The man on his left managed to punch Terry in the face and spin him off his bar stool, but it was a glancing blow because he was already turning in that direction. He dropped to his knee and punched the second man in the crotch. As the unfortunate buckled forward, his nose met Terry’s rising head. The man who had punched Terry from the left would have been well advised to watch his own flank as well. A foundry worker who had been playing pool had seen the situation developing and was not one to see a man bullied. That assailant went down, struck in the head with a pool cue.
Terry and the foundry worker looked at each other for just a second and then both headed for the door. The bartender was already calling the police department. The fourth man, the one who had a post by the door, ran for cover. Terry headed south and his new friend headed north but Terry was not satisfied that the incident was as innocent as it had appeared. He stopped a block away and stepped into the shadows of a doorway. He saw a couple of men exit the pub and head the other way. He also saw the reflection of the lights on the lens of a camera, in the front seat of a car across the street. There was not enough light to photograph anything outside the bar but maybe enough to see inside.
The automobile started up and headed, slowly, out of the neighborhood. The police showed up a couple of minutes later, but there was nothing to report except that there had been a scuffle. The fighters had all left the premises and the damage had been minimal; one broken pool cue and a smashed ashtray. Fortunately the fight had not spread this time.
“Victor, I think we have a problem,” Terry told his immediate contact. It was late morning and Terry had walked to the pawn shop where Wellington conducted business.
“Come in the office and we’ll talk about it.” Victor said, signaling to the counter man that he would be stepping off. “What’s the trouble?” he asked when he had closed the door behind them.
“I think we have an inspector of some sort looking into our business. He’s a big man, red hair and beard, maybe 25 or 30. He’s been asking questions, nothing suspicious, just talking to the crew. Says he’s a photographer from Scotland. I think I saw him photographing me last night.”
“Well that’s what photographers do, isn’t it?”
“Right, but not the way he did it. I can’t say for sure, but I think I saw him hiding in a car outside the pub I was having a drink in. I think he’s dangerous. I think he’s a copper of some kind.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’ll look into it.”
“Right then. Well, I know it’s not cricket to target the man but I think this one…”
“I said I’d look into it.”
“Right then. That’s all I had.”
“No, that’s not all. I’ve got a run for you.”
“I’m not sure that would be the best idea. If this man is…”
“Are you telling me how to run this business?”
“No, Victor, not at all. I’m merely saying that if this man is…”
“If he’s got a bead on you then the best thing you could do is shut up, take this run and get out of town. I… Will… Investigate. You… Will… Drive. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Terry could barely stand the condescending tone in Victor’s voice. It took everything he had to control himself and not bash the man’s skull in at that point. Later he realized that he would have enjoyed that way too much. He had been warned that to enjoy killing is the path to madness.
“The truck is already loaded. It is at this address.” He handed him a slip of paper. “They will inform you of the destination upon arrival. Your payment, on delivery, includes a bonus if you get it there on time. Now get moving.”
Terry thought it strange that he had been given a time-sensitive run in that manner. He had not been called in, it had been handed to him as if he happened to be there so he got it. The address was the warehouse end of a PVC piping factory. The truck was loaded and locked. The destination was on the manifest. He was going to a concern off Hindmarsh Drive in Phillip, just across the Tuggeranong Parkway from Canberra.
The truck ran smoothly and the day was mild; summer was over. There was no indication that he was being followed, but that did not mean he was not. There was something else that bothered him about this run, but he could not put his finger on it. It seemed legitimate enough and the paperwork was all in order. A light load, in a short truck, so there was almost no chance of getting rousted by the road patrol. There was plenty of time to get there so he was sure to get the on-time bonus. It was too easy. That was what was wrong. It was too easy.
The run went smoothly and the unloading was uneventful. Terry got his bonus in cash, which was very unusual but not unheard of. Then the real job was explained to him. He would be taking a crate full of something to the next destination, in Melbourne. None of this had been explained to him before he left Sydney, but they made it clear in Phillip that he had no choice. He would be delivering this load.
There was no sleeper on the truck and it was eight hours farther to his next destination. He had three hours under his belt already but with some judicious adjustments to the log he could still pull it off, legally, if he hurried. So he logged the loading and unloading times as an hour longer than they were and got on the road. Regardless of whether he went north or south, Terry had to skirt the Australian Alps to get to Melbourne. He chose the southern route as being less hilly, though more populated. He kept the truck at close to the speed limit and was not surprised when he was passed by several full-sized trucks. He increased his speed to match them but was careful not to go so fast as to catch them. The road was not busy as he headed south on the Monaro Highway. He had intended to turn west onto Princes Highway at Cann River but he never made it. As he passed the heavily forested area south of Noorinbee, he heard the bullets strike his radiator.
“Fuck. Some bastard is using my own tricks against me. Thank God they didn’t do it in some mountain pass or I’d be boxed in.”
Terry floored the truck and held his finger on the windshield washer, trying in vain to keep the coolant from obstructing his view. He would not make it far but he knew if he didn’t get past the trap he would never get out of there at all.
It was not far down the road when he heard the first rattle in the engine. It would seize up soon, so he pulled it off the road, jumped out the passenger side and ran into the trees. He heard a vehicle grinding to a halt behind him and men yelling as the doors slammed.
When he felt he was far enough off the road, Terry peeled off his driving gloves and turned back in a sweeping arc, trying to get behind whoever was hijacking his load. He heard two men blundering through the forest behind him and soon enough saw two more men at his truck. They had cut the lock, thrown up the roller door and were moving his load into the back of a panel van. It was seconds later when a Ford Explorer pulled up behind them and one man got out.
“He is undoubtedly the bugger who shot my truck,” thought Terry. “I’ll need to deal with these two first, however.”
The two men pursuing him were city-bred thugs. There was no doubt they knew their jobs and were probably quite efficient in the city, but they were no match for Terry in the woods. At another time he would have taken pleasure in sneaking up on them, but he was pressed for time. As he waited for the pair, who were not smart enough to distance themselves from each other, he heard a scream behind him, from the road. He did not have the option to check it out, the two men were too close. He would much have preferred to take them quietly, with a knife or an axe, but once again he did not have time for the hunt. They came around the bole of a large tree and he shot each of them in the side of the head, simultaneously, one round from each revolver. They dropped like stones.
Hoping the men at the road had assumed that his pursuers had shot him, Terry slipped up on the three vehicles parked at the edge of the trees. What confronted him was not what he expected. The Explorer and the van were idling but the three men were not in them. They were lying by the side of the road with bullet holes in them
. He did not recognize any of these men, or the two dead in the woods.
“What in the name of God is this?”
Terry froze, just within sight of the incident, behind the vehicles. He saw a car pull up and then take off in a hurry, its owner obviously deciding not to help after all. The crate from the back of the truck had been transferred to the back of the van. With no scope or binoculars, Terry could only rely on his natural sight, but that did not tell him where the shots had come from.
“Bloody hell, I got two, no… I got three choices. I can scamper like a rabbit, into the woods. I can get in that Explorer and leave the load here. Or… I can jump in the back of that van.” With Terry, the decision was the action. He ran full tilt out of the woods, cutting in close to the Ford and diving into the back of the van. He pulled the doors closed behind him as quickly as he could and was relieved that no bullets came pounding through them. He leaped into the driver’s seat, slammed the shift lever into drive and floored the accelerator. No bullets pierced the van as he drove off.
Cann River was only five kilometers away but there was no place to hide the van there. It was a service town and the only reason for its existence was that it marked the confluence of the Monaro Highway and Princes Highway. Instead of turning west on Princes Highway as he had intended, Terry took Tamboon Road south and pulled off into an orchard. He backed the van around so he could see the road but could not be approached unseen from the road, took a deep breath and shut off the van.
“Christ, I’m in it now. At least one witness drove off. He saw the van. My pistols are hot now but I got no other weapons. The paperwork said PVC but those men were not stealing piping. It’s got to be drugs of some kind and if I get caught with them I’m done for. If I don’t deliver, they’ll think I stole it and I’m done for. Shit. Is there a map in there?” It turned out there was a map in the glove compartment but there was nothing but farm roads south of Cann River and none of them led anywhere. “Shit. The manifest in the truck will lead them right to the destination. Oh, hell. I left that in my pocket, good. I can’t go to Melbourne or I’ll be in it with the constables. North then. Find a spot. Make a call.” Once again, to decide was to implement and Terry headed back to Princes Highway and north from there. About 30 kilometers away he pulled off onto a dirt track in the Alfred National Park and pulled back as far as he could, about four kilometers. Then he tried to make the call but there was no service.
Terry got out of the van and slipped into the woods. He did not think he had been followed, but there may have been a tracker in the van. It was only a matter of minutes before he heard another vehicle making its way down the dirt track road. From the condition of the road, it could not have seen more than a dozen vehicles a year, and most passenger cars would have gotten stuck in the mud if they went any further. The sound of the engine stopped and Terry knew he was right. He reached in his pocket and pulled out two shells to replace the ones he had used, slipping the empty brass into a hole in a log.
It did not take long to determine that his current target was not the same class of clumsy buffoons as he had shot earlier. He had slipped out of the Land Rover and had not closed the door, let alone slammed it. He had slipped into the woods on the far side of the trail from Terry and was undoubtedly making his way toward the van.
If Terry disabled the Land Rover he would not be able to get around it to get out. He was not sure he could go much further down the road in the van as the track degraded badly further on. Also, he wanted the Rover. The van had been marked but he did not think the Rover had. It was a perfect swap, all he had to do was kill the man who had driven it and that should not be a problem.
The track was not easy to follow initially. The man had some skills for forest work. As it got closer to the van and the ground got damper, the footprints were easier to pick out. Terry was stepping over a fallen log when he heard the voice behind him.
“Ye’ll be stopping right there. If you make one untoward move I shall kill you where you stand.” The voice had a heavy brogue that Terry had heard before.
“You must be the Scotsman who’s been taking pictures.” Terry said without turning around.
“Aye, and you’ll be the Aussie who almost got hijacked. Now drop your weapons. Do not think for a minute I will hesitate to kill you.”
Terry dropped his pistols in front of him thinking the log would make good cover but his captor was having none of it.
“Back yourself off that log and move toward me slowly, backward. I want to see your hands at all times. You may be driving but yer no driver. Good. Now take off your vest. Turn around.”
Terry turned around and looked right into the barrel of a 9mm automatic. “You’re very good in the woods,” he said. “Not many men can sneak up on me.”
“You still have a lot to learn. I didn’t sneak up on you, I merely let you slink past me and there I was, behind you.”
“Who are you, really?”
“That’s not important. Let’s just say I’m your guardian angel.”
“You shot the men back there at the truck?”
“Aye, that is to say I shot three of them. You shot once that I heard, but you were the only man that came out of those woods. No, you’re no driver.”
“And you’re no photographer so let’s come clean. You didn’t shoot me when you had the chance, then, and you didn’t shoot me now, so I think you won’t be shooting me.”
“I’m thinking you were planning on shooting me,” the Scotsman said with a crooked grin.
“I was. I didn’t know but that you were just another member of whatever team it was that tried to kill me and take my load.”
“If I find it necessary I will kill you, but I don’t see it now. Your pistols are dirty, now, right? Both of them?”
“Yes. If I had another I would have tossed them into a river.”
“Pick them up, one at a time, two fingers. Crack them and empty the shells into your hand. Now put the shells in your pocket. Give it to me. Now the other one. Keep the pistols in your holsters and put your vest back on. We need to get rid of them where they won’t be found. They’ll be searching the rivers around the bridges. An area like this has nothing happen for 10 years and when it does they get onto it like a terrier with a rat. We need to move and we need to move now. We leave the van here, but first, I want to know what is in the crate. Walk in front of me and don’t even consider putting your hand in your pocket.”
“You never told me who you are.”
“And you don’t need to know. Call me Glasgow.”
Back at the van Terry found an old-fashioned jack handle that could be used as a crowbar and he opened the crate. Inside was a load of heroin.
“You didn’t think it was plumbing, did you?” asked the Australian.
“No. I knew she wasn’t plumbing.”
“Would you have taken the job if you knew you were hired by drug dealers?” Terry cocked an eye at Gordon, attempting to gauge his reaction as well as his words.
“A job’s a job. I always see the job through, regardless of what it is. I was told that someone using the name Irishman was playing hob with the legitimate concerns of the Brothers Troy. I suspected something was foul but a job’s a job.”
“What now?”
“Well, lad…”
“I’m nobody’s boy.”
“No, and that you’re not. Mate, then. What we do now is deliver the load, mate. The van stays here. We’ll set them on it later. We need to put the load in the Land Rover and deliver it. You see, my job is not done. I contracted to find the Irishman and I have not yet done that. We did manage to remove some fools from the scene, but unless I miss my guess, none of them was the man I’m after.”
“What makes you think so?”
“The man I’m after destroys the product or leaves it for the bobbies. Those men were stealing it. They were after the load for their own ends, not to hurt the business but to profit from it. No, those fools had nothing to do with the Irishman.”
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br /> Halfway back to the road, the Scotsman had Terry stop the Rover and bury the revolvers off the trail after wiping them clean of prints. The rest of the trip was uneventful. The men at the destination were suspicious but that was cleared up with a phone call.
Terry spent the first part of the trip looking for a way to get the drop on his new accomplice. That proved to be impossible, or at least too dangerous to attempt, especially with a crate of heroin in the back of the vehicle. It was not too long before the Scotsman’s wit and casual manner impressed Terry a great deal. He was already impressed by the man’s hunting skills. He decided that he could have done worse for a partner. He also decided that he would kill this Glasgow soon. It is always beneficial to know who is hunting you, it evens up the playing field.
After the delivery, the day was done. The two checked into a motel for the night, planning on driving back to Sydney the following day. The telephone call was placed from Terry’s room and a message was left. The number went straight to a message pager. The phone rang with the return call about a beer and a half later.
“Glasgow here. Yes, sir, we have thwarted an attempt to highjack the load. The truck was disabled and had to be left on the scene, unfortunately. No, sir, I do not wish to have this conversation on the telephone. Yes, sir, Mr. Barber acquitted himself with style. It would be my pleasure. We will see you tomorrow evening then. Thank you very much, sir.” The Scot hung up the phone and turned to Terry, “Mr. Troy says you are to get a bonus for actions above and beyond the call of duty.”
“Which one?”
“Which what?”
“Which Troy did you speak with?”
“Well, it wasn’t actually one of them at all, it was a subordinate. I’m sure he has sufficient swing to authorize a bonus, however.”
“I’m sure he does, I just like to know who I’m dealing with.”
“You’ll meet him tomorrow evening. He wants to meet you personally. In the mean time, we need to get something to eat or we’ll get drunk.
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