Terry paid for his room with cash. He did not have the look of the bikies and the manager figured he was probably the only other lodger he would get while the gang was staying.
Saxon watched very closely while trying to be nonchalant. He arranged for Rita, a fine looking woman, to approach Terry with a bottle and a smile. Evan liked to test people to determine their moral compass and their proclivities. He was surprised that while Terry drank he did not drink much, and while he obviously enjoyed women’s company, he was more interested in business. Most men Terry’s age could not have turned Rita down and she really poured it on that day. She all but unzipped his pants.
After a few minutes, once they determined that they were not being watched, Terry and Evan went into a room together. Both men were armed this time. Evan was confident enough to allow Terry to keep his guns. This was not lost on Terry and as a gesture of faith he took off his jacket and his holsters and threw them on the bed. Evan did not follow suit.
“All right, Saxon, I must say I like your choice of meeting places.”
“Yeah, I like the Blue Mountains.”
“What I have will require precision and coordination. I do not have an exact schedule, but when I do it will be very time sensitive. If any of the elements show up late the plan doesn’t work and we scrap it. That’s for the future. For now, I have something easy and profitable. What we get is a tanker full of gasoline for your pumps. What we need is a woman you can trust, some GHB and a good driver. Your servo tanks hold how much?”
“30,000 liters.”
“Damn big tanks.”
“It used to be a truck stop. I had the diesel tanks pulled out and scrapped but kept the petrol tanks.”
“All right. There is a regular run of gasoline from the Petroleo depot in Sydney. The driver’s name is Wally. He is not the full quid but he is a man of habit. He pulls out of the depot for whatever run he is making and his first stop is the Silver Spoon restaurant where he has breakfast. There is a motel next to the Silver Spoon…”
“I know the place.”
“Good, then I won’t need to explain that the trucks park behind the restaurant and you can’t see them from the windows of the motel. What I propose is that we have a competent sheila grab this galah and drop him some GHB. He’s out snoring and we nab his truck, pump your tanks full and then bring it back to him. He wakes up, don’t know what happened and goes on his way. He won’t say anything until they notice he’s a few thousand liters short but he won’t have anyone to blame.”
“Is this every morning?”
“Five days a week. Sometimes he works Saturdays but he doesn’t have the time to stop on Saturday. So it won’t work on the weekend. Remember though, the woman must be good. She needs to allay his natural suspicion, dope him and get him to the motel without arousing his suspicion. The only way that’s going to happen is if he’s convinced it is his idea. And he’s not too sharp.”
“Well then, do you think Rita could do it?” Evan watched closely to see Terry’s reaction. He did not trust men who were too easily swayed by a woman but he also detested poofs. He had killed homosexuals on general principles when he was young. He did not expect Terry to be such a man but the test was not over.
Terry deliberately wiped his hands on his blue jeans. “Yes, Rita could probably make a priest forget the love of God.”
“Yet you blew her off to talk to me.”
“This is business. Business always comes first. Women will always be there but opportunity does not always wait.”
“Wait here.” Evan McCormick walked out the door but he was not gone long. Terry heard a motorcycle fire up in the parking lot, a few seconds later it left. Evan returned and tossed Terry a liter of rum. Business was concluded and it was time to party. The door had barely closed behind him before a woman entered with a pair of plastic cups full of ice and a bottle of cola. She was not Rita. She locked the door behind her and proceeded to pour them both a drink.
Henry Cuthbert did not call Jimmy Cognac. Jimmy had not been in charge long enough and did not have the credibility Henry required. Henry called Abel Troy.
The receptionist claimed that Mr. Troy was out but she took a message as was usual. Abel Troy called Henry personally two minutes later.
“Henry, what have you done now? There is nothing I can do to save you. You know this, don’t you?”
“Well, that’s not quite right. You can provide me with passage to China and some funding for survival.”
“Henry, this leaves me open to aiding and abetting a killer. Tell me what would cause me to take such a risk?”
“I know who your snake is. I know who has been doing all the damage.”
“What are you referring to?”
“The man who hit the money van, the American. I know who is feeding him the information. Get me out of the country and provide me with some cash. I will tell you who he is and where you can find him if he runs. But I can’t tell you till I get in the vicinity of Thailand or Burma. I will not take the chance of ending up strapped to a chair.”
“Henry, we would never do such a thing to you.”
“Bullshit. You’ve done it to better men than me and you’ll do it to whomever you like for as long as you think it will advance your cause.”
“Henry…”
“Don’t give me that shit. I know what the story is. What I need to know is do we have a deal?”
“Of course. Whatever you want. You have been nothing but an asset to us. Where do you want to fly from?”
“Oh, no. You won’t catch me with that old line. I need a passport to get out of the country. You will send it to a Post Office Box in Canberra. When I am out of the country you will learn who your spy is. Send the passport and enough cash. I’ll contact you.”
As Henry would have expected, the Canberra Post Office was watched carefully. The package that was sent was forwarded from there to a private company who forwarded it to a box in the Molong Post Office. One of Henry’s nephews picked it up from there. Working with the Troy organization had inspired no trust in Henry Cuthbert but he had learned to cover his tracks.
“Well, that went off like clockwork. We got us a tank full of free petrol. That’s worth a bit.” Evan McCormick was smiling broadly.
“Glad I could help,” Terry replied.
“Was your night good?”
“Most enjoyable.”
“Glad she could help. She had some good things to say about you as well.”
“Once again, glad I could help.”
“What’s next?”
“First one’s free. I expect to get a bit of a return off the next.”
“I think that’s only fair.”
“The next operation will take four men. You will need one in a Spartan Security uniform. One experienced checker and two fork truck drivers. I will need them on call within a moment’s notice, and I will call you with the details.”
“Fair enough. I’m sure I can find the talent. They will be ready. I will wait for your call, but make sure you say nothing over the phone. If you do, that will destroy our agreement. If anyone else answers at my number, hang up. I don’t trust the telephone.”
“Righteous, mate. I’ll tell you what, then, no matter where I tell you to meet me, it’ll be Cardigans. You know the place?”
“I don’t like it.” Evan was not the sort of clientele that frequented Cardigans.
“No worries. You name the spot.”
“The Camshaft Grill next to the raceway.”
“That does it then. Look, I’ve been gone a few more days than I should. I’ve got to get back. I know they miss me.”
Saxon smiled for the first time Terry had ever seen, then his face went flat again. It still looked like a sign. Terry checked out of the motel and headed back toward Sydney. Much of the way there he had a motorcycle escort.
Jimmy Cognac was hot under the collar. He wanted to know where Terry had been and what he had been doing. Terry was not supposed to disappear like tha
t and leave Jimmy running the show when Henry Cuthbert was on the run. Nobody else had run off. Terry closed one eye and looked at Jimmy out of the other while he slowly fished out a cigarette and lit it. They were sitting in the office space of a warehouse that dealt in legitimate items.
“Jimmy, what happened?” Terry’s voice sounded like he was addressing a child.
“What happened, that idiot cocksucka shot two cops, on film no less. Then he leaves his driver’s license and registration in the cop car. What a fuckin’ idiot. I’d kill him myself if I could.”
“Tell me where he is, I’ll kill him.”
“Oh, no. I’m not gonna have two of you on the run. I may be angry but I’m not stupid.”
“I tell you I’ll kill him. That means I will kill him.” Terry spoke slowly pronouncing every word carefully.
“No you won’t. Not without the word.”
“You said you’d kill him if you could. I can and will if you say.”
“Forget you. You go back to work and do what you do. We’ll take care of Mr. Fuckall Henry Cuthbert.”
“Whatever you say.” Terry briefly considered killing Jimmy on the spot. He would need to kill the security guards if he did and that would be distasteful to him. Since it was a legitimate warehouse, the security guards were underpaid wannabes with a high school education and no prospects. He decided to work it a different way.
Jimmy Cognac didn’t know what to say. He was used to people groveling or lying or pleading. He was not used to a man who calmly sat smoking a cigarette and discussing murder. It was not that it was an unusual thing for him to have done, but Terry said it so out of hand that he could have been discussing a fish dinner. Frustrated, Jimmy dismissed Terry and went back to brooding about his situation and how he should never have left Brisbane.
It was plain why Cognac was so frustrated. He was getting pressure from above to increase his control over his given area, but events were against him. Henry was the branching point and Jimmy was really nothing but a buffer between the real power and the enforcers. So, Adam and Abel were untouchable and Henry was unreachable. Jimmy Cognac was left to run an organization he was completely unfamiliar with, staffed by people he had never met. These people were taking advantage of the situation and not supporting the structure. Some of the lower level were going rogue and some were simply disappearing. This had been happening for some time now, even before Henry left. A weakness was detected in management, fueled by the unresolved attacks. Once Henry went on the run, desertions escalated from fear and avarice. The skein was unraveling exponentially faster.
As the authority and influence of the primary network decreased, every other group in this eclectic society began to take a bite of the pie. Nobody wanted war and nobody was ready for it. Nobody with plans of staying in Sydney, that is.
Gordon MacMaster had no plans for staying in Sydney. He did not even stay the night on the rare moments he stepped foot in the city. Gordon’s plans were of a different nature.
Since infiltrating the Oriental underworld was not an option; Gordon picked his target from their ranks. They were as secretive as any crime syndicate, but it was not difficult to determine who had been making money without a high-paying job. The young men were very fond of souped-up Japanese cars and the ones with the fastest and fanciest cars were also men without legitimate employment. They held road racing events on back roads outside the city, always changing the locations. The events were never advertised and it was seldom announced before hand where they would be racing. This kept the police in the dark and there were seldom crowds of onlookers. If one wanted to participate, one needed to follow the racers to their destination.
The car Gordon was driving was fast but by no means in the same league as the street racers. He could follow them but he could not race. The car had been stolen from a Russian loan shark that night, while he was having dinner and drinks in an exclusive club frequented by his associates.
The target was a Cambodian enforcer. He was a flamboyant character with many friends and he had won the race that night, taking home a substantial pile of cash. His name was Chip Long Tim and he had many friends and admirers. The man was very good with his hands and feet and was often used as muscle by the Chinese.
Chip was a gambler and had headed toward the casino with his winnings when he had an accident. His sporty little import was no match for the Ford that hit him. It spun him around and caused extensive damage to the rear end of his Mitsubishi. He was forced to get out the passenger side since the driver’s door would not open after the collision. The accident had not been his fault, and with the typically brash attitude of youth, he was determined to take some revenge on the man who had caused it. He could not have known that he was attacking a former Scots Dragoon; he only saw a large man he assumed would be slow and contrite. He could not see his opponent’s face as the headlights of the Ford were behind him.
Gordon MacMaster was neither slow nor apologetic. As Chip Long Tim ran toward him, the Scotsman’s huge freckled fists, encased in brass knuckles, met him in mid stride. Chip was not used to being hit. Most of his opponents were afraid of him or too slow to initiate contact. There was no time to be surprised, however. He had never seen brass knuckles used before, they were too old-school for the modern times and Chip favored oriental weapons or guns. The brass knuckles opened up his face and split his skull. The Cambodian dropped like a slaughtered cow and was relieved of his winnings.
MacMaster could not have cared less if the man lived or died, as long as the correct evidence was left on the scene. The car belonged to a Russian, the half-full bottle of Vodka in the front seat was a Russian import and there was a pack of Russian cigarettes on the dashboard. He left both cars there and walked a quarter mile away to where there was another, less identifiable, vehicle. His victim survived but he would never race again. The encounter left him with an uncontrollable random tic down the left side of his body. His face was scarred, but not horribly so.
White men have forever been baffled by what they first called inscrutable, yellow devils. The Oriental religions and philosophies are often less violent and their gods less terrible and vengeful than the European patriarch. This would lead foreigners to believe that Easterners were pacifists, and while some were, most were simply patient. They were willing to learn and had already accepted that a certain amount of control could be given up for a certain amount of time to increase the lot of the whole. When aroused, the Oriental could be a terrible adversary.
Among the Chinatown community in Sydney, there was an eclectic mix of cultures and many of them looked down on the others. The Vietnamese and Cambodians were separate from the Thai and none of them identified with the Filipinos. The Chinese and Japanese had a long-standing hatred of each other and the Koreans stood separate from every one else. The assault on the popular young Cambodian man was not enough in and of itself to unite the cultures, but it was enough to ignite open discussion about the Russians.
Terry Kingston was counseling Evan McCormick on the proper moment to strike. He was learning a great deal about strategy from his new Scots mentor and trying to put it in effect. The city had grown naturally, without any real urban planning at its inception so many of its boundaries were geographically determined. This made it easy to turn one community against another because they did not share an open and porous border.
It had taken a long time for Gordon to earn Terry’s trust, though there had always been respect. Their arrangement had almost dissolved when Terry had brought in the outside elements but Gordon stuck with it for a while once Terry outlined the plan. The Scot would have gone for a more direct action, a targeted surgical strike rather than the chaos inducing crossfire that the Aussie was generating, but he had to admit that it would most probably be effective.
The second assault victim did not survive. He was a loan shark in the heart of the growing Russian sector. He was a particularly brutal man and this gained him fear and respect. His attacker did not respect him. He was kille
d with a sai, the edgeless dagger used in martial arts training. The weapon was left in the Russian’s chest. There was no love lost when this man died since he had few friends but there was a message read from the choice of weapon. The Asians would not bow down to the Russians. The second attack was not enough to ignite a war since much of the community was relieved to be rid of the loan shark
The Russians in question were not all of pure Soviet descent; many of them were Ukrainian, Slovakian, or Romanian. Despite the long history of occupation and subjugation, these ethnic groups clustered together in one area. Much of this was due to the similarity of the languages.
It is physically impossible to tell a South Eastern Russian from a North Eastern Chinaman. They share the same genetic background and would have coexisted peacefully. The Western Russians, on the other hand were much more aggressive in their outlook. They had lived through the Soviet Union’s demise and now they wanted to get some of what they had been denied.
Gordon MacMaster’s third attack took out one of the main figures in the Oriental network, who, accompanied by his bodyguard, was visiting one of his many lady friends. Both men were shot as they approached the car. The street was busy but no one else was shot and none of the witnesses saw who had shot them. The police determined it was a sniper who hit them from three blocks away and took them both out within seconds. On the roof the shots had come from, was a pack of Russian cigarettes. There was no doubt now, this was to mean war.
The Eastern contingent did not come swarming out of their neighborhood waving swords like some kind of kung fu movie. They drove out in sleek, fast cars and carried semi-automatic weapons. They hit the Russians quickly and with precision, causing very little collateral damage. The Russians hit them back in the middle of the night with gasoline bombs. The Molotov cocktails burned homes and businesses indiscriminately. The Sydney Fire Department lost two men that night and the constables went to work in the morning. With or without reasonable justification they rounded up every Russian, Ukrainian and Romanian they could find that was not on his way to work. The Chinese took the opportunity to rob and loot the stores operated by the Russians. This cycle only lasted a couple of days since the pool of recruits for each side was limited. In a couple of days, they counted the dead and went into mourning. They had each suffered badly and their operations were ripe for the picking.
Honorable Assassin Page 26
