Terry Kingston was happy to see the arsenal growing. The more new guns he used, the better he got. He read books about arms training and began to learn how to assemble and disassemble weapons blindfolded. It was quite possible that he was the most knowledgeable munitions expert in the country, at least among 12 year olds.
The woods behind the farm soon had little remaining wildlife. Ginger had told his nephew repeatedly not to shoot something he was not going to eat but that did not always hold. One would not eat a fox, but it was not even a natural member of the Australian ecosystem and shooting a fox was considered mandatory. Rabbits had to be shot on sight and they were, of course, both edible and tasty. Both the foxes and rabbits had been introduced to Australia by Europeans for the purpose of hunting them but they took hold much too successfully and became massively destructive to the country’s natural fauna. Terry was happy to assist in their eradication. He also learned to clean and cook all manner of wild game.
He had reached an acceptance level in the school by dint of the fact that he was growing quickly and was in the best of shape. He had learned how to fight and was actually told that he needed to stop thrashing his classmates. His justification was that they had been starting the fights and that he was merely giving them what they were asking for.
On the farm, he learned how to work as Ginger worked, indefatigably. He fixed the fences, split the wood and repaired all manner of mechanical equipment. He sheared sheep and slaughtered them when necessary, killed chickens and hunted all manner of pests.
It was that year when Ginger bought him a car. It was a 1968 Holden Monaro GTS 327 and though it ran when they pulled it into the barn, it needed a lot of work. The years had not been kind and it had been beaten by a series of young owners.
Terry was nonplussed by the gift. It would be years before he could drive on the roads and a car like the Monaro could not negotiate the fields. He could already drive a standard transmission and was actually quite good at keeping the truck moving in the mud, but this was different.
“Look here, boy. What we have is a truly fine automobile despite its appearance. It has a V-8 Chevrolet engine so parts are reasonable. It still runs so it hasn’t ruined the crankshaft. The heads are worn but they can be salvaged or replaced. The body is Australian so we won’t need overseas body panels. This is a project that you can finish or not, but you will pay me for the parts as soon as your father’s lawyer releases the proceeds from the insurance business. That will be when you turn 17. Imagine what it will feel like to pull up to school in an honest to goodness classic.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. The first thing we need to do is disassemble it and determine what needs to be done. We need to mark each piece and keep the bolts and nuts together and mark them. This is the only way we can put it back together, when we know where everything goes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You seem a wee bit scared by the prospect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop saying that and go and get some masking tape and tags from the back. We are about to learn everything there is to know about this car. Tomorrow we go down to town to get a ledger and a manual. I hope you’re ready to work.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop saying that and split me some wood.”
Terry’s trepidation was eclipsed when he heard the awe in the voices of the older boys when they heard he had been given a Monaro 327.
Halfway through September of 1995 Terry Kingston had a life altering experience. He was in school when it happened and it came from a most unlikely source. He was being forced to watch a movie of a Shakespeare play and, like his classmates, thought this was a waste of time. Then he saw the setting for the first act of the play; Ellsinore. He saw that name and the bottom dropped out of his world. Gone was the screen and the classroom and the children. He was back on the Agamemnon, eight years old and being chased by two men in the Ellsinore. His reaction was almost like epilepsy; he stiffened up and started shaking though he was not foaming at the mouth. For the first time since he was half his present age he recognized the name of the speedboat. It was the last piece of a puzzle that had been haunting his dreams ever since it happened.
“Uncle Ginger, I remember. I saw it today in school and I remember the name of the boat that was chasing us the day they killed my father. I want to find that boat and I want to kill the bastard who shot you.”
“Is that right? Suddenly you are the avenging angel, eh? You think you can just find out where this boat is and go there and shoot this man?”
“Yes, sir, that is exactly what I think.”
“So you’re going to go in there without a plan? Without backup? Without a driver’s license or a second thought?”
“I know what he looks like and he won’t be expecting me. I intend to find him and kill him and you won’t stop me.”
“Look here, boy, I don’t intend to stop you. I don’t intend to try to stop you. What I do intend to do is keep you from throwing your whole life away on something because you didn’t think it through. When you hunt foxes you go where the rabbits are. You know the fox will be after the rabbits so that’s where you look for him. That is not all there is to it though, is it?”
“No. You need to watch the rabbit runs. The fox doesn’t set up too close to the hole because he needs some space to get the rabbit before it reaches its burrow.”
“Aye, that’s one aspect, but there is so much more that you are so used to doing that you don’t even think about it any more. You don’t walk on their trails, you don’t stand upwind, you don’t walk through poison ivy, and you don’t walk through nettles.”
“But there is no parallel to that in the city.”
“You don’t know he is in the city. You don’t alert another fox who will in turn alert your prey. You don’t wait ‘til you see the fox to load your gun. You don’t go shuffling through piles of dead leaves. What I am saying is there is so much more to hunting than pulling a trigger. That is compounded 10 times when you hunt a thinking prey. Especially when you are hunting a professional. How many cars have driven down the road since you got home from school?”
“Two, three if you include Jerry Cuthbert’s car.”
“That is what I mean. You remember things like that. Now then, boy, was either of those cars a big block?”
“No, sir. I can tell a big block. I might be fooled by another V-8, but both those cars had whiney four cylinders.”
“Good. You notice things like that. Now, do think there is a chance that this man will not notice the rumble of a high-compression 327? Do you think you can drive that Monaro around a suburban neighborhood undetected?”
Terry was silent. He resented being spoken to like a child even if he was one.
“Now, what is your source of reference to know where this boat is?”
“I thought I could go to town hall…”
“No. Go to the library in the school and talk to the librarian. She will be able to tell you when and where the records are available, or she can find out. It’s probably registered under a phony name anyway, but the library is always a good place to start. Don’t tell anyone why you want to find the information, make up a story. Tell them I want to buy the boat. I saw it and just loved it and wanted to find the owner so I could tender an offer to buy it. That way you smooth over the path and people are less likely to remember you. Your interest is in the boat, not the man who owns it, but you need his name and address to find the boat.”
“I see.”
“You are sure of the name?”
“Yes. Ellsinore.”
“Then ask the librarian how to find that. Town hall will only have records for this area so that is worthless. Oy, I got another idea or two as well, but you start with the library.”
“All right, Uncle. I’m going to need to get my learners license as soon as I’m 16. So I can get where I need to go. I also need to finish upgrading the brakes on the Monaro. We got her running like a dingo but th
e old drum brakes stop her like a land train.”
“Oy. Order the parts, I’ll put it on yer bill.”
“Uh, Uncle Ginger? Can’t we use the computer at the Insurance Company to access the database at the RTA and find out if the Ellsinore is registered in Wales?”
“Now yer thinking. We do that next. Do yer research first. Go to the library. Oy, the new springs came in today. I’ll show you how that’s done after you clean out the paddock.”
“Yes, sir.” Terry grabbed a shovel and tossed it into the wheelbarrow.
“I’ll be back in an hour. I need to get a tank of acetylene and some brazing rod.”
“Ok, Uncle.”
Ginger watched Terry’s back retreat and realized he was not going to be able to control him for much longer. He was getting too strong, too tall and too smart to restrain. The only thing he was going to be able to do was direct him. He shook his head and started the engine on his old truck.
Ginger had not been much for birthday presents or Christmas presents. He was a firm believer in earning what one received so Terry never got anything much given to him because of a special day. He worked for what he got. On his 16th birthday he got taken to the Road and Traffic Authority to take the first of the tests. He passed the test and left feeling strong. It was 10 weeks since he had remembered the name of the craft that had chased him, and he had not yet been able to locate it. The name of the craft was not so easy to cross-reference as the numbers would have been.
The search would have been easier if Terry had known to look in the VicRoads database instead of the RTA. Ginger was unwilling to help in the search beyond basic advice. He not only wanted his nephew to work through it himself, he did not want the culprit found any too soon. There were things Terry needed to master within himself before he could be considered ready for the odyssey he was considering. For one thing, he could not legally drive by himself for the next year.
It wasn’t until May of 1996 that Terry got a break in his search. The Helping Hands Insurance Corporation sold an insurance policy for a dark blue fiberglass Bullet boat with dual Evinrude motors. The policy listed the name of the boat as Ellsinore, to be changed to Ripsaw. The man buying the policy, Grant Macintosh, had his home and his automobile insured with the Dartmouth Insurance Agency, a Helping Hands Office in Orbost on the Snowy River, well to the south. The new owner of the boat made his living by running several lumber mills.
Ginger got the letter from the Kingston Agency and almost tossed it out, then he considered hiding it in a drawer. His hand snaked over to where the bullet had torn into his chest and he changed his mind.
The trip was 660 kilometers and there was no way Ginger was going to allow Terry to go it alone. He knew that with a teenager’s typical brash, he would try to go in like Hitler into Poland and probably get arrested rather than learn anything. Terry could still not drive alone, legally, and would not be able to until he passed the driver’s test. He couldn’t take that test until December. The trail might well be cold by then, however.
When Terry got home that day, Ginger only told him that they would be taking a trip that weekend. He did not tell him why or where they were going. He did tell Terry that they would be going in the Holden and they changed the oil in it that night.
It was three o’clock in the morning, Saturday morning, when Ginger rousted his nephew from a sound sleep and told him they were leaving. Terry was surprised that Ginger was wearing a suit. He did not know Ginger owned a suit. Terry fell asleep in the passenger’s seat half an hour later. The trip took 11 hours with a stop for lunch and something that Ginger promised would be explained.
Terry walked into the Whale Mart and bought a bottle of hair dye at his uncle’s request. They went to a public rest room in a deserted park and Ginger dyed his hair and beard blond. It was a sloppy job but relatively effective. Terry was, of course, intensely curious about the whole affair, but he was assured that there was a good reason and it would all be revealed to him.
They had a little trouble finding the house, since it was off the beaten path, but they located it eventually. Ginger was glad the boat was not parked in the driveway. He was not certain they were on the right track and he didn’t need Terry going ballistic. Terry had been driving at that point and Ginger had him park so the interior of the car was masked by a tree. Then he left his nephew behind the wheel while he went to the door with a ledger in his hand.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Macintosh.”
“G’day, sir.”
“Mr. Macintosh, my name is Frederick Samuels. I am an employee of the Helping Hands Insurance Corporation. I have been informed that you purchased the Ellsinore about a week ago and I am here to tell you that there may be some irregularities with the registration.” Ginger opened the ledger and handed Grant a business card with the Helping Hands logo and the name Frederick Samuels on it.
“They said nothing when I registered it.”
“No, they wouldn’t have. The irregularity involves the fact that this boat was reported wrecked at one point and should not have been reregistered until it was certified by the insurance company. May I ask where the vessel is being kept?”
“Well, I just… It’s on a trailer out back. It didn’t look like it had been wrecked.”
“I need to look at the vessel and certify that it is the same vessel. Do you have the registration on hand?”
“Yes, just a moment.” Grant Macintosh disappeared into the house for a moment and then returned with the document. The two of them walked around the building and sure enough, there was a dark blue fiberglass Bullet with twin Evinrude engines.
Ginger climbed onto the trailer and onto the deck of the boat. “It does not look as though the numbers have been changed,” he said as he copied the vehicle identification numbers into his ledger. Then he climbed out and performed a cursory inspection of the hull. His inspection completed, he said, “There may have been some sort of mistake. This vessel does not look as though it was ever wrecked. Now, we do not have the name and address of the former owner, since it was not insured through the Helping Hands Insurance Corporation. The computer system is still relatively new and there may have been a mistake in the information. May I bother you for the name and address of the man you bought the vessel from?”
“Of course. Give me a moment. I’m sure I have that information in the house. Tell me, doesn’t VicRoads provide that for you?”
“Yes, they will if we wish to wait for some time. The Corporation will not honor any damage claims until we get the matter sorted out, however. We cannot do that until we speak with the man who claimed the vessel was wrecked. I assure you that you are in no trouble, but if there was a claim filed by the former owner then he may be in a great deal of trouble. We take a dim view of insurance fraud.”
“Oh, I see. Well then, wait here a moment and I’ll fetch it for you.” It only took a moment and Grant returned with a scrap of paper. The name was Percy Darrow and the address was north of Melbourne.
“Thank you, Mr. Macintosh, this will expedite things greatly. Expect a call from our office in a day or two verifying that your policy is again in force.”
“Uh, thank you Mr. Samuels. I was planning on taking the boat out tomorrow. May I do so?”
“I’m sure there won’t be a problem, but if there is an accident, wait until you hear from us before you file a claim, just to be safe.”
“Very well, thank you for your concern.”
“Just keeping our end up. Have a safe weekend, Mr. Macintosh.” Ginger walked around the side of the building and back to the car. He told Terry to slide over to the passenger seat. He breathed a slow sigh of relief and drove slowly to a petrol station.
“Are you going to tell me what we are doing down here in Victoria?” Terry asked, trying not to make it sound like he was whining.
“Yes, killer, I’m going to tell you, but I need to make sure we are on the right track. There are things you need to know first and I will share those with you as well. It�
�s time you knew, but I know a thing or two about boys and their big mouths. After I tell you these things you are going to need to keep your mouth shut. You have been a good chap and I think you have the capacity but this is so bloody dangerous that if you open your mouth I will shoot you myself.”
“Oh hell, Uncle, you need to trust me more than that.”
“I’m pulling over here and you’re going to fill the tank.”
Terry Kingston chewed on his lip as he was filling the petrol tank. What on earth could be so secret and important that this farmer would kill him over? Ginger was not one to threaten folk lightly. If he said he was going to give you a drubbing, you had better expect to defend yourself. If he said he was going to shoot something it had better expect to take a bullet. Terry’s father had let his mother issue the discipline most of the time unless the offence was particularly heinous and since Terry was an only child he didn’t get in much trouble. He was coddled a bit but not spoiled and he had learned how to use his brain from his father. His uncle had taught him how to use his back. At 16 years old and still growing, he presented a formidable picture but he knew better than to cross Ginger. His uncle had beaten Terry a few times, not to excess or too often, but he had given him a severe knockabout a few times and Terry knew better than to think he could better him. Terry could fight, but there was something about the way Ginger handled himself that used his opponent’s strength and weight against him. Terry was taller but not so broad as his uncle and he was just coming out of the truly awkward stage of physical development.
The pump stopped and Terry paid for the petrol, then they left town with Ginger driving. They continued south on the Prince’s Highway until the got to the port city of Lakes Entrance and stopped at a nice dark restaurant where they took a private booth in the back, away from the other patrons.
To Terry’s surprise, Ginger ordered himself a rum and cola. Terry had not seen Ginger drink in all the time they had lived together. He knew there might be a problem brewing. His uncle had beaten up some of the local fathers and Terry had been informed that this had been one of the reasons he had been forced to fight so much in school.
Honorable Assassin Page 5
