by Nick Spill
“We have the fifth one. He was hiding in the cabin,” the policeman radioed in as he stood on the steps of the Bedford.
McShane called the others back and set about preparing the landing site for the helicopter.
• • •
Wiremu and Mel heard the last volleys of gunfire then silence. They stopped and bent over, hands on their knees to catch their breath.
“That’s it. They got Hei Hei. They must’ve had an army,” Wiremu gasped. “We better hurry before they set up roadblocks.” He broke open the shotgun, took out the shells and threw them away. He smashed the barrel against a rock and slipped the broken parts into a stream they forded. He then scattered the shells that were in his pockets.
Mel found the next ridge and the tall totara tree she had used as a marker. They jogged through the bush for another ten minutes before they sighted the road below them. Around the next corner they saw Henry leaning over a map spread on the hood. He looked lost.
She appeared by the driver’s door and held her finger to her lips as Henry opened his mouth. She slipped into the car and started it as Henry threw himself in and closed his door. She spun the car around.
Mel’s face was scratched and pieces of bush were stuck in her hair. She was panting, and her face was covered in sweat. She slowed down at the next corner and Wiremu crawled in. He lay across the back seat as Mel worked through the gears. Winding down the road to Titirangi, three ambulances screamed past her followed by a procession of police cars with flashing blue lights.
They rode back in silence.
• • •
Bruce Look collapsed in his armchair. He shut his eyes and tried to block out the world with his sinsemilla stained hands.
Chuck went to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee. They had not slept the night before. When Ricky Wong had arrived with Moana late afternoon, they had immediately set to work in the glasshouses. They had stuffed all the dried and cured leaves and buds into bags they had already prepared. They had not cared about weights or properly closing the bags. They just wanted to get the job done.
Chuck had collected several bags of buds for his personal supply. Moana had stuffed her pockets with buds. Later in the kitchen, she had emptied the contents into small plastic bags she carefully sealed.
“All I want is to get rid of it and get Plum back.” Chuck came back with a full pot of coffee.
Ricky came through the back door and rubbed his hands. “It’s set. Five pounds of C4, over the fuel tank.”
“I’m not driving,” Chuck shot out.
“It’s okay. I will. It’s perfectly safe.” Ricky tried to smile to instill confidence in the others and impress Moana. Moana was not amused. Even her relatives did not fool around with explosives.
“No. I drive. It’s my responsibility.” Bruce removed his hands from his face. His eyes fell on Moana who sat cross-legged on the carpet. He could not help wondering if she wore panties under her short floral dress that was stained with blotches of dark green. He caught a glimpse of hair as she shifted her knees. He had kept his wife away till later tonight. She was staying with relatives in Onehunga along with Tony’s wife and children. He promised he would explain everything to them tonight.
“Chuck, let’s go outside and look at it.” Bruce stood up.
They squatted by the truck and tried to see the plastic explosive and the detonator. They could not make out the package.
“I know this sounds crazy, but tell me what you think. Let’s dig up Tony’s body and put it in the back of the truck.”
“What are you saying?” Chuck was surprised.
Bruce seized his brother by the shoulders. “He’s dead. We can’t have his body here forever. I can’t tell his wife what happened to him. Can you?”
“We blow up our own brother?”
“She’s already suspicious that I wouldn’t let her speak to him the last time I called. That’s unlike Tony.”
“What about the remains?”
“There’ll be none. He’ll be over the fuel tank.”
“It’ll be like killing him, again.”
“The Maoris will be blamed for his death. We can say he was taken hostage and put in the back. Or we can just tell our family what happened and not say anything to the police. How will they know it’s our brother?”
“It’s macabre.”
Bruce let go of Chuck’s shoulders. “Let’s go and dig him up.”
Chuck and Bruce were back in the living room by ten to five to wait for the phone call.
“You don’t have to use this.” Ricky held the small radio device in his hand. It was an aluminum cased box, the size of a small transistor radio, with an extendable aerial. It had one red light and a red button that would activate the radio controlled detonators set in the C4 package. Now that he had set the detonators, the reality of what he had done began to sink in. What if his bomb did not explode? What if his bomb killed innocent people?
“No, we’ll use it. The question is when.” Bruce had removed the license plates from the truck and screwed on an old pair he had found at the Markets. He had smeared the plates with dirt. They were untraceable. The registration number on the engine block had been ground off and there were no papers in the cabin to link the truck to his family. That is, if there was a cabin left, afterwards.
“On the Motorway,” Chuck suggested. “I could ride ahead on my bike so I wouldn’t lose them. You’d be farther back in the Land Rover. It would look like a crash.”
“Tons of sinsemilla going up in flames. That’ll be an awesome sight.” Ricky stretched out on the carpet.
The phone rang. Bruce checked his watch. It was eight minutes past five. He let it ring five times before he picked up the receiver. All eyes were on him.
“Collision Corner,” the Maori voice spat out. “You know, parallel to the Motorway. Five thirty. It’ll take you twenty minutes to get there. Don’t be late, as Plum is impatient to see you.”
“Let me talk to Plum. How is she?” Bruce shot back.
“That truck better be full, ‘cuz we’ll be taking it.”
Bruce heard the click then listened to dead air then the dial tone. He set the receiver down. It sounded like the same person, but there was something different about the quality of the voice. The tone was a little too high for what he thought would be a Maori.
He informed them of the time and place. “It’s about a mile from the Motorway. It’s hardly used now. I’ll drive the truck. Ricky will take my Land Rover. Chuck, you ride behind on your bike. Keep out of sight. After the swap, you follow the truck and we’ll be behind you.”
“The side mirrors are fixed so they can’t see behind them,” Chuck repeated.
“But they’ll have at least another vehicle. Maybe more?”
“What about Moana?” Ricky asked.
“She should stay behind.” Bruce did not like the idea of her being at Collision Corner, and he did not like the idea of her at his house alone. At least she had been a great worker in the glasshouses, with or without underwear.
“Moana can keep out of sight in the Land Rover, and she might be able to recognize them.”
Ricky looked across at Moana.
“I’m not missing out on this,” Moana stated.
• • •
Terry Turner and John Eustace parked their car, a nondescript Ford from his Ellerslie lot, on a slight rise half a mile south of Collision Corner. It was the only vantage point where they could see the intersection and the road where the truck would be coming from. They stood by the Ford and scanned the horizon with their binoculars. They wore sports jackets in the February heat. Terry had his black and white houndstooth and John his extra large blue blazer.
“There’s some dust,” John croaked. His throat was still sore.
“That’s probably their newest. We’ll wait for them to stop. There’s a Land Rover behind them. See anything else?”
“No. Guess they’re not going to walk back.”
“They bet
ter not be armed.”
It was his one fear. That the Chinese would see it was only two of them and shoot them, with or without Plum. He doubted it. Still, some people could be pushed to do outrageous things. He had thought of using Plum as a shield, bringing her out in front of him before John inspected their truck. But what if something went wrong and they did shoot at him? He did not want Plum to be harmed. Besides, she looked disgusting. Maybe they would not want her back? And he could keep her. Wishful thinking is dangerous, he frowned.
“If they try to be aggressive, we’ll cut them to pieces.”
John patted his jacket.
“How’s Plum doing?” John asked as he kept his binoculars trained on the truck and Land Rover as they approached the intersection.
“About as well as anyone would be on a day like this.” Terry went to the back of the car, unlocked the trunk and lifted it up. She had worked her blindfold loose. Her hands were still tied behind her back and her feet were bound with the same rope, hog-tied, so she could not move. She opened one eye to blink at the bright light. Terry was relieved she had not vomited.
“One short walk and you’ll be free. Plum, you’ll be safe as I promised. I never break my promises. You know I’ve always protected you.”
He had explained to her that morning, after she had finally woken up, that if she ever went to the police, she and her entire family would be killed. But how could she contemplate that? Her cousins had grown a huge amount of marijuana.
“If it wasn’t for your greedy cousins, you wouldn’t be in this position now, Plum. It’s really the fault of your own family.”
Terry leaned over her. She wanted to talk. He loosened the gag. Plum had worked up as much saliva as she could from her parched throat, and she spat at Terry. He jumped at her unexpected action and hit his head on the top of the trunk. He took a step back and slammed the trunk shut as hard as he could. “Ungrateful bitch!” he muttered. He looked down at his trousers and saw that her saliva lay on his crotch. He wiped it off with a handkerchief.
• • •
Bruce climbed down from the truck he had parked a hundred feet from Collision Corner. Before the Motorway was built, the corner was notorious. You could not see the corner until you were on top of it, and motorists refused to stop at the intersection. Dozens of people had been killed there in spectacular crashes.
Bruce watched a Ford sedan come to a halt on the other side of the intersection. He held the ignition key in his right fist. Chuck kept out of sight behind a small rise farther back. Ricky was in the Land Rover, parked twenty feet from the truck. Even Moana, who was in the back seat, had a good view of the Ford. There was no other traffic on the road.
“Shit. They’re not Maoris,” Moana whispered from behind the front seat. “That’s Terry the Turk and his henchman, Big John.”
“Do you know them?” He did not take his eyes off the small fat Pakeha and the big man in the blue blazer.
“Everyone does,” Moana continued. “He’s the biggest crook in Auckland. He controls everything.”
“And we’re about to give him all that pot.”
Terry walked right up to Bruce. John was to one side, one eye on the truck and the Land Rover behind. He unbuttoned his blazer.
“Who are you?” Bruce asked.
“We’re the collectors. Is it all in there?” Terry pointed to the truck.
“Everything. Where’s Plum?”
“All four glasshouses?” Terry’s eyes bore into Bruce’s.
“Yes,” Bruce spat out. “Where’s Plum?”
Bruce started to sweat. What if these two killed him and took the truck? What if Plum was already dead? He squeezed the truck key in his fist.
“She’s in the car. You’ll get her once the goods are inspected.” Terry motioned to John who walked to the back of the truck, not letting his eyes off the Land Rover.
Terry remained close to Bruce, enjoying the fear of his victim. Bruce looked as if he had not slept in days. A man who would not go to the police. A man Terry could call on later for a favor, a veiled threat or just good old extortion. Terry wanted this man to remember this moment.
John untied and lifted the canvas flap at the back of the truck and peeked inside. He turned back to see Terry and then over at the Land Rover. He did not recognize the man in the Land Rover. John swung his legs up onto the tailboard and threw up the flap then waded through the center of the truck between the packed garbage bags. He felt several of the bags then selected one at random. It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The smell and heat inside was intense. He opened the bag wide, sniffed and reached inside. The closeness in the truck intensified the rush of powerful resin that assaulted John’s nostrils. He inhaled and felt an instant high. He plunged his hand farther into the garbage bag and brought out a handful of small bags full of dried buds.
He repeated this process three times until he came to a wall of bags.
He eased himself down from the truck, stood to one side and squinted to let his eyes adjust to the harsh sunlight. He could have sworn he saw a second person in the Land Rover, but when he opened his eyes he saw the one young male staring at him.
John walked back to the cabin, hauled himself up on the foot rest to peer in, then he climbed down and got on his knees to examine underneath the engine. He took his time. He was going to drive the truck. He would much rather have gotten someone else to do the job, but Terry had insisted.
He walked back to Terry and stared at the man who stood to attention face to face with his boss.
“Feel high just sniffing the stuff.”
“Well?”
“Looks all there. Dry. Cured. Packed.”
“Where is Plum? I want to see her.”
“Where’s the key?” John held out his thick paw. There were buds stuck to his fingers.
Bruce held up his closed fist.
“Go back and get her,” Terry ordered John as he handed him the keys to the Ford.
John walked back to the car with one eye on the Land Rover. He wiped his elbows and hands free of buds and bits of leaves. He opened the trunk and gazed at the tied up Plum with her hair over her face and her gag removed. He bent over her and removed the hair from her face. She turned her head and tried to bite his hand but missed. He withdrew his hand and placed it on her bare leg. He could feel her tense up as he ran his hand up her thigh. She kept her knees locked tight as she gritted her teeth. He moved his hand up the back of her thighs to her buttocks and pushed them apart. She hissed at him but could only move slightly to the left or right. John slid his index finger down her crack to her anus and pushed it in as hard as he could till he could feel his knuckles pressing against her flesh. She screamed in pain as he moved his finger back and forth inside her.
“Come back and work for me. You’ll like it,” John croaked as he worked his finger in deeper. Then he slowly eased his finger out. He held it up in the air to inspect it then wiped his finger in her hair. “Dirty bitch.”
John untied the bindings to her feet and hauled her out of the trunk. She spat at him and almost fell over before he caught her and dragged her to the truck.
By the time she had staggered into Terry and faced Bruce, she had an idea of what was going on. There was a truck in front of her.
Terry put his hand out for the key to the truck whilst John held Plum with both hands around her elbows. Bruce was shocked to see the condition of his cousin. Her dress was stained and her hair and face were filthy. She was barefooted and there appeared to be dried blood down her legs. Bruce let the key drop into Terry’s outstretched palm.
“Start her up, and then you get Plum.” Terry stepped back to take Plum by the elbows as John climbed into the cabin and turned over the motor. Terry went to sniff her hair, to get one last reminder of their time together, but he quickly recoiled and held her in front of him at arm’s length.
John turned the motor. Nothing happened. He tried again and the motor turned over but did not fire. The truck ca
me to life on the third attempt.
Bruce moved back, and looked across at the Land Rover. He had an uncanny feeling that they were all going to be shot. Both men were probably armed. They had killed Tony yesterday, so why not the rest of the family today?
A cloud of black fumes shot out of the exhaust as John revved the engine. Terry pushed Plum away from him and to the side, not towards the Chinaman. He quickly walked back to the car. Bruce instinctively stepped forwards and held out his hands to catch her and hug her even though he had never held her in his life.
“Don’t forget your promise, Plum,” Terry yelled at her as he eased into the Ford.
Bruce held the shaking Plum in his arms as he watched the car back to the side of the road to let the truck go past. The Ford followed the truck as they headed towards the Motorway.
The Land Rover started up and drew along side them. Moana opened the door and Plum climbed into the back as best she could with her arms tied behind her back. Bruce took over the driving from Ricky. Moana untied the knots around Plum’s wrists.
Plum stared at Bruce and Ricky, then the Maori girl she had not seen before.
“You don’t look so bad, Plum. This is Moana. She’s been helping us.” Ricky had half turned in his seat to examine Plum as Bruce accelerated to Collision Corner and turned onto the Motorway. A black motorcycle overtook them. Chuck had his black visor down as he disappeared to catch up with the truck.
Plum rubbed her wrists back to life.
“What happened to you, Plum?” Moana asked.
• • •
Matthew sat behind the steering wheel of his red and white 1956 Studebaker and grinned. Clovis Tibet leaned over the open side window and peered in at Matthew.
“Feels good to be in my baby,” Matthew sang.
“You know I feel bad about the car breaking down and all that.”
“Don’t worry, man. Plum’ll turn up probably sooner than later, and we’ll do another gig or two and you’ll pay me back this bill here.” Matthew held up the garage’s invoice to Clovis’s face.
“But not at the Gluepot.”
“Not at the Three Lamps,” Matthew echoed. The car was at the back of a large service station next to the short access road to the northbound side of the Motorway. There were three pairs of pumps under a large metal awning and four garage doors to one side for repairs. Inside the glassed-in office was the pump attendant, a refrigerator and freezer for drinks and ice creams and two candy vending machines.
