s ideal start to a day. A muffled knocking came from the boot. He took a swig from the can of drink, then he flicked the rest of his sausage roll. The island wasn’t a bad idea, he thought. He would check one thing: the local newspaper. If Matteo had been discovered it would be all over the news. Finding a dead man in his own fish-tank with a poisonous jelly-fish would make sensational news.

  With a push of his finge
r the auto-scanner on the car stereo searched for radio stations. Eddie settled on the local pop-music station. His eyes on the clock, 6.27am, he would have to wait for three minutes for any breaking local news. Again, knocking from the boot. Irritated, Eddie opened the boot. She had managed to remove most of the duct tape.

  Ruby’s eyes were blood-shot and glassy.

  Her voice was raspy, her words came out quick. “I’ll be a good girl. Please let me out. I need to pee.”

  Eddie grunted, signalled with a nod.

  Ruby swung her bound legs over the back. Eddie reached, grabbed her shirt, pulling her out of the boot. Her bare soles stung from the gravel under her feet. Facing him, she felt unsteady from her prolonged, cramped position, and waiting for the blood to flow to ease her faintness. They locked eyes. Then, he retrieved a pocket-knife and slowly unfolded the blade, keeping his eyes on hers without a blink. Ruby eyed the small knife with indifference.

  “I’m going to cut these.” Eddie bent over and slid the sharp blade through the plastic tie.

  Relieved, Ruby shook both legs, wiping the grit from the soles of her feet against her shin.

  “If you run…“ Eddie warned as he folded the blade.

  “I won’t.”

  He let her pee behind the other side of the car. Not exactly privacy, but she was grateful for a win. Her next win would be to travel in the car with him. She didn’t fancy her chances, but would do everything to gain some confidence from him. When she finished she stood pulling up her jeans at the same time. She made it a point to thank him. Eddie signalled her to come around where he was. The soles of her feet were tender as she hobbled over the rough ground. There hadn’t been time to slip on a pair of joggers. It was like she’d been thrown into a time-warp.

  One minute, she was going through the local dining guide searching for take-away ideas; the next minute, a huge arm squeezed her neck and the cold barrel of a handgun bore into her cheek. She could still hear Patch’s incessant barking echoing in her ears. Darren coming out of the bedroom. Gunshots, blood and screaming. Her screaming. Blackness. Blackness, from passing out and then blackness from inside the boot of a car. Or a casket.

  “You stay on this side. And no noise, no talk. Just wait until I’m done.” He slid behind the wheel, and turned the volume up from the radio.

  Her moment of introversion had been interrupted, now he was listening to the radio. The look on his face became friendlier as the newscast progressed to the weather.

  “There’s water.” He nodded to the passenger seat.

  Bottled water. It was unopened. It meant she didn’t have to share his vile germs. Robotically, she shuffled closer, bent down clasping the plastic bottle between her bound hands. Twisting the bottle with her hands, she bit the bottle-cap and spat it out. Then she emptied the contents in her mouth, spilling some. She faced him, waiting for whatever would be next.

  “Get in the car.” Eddie nodded to the passenger seat.

  Ruby complied without a blink.

  As soon as she’d settled, Eddie had bound her ankles again.

  “Don’t talk, don’t try anything funny and you’ll live to see tomorrow,” Eddie spoke, shut her door.

  Before he drove off, he put some sunglasses on her.

  Apprehension. From the not-knowing what is next. Anxiety. She knew from her military experience that the continuous anticipation of something bad happening could go two ways: either being in a state of intense alertness, or in a state where rampant imagination would throw you into a giant hole of despair. She kept her eyes focussed on the road ahead. When they arrived at the car-ferry terminal, at least one of the thousand questions in her mind was answered. The balance was starting to tip in her favour. Alert 1 vs. Despair 0.

  “No talking.”

  She didn’t need reminding.

  Magnetic Island. A new nightmare. She hoped not.

  CHAPTER 72

  NOW YOU SEE ME…NOW YOU DON’T

  Darren had gone to four different newsagencies before he was able to find the brown paper the same as what was wrapped around the kilo of coke, when it was in Martin’s possession. The authenticity of the package would clinch the deal with Eddie. After all, Eddie had been the orchestrator of the original package, and he would have a clear recollection of what it looked like before Martin had absconded with it.

  “You’re really going the whole hog on this. Bloody good thinking.” Joel watched as Darren filled the plastic ziplok bag with the contents of a one-kilo bag of cornflour.

  “How come cornflour, not plain flour?”

  “There’s a difference. Plain flour feels softer, I reckon,” Darren replied, carefully shaking the plastic bag so the contents could settle. Next, he pinched the white pepper shaker from the kitchen benchtop. He peeled the lid off with his fingernails, emptied the entire contents in with the corn flour. Joel watched intently.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Surprise. You’ll see.”

  Then Darren shaped the bag into dimensions resembling a house-brick.

  Earlier, he had wet the brown paper with water, crumpled it, microwaved it. When he finished wrapping the package, it resembled the original he retrieved from Martin’s caravan.

  Joel smiled, “The brick of hope.”

  “It’s nearly midday. Let’s get to the ferry. We might have to hire one of those Mokes, they rave about.”

  They took Darren’s Patrol. Before leaving the truck at the ferry carpark Darren retrieved the .38 Smith & Wesson from under the seat. Joel gave him a strange look.

  Darren responded, “What did you think? I was going to beat him to death with a fish or something.”

  “Got a licence for that?” Joel said with eye-brows raised.

  Darren shook his head while stuffing the weapon in the small of his back.

  Joel then shrugged, and did the same with his service weapon.

  “Got a licence for yours?” Which was a stupid remark, of course.

  “Probably not after today.”

  ***

  The trip over to the island on the barge was a refreshing interlude. Ruby inhaled the sea air with relish, it helped cleanse her mind and ease the tension in her stomach. After ten minutes, he hadn’t left the car, and so far, no words had been spoken. A stiff sea breeze came through the open windows in a steady wave, boosted by an occasional gust. Her eyes started feeling heavy. She had nodded off, losing all track of time, until he nudged her hard with his elbow, to wake her. The forty-five-minute journey had seemed too quick. She could have slept for a whole day.

  Eddie carefully eased the Statesman down the ramp, hoping to avoid scraping the car on the steep decline. Once on the bitumen, he headed straight for Horseshoe Bay.

  “I was here many years ago. A backpacker from England,” she blurted without thinking.

  “Remember the deal. No talking,” Eddie reminded.

  She stayed silent for the remainder of the drive. Her heart was beating steady and hard, to the tune of a goose-stepping army. Fear.

  Alert 1 vs. Despair 1.

  The first thing that struck her were the palms that surrounded the paint-blistered weatherboard cottage. The place was in state of chaos. The driveway was overgrown with weeds. A Mini Moke was parked willy-nilly. The rusty trailer on which a small metal boat sat, was perched on an old oil tin. What worried her a little, was the fact that this property was quite isolated. What neighbouring properties there were, appeared to be vacant or equally unmaintained. Eddie had made her walk up front. The car was hidden well away from the cottage, although a short distance from where they were headed.

  “Keep going around that way,” Eddie directed.

  She did as he ordered, passing the metal boat which smelled like rotten prawns.

  They arrived at the kitchen door, it was ajar. Eddie pushed it open a few inches, one arm raised holding the handgun. His body odour was disgusting, she smelled it as he’d reached over the top of her, then he pushed the door further. He prodded her with his knee. W
hat am I, a bloody cow? Hate filled her briefly. Through the kitchen they went. Dishes were stacked next to the sink, food still crusted to a plate. They entered what looked like a lounge room. She stared at the back of a large fish-tank. There were shards of broken glass next to it. The splashing from flowing water seemed a bit loud, it was odd. Ruby felt her heart pulsating. The large hand pressed against her upper back shoved her forward. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Evidently having been disturbed by some event, nevertheless, the beauty of the coral, and the darting around of colourful reef fish, masked the slivers of broken glass, and fallen, living rock in the fish-tank. The wooden floor in front of the tank was littered with broken glass and bits of coral, and large puddles of water – a sign someone had been here not long ago.

  Eddie’s mouth was open.

  Ruby looked back at him.

  A stunned mullet.

  What the fuck is going on? He was dead. He couldn’t have survived. Eddie’s head hung low, his eyes darting from the tank to the floor to a door, to the other door, then back to the tank. His face had paled.

  Ruby kept her mouth shut. She knew something wasn’t right. A few smears of blood stuck to the glass above the waterline painted a grim picture. Although she avoided direct eye-contact with Eddie, she could sense his shock, his anxiety. To her, whatever happened here could work in her favour. Her captor’s stress would lead him to making rash decisions.

  Eddie seized her arm roughly and pushed her back towards the kitchen.

  “Sit here.”

  The wooden kitchen chair had no padding, but she was relieved to be able to get off her feet. Before her, he drew the wad of cable-ties from his cargo trousers and tied her wrists once again, this time behind her back. Her short arms barely went around the back of the chair, and the strain on her arms was considerable. She vowed to ignore her discomfort, staring ahead. He bound her ankles as well. Not a peep. She closed her eyes.

  Alert 2 vs. Despair 1.

  ***

  Darren and Joel decided not to travel together. This way they could keep an eye out, in case someone was watching them, or if one got into trouble the other would be able to help out.