by Nick Spill
In his executioner’s garb, John revved up the mower and grinned at his suspended victim. He lifted up the lawn mower so it was at right angles to Tony who put his arms around his head. Tony could see the blade rotating at a high speed inches from his nose. Tony tried to protect himself from the advancing lawn mower that spat dirt and hot exhaust fumes at his face. He instinctively tried to push the mower away, but he caught his left hand in the advancing blade.
Splinters of bone and blood splashed across John’s black plastic apron. Tony tried to scream as loud as he could but he choked on the oily rag. He swung his body away from the blade and attempted to pull himself upright using the hand he could still feel.
John pushed the lawn mower into Tony’s swinging body. Pieces of clothing and tissue splattered across the garage. Every frantic move Tony made meant that the blade would cut deeper and deeper into his body. John pressed the blade again and again into the helpless flesh. Terry stepped back and watched in silent fascination as John worked.
When the rag fell out of his mouth, Tony’s mouth moved up and down, but he was unable to cry out. Blood poured out of the exposed gashes and tears to form pools under his suspended body. His eyes were open but were blinded by the blood dripping down his face into his hair. Pieces of his arms that remained attached to his shoulders twitched.
The lawn mower jammed on something and the engine seized. John stepped back to admire his work. Then he noticed the mower had stopped and he dropped it. He could not take his eyes off the mutilated body dangling in front of him.
There was silence in the garage punctuated by the drips of blood. It was moments like these that John felt a rare feeling come over him. A life had been snatched away and he had caused this. There was such a power and finality to his actions. He smiled sweetly at his boss. John tore off his plastic apron and left it on the floor.
“Come on, let’s get outta here,” Terry muttered as he stood next to the garage door. The smell hit him. A mixture of blood, feces and god knows what else, that was inside the Chinaman. The sight and smell disgusted him. Chop suey Tony. He would never be able to eat chop suey again. How many fledgling drug dealers had been chopped up in their own home? There’s always a first time, he mused as he pulled off his garbage bag, turned it inside out and threw it to John. “Put the other one in this and we’ll dispose of them later.”
“Do you think they’ll get the message?” John asked as Terry drove back north on the Motorway.
“They’ll deliver everything to us now. I’ll phone ’em tonight. They’ll be in a panic. Tell me that garbage bag isn’t leaking all over the car?”
“No. I put it inside a fresh one.”
“Good. He won’t be needing it.”
Terry would have the bags, gloves and clothes burnt back at the Ellerslie lot. The plates would be changed on the car and the car would be repainted by Monday.
“I hate these new suburbs. They look like death.” Terry sighed.
• • •
John turned to Terry back at the lot.
“You know, I was thinking. We could have lit the rag in his mouth and poured petrol around him. If he dropped the rag he’d’ve gone up in flames, and if he had kept it in his mouth, he’d’ve burnt his face. It would have been less messy.”
“Jesus, John. You’re getting creative. You’ve had too much fire this week. Remember the house in Ponsonby and last night’s fire. Some smart cop might link all this together. No, we did a fantastic job on him. The first lawn mower murder. Right out of a horror movie. Good enough for the Guinness Book of Records! We should’a taken Polaroids!”
• • •
“Okay, boys! What’s for lunch?” Hei Hei burst through the front door, but he startled no one. The three men who lived in the house were upstairs fast asleep. He walked into the kitchen and took a beer out of the refrigerator. He sat down at the table by the telephone and dialed a number in Hokianga. When the phone started to ring, he bit off the bottle top. He was able to take a full swig before Rangi picked up.
“Hey, Rangi mate. How ya goin’?”
“Hei Hei! G’day mate,” Rangi shouted back. He cradled the receiver on his left shoulder and wiped the grease off his hands with a rag. Rangi idolized Hei Hei.
“You heard from Wiremu, right?”
“Yeah. He called earlier.”
“He’s in real trouble and his brother dead and all, it’s real tragic.”
“Yeah. I know. He’s changed the rendezvous. I’m leaving early tomorrow morning.”
“So he told me.” Hei Hei gambled that Wiremu had not told Rangi about Moana and their little quarrel. If he had, Rangi would have been halfway to Auckland by now to rescue her. “Do you think you’ll find it okay?” Hei Hei took another swig of beer.
“Easy. What about you?”
“I don’t know, there’s lots of turns up there, I could get lost. And I can’t reach Wiremu again ‘cos he’s in hiding.”
“I said it’s easy. If you miss the turn off, you’ll hit Titirangi Road about a half mile later. Just go back and it’ll be on the right, instead of the left.”
“Okay. But what about the time? Is everything loaded and ready?” Hei Hei had been with Wiremu scouting out secret drop off points.
“Don’t worry, Hei Hei, it’s going to be all right. I’m leaving at dawn. I’ve plenty of time. I’ll be there at five. Wiremu insists I be on time.”
“You’re a good man, Rangi. Stay cool and don’t speed.”
“I can’t, I’m driving the Bedford.”
“See you there.” Hei Hei hung up. You dumb fuck Maori, telling me the rendezvous and time like that. And he’s driving the old truck. All that money in a piece of shit that could break down in the middle of nowhere. “Excuse me, Officer, but could you give me a tow, I’ve got tons of grass in the back and I’ve to reach this place by five otherwise Wiremu will kill me.” Hei Hei could hear Rangi’s voice in his head as he emptied the beer down his throat. He let out a belch guaranteed to waken his friends upstairs.
• • •
Chuck Look tried to observe the speed limit on the Motorway, but he constantly had to ease back on the throttle as he climbed to over a 100. The machine hummed between his legs as he weaved between cars on the way to Tony’s exit, keeping an eye out for speed traps.
“Welcome to Exclusive Mahana” the painted sign declared at the entrance to the new development. Chuck parked his Kawasaki in Tony’s driveway. The lawn had been mown, but his car was still dirty. He called out but there was a strange silence. He looked up and down the street. He did not see a soul. The lawn was immaculate. What a strange brother he had. Growing grass! Real legal grass!
Chuck took off his helmet and called Tony’s name again. All he could hear was a peculiar sound. The garage door was not completely closed so he lifted it up. Light flooded in and a strange odor hit his nostrils. The smell was like cow dung, only stronger. He called out Tony’s name, twice. There was no answer, only the buzzing.
He noticed an odd shape hanging from the center rafter. As he stepped nearer, he saw the noise was coming from hundreds of bluebottles and other flies clustered over this shape. The lawn mower was on its side with the blade faced away from him. Flies were crawling over the floor of the garage underneath the shape. The floor was glistening with the frenzied insects.
Chuck cautiously stepped towards the sound. He felt nauseous as he bent down and stuck his finger in the dark glistening pool. He held his finger up and sniffed it. A fly landed on his finger to lick the blood. Every hair on his head stood up as he stepped back and screamed. The scream echoed through the garage. The flies were swarming over his dead brother.
He knocked the lawn mower over and noticed something caught in the blade. He bent down and recognized part of Tony’s right hand that had been severed at the wrist.
Chuck rushed inside to the toilet and knelt by the bowl. He retched so hard he felt his stomach lining coming out of his mouth. His splashed his face with water and tried t
o get the buzzing sound out of his ears and the stench out of his nose. He could not. He ran to Tony’s king-size bed and dialed Bruce. Martin blown up in the city was bad enough, but the murder of his own brother was the end. He controlled his shock as he tried to talk to Bruce. He wanted to spare Bruce the details. He did not want anyone else to see or hear what he had.
Bruce was surprised at how calmly he took the news. He drove over there as fast as he could in the Land Rover. Chuck was still in the bedroom, crying. He was shocked at the sight in the garage. He cut the body down and stuffed it into a large black plastic bag. He dislodged the remains of Tony’s hand from the mower and placed that in the bag. He emptied a can of fly spray into the bag then over the dried blood on the floor. He sealed the bag and lifted it onto the back of the Land Rover. He then used the hose to wash the lawn mower and the garage floor. The blood that had congealed on the floor finally dissolved in the jet of water and ran down the driveway in a pink stream to the street. Soon there was no trace of Tony left, only the wet concrete floor of his garage. Bruce watched as half-dead flies drowned in the flow of water.
• • •
The phone rang and Bruce got up to answer.
“Hey! China boy!” A deep Maori-like voice grunted over the phone. “You’re a hard joker to catch. I hope you’se doing what you’se supposed to be doin’.”
“Who is this?” Bruce shot back.
“Now, now, my little yellow friend.” The voice went a tone or two higher. “You don’t want to end up like your brother, er? Chop suey! Ah!”
“Where is Plum? I want to talk to her!”
“She’s safe. Listen. I’m calling you’se guys at five, tomorrow afternoon. Have all the dope in a truck. Every last bud. We know it’s ready to pack up. We’ll call and tell you where to go. We take the truck and you’ll get Plum. It’ll be that simple. No funny stuff. And if you’se have the cops there, Plum will have a fate worse than your brother, and you’se go away forever for growing that stuff. Ha! Got it? I call at five!”
Bruce tried to yell back, but the phone went dead. He turned to Chuck, the receiver still in his hand.
“Five o’clock. Tomorrow.”
Bruce looked at Chuck. They had buried their brother near the glasshouses in a shallow grave, unsure what to do with him.
• • •
Hei Hei fit sideways into the phone booth in the lobby of the Masonic Arms Hotel. He told Terry he could have as much pot as he could buy outright after tomorrow, and that Wiremu was no longer chief. Hei Hei hinted at the time and location of the drop-off point.
Terry hung up and thought for a moment before he dialed a number that connected directly to Wally McShane’s office. In his Maori accent, Terry told McShane about the drug rendezvous in Titirangi tomorrow. He dropped Wiremu Wilson’s and Hei Hei’s names.
Terry hung up and grinned at John.
“One phone call. That’s all it took. The cops are going to bust those Maoris and seize all their pot and probably shoot each other to death whilst we are peacefully picking up our stuff down south. Couldn’t be neater.”
“What about Plum?”
“I’m going to visit her now. Give her dinner. You off to Laurie?”
“Yeah. It’s Saturday night. Even bad guys like to have fun on Saturday night.”
• • •
Sergeant Cadd stood in front of the inspector’s desk. Grimble had his hands clasped together under his chin, deep in thought. In front of him was the initial arson report from the Hungry Wok fire. The sergeant had missed his dinner and had called Donna to tell her he would not be able to go with her to the movies. Saturday night was movie night. He had wanted to see French Connection 2, Donna wanted a comedy, any comedy. He told her he would be working all night, the rest of the weekend.
“Well, Cadd, what do you think about that?”
“I don’t know, sir. I can’t see the connections.”
The phone rang and Grimble grabbed it. Wally McShane barked his name so loud even Cadd could hear him. McShane had a big drug bust planned for Sunday in Titirangi. He was ecstatic. Wilson was supposed to be there, to meet a big shipment coming down from up north. McShane had the information from several sources and he was going up there in force. Would Grimble like to come along for the ride? Naturally Grimble accepted. He hung up and gritted his teeth at Cadd.
Grimble called the commissioner. He wanted a search warrant for Turner for tomorrow. He could not wait another day. After the Titirangi bust, anything could happen. There was no answer from Commissioner Thompson. He would try later.
• • •
The space was different, a yellow light shone on her from a high ceiling. She sat on an old sofa. She tried to stand up but fell back onto the sofa again. She wanted a long hot bath, fresh clothes and to see Clovis. She remembered what Terry had told her and did not believe one word. She managed to stand up.
The door was locked from the outside. The windows were barred. There could be daylight outside and she would not know. She returned to the sofa. A light went on somewhere in the bigger space that surrounded her and she heard footsteps. She recognized them and cringed.
A bolt slid back and a key turned. The door opened, and Terry walked in carrying a large brown bag.
“Hello, Plum.” He smiled as if visiting an old friend on Saturday night. “Brought you your favorite, Hawaiian burgers and coke, plus some carob cake for afters. Thought you’d be hungry.” He turned to lock the door on the inside with a big black key.
“Why are you doing this to me?” The words came out blurred. She wanted to attack him with her fists, kick the little man in the balls, but she fell back onto the sofa.
“Don’t be upset, Plum. I mean you no harm. How could I hurt you after everything?”
She turned her head and tried to vomit. But nothing came out but a thin line of spittle that hung in midair.
“You need some food in you. Tomorrow I’m going to take you to your friends once we’ve straightened everything out and you’re safe again.”
“You mean…” The words did not come out of her mouth.
“Then you’ll realize I really have protected you from a vicious gang war between the Maoris and the Chinese. It’s been gruesome. You’re lucky you’ve been under my protection. God knows what would have happened to you out there. Even the police couldn’t’ve helped you.”
Plum ate the pineapple first, then the warm hamburger. Terry chewed his burger, seated on a chair opposite her. He kept an eye on her as she concentrated on her food. All day he could not stop dreaming about her; her two round buttocks, the soft skin between her legs. How her hair hung over her shoulders. How sexy she was, even when unconscious.
Once she had finished the fixed drink, he would turn her over on the sofa and enjoy her again. But this time he would not need to tie her up. It would be a perfect Saturday night.
Chapter Ten
Sunday
“We’ve come this far.” Henry looked in the rearview mirror as he drove. “So we have an idea about what you are up to, but don’t want to know. All we care about is Plum.”
“I know. Same with me. After this is all over, you must come up and stay with me in Hokianga. It’s great up there.”
“Wiremu, I’d love to, but I can’t mention anything about moving up north, otherwise, Mel will hit me!”
“You’ll like it up there.” Wiremu sat in the back with his left leg stretched out on the seat as far as it would go. He wanted to arrive early. Mel had come up with a story that if the police stopped them, they were on a Sunday drive up to Piha. They had picked up a scholarly looking Maori on the way.
• • •
Rangi had started at dawn and arrived at Dargaville by lunchtime. He bought a meat pie. The local cop had parked next to him and seemed oblivious to the truck and its hidden cargo. The meat pies were as bad as Rangi remembered. He watched the cop drive off before he started up the Bedford. He stopped in Helensville for a chocolate milkshake. He had plenty of tim
e to get to the rendezvous. He planned to be in Auckland later in the evening to hang out with friends, drink a few beers and swap stories about trucks and dope.
• • •
Inspector Bernie Grimble came up to Inspector Wallace McShane after the briefing.
“It’s a good plan,” Grimble said, clutching McShane’s hand in a viselike grip. “If everything goes well.”
“We’ve enough men, so, if anything goes wrong, we’ll be able to handle it.”
There were a total of eighteen men in camouflage jackets and trousers who filed out of the room. The two inspectors, also dressed in army issue green pants and shirts, followed the squad to the garage. Grimble took an unmarked car, a new Ford Falcon. Cadd, dressed in a matching uniform, got in beside him. Under their jackets they wore shoulder holsters with Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolvers.
“Nervous?” Grimble switched on the air-conditioning. He could see Cadd sweating.
“No, sir. Excited. Never been on such a big bust.”
“Stay behind me. You’re more likely to be shot by them than by a Maori.”
“If we get Wiremu, he’ll be able to give us answers to Plum Blossom and Terry Turner. When we come back tonight we can pick up Turner and sew everything up.”
“Maybe.” Grimble did not like such confidence coming from his sergeant. The commissioner had agreed to the raids on Turner’s properties and had recommended a judge who had signed the warrant.
Cadd monitored the police radio as they were informed about the search at the Flamingo Paradise. Uniformed officers were about to enter Turner’s house and the Ellerslie car lot.
“Tell them to keep men posted at each site until we return. Why couldn’t they do them all simultaneously?” Grimble muttered as he followed the other cars and van up New North Road to Titirangi.
• • •
“Go on a little farther. See this bend? Go around it.” Wiremu scanned up and down the road and could see no other traffic.
“I’d feel happier if we knew where Hei Hei was.” Henry slowed down. Wiremu had tried to phone both Hei Hei and Rangi early that morning. Neither had answered.
