Honorable Assassin

by Jason Lord Case

  Amphetamines were not a huge problem in Sydney at that time, though they were growing in popularity. One snort of crystal methadrine and one could party all night and all the next day. The long-term consequences of the drug were, as of yet, unknown.

  Threats of incarceration almost always turned addicts into snitches, sometimes turned dealers into snitches, but the chances of the police finding an informer decreased dramatically as they went up the ladder. A classic failure of the witness protection program reminded the middle and upper echelon of the criminal enterprises what happened to men who were willing to talk to the establishment.

  Wally Brochade had been mid-level management when he was caught with a shipment of heroin. He was looking at life in prison and decided that it would be best if he rolled over on his employers and took the chance. The case never made it to trial. Wally was kidnapped from a transport van by four armed men and was found a day later tied to a tree, upside down, his tongue was cut out and had been replaced with his manly parts. He had died suffocating on his own balls. His family had been similarly tortured and murdered. His wife’s head was found in the toilet of the family home, her body was never found. Even his children were tortured and mutilated, dismembered and spread about the blood soaked house. The family dog was cut in half with a machete.

  Most of the street-level dealers didn’t know anybody with the kind of power and authority necessary to order them tortured and mutilated. There was no formal organization at that level. The addicts would give up their suppliers and most of the low level dealers were addicts themselves, selling drugs so they could get their own supply. This was where the police began their investigations but they were constrained by the laws. Terry Kingston had no such constraints.

  “Have you ever seen what happens to a man when this kind of power is run through his body?” Terry asked his partner, casually.

  “Aye, the flesh curls up like paper in a fire and his muscles spasm like a speared fish. The eyeballs pop out and start to bleed, the tongue swells up and the man often bites it off. Sometimes they can’t talk afterward so we just kill him and leave him there.”

  Terry and Ginger were both dressed in white painters’ suits with butchers’ aprons. Their heads were covered with grotesque leather masks that covered their features. They both wore gloves, though Ginger’s were driving gloves and Terry had welding gloves on. The man taped to the chair was obviously terrified, though he couldn’t speak through the tape over his mouth.

  “It makes a horrible stink too, as the flesh burns.” Terry concluded as he fit the welding rod into the clamp. “An arc welder is not the greatest of devices to extract information but it is as effective as anything else. The real trouble is it turns the subject into a gimp.”

  “Aye. The muscles never work quite right afterward. The damage makes them limp and stumble. They have the shakes forever and tend to piss themselves. No matter, this one doesn’t deserve considerations.”

  “Soak him down.”

  Ginger poured a pitcher of water over the addict’s head at Terry’s request, and Terry affixed the ground clamp of the arc welder to the man’s left foot. Walking behind the victim Terry pulled out a battery-powered stun gun and gave the bound man a shot to the back of the neck. After squirming about for a while, the man slumped unconscious. When he revived he was more than willing to tell the men anything he knew about everybody he knew. There was only one name that held any significance, Demetrius Marlowe. Demetrius dealt in cocaine and moved it in ounces. He had been in business for quite some time but had never been caught because he kept it in a different location from his residence. The victim did not know where that was but he did know Demetrius’ home address and phone number.

  “Should we kill him?” Terry asked.

  “I’m not sure. Do we need to kill you?”

  The victim answered emphatically that they did not, that he would never tell anyone what had happened.

  “Bear in mind, you little shit, that if we ever find out you told anyone about this we will release the information that you are a stool pigeon working with the police, and then we will kill your mother. I believe she lives on Cooper Street.”

  The man could say nothing more. He had been broken. He began mumbling promises as his torturers packed up.

  As a final assurance, Terry returned to cut the dealer loose and stuck the barrel of a shotgun in his mouth. “You will never know who is watching and who is one of ours. If you speak to the police we will know. If you speak to your friends we will know. If you speak to your sainted mother we will know and our vengeance will be swift and brutal. You will watch what is left of your pathetic family die before we kill you and your death will be so much worse than death itself.”

  Demetrius Marlowe was not as easy a mark to apprehend. He was the owner of a small stamping plant in the Rosebery area and he made sure his businesses never overlapped. He never walked anywhere and spent little time in the pubs. On the surface, he was a very respectable man in a respectable part of town and he never involved his family in either of his business ventures.

  Ginger was quick to tell Terry that to involve the man’s family in their little operation was to court disaster. “Women always want to go to the police. Especially in this case, she would run screaming to the constabulary proclaiming her husband’s innocence and demanding justice. We must be more careful than that, or the notoriety might end up killing us.”

  “We could kidnap her and make demands on her husband.” Terry opined.

  “No, too complicated. We need to keep it as simple as we can. The more people involved, the more people who know, the more likely that the affair gets exposed prematurely. What we want to do is to get in and get out with the information. We can threaten his family, but I do not want them to ever see us. Pictures of the family should be all we need to facilitate the flow, along with some of the cruder and messier methods. Any time you can convince somebody of something, without having to actually do it, that is the way to go. Convince somebody of a consequence, and you get his undivided attention. He may roll over easily, or he may require more convincing, but if he is the only one who knows we were there, the chances are he will be silent after we are gone.”

  “I see what you mean. So we should do it right away, before our junkie friend loses his fear and opens his mouth?”

  “Agreed,” Ginger said as he relit his cigar.

  “His home, in Summer Hill, is undefended. I do not feel good about abducting him there, however. They call it The Village because everybody is looking out for everybody else’s business.” Terry pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “I think there are too many busybodies and that we should grab him in the industrial district.”

  “Agreed, Rosebery is more appropriate. At the end of second shift would be best, but his manager locks the place up. He doesn’t show up at that time of night.”

  “He would if there was an emergency.”

  Demetrius Marlowe got the call that night. Someone had driven the forks of the fork lift through the oil tank on one of the Bliss presses. It was an above ground tank unlike most, which were under the floor. He rushed to the factory to take care of the situation.

  Nobody would admit to the accident, even when he promised no repercussions would be issued. He spent a couple of hours trying to determine what had happened and then he left. He did not get far, however, because his car overheated. He pulled over to the side of the road and a van pulled up next to him. He thought they were there to help an unfortunate citizen but such was not the truth. Two men in executioner masks grabbed him, shocked him unconscious, and stuffed him, bound, into the van.

  “We are going to make this as painless and simple as possible as long as you cooperate with us. Currently, we have two men outside your home on Carrington Street. These men are not civilized in the traditional sense of the word. They will, upon instruction, invade your home and murder your children with your wife watching. Then they will repeatedly rape her, torture her, and then disembowel her whi
le she is still alive. I’m sure this is nothing you had planned for her this morning but unless you cooperate, this is precisely what will happen.” The speaker was the shorter of the two men. The location was a motel room, looking like any other motel room.

  “Who are you?” was all Marlowe was able to say at this point.

  “We are the men who have everything you are and everything you own in the palms of our sweaty little hands. We can do whatever we wish to you, right now, without repercussions. My partner is of the opinion we should pop out one of your eyes and skull fuck you but I told him otherwise. I informed him that you are a gentleman and will be able to grasp the desperation of the situation and the dedication of your captors. I’m afraid he is a bit bloodthirsty, however. He would like nothing more than to begin carving you up.”

  Terry brought out a straight razor and began sharpening it on a leather strop fastened to the back of the chair. The aspect was terrifying. The executioners’ masks lent a surreal aspect to the proceeding.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Because, my dear Demetrius, we know you are a drug dealer hiding under the disguise of a legitimate businessman. You are a blood cell in the artery of the Sydney drug trade and you have information that will save your life. You will give us this information or we will be forced to use methods that have been banned in all civilized countries for centuries.”

  “What do you want… want to know?”

  “Who supplies you with your cocaine? We know you sell it by the ounce. That means you acquire it by the pound or kilo. We want to know where you get it and who gets it to you.” Ginger’s voice was as refined and erudite as he could make it. It sounded incongruous coming from the mouth hole of the torturer’s mask.

  Terry on the other hand was growling like an animal. It was the most extreme example of good cop/bad cop that had ever been portrayed.

  “Now, are you going to tell us what we want to know or shall I tell my associates to begin doing what they do best?”

  “Oh, God! You don’t understand. What you are threatening me with is the same thing they will do to me when they find out I talked.”

  “I’m afraid you do not understand, sir. You have the opportunity to go on with your boring, pedantic life, unchanged and unscarred, or you have the opportunity to be mangled and see your family’s mutilated bodies lying in pools of their own blood. The decision is yours and yours alone.”

  Demetrius Marlowe was an entrepreneur. He had seen an opportunity to make some clandestine capital and then regretted it, but could not escape the spiral he was caught in. He had looked for a way to escape the situation but was unable to find a way out. His underworld connections had pictures of him hidden away somewhere, pictures of him in compromising positions. He was also pragmatic. He could see what was going on. It was obvious to him that a rival faction was muscling in on the cocaine trade and that they had their own suppliers or they would have been demanding he take them to his hoard. He chewed on his lower lip for a second, trying to get an angle that would leave him and his family in the clear and yet eliminate his culpability.

  “I’m not who you are after. I’m only the middle man, a little fish.” He didn’t try to deny what he had done or who he was. It was obvious to him that the time for denial was yet to come. He did not break down and cry as a lesser man might have.

  “My dear sir, you are precisely who we are after. My associate wants to taste your blood and the only thing keeping his barbaric appetite in check is myself. Now, tell me who it is that supplies the cocaine and you will ensure your continued survival and that of your family. The alternative has already been laid before you and, I assure you, without your cooperation it will be forthcoming.”

  “All right, I’ll tell you everything I know but I need some modicum of certainty that I will be left in the clear.”

  “As you have iterated you are a little fish, of no real concern to me. Your life hangs by a thread that I will cut without the slightest compunction if I suspect that you are not being completely forthcoming and utterly truthful. On the other hand, if your information is deemed to be worthy, you will be released to go your own way. I do not feel it necessary to remind you that speaking of this to your connections within the organization that supplies you will be absolutely disastrous. They will at that point do what I will not. Are we in agreement?”

  “We are.”

  “Good, then spin me a tale of supply and demand. When I am done you will be released to your lovely family.

  “I got contacted first by Bruno. I don’t know Bruno’s last name but he is an idiot. I never would have done business with him but the follow up was Mark Valentine. Mark works for a man called Randy. I don’t know Randy’s last name either. When it is time to make a payment or to get a delivery, I call a receptionist who sets up an appointment for me. It is set up in deserted offices or public places like restaurants. I show up and either Mark or Bruno or both is there to meet me. I don’t know where their houses are, I don’t know where the offices, you know, the real offices are. I’m just a middleman.”

  “Yes, a very efficient operation. So, how often do you call him?”

  “I can’t call him now. They will know it was me if I set him up and then he will do the same thing you will. I told you, I’m not the one you want.”

  “Tell us where you have met these men.”

  “They won’t be in these places. I can’t even recall some of the spots.”

  “Associate, kindly refresh the gentleman’s memory. No scars.”

  Terry made a noise like a disappointed dog and slipped his razor back into his smock. Then he punched Demetrius six times, four in the belly and two in the face.

  When Mr. Marlowe was again able to speak it seems that his memory had improved. His attitude was also improved somewhat. He stopped asking for things that could not be bargained for and he continued supplying names of streets and locations of buildings, restaurants and nightclubs.

  Terry was behind him so he could not see the younger man plotting the locations on the map.

  “Well, Mr. Marlowe, you have given us something that amounts to nothing,” Ginger said as he reached over and picked up the receiver of the telephone. He dialed a number and waited an appropriate time. “Associate Number Two, you and Number Three may proceed…”

  “Wait. Wait, please. I can give you more. I can give you what you want.”

  “Hold on for a few minutes, Number Two. If I do not call you within 15 minutes, make sure there are no witnesses. Yes, you may have your way with the woman.” He hung up the phone. “As you were saying, Mr. Marlowe?”

  “Mark Valentine hangs out at Victor’s on Saint George Crescent on Drummoyne Bay. He is there every weekend. He has a tattoo on his shoulder of a heart and a bunch of roses. You know, a play on his name. He is 178 or 180 centimeters, sandy blond hair, wears sunglasses a lot, even inside.”

  “That is a start. Associate.”

  Terry hit Bartholomew in the stomach three times, causing him to vomit spittle and bile upon himself.

  “That, Mr. Marlowe was for being less than forthcoming. Your children have 13 minutes to live unless you give me something more. Your wife will live longer but she will wish she had been killed with the children. Now give me something real or I may let you live knowing that you could have saved them and did not.”

  “But I don’t know… Wait. He drives a BMW, a gold one. He smokes American cigarettes, Camels. He has a titanium ring with a diamond in it on his right hand. Uh… He wears tailored suits and prefers a grey or black suit. He wears Armani shoes. He, uhh… Shit, that’s all I know.”

  “Nine minutes. I don’t believe you. You’re going to let my associates rip your children limb from limb to protect this vile creature?”

  “But, God help me I don’t know anything else. I…”

  “Calm down and think of every conversation you ever had with him. Think of everything he said, every offhanded comment. Does he have family in Queensland? Does h
e like sport fishing? Does he hunt foxes?”

  “Sport fishing! Maybe not fishing but he has a boat. It’s… uhh… oh, furtheluva God. Uh…”

  “Five minutes Mr. Marlowe.”

  “I’m trying. It’s a 42 foot… Bacchus. That’s it, that’s the name. Please, call off your men. Please!”

  “A 42- foot yacht named Bacchus. We may be able to use that. Where does he dock it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Three minutes, Mr. Marlowe.”

  “I don’t know. He hangs out at Victor’s on Drummoyne Bay. There is a dock there, right under the Gladesville Bridge, you know, across the, uhh, Parramatta River. I bet he berths it there. I’m sure of it. Please!” Demetrius Marlowe was becoming desperate now and grasping at straws. He had told them all he knew.

  Ginger picked up the phone and dialed a number. He told his imaginary associates on the other end of the line that they were to stand down and let the Marlowe family sleep. He repeated it again, forcefully, as if he got some resistance from the man at the other end of the line.

  In a matter of minutes they had bundled their captive back into the van, making sure he was blindfolded, to prevent his knowing where he had been held. They dropped him off at a restaurant that would be opening in an hour, with a strong admonition against saying anything and a pack of cigarettes to keep him company.

  “What are the chances?”

  “Terry, one of the things you will need to learn is that it is almost impossible for people to keep secrets except from themselves. If a man does not want to know something then he will deny it to himself or simply refuse to think about it and thereby deny all evidence.”

  “Ok. But I…”

  “Trust me, this is going somewhere. Did you plant the tracker?”

  “Aye. The tracker is under the back seat and I took the clamp off the radiator hose. It left a bit of a mark, like you could tell it had been clamped off if you knew what you were looking for. All in all, it was a brilliant method of stopping him in the middle of the industrial area.”