Strike Me Dead

by Bob Goodwin

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ exclaimed the young lady. ‘What an awful man!’ She backed away from the two men while massaging her wrist.

  ‘What the fuck! Let me go arsehole.’ He frantically grabbed at the arm around his neck and then tried to strike the face of his assailant but could only manage a couple of weak glancing blows. Skeletor dragged him down to the ground then jumped over him with his knees holding down both the man’s arms. Stupidly, the man started kicking his opponent in the back but after a few hard slaps across the face, decided it was a bad idea. The young lady covered her mouth and stepped further away.

  ‘Okay, lay off,’ pleaded the man as he cringed and tried to twist his head out of the way. ‘I made a mistake. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not me who needs the apology, scumbag,’ said Skeletor.

  ‘That bitch just led me on. Teased me. You know...’ His words ceased as another slap stung his cheek. ‘Jesus fucking Christ man! Holy crap!’

  ‘Don’t speak like that. It’s offensive to God and it’s offensive to me. You do know that blasphemy is an unforgivable sin, right? What’s your name?’

  ‘That’s my business. Just get off me. It’s over now.’

  Skeletor shoved his hand under the man and into his back pocket.

  ‘Hey! Fuck you!’ he objected. But his wallet was quickly removed and opened, displaying his driver’s license.

  ‘Barnaby Jackson from 49 Latrobe Avenue, Maroochydore.’ Skeletor got off the man and threw the wallet at his face. The man edged away, backwards, like an upside-down caterpillar, getting to his feet only when he was a few metres clear. He brushed himself off before shouting out ‘Arsehole!’ then ran off into the night.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the young lady, taking a deep breath. ‘He was dragging me away. I think he would have raped me.’ Skeletor moved to her.

  ‘Are you okay now?

  ‘Just a bit shaken up. You arrived just in time.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll give you any more trouble, but he clearly had bad intentions. What if we go back inside and I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Thanks. I think that might help.’ The two moved back towards the Galaxy entrance.

  ‘Can you tell me your name?’

  ‘Oh well, I could I suppose.’ She looked up at him. He had a nice smooth face and big brown eyes. He smiled broadly back at her. ‘I’m Jane Crenshaw. And you?’

  ‘Morgan Finn.’ He extended his hand and they squeezed each other’s fingers lightly. ‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Crenshaw.’

  Chapter 25

  Rum Balls

  Detective Riley seemed less than excited to be interviewing James Champion at 9.00 am on Boxing Day. His offsider, Detective Ross, sat away from the desk with his legs and arms crossed, and looked like he was still recovering from too much Christmas cheer.

  Riley flicked through some printed notes in a Manila folder. There was a brown paper bag near the edge of the desk. No words had been spoken for the past two minutes since James had been invited to take a seat. He sat there quietly but made an obvious point of visually checking out all areas of the room. As he looked around, he made a decision. No more hassles from the cops. No more tasers. No more interviews. I need to shake them off.

  ‘Rum ball?’ The detective picked up the paper bag and held it open in front of James while still examining the paperwork.

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘My wife made them. They are good.’ He looked up and shook the bag.

  ‘No thank you. I don’t drink,’ said James.

  ‘Huh, really. This is food, not drink.’ He shook the bag again.

  ‘Rum balls are usually made with rum, and I don’t drink alcohol,’ said James politely. ‘But thank you anyway.’

  ‘Huh.’ He placed the bag back and riffled through a few more pages. ‘Tell me, what was going on at the Blue Orchid restaurant?’ Riley eventually said as he examined the paperwork.

  ‘Well, nothing. There was no opportunity for anything to be going on,’ replied James with a voice of mild indignation. ‘You guys blasted me with the taser.’

  ‘Hmmm...’ He nodded. ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘You guys know.’ He looked over at Ross then back at Riley. ‘Let’s not pretend, shall we guys.’

  Ross raised his eyes slightly. Riley continued. ‘What is it we know?’

  ‘You know there is a Chinese agency that tracks and monitors certain people...’ James paused and tilted his head slightly and looked towards the ceiling. He smiled. ‘And they’re in here. I just heard them.’

  Ross shifted his gaze to Riley and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t speak Chinese,’ said James.

  ‘But you heard them?’

  ‘As did you, detective. I suggest you get this room scanned for devices.’ James began feeling under his chair.

  ‘What can you tell me about Jessica Chang?’

  ‘Oh yes, she is the key. She’s not missing at all. She is plotting with her Chinese comrades.’ He still fiddled with his chair then started checking the desk.

  ‘You have no need to do that. This place is clean,’ said Riley trying to get James to settle.

  ‘Where were you on the evening of Friday the 14th of December?’

  ‘The Chinese would know.’ James now tucked his head under the desk. ‘Has this furniture been scanned?’

  ‘Would you sit up please? Do I need to repeat the question?’ asked Riley a little louder. Detective Ross managed a half-smile.

  ‘I would have been at the Kawana gym. Then back at home with mother.’ James knocked under the desk with his knuckles. ‘Does that sound hollow to you?’

  The interview continued with much the same dialogue for a further few minutes before Detective Riley called a halt to proceedings.

  ‘Anything you care to ask or contribute to this discussion, Detective Ross?’ asked an exasperated Riley. Detective Ross shook his head slowly and gave an I-told-you-so look.

  * * *

  Detective Riley had a brief chat with Carmel near the reception desk. For the most part he was seeking assurances that James was still taking his medication and that he was soon to be reviewed by Dr Jeffries. While Carmel couldn’t clearly recall the evening of the 14th, she did confirm James’s usual routine of gym work and an evening at home. Riley wished her all the best for the season and escorted her out the front door of the police station.

  Soon she was behind the wheel of her car. James was waiting in the passenger seat.

  ‘Well, what did they ask you? She clicked on her seatbelt.

  ‘About the Chang girl. Questions about me. Boring stuff mostly.’

  ‘And what on earth did you say to them?’

  ‘I like to think I was entertaining.’

  ‘I got the impression they believed that you are quite unwell.’

  ‘Stark raving mad I would think!’ laughed James.

  ‘Why would you do that? You should cooperate. They have an important job to do.’

  ‘Like shooting tasers at people?’ said James. ‘No way. They’ve done their dash with me.’

  Carmel looked at her son, unsure of what truth he was saying now.

  ‘What?’ he enquired innocently.

  ‘I want you to drive to Brisbane,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘I have a bit of a headache this morning. You shouldn’t have given me that second bottle.’

  ‘So, this is somehow my fault?’

  ‘Maybe, in a roundabout sort of way. You do drive me to drink sometimes.’

  ‘And you drive me mad, so that makes us even. And I’m not driving to Brisbane, I’m too tired. I took extra medication last night,’ added James. ‘Perhaps it’s best we call the whole thing off.’

  ‘That won’t be happening. I’ll drive.’

  Chapter 26

  The Pork Pie

  It took just over an hour to arrive
at the Freemasons Home at Sandgate on the north side of Brisbane. After saying he was tired, James had spent almost the whole time reading and checking documents. There were a couple of occasions when he gazed blindly out the window, lost in thought about Charlie Chan. It was just as well his mother had witnessed this because he was sure if it had been him alone, he would have been promptly carted off to the madhouse for even mentioning it. It was almost as if there was a spilling over of the two parts of his brain. The psychotic Chinese thing had somehow found a reality of its own. Clearly, he needed to be focused, observant and a little paranoid for good measure.

  They turned into the car park.

  ‘Oh, are we here already?’ asked James, looking up. ‘That seemed quick.’

  ‘For you maybe,’ replied Carmel. ‘Come on. Let’s see how he is today.’

  ‘Can I make a prediction?’

  ‘No,’ she replied bluntly as she reached back and grabbed the carry bag from the back seat.

  They entered the four-storey building, took the elevator to level 3 then pushed open a heavy door that closed loudly behind them. In front of them was an entry door requiring a number to be entered on the raised metal pad. James looked at the numbers. He punched in 1, 2, 3 and 4 then pushed ENTER. There was a click and the door opened as he pulled back on the handle. Carmel slapped his hand.

  ‘James, please! We’re supposed to wait for the staff.’ He let the door close again and laughed. The two presented themselves at the reception desk.

  ‘Hello Mrs Champion,’ announced the nurse cheerfully. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘Fine thanks.’ She signed the visitors’ register with both their names. ‘How is Walt today?’

  ‘He’s had better days but then he’s had worse too,’ came the reply. James rolled his eyes.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Carmel and off they strolled to room 16.

  Walter Champion was sitting next to his bed in a recliner with his feet raised. It was 10.45 but he was still in his old and worn summer pyjamas. He was unshaven and his thinning grey hair was pointing in all directions. Some remnants of his porridge were on his chin and his pyjama shirt. The TV was on but with the sound muted.

  ‘Get me my fucking water,’ he announced on their arrival. His voice was loud and slurred, and his arms were raised and flailing around pointlessly. Walt’s head was wobbling to-and-fro in an uncontrolled way.

  ‘A please would be nice, Walt,’ said Carmel as she moved to his bedside table.

  ‘Give me the fucking water please! And don’t fuck me about.’

  The plastic cup had a lid with a plastic spout. She grabbed his arm and held it then placed the cup in his hand. He hit himself in the cheek and nose before he found his mouth and sucked out all the water. His arm flung out sharply and the cup flew past James’ head and out into the corridor.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Walt.’ Carmel bent over and pecked him on the cheek. ‘I’ve brought you a little something.’

  ‘I don’t want it. Christmas was yesterday so fuck off!’

  ‘Oh, I think you will like it.’ She opened the supermarket carry bag. ‘Look, it’s a pork pie! Your favourite.’

  ‘You go and cut the bastard up then bring it back,’ he slurred loudly.

  ‘Maybe the staff will do that for us.’

  ‘No! Last time these stupid cunts took it away and put it in the fucking microwave.’ His arms were going like helicopters. ‘You go and do it. Now!’

  ‘I will. James will stay with you...’

  ‘I could do the pie,’ said James immediately.

  ‘Walt, be nice to James. It’s Christmas.’ Carmel pointed her finger at him then turned to James with a cheesy smile. ‘I will do the pie.’ And off she went.

  Walt lay back a little into his chair and his exaggerated movements settled slightly. Then James spoke.

  ‘Walt, why are you so rude? I can’t understand it. It is truly beyond me why anyone would even visit you.’ Now Walt moved forward again. His head rocked, his arms were jerking about and now his legs were joining the party. James continued. ‘I hear Amy has even left you. No big surprise there. Maybe she is the only sensible one among us.’

  ‘Walt?’ he shouted back.

  ‘Hey?’

  ‘Fucking Walt!’ With his jerking movements, he had edged forward in the recliner.

  ‘Yeah, well you know your own name. Congratulations,’ said James with a shrug of his shoulders.

  ‘Dad, the old man, father. Not fucking Walt!’ His face had become crimson.

  ‘Oh right. I see. You think you’re my father, so I should not call you Walt. Now I get it.’

  ‘I fucking raised you,’ shouted the old man.

  ‘Fortunately, I survived,’ said James calmly. ‘I don’t know whether you know it or not, but you are not my biological father. Which is a good thing. I don’t want to end up being an arse like you. You see I’ve got brown eyes. You and Mother have blue eyes, which means that mother was sleeping with someone else when she was with you.’ Walt was grunting and breathing heavily. The chair was starting to tilt forward. James took one step backward and continued. ‘I know there is something like a one in fifty thousand chance you could have fathered me, but hell I’m prepared to take the punt. So jam it up sideways, Walt.’ The chair toppled forward and Walt sprawled onto the floor twitching, jerking and panting. ‘Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays,’ said James as he turned and left. Carmel was coming the opposite way with the cut-up pork pie on a plastic plate.

  ‘I’ll see you at the car. He’s on the floor. You’ll be needing assistance from the staff.’ James didn’t stop walking and was soon punching in the exit code.

  ‘What happened?’ called Carmel.

  ‘He found out about your affair.’ He turned and looked at his mother. ‘And he took the news quite badly!’ James opened the door and left.

  Chapter 27 — 1993

  Redemption

  Morgan turned his four-wheel drive into the driveway of the old Finn house. Over time it had become a bumpy drive over holes, corrugations and furrows, but that’s how he liked it. He had the view that the more difficult it was to gain entry, the less likely it was to have unwanted visitors. His vehicle rocked and rolled for 300 metres before he reached level ground alongside the retaining wall near the carport. The property was just over twenty acres, with only one acre around the house properly cleared. The land was on the side of a hill, with the slope becoming steeper and rougher as you moved further uphill and away from the house.

  Morgan grabbed a large duffle bag from the back of his Land Cruiser, threw it over his shoulder then with one hand, lifted up a twenty-litre plastic drum of industrial bleach and off he went. Not towards the house but up the hill, through a patch of tall eucalypts, across a patch of bare rocky ground and through a cluster of low scrubby bushes before arriving at a large, overgrown patch of lantana, 350 metres from the house. He had done this trip many times and intentionally varied his path so no obvious walking trail was visible. He moved around to the back of the thorny bush and emerged at his work area.

  It was a flattened piece of ground that had been dug into the side of the hill. Next to one another were three shipping containers, each six metres long, and two-and-a-half metres wide and tall. All were painted in shades of brown and green in a camouflage style. Each container had a name painted across the double doors. The first read “Damnation”, the second “Salvation” and the third “Redemption”. Morgan had installed a whirlybird gig and a second air vent on the roof of each. Across the front of the three metal rooms was a path of coarse blue metal road base, just wide enough to allow each set of double doors to open fully. The path continued several metres past the third metal box where on the ground were six railway sleepers joined together by metal plates and bolts. On top of the sleepers was a large, round weathered chopping block. The wood block had been cut so the top surface was angled at about 45 degrees and there was a slight semi-circular groove at the to
p edge. At the end of the path, on the last of the level ground, lay a tarp held down by several large rocks. To the back of and above the container area was a concreted row of rocks to direct any rainwater around the area rather than through it. From the driveway, and from the house, the entire area was invisible.

  Morgan put down his luggage and opened the door of Redemption. It creaked loudly and seemed to cause a banging noise to emanate from container one — Damnation. He disregarded the sound and carried his bag and the industrial bleach through the open metal door. The metal room had been set up with wooden benches down the length of both sides. There were a few scattered stools. At the end of the room, mounted on the metal wall and between both benches, was a one-metre high gold coloured crucifix. On the ground below the cross was a plastic bottle of water. Morgan walked forward, head bowed and dropped to his knees in prayer.

  Half of one bench looked a bit like a chemistry lab with beakers, pipettes, jars, spoons, chemical bottles and gas burners. Next to the chemistry equipment were five two-litre glass bottles. Each was marked with the letters “H2SO4”. There was also a higher narrow shelf on which there were five small amber-coloured jars, two of which contained a liquid. Next to the jars was a pile of thick pieces of combine wound dressing material. The rest of this bench had collections of protective goggles, gloves, rubber aprons, raincoats, folded plastic sheets and a large pile of assorted rags. The other six-metre bench supported a great variety of carpentry, plumbing, garden and other tools; and at the end closest to the entrance, there were a couple of long-handled shovels propped against the bench. There was a long implement on its own, in the corner on top of the bench near the door, wrapped in purple velvet and standing on a white cloth.

  Morgan stood. He lifted the bleach onto the bench near the chemistry equipment. There was a muffled shouting sound. He shrugged his shoulders, sighed deeply then left the container, grabbing a shovel on his way out.

  This time, he opened the door of container one. Inside a naked man covered his eyes, momentarily blinded by brightness. One of his ankles was chained. The length of chain then anchored to the metal floor. He looked to be a man of about 30 years of age, with short brown hair and a reasonable level of fitness.