by Nick Spill
• • •
Terry looked at his Rolex. It was time for Plum’s dinner. He boiled two eggs, put two pieces of toast with butter on a paper plate and poured hot water over a tea bag in a polystyrene cup. He took a small glassine packet out of a tin from the back of a kitchen cabinet and stirred this white powder into the cup.
He carried Plum’s dinner down the basement steps, carefully undid the secret lock to the other basement in the closet and, shutting it again, knocked on Plum’s door.
“Dinner time,” Terry half-sung in his high-pitched voice.
With the tray on the ground, he unlocked the door and peered in. Plum was seated on the bed, her knees under her chin. She was frightened.
“I brought you some dinner. You know I’m not a good cook, but this will go down well.”
Plum Blossom was not impressed by such friendliness. Her throat was so dry that she grabbed the tea as soon as Terry placed the tray in front of her. She poured the tea down her throat without tasting it.
“I’ll get you some more later, after you’ve eaten your eggs.” Terry was genuinely concerned. He had not given her enough liquids. He should have provided her with a plastic water bottle like bicyclists carried.
“Thanks,” Plum let out.
Terry knew he would have to do all the talking, show a little nervousness, a little vulnerability. He took a deep breath and began.
“I know what happened, happened, Plum, but I must trust you now with some deep confidences. Probably what you’re going to hear will shock you, but you have to trust me just as I’m trusting you with these facts.” There was no response from her. She peeled her first egg. Who was he kidding? Who was she going to tell?
“Your three cousins in Pukekohe are growing marijuana. Well, that’s okay. The trouble is the Maoris want it. They’re bringing down a big shipment themselves from up north. Now it turns out these Maoris know about the greenhouses in Pukekohe. You know, the ones behind Bruce’s house. They’ve been out there and plan to take it all. Of course, they’re not going to turn up with knives and axes and whatnot. But they do want the stuff, and they want it bad.”
He waited for a response, but Plum chewed her egg.
“They know you and your relationship to Bruce’s family. They also know Wiremu Wilson was staying with you. What Wiremu has got to do with all this, I don’t know. But he’s mixed up in it somehow.
“Anyway, they were going to kidnap you and hold up your life for the harvested dope. It was that simple. That’s why I had Big John keep an eye on you. He wanted to warn you, but he got jumped on instead. Then some Maoris came over to your house and tried to kill him. He put up a terrific fight, you know how Big John can get, and he managed to escape.”
Plum had finished the egg. She gave Terry a blank look.
“So I brought you here. I know it was against your will, and I know I appear inconsiderate, but you see, I had no choice. Plum, I still love you. I care for you a great deal, and it would kill me if anything happened to you. You can’t deny the past. What we once had.”
Plum slowly peeled her second egg.
“Plum, you can’t be out there. No one can protect you like I can. You think the police would? What a joke! Those Maoris would find you. They control all the dope in this town and anyone else watch out! I’ve already let the Looks know what’s happening. Other than that, I just have to sit tight and protect you.”
Plum sneered.
“Plum. You have to trust me. You know my methods are a bit unorthodox, but you know they work. Right?”
“Bullshit,” Plum whispered, her throat still sore. The eggs had not helped.
“What? I didn’t hear you, Plum.” When Terry raised his high-pitched voice a tone higher, he sounded meek.
“Bullshit!” she rasped.
“Just remember the last time you were with me, I protected you from your own family. They wanted to run you in as a prostitute. I supported you, I…”
“Who else knows I’m here?” she croaked.
“No one. Why? Should I tell someone?” Terry was concerned.
“Oh you.” Plum gazed at the cold white toast. She lost her appetite, but she needed her food if only to sustain her rage. She had never won an argument with him, even though he always made it appear he was giving in to her. “I sh’d never’ve listened to you when I first met you, and I certainly don’t trust you now. You’re using me just like you use everyone else.”
“Plum, with you, it’s different. I thought we had something special. I’ve shown you in umpteen ways how much I care for you, even risking my family life and all the years of love and devotion I’ve received from my wife. You know that.”
“My arse.” She bit into the toast.
“You know, I wouldn’t bring this up but it was very painful when I said good-bye to you at the airport, and I did pay for your ticket, right?” He saw her drop the toast and lie down on her cot, her eyes slowly closing. She continued to chew, then she stretched out and put her arms under her head and fell asleep.
Terry watched her slow breathing. Her pale brown body seemed so fragile and precious under her clothing.
He knelt down beside her and peeled back her right eyelid. He ran his left hand down her legs to her thin ankles. Perfect. He took from his pocket a length of soft nylon rope and gently tied her hands behind her back. He then rolled her over onto her stomach, made sure her hair was away from her mouth and she could breathe, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.
He bent over her and ran both his hands up the insides of her legs till they reached her panties. He could feel the heat coming from her. Parting her legs, he raised her skirt over her back, he massaged her buttocks before running a finger down the crack to the softest part of her body, her inner thighs just where they met her pubic hairs. The feel of her flesh through her panties gave him goose bumps. Terry bent over and kissed both buttocks. He ran his mouth down her crack to her dark moist mound. He expected to inhale her own peculiar sweet smell of lust, but instead he was assaulted with the smell of dried urine. Of course, Plum had not had a chance to wash. How could he forget? She usually smelt so sweet, so fresh.
Terry pulled her panties off. He gently parted her buttocks again and gazed at the tight brown hole that had given him so much pleasure.
In those intimate moments, Terry had found a new joy in knowing Plum Blossom. A rediscovery of what sex could be like with a young woman. He had indoctrinated her into the realm of anal sex, taught her how to move, to grip him with her strong tight muscles. He hungered for this unique experience again.
That Plum should enjoy this act and be grateful to him, this, Terry assumed to be true. All these memories had aroused him again, as did her mute, open availability. He slid his left index finger down between her buttocks and played with her perineum and the tight opening. He could not control himself. He had to do it, go where no man but he had gone.
Terry the Turk bounded up the steps to find a jar of Vaseline in his bathroom.
• • •
Ricky had spotted Hei Hei in the middle of the riot as the Maori made his way to the stairs at the back of the lounge. In the confusion outside, he had lost sight of the small fat man with a white turban. He ran across the road to the shop.
“I’ve seen him, let’s go!” he yelled to Chuck who was behind the counter with Martin. There was no time for questions. Three people were at the counter. One, a tall man with short blond hair and blue eyes, turned away from Ricky and walked out of the shop with his two spring rolls.
“We’ll be back for the rush,” Ricky shouted over his shoulder as he took off his apron. He followed Chuck out of the shop leaving Martin on his own. A large crowd had gathered around the police cars and vans.
John Eustace stood two doors away and watched Ricky and Chuck scan the crowd. He did not know who they were looking for, but he was intrigued by the riot at the Three Lamps. There were now traffic police at each end of the block on Ponsonby Road, sealing off all cars. All the flas
hing blue lights added to the confusion.
Ricky and Chuck spotted their man with the white head bandage across the street. John Eustace finished the rolls and licked his greasy fingers. He crossed the road and headed towards the police cordon to get a better view of the two men. All three watched the Maori with the white head bandage approach the Hungry Wok. Between them were groups of drunk and distressed men and women and police shouting instructions to each other.
Hei Hei took the bottle out of his jacket. He lit the very top of the rag with his lighter. He counted, one Pakeha, two Pakeha, three Pakeha. The flames shot out a foot, there was so much oil in the rag.
He stepped back and, with his throwing arm extended, threw the burning bottle high into the shop then turned and walked away without looking back.
The bottle flew in an arc over the two men waiting and bounced on the counter, before smashing in the rear wall over the two vats of hot oil. Martin raised his head, as he held a strainer with the spring rolls, to see the gasoline spread over the vats. It was like a slow-motion film. The last image Martin would see was the remains of the rag as it fell in shreds into one of the vats. He had no time to leap over the counter or shield his face from the flames that shot out from the vats.
The jelly from the broken bottle was on his hair and hands. There was an explosion and a blinding white flash. He was saturated in burning oil. His one scream could not have been heard above the roar of flames and a second larger explosion that blew his remains out of the shop into the street. The two young men were incinerated where they stood.
Hei Hei ducked around the next corner when he heard the second louder boom followed by the breaking of glass. Then came screams, and the whole sky above him lit up like a giant bonfire. He rubbed his hands as he approached a late model red Holden and tried the door. It was unlocked. He took a knife out of his pocket and quickly hot-wired the car. He backed out of the parking space and drove down the hill in the opposite direction to the commotion. His body no longer ached.
• • •
Wiremu turned his head suddenly to the big red-colored windows. He felt the shock wave first in his guts. He swung around and grabbed Mel and Henry by the shoulders. Before they could ask what was happening, the shock wave shattered the red windows. Drunken patrons were showered with tiny particles of glass that exploded across the bar. An intense white flash followed that bounced off the mirrored surfaces and then the boom came, a deafening sound that kept coming, like thunder right overhead. After, there was complete silence for a long second. Then screams from outside, followed by shouts and cries for help in the bar. The impact of the explosion had been so strong that windows up and down the street had been shattered.
Mel, Wiremu and Henry staggered out of the bar in shock. Wiremu brushed pieces of glass out of his short hair and looked across the road. The entire two-storey wooden building that once housed the Hungry Wok was engulfed in a massive wall of flame. The fire was the color of Wiremu’s eyes. This was how his brother had died. Death by fire. Wiremu felt the heat on his face, oblivious to the bodies running past him covered with bloody pieces of glass, yelling for help, over the wailing of sirens.
This is it, Wiremu thought, his mind clear amidst the confusion around him. After all the events of the last week, now, someone has firebombed the Chinese takeout. Mel had gone back inside the pub to assist an old man who had been thrown to the floor. He was too drunk to understand what had happened.
“What’s going on?” Henry asked Wiremu.
“That was the Wongs,” Wiremu muttered.
• • •
John Eustace, farther from the impact of the blast, thought he had seen everything, and he followed Hei Hei as best he could by pushing through the crowd.
Ricky and Chuck were oblivious to the injured bystanders. They fought their way to the next corner but could not see Hei Hei and the white bandages.
“Martin! Martin! What about Martin!” Ricky was screaming, but Chuck kept a tight grip on him as they reached the first corner. He had to find that Maori. They could feel the heat from the fire. The police were trying to clear the street for the fire trucks and ambulances. The fire was spreading to the adjacent shops, and flames leapt up to the roof directly above what used to be the Hungry Wok.
At the corner, Chuck bent down and tried to see through a car window farther down the street. In the dark he could barely recognize the big white bandage. He shouted to Ricky to keep an eye on the car while he got their car parked less than a block away.
Chuck raced to Ricky without switching on the headlights. He swung open the door for Ricky to dive in and took off down the hill. Chuck swerved around the next corner in the direction Ricky saw Hei Hei’s car turn.
John Eustace saw the two Chinese drive away in their white Holden. His car was parked on the other side of Ponsonby Road. He walked two blocks away from the conflagration to a phone box and called Terry.
Wiremu caught sight of John Eustace first, and then Mel recognized him. Her body went stiff.
“That’s the man who attacked me,” she whispered, her voice lost in the wails of sirens and the roar of the fires.
“Yeah. That’s him, all right. Big John,” Wiremu whispered behind his glasses. He did not want to ask Mel why she had stopped treating the injured. He knew what she wanted to do.
“Where? Who?” Henry could not understand what was going on. There was too much happening around him. Smoke, noise and crowds of people pushing past made everything confusing. Policemen with bullhorns were ordering everybody to evacuate the street. Mel gave him her car keys and told him to meet her two blocks away on Ponsonby Road. The car was accessible without being caught in the roadblock, and she wanted to keep the big figure in her sights.
Terry the Turk picked up the phone on the first ring.
“Our little brownie just firebombed the Hungry Wok,” the gravelly voice said.
Terry checked the small back meter attached to his phone. The needle did not move. No one else was listening in on this conversation.
“Holy shit. So there really is a Maori Chinese war.” He paused to catch his breath. “You sure it was him?”
“Sure.” John turned around to marvel at the blazing skyline, the red and blue strobe lights of ambulances, fire trucks and rescue vehicles. The entire block of wooden shops was on fire. It was beautiful. The streetlights were off. He stood in darkness so he could see the red flames leaping up to reach the black sky.
“Better come back quick. We’ve work to do.”
• • •
Hei Hei weaved in and out of the back roads of Ponsonby on his way up to Karangehape Road. He took his time, not wanting to speed or attract attention in his hot car, which he thought he might seriously convert, it was that much faster than the Morrie. Where had that oaf Wilson taken his car? He hadn’t come back with it. There were probably police cars all over Ponsonby searching for the Chinese takeout bomber, if they knew it was firebombed. The cops would take days to work out what had happened. “Police suspect arson although the investigation is continuing.” Hei Hei could hear the cautious statement on tomorrow’s TV news. Although he did stick out like, like a Maori with a head bandage.
He checked his mirror and saw a car behind him. He had just turned another corner. No car could be taking the same meandering course as him. He swung around the next corner and watched to see if the car followed; it did. He accelerated, took the next corner without braking and turned into the first open driveway with his lights off. He pulled on the hand brake and slid down in the driver’s seat to watch through his rear mirror as the white Holden went past. Hei Hei undid his head bandage and threw it out the window. He backed out and followed the car from a safe distance, not switching on his lights. I’ll teach these little fuckers how to tail, he muttered to himself.
When Chuck reached Karangehape Road, he looked over to Ricky.
“Fuck the cunning bastard. Where is he?” he yelled as he beat the steering wheel. Ricky insisted they continue to Gr
afton Bridge in the hope of sighting the car.
“The bugger’s disappeared!” Ricky screamed. That he had lost his brother in a fireball was slowly beginning to sink in. He knew there would have been no hope in rescuing Martin so he had pursued the man whom he held responsible for the fire.
“Let’s cut this detective crap and go back to the house.” Chuck spoke softly as they waited at the lights at Grafton Bridge.
• • •
Wiremu walked with Mel away from the inferno and stood in the shadows to see John come out of the phone booth.
“Do you think he did it?”
“I don’t know. But I want to find out.” Wiremu’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. “You stay here, and when Henry comes, pick me up and we’ll tail him.” Wiremu bounded after John, keeping in the shadows.
John Eustace climbed into a new black Ford he had taken off the Ellerslie lot. He had fake plates on and the odometer was disconnected. He took off towards Epsom as fast as he could.
Wiremu swung into the back of Mel’s car and pointed in the direction to where John’s car had disappeared.
“What about Clovis?” Henry asked.
“Clovis is all right. Now drive!” Wiremu shouted.
Henry drove as fast as he could, but after three red lights they could find no trace of the black Ford.
“I bet he’s gone to see his boss. I know where he lives, keep going.”
Mel remained quiet. This was her second fire in a week, and with Henry’s liberal use of her brakes, she felt sick.
• • •
Clovis sat in the small back room behind the stage. He cradled his violin case between his knees. Plum was missing, and he had just witnessed his second pub riot. This town was like the Wild West.
“God fuck it, Sheila! If you had’nt’a taken off your bleedin’ dress there wouldn’t’ve been a riot!” Matthew muttered to the whole band.
