Henry was not feeling his best. His left hand was chewed and torn by the dog. His right shoulder was bleeding badly where the constable’s bullet had passed through it. He was driving a car that was already called in and had two bullet holes in the trunk lid. It was not until he was a couple of kilometers from the scene that he realized he had left his driver’s license and registration in the police vehicle.
“This is kind of a cozy setup. I like the idea and it practically guarantees privacy.” Gordon MacMaster was chewing on a cigar but did not light it.
“All you need is two rooms. I can trust the tart to keep her mouth shut for a while, but if the questions get asked she’ll fold like the wilted rose she is.” Terry was smoking a cigarette, listening to the water running in the shower.
“So you’ve approached the Dark Knight President and proposed that he take over the Sydney Mafia?”
“I wouldn’t call it Mafia. That’s an Italian… Sicilian term. It doesn’t really apply.”
“Let us not mince words here. We are playing a game that has too many consequences to be concerned about what name it holds. You have gotten off very lucky so far. Nobody has killed you. The reason you are still alive is that nobody knew what you are up to. Now you have invited a group of savages to join you in your endeavor and opened the can for all the world to see. It was a bad move and it could get you killed.”
“I have been very discreet and frankly, I hadn’t heard from you in months. I thought you took the money and ran.”
“You don’t get it, do you? If I had taken the money, I would have left your corpse behind. I don’t leave witnesses. Haven't you learned that?”
“But you have. The Troy brothers saw you, I assume. I know Henry Cuthbert saw you.”
“Those are not witnesses, they are employers. They have as much to lose by fingering me as I do. You are a witness. We are speaking together because you are on the inside and I am on the outside. You feed me the information and I pull the deal. Our last operation was a resounding success, yes?”
“Yes, except I thought…”
“You thought I deserted you. You thought that I was a man with no honor. I can see you still have much to learn about those around you. When honor is present, trust follows. I can see your trust is not easily bought, nor should it be.”
“Speaking of bought…”
“Your part is in your little apartment in Orange. If you can call it that. It’s not very secure.”
“You broke in my room?”
“Yes. I needed to provide you with your cut. You have some impressive weapons in that room but it is not very secure. A good dead bolt lock on the door would help. I practically walked in.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“Think nothing of it.”
The water stopped running in the shower and they could hear the girl moving around in the bathroom. The hair dryer whirred up.
“So, what is our next target?”
“I need to assess how much damage you’ve done by talking to this Saxon creature. We may need to back off entirely. You may have little regard for your life but I prize mine highly. I will get back with you. Remember, if you can get information that nobody knows you have, that makes the best target. If they can’t trace it to you they will blame someone else.”
“I’ll see what I can get.”
“What about this woman? Is she going to compromise us?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’ve known her a very long time now.” Terry didn’t mention that she had been his first, the woman that had completed his transformation to manhood after his first kill.
“You know, this Saxon is no match for the Troy brothers.”
“I know.”
“Then you also know that even if we put him in power he won’t be able to hold it.” MacMaster was punctuating his comments with his cigar.
“Yes, I know. I think they call it mutually assured destruction.”
“You had best have a plan for stepping out of the way when the ‘mutually assured destruction’ starts flying. I’ve seen many men caught in a vortex they created only to have it suck them in.”
“Noted. I was thinking we could leave the country at that point. I will have done everything I set out to do by then.”
It was on the news the next morning. Henry Cuthbert was a fugitive from justice, wanted in connection with a triple homicide. The fact that the third victim was a dog did not matter. “Buttons” was a registered constable who had been killed in the line of duty. Every officer in New South Wales was looking for Henry.
“Jerry, please I have nowhere else to go.”
“Go back to your gangster friends. They were always more family to you than I.”
“No, Jerry it’s not true. Remember when you had that crop failure a few years back and you needed a new tractor at the same time. Who came up with that John Deere? And the hose for the irrigation system, who brought that in?”
“Oh, aye. You did me some favors over the years, but it won’t take long before they’re on to ye. Bloody hell, Henry, you shot three constables. What on earth were ye thinking?”
“They were setting me up. There was nothing in the trunk. I never carry anything in the trunk. They towed my car a week ago. I know they put something in the trunk then, or they had a key made. I had nothing in the trunk. I never do.”
“Get the car in the barn. Then come inside. Beth has a stew on, and we’ll get you some new clothes. You’ll be wanting some iodine on those cuts, too.”
The next day Jerry was digging a big hole with his back hoe. Henry’s car went into the hole and the dirt was plowed over it. The cabin was not so much a summer getaway; it was more of a hunting lodge type of structure. The amenities were Spartan, as it was not designed for the long term. Nor was it on the beaten path. Of course, Jerry’s sons knew where it was but his wife could probably not have found it right away.
Henry was temporarily hidden from the world.
It did not take the Provincial Police long to show up on Jerry Cuthbert’s doorstep, looking for Henry. Jerry told them his brother and he had limited contact since Henry had moved to Sydney, that he had not seen him and that they would do better to look in the city. The neighbors were interviewed as well but the distances between people here precluded anyone having seen anything. Henry’s car was nothing special, nothing to cause notice anywhere there were roads.
Senior Sergeant Randolph Black had not ruined his career in that he had not been drummed out of the service of the state. He could never look forward to a promotion, however. Senior Sergeant was the best he could expect in his life and while it was not a bad position, it did not carry the perks of an inspector’s position. It was the spot where the rank changed from chevrons to pips, the equivalent of an enlisted man’s highest ranking. Once surpassing that, the perks and the pay were much better.
“Didn’t you tell the officers what they would be dealing with?”
“This was not the team that was supposed to do it and they were not supposed to do it during the day. The night shift was instructed to do the deed that night but the instructions were not public. The day crew weren’t rookies, either. They were seasoned officers with years on the street. Cuthbert got the jump on them. I can’t be sure how he knew but we have the footage of what he did. He shot both men and the dog. Not before the dog took a bite out of him and we know he was shot as well. He never showed up at a hospital, but he left some blood at the scene.”
“That’s hardly a bloody consolation then is it, Sergeant? I think it would be in your best interest to remember that if word of your little operation gets out, I might be forced to retire, but you will be incarcerated with the very same men you have been arresting your entire career. I think that would be sufficient motivation for you to find and silence this man.” Superintendent Barlow had a reputation for being cool under fire. He seldom showed his fangs in his advancing years. The Sergeant noticed that this Saturday, it was not just that he was not invited to have a drink, the
re was no bottle in evidence at all.
“Yes, sir. We have checked out his regular spots, the places he does business, he hasn’t been there. His regular associates haven't seen him. We checked out his brother’s farm, no luck. His face has been on the telly. I would have expected someone to have recognized him by now and given us a call. We have advertised a reward and gotten the usual jokers calling in but nothing of substance. I would think some clerk in a petrol station would pick him up somewhere.”
“What’s next?”
“Well, I think we need to expand our search. He’s on the run or he went to ground. On the run we’ll get someone eyeballing him getting petrol or a quick bite. If he’s hiding in the city somebody is supplying him and we have everybody on alert.”
“It’s not enough. I want the men who reported to him brought in. Anyone you think had any ties to him needs to be brought in and questioned. Squeeze their heads and see who sweats about it.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get on it right away.”
“You’re damned right you will. If you fuck this up again there’s gonna be hell to pay. And I want to know why the day crew took the initiative on this. Seasoned veterans my ass. I saw the footage. Both of them staring into the trunk like little boys with Cuthbert free to clobber them. Dismissed.”
Sergeant Black was glad to leave the office and get back to the men who reported to him. Superintendent Barlow had looked like he was going to take a bite out of him if he made a move.
Black went to work on the list of Cuthbert’s potential subordinates. The details on the list were from direct observation and surveillance. They had known of Henry’s nefarious associations, but they had not yet made a move on him. They lacked good evidence previously. Now they had more than they needed and knew everybody to question.
When the operation began it was no long-term affair. The constables moved in like cowboys on a herd of cattle, rounding them into pens made for criminals.
When Henry had gone on the run, everybody who reported to him had been ordered to hold their post and continue as if nothing had happened. Some of them did. The more experienced men took a little dodge to the side to get out of the immediate spotlight. Terry Kingston left the city entirely. He could smell the operation before it was formed. He knew the moment was on hand. Before the Olympics they had rounded up a lot of men just to get them off the streets so there would be a smooth and memorable event. This was not such a benign operation. The men were being interrogated by teams for hours. Some of them talked but it was all about old infractions, stuff that had been done years ago. As hard as they squeezed, nobody knew where Henry Cuthbert had gone.
“Welcome back, Terry. We haven't seen you for quite a long time. Where have you been?”
“James, Billy, how have you been?”
“You know, not much happens out here in farm country to get our attention. I imagine your life has been much more interesting, living in the city.”
“Oh, not really. Orange is no teeming metropolis, you know. I’ve just been taking care of the agency and laying low. It’s good to get back to the farm.”
As was his habit, Terry had left the Holden in Orange and taken the company van back to the farm. The two local constables had seen the van in the driveway and stopped in to talk for lack of anything better to do. Terry invited them in for a beer but they declined, since they were on duty. They left quickly after taking a couple of dozen eggs that Ginger insisted they accept.
Terry was quick to outline what had happened since they had been in touch and Ginger listened intently. He had not gotten a letter since they had last spoken and was concerned about his nephew’s state of mind. Living a double life had tripped up more than one man and unbalanced more than one mind. He approved of the plan that Terry outlined for him, but it was laid out according to Terry’s perspective and Ginger could not see the entire layout. He was too far removed from it.
Jerry Junior stopped by the next day for a chat and a beer. One beer let to another and soon enough Jerry Junior and Terry were potted. As is so often done when men drink together, plans were made. The two of them committed to hunting the following day. Terry wanted to hunt his uncle’s land since he knew it so well, but Junior was quick to tell him of the rabbit problem that his father’s land was prone to. The fox population had been taken care of but once the foxes were killed, the rabbits came back in force. The two of them decided that they would hunt the Cuthbert land instead. Junior told Terry about the American company he sold the fox tails to. They supplied fly fishermen with various furs and feathers so they could tie their own flies. Terry promised to bring him some in the morning.
The summer was waning and there would not be much good hunting left in a few short weeks. Rather than ruin the meat with a shotgun, the two hunters would go out with .22 rifles. Even though the objective was to destroy the rabbit population, neither of them could justify killing them without eating them and both men loved rabbit.
The morning came early and Terry was on hand with his rifle. He had forgotten the fox tails, however. Junior was a little slower this morning, but he was ready in short enough order. The dew was gone from the grass when they reached the woods, but it would not be hot for a few hours. Both men were accomplished hunters. Junior knew the land better, but Terry was quieter in the woods. Between them they bagged eight rabbits by noon and decided it was time for some food.
The gunshots were more like cap guns at the cabin, Henry could barely hear them. He had not hunted well while he was there, the city had dulled his edge a bit and while he had bagged some game, he had wasted more ammunition than he had used. He blamed the gun sights on his brother’s rifle, but the truth was that he had never been a good hunter. He lacked the patience and that indescribable smoothness that allows some men to become one with the forest.
The rabbits were skinned and tossed in the pot. Beth was bustling about preparing lunch for the men. The rabbit would serve for dinner. She insisted that Terry stay, but he explained that he had some things to do and promised to return at dinner time.
Beth put up a good front and let things appear normal. Truthfully she was angry at her husband for allowing Henry to occupy the cottage. They had known he was a gangster all along. His gifts were always welcome, though suspect, and they had not seen him for years. They never spoke of each other, these brothers who had chosen different paths in life. It was as if they tried to forget each other.
Terry stopped back for dinner and, in an unusually gregarious moment, he began to regale them with humorous drinking stories. He felt good being among people he did not have to fear and mistrust; people he had known most of his life. He relaxed a bit and in relaxing realized how tense he had been.
Terry never saw Henry Cuthbert at Jerry’s farm and did not know they were related. He never saw Henry that day either, but he was noted from the tree line. Henry saw him arrive and rubbed his eyes, not believing what he saw. With the typical lack of patience he could not wait there until Terry came back out, but he did come back later, saw that the van was gone and debated crossing the field to the house. Coming out of the woods made him feel exposed. What if someone pulled in while he was standing out there like a bloody wallaby? So he waited until after dark to make the trip. He was not certain that he had seen his former associate, Thompson Barber. It was a long way across the field. Jerry gave him a bit of stew that had been set aside for him and answered his questions. No, he was told, that was not Thompson Barber but Terry Kingston. They had known Terry for many years and he lived in Orange, not Sydney. Henry accepted the answer. He had no reason not to.
Being in the house after dark meant Henry was going to spend the night on the couch. The field could be traversed, but there was the trail to the cabin and he might not be able to find his way by flashlight.
Morning came and Henry had taken a long hot shower, grateful for the hot water. He was shaving with his brother’s razor when he heard an engine pull in the driveway. The bathroom window looked out on the driveway so t
hat when he pulled back the curtain, he saw Terry Kingston getting out of the company van with a bundle of fox tails. He had forgotten to bring them by the day before and was dropping them off on his way back to Orange. This time there was no mistake. Henry was looking at the man he had known as Thompson Barber. The wheels began turning in Henry’s head.
Evan McCormick suspected his new associate had something to do with the manhunt that was on for Henry Cuthbert. He was paying a lot of attention to the structure and makeup of the Sydney organization. To say he was fully committed is not totally accurate, for while he liked the idea of being the man in charge of the entire operation, he did not think it would work the way it had been described to him. He also had a healthy suspicion that the man he knew as Thompson Barber would double-cross him as easily and readily as he had turned on his current employers. Evan “Saxon” McCormick was already picking out Thompson Barber’s gravesite.
The meeting was held in a motel room in Blackheath. Saxon and eight of his higher ranking men rode out and rented rooms. The proprietor was not happy about seeing the motorcycles because a different group had trashed the place badly a couple of years before. The manager insisted that the rooms be paid for with a credit card so he had some legal recourse if there was a repeat of prior events.
Terry Kingston got there just after the women arrived in a couple of vans. Self described biker bitches, they hung around with whatever bike club treated them right and they swapped clubs often. They had no loyalty and could be had by anybody. Their lack of moral standards had a certain appeal for the men.
Honorable Assassin Page 25
