Red Mist

by Angus McLean

  Dan picked up on all these signs as soon as they turned into the street. He clocked the address they were after and pulled up short of it.

  ‘Remind me why we’re here,’ Joe said as they got out.

  ‘To lock up Mykel Fenton,’ Dan replied, keeping a wary eye on the house where the young guys were. One of them had come out to the front lawn to watch the two cops. ‘He’s a juvie, so I gotta do it now.’

  The law was particularly tight when it came to juveniles. As soon as Police had identified a juvenile offender the clock started ticking, and any delays in action caused major issues down the line. Dan had lost cases before due to delays, both real and imagined. He didn’t intend to lose this one. Jonah and his family deserved more than that.

  They made their way up the drive at the side of the house. It was one of the tidier homes in the street, and it was soon clear why. An elderly Samoan lady was tending to the veggie garden at the rear of the property. A man they presumed to be her husband sat on an upturned beer crate and watched her. Both wore colourful lava lavas and jandals.

  ‘Malo,’ Dan said as they approached. Hello.

  The old man nodded his appreciation and replied in Samoan. Dan grinned apologetically.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I only have a little Samoan.’

  He stopped near the man. The old lady paused with one knee resting on the dirt garden bed. She had an ice cream container of freshly-dug taro beside her.

  ‘Do you speak English?’ Dan asked.

  The old man nodded and smiled, and gestured towards his wife. ‘She,’ he said, grinning.

  The old lady nodded and smiled too. Dan put a hand to his chest.

  ‘I’m Dan,’ he said. He indicated his partner. ‘Joe.’

  The elderly couple both gave their names, but Dan didn’t catch either of them. Like many Polynesians they were softly spoken.

  ‘Is Mykel here?’ Dan asked. ‘Mykel?’

  They both nodded and smiled.

  ‘Is home,’ the lady said, waving towards the house. ‘Is Mykel home.’

  ‘Here now?’

  ‘No.’ The old lady shook her head. ‘Mykel is on...course.’ She smiled brightly. Her face was weathered and lined, setting off the startling whiteness of her teeth. ‘He’s good boy...he’s on course.’

  Dan nodded. ‘Anyone here now?’

  ‘No.’

  Joe moved off to the house to double check while Dan continued with the elderly couple. With a lot of nodding and smiling they managed to understand each other, and it turned out they were Mykel’s grandparents. His mother’s parents, they pointed out.

  ‘Malia,’ the grandma smiled. ‘She’s good girl. Husband Malakai.’ She pulled a face.

  ‘No good?’ Dan asked with a grin.

  The old lady shook her head in disgust and her husband gave a grunt, also pulling a face. He indicated drinking from an imaginary bottle.

  ‘Too much drinking?’

  The old man nodded and scowled. He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Tongan,’ he said in a heavy accent.

  Dan laughed. He knew of the strong feelings between the two Pacific neighbours. It often resulted in street violence in their patch.

  ‘Tonga stink,’ he grinned. ‘Samoa good.’

  The old man cracked up at that one. ‘Tonga stink,’ he agreed, slapping his knee.

  Joe returned empty-handed from the house. ‘Nobody home,’ he said.

  ‘Right.’ Dan plucked a business card from his vest pocket and gave it to the old lady. ‘Ask Malia to call me please.’

  The old couple had a sidebar between themselves before more nodding and smiling.

  ‘Malia call you on the telefono,’ the old lady said.

  ‘Thank you.’ Dan smiled appreciatively, and pointed towards the ice cream container at her side. ‘Nice taro, Nana.’ He gave her a thumbs up and she smiled again.

  He was about to go when he had a second thought, and unzipped his folder instead. He flicked open one of the year books to the page where Jonah had identified the second offender. It was a casual photo of a group of boys in the playground, hamming it up for the camera.

  Dan crouched down beside the old lady and pointed out the boy he was interested in.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Aye.’ She nodded affirmatively and fired a barrage of chatter to the old man. He nodded too and shook his head. The old lady tapped the boy’s image with a cracked, dirty fingernail. ‘Is cousin.’

  ‘Mykel’s cousin?’

  ‘Aye. Is Salesi.’

  ‘What’s Salesi’s last name? His family name?’

  ‘Tagaloa. Salesi Tagaloa.’

  Dan quickly scribbled it down, and asked a few more questions. They didn’t know Salesi’s date of birth, but he was 15. He’d just gone back to Samoa two weeks ago, and the grandfather thought he was a bad boy. Lots of trouble at school. It all made sense, and Dan knew he’d be able to identify the kid through immigration records.

  He thanked the elderly couple and zipped up his folder again.

  ‘Fa,’ the old man said, giving them a wave. Goodbye.

  ‘Fa,’ Dan replied.

  They headed back towards the Commodore.

  ‘Jeez mate,’ Joe said, ‘you worked them pretty well.’

  Dan slipped his black Oakleys on again. ‘It’s amazing how much info you can get when you don’t even speak the same language.’

  They got out to the curb and Dan glanced up the street. Two of the youths he’d seen earlier, sloping around, were coming down the middle of the road towards them. Curiously, they were now coming from the opposite direction from the house where he’d seen them. The Commodore was facing towards them. The house they’d been at was behind the two cops.

  He bleeped the locks and opened his door, tossing his folder inside. Joe opened his own door and was ready to go. Dan had the feeling the two boys approaching them were coming with a purpose. He made eye contact with the closest one, a lanky boy in a green and white NY Jets singlet and baggy jean shorts. He had white sports socks on his feet and jandals.

  ‘What’s happening, fellas?’ Dan said breezily.

  ‘Uh.’

  The second guy was closer to Joe, stepping onto the grass verge. He was shorter and wider, with a flabby gut straining at his maroon Manly jersey. Both looked to be about 16.

  They stopped short of the Commodore and looked at the two cops.

  ‘Something you want, boys?’ Dan said, ‘or are you just drinking me in?’

  The lanky one muttered something and the fat one snorted.

  ‘Okay, good talk,’ Dan said. ‘You boys carry on to your job interviews and we’ll get going.’

  He made to get in the car, but the lanky boy obviously still had something on his mind. He lifted his foot and gave the closest headlight a kick.

  ‘With a jandal?’ Dan said. ‘Seriously? Take a hike, knucklehead.’

  The fat boy stepped forward now, snorting again, and hocked a loogie onto the bonnet of the car. The lanky one sniggered.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Joe snapped and went to grab the fat one.

  The fat one waddled backwards, his hands in the air, and started yelling.

  ‘Police brutality! Ahhh! Help me!’

  The lanky one joined in too. ‘Police brutality!’

  ‘You’re under arrest,’ Joe barked, grabbing the fat one by the arm and trying to get an arm lock on him. The youngster stumbled and went down on the grass verge, Joe on top of him.

  The lanky one went to intervene, taking a few paces forward before Dan could get to him. The rumble of a Subaru sounded behind them. The lanky kid spun towards Dan, his fist cocked, his mouth ready to bellow again.

  ‘Knock it off,’ Dan told him, and swept the kid’s legs from under him in one move. He grabbed the lanky kid’s jersey with one hand and broke his fall as he went down.

  The Subaru moved off behind them now and Dan threw a quick look over his shoulder. The Subaru was accelerating away from the house he’d see
n the youths at earlier. It was a silver WRX. Another couple of young guys were out the front of the house watching the fracas down the street.

  In an instant Dan realised they’d been played. ‘Joe!’

  Joe was wrestling the fat kid on the ground, and was about to handcuff him.

  ‘Stolen car, let’s go!’

  The lanky boy was yelling something unintelligible and tried to grab at Dan as he moved past. Dan pushed him back down and got to the car. Joe got up and scrambled after him, confusion all over his face as he jumped into the passenger seat.

  ‘What the...’

  ‘They were a diversion,’ Dan said. He clicked the seatbelt into place and gunned it, throwing a sharp U-turn that left rubber on the asphalt. The Subaru had already disappeared from sight round the bend.

  Something careened off the back of the Commodore as they raced away, and as they flashed past the house the Subaru had come from, one of the thugs out the front hurled a bottle. It shattered on the road behind them, too slow for a racing Holden.

  Joe struggled to secure his belt, bracing a foot against the dash as he did so.

  ‘What stolen car?’ he panted.

  ‘They were hiding a WRX in the garage as we went past. Those clowns distracted us so it could get away.’ Dan rounded the bend and saw the silver Subaru up ahead, turning right onto the main drag and cutting off cars as it did so. ‘There he is.’

  Joe grabbed the mic to notify Comms, but a traffic cop was waffling on to someone else and he had to wait. Dan hit the lights and siren and edged out onto Great South Road, forcing a gap in the traffic.

  ‘Comms OHJ, failing to stop, northbound on GSR Otahu.’

  ‘Roger that OHJ, go details.’

  Dan motored past Harlech House, the tall glass building that was home to various Police support units, past KFC. The Subaru barrelled through a set of lights on an orange, nudging eighty. Dan slowed, checking he way was clear before accelerating hard after it.

  The rules on emergency driving were very clear, and despite the bells and whistles going, it was easy to crash.

  The controller wanted to know the reason for the pursuit. Joe gave Dan a sideways glance.

  ‘Believe it’s a stolen car, Comms.’

  Fortunately the controller was satisfied with that, and moved on.

  ‘B-cat vehicle,’ Joe advised them, ‘gold class driver.’

  ‘You know it,’ Dan muttered, hugging the centre of Atkinson Ave and closing the gap on the Subaru. Unmarked cars were all B-category vehicles, and as soon as possible a marked patrol car would need to take over as the lead vehicle. Being a gold class driver, however, qualified Dan to drive in pursuits.

  Comms were giving them the standard warning that they had to abandon the pursuit if it became dangerous. Joe acknowledged that and began a commentary. He managed to read most of the rego plate and passed that to Comms.

  ‘They’ll be heading for the motorway, Comms,’ Joe said. ‘Can you advise ATOC and Motorways, and is Eagle available?’

  ATOC was the transport department that monitored the motorway cameras, and could search for the vehicle if they lost it. The Police Motorways unit operated on a different channel and would unaware of the pursuit unless they were told.

  ‘Roger that. Eagle’s on the North Shore at another job, unavailable.’

  ‘Missing labradoodle,’ Dan muttered sarcastically. He had no time for the North Shore.

  The Subaru was still sitting on about eighty k’s, overtaking down the middle of the road, causing cars to swerve out of its way.

  ‘OHJ, Comms, confirm that’s a silver WRX?’

  ‘Roger.’

  ‘Got a match, stolen yesterday from Blockhouse Bay.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Dan slammed on the brakes and swerved hard right around a daydreamer who wandered across lanes, cursed, slowed for another set of lights, and rolled through against the red.

  All his senses were peaking and he was buzzing with the adrenaline of the chase. It was easy to get carried away and have tunnel vision, but that was when things went wrong. Dan forced himself to take a breath and ease back slightly in his seat. The two minor adjustments brought things back into focus and he immediately felt more in control.

  Other units were on the air, getting themselves in place for cordons in case the offenders dumped and ran. It was always like that with a pursuit-or a fleeing driver, as they were supposed to be called. Put a call out for a shoplifter and the radio stayed silent. As soon as a failing to stop was called in, cops popped out of the woodwork. Everybody wanted a piece of the action.

  A Delta unit was coming from Mount Wellington towards them, hoping to intercept the pursuit. Dan recognised the handler’s call sign-each dog handler had an individual number. Delta 17 was Tony, a good handler and a good guy.

  Ideally they would get the car into a road of their choosing and be able to spike it, but that was contingent on many things-and fleeing drivers were unpredictable beasts.

  The Subaru took the sharp right hander at the Mount Richmond Domain too fast, clipping the barrier and half-ripping off the front bumper. The bumper bounced and twisted as the car sped away again, the red Commodore not far behind it, before breaking free and going under the Subaru.

  Dan cut smoothly around it. Joe kept the commentary going.

  ‘Passing Mount Richmond now, speed ninety over fifty, manner of driving good, traffic light, road dry. Good visibility. They’ve clipped the barrier and lost the front bumper, Comms.’

  ‘Copy that. Delta, where are you?’

  Tony came on the air now, the engine of his dog van roaring in the background.

  ‘I’m on Mount Wellington Highway Comms, approaching the roundabout at Monaghan. I’m going to wait here and see where they go.’

  ‘Copy that. Keep up the commentary, OHJ.’

  ‘Through the lights at Panama,’ Joe said, ‘speed steady, traffic conditions the same, manner of driving is okay.’

  Comms controllers got twitchy when they didn’t know what was going on. The key to keeping a pursuit going was to maintain a good commentary. Anything less and they’d be directed to abandon the pursuit.

  Dan kept a steady forty metres back, maintaining a gap in case of any drastic action by the other driver. The last thing he wanted was to crash and be taken out of the game. He could see Tony’s flashing red and blues at the large roundabout up ahead.

  The four lane highway would take them to the Southern Motorway, only a k or so away, and once the offenders were on that it became a different ball game again.

  The Subaru’s brake lights suddenly came on and the car swerved violently to the right, cutting across some incoming traffic, throwing a savage U-turn with its tail swinging round and the tyres smoking.

  ‘He’s seen Delta,’ Joe called out, both to the controller and to Dan, who was already braking himself. ‘Heading back west.’

  The Subaru motored past and Dan got a good look at the driver. He was a young Maori guy in a black and white checked shirt.

  Dan put the Commodore through a controlled skid to get it round quickly, and accelerated again as the dog van flew past them, siren wailing. Dan tucked in behind it and together they raced up Mount Wellington Highway after the Subaru.

  ‘He’ll go left,’ Dan predicted, ‘into the darklands.’

  “The darklands” was the area centred around Panama Road. It was a Black Power stronghold with a gang pad in Jolson Road. Bashings, pursuits and drug dealing were commonplace here. Dan and his guys had worked on a homicide here just a few months ago.

  Sure enough the silver Subaru belted left at the lights, clipping a traffic island as it did so.

  ‘He’s hit an island, Comms,’ came Tony’s raspy voice over the air. ‘Right rear wheel looks buckled...and it’s flat. Flat tyre, he’s a bit unsteady. Still doing seventy five to eighty, traffic’s light...that wheel’s stuffed, he’s going to lose it.’

  Suddenly brake lights flared and Dan slipped out to the right as
he slowed behind the dog van.

  ‘Dumping and running, Comms.’

  Tony leaped from his van and Dan swung right, barrelling past. He overtook the Subaru, which had been abandoned with the engine still running. The car was slowly rolling backwards and he cut across the front of it. Two youths were sprinting away from them. Both wore the standard ‘hood get-up of baseball caps, baggy jeans and checked shirts.

  ‘Watch the dog!’ Dan yelled as Joe leaped out. He stayed put for a couple of seconds until Tony had run past with his slathering German shepherd on the leash, then got out.

  There was a crunch as the Subaru collided with the bull bars at the front of the dog van, stalled and came to rest.

  Joe was racing after the dog team, so Dan took a moment to check the Subaru before joining the chase. The steering column was ripped open and the ignition barrel had a screwdriver sticking out of it. There was nobody else in it.

  He took up the chase, a good hundred metres behind now. Up ahead he could see the two youths had split up. One was flying over a fence to the left, while his mate continued to run. Dan felt his moustache twitch with a grin. The one who was still running may not realise it yet, but he was toast.

  Even from back there Dan could hear Tony’s shouted warning, ‘Stop or I’ll let the dog go!’

  The runner didn’t stop.

  In a second the dog was released from the leash and he was off, flying down the footpath like a hairy missile. Dan kept running but had one eye on the action unfolding ahead of him.

  The dog was completely zeroed in on the runner. The youth looked behind him, saw the dog, and tried to run faster. Not a chance.

  The dog got right up behind him and leaped. The runner started to turn. The dog clamped onto the back of his leg and they both went down. Dan could hear the runner scream and saw him thrash, trying to fight the dog.

  That was his second mistake; he’d have had better luck chasing rainbows on a unicorn.

  Dan saw Tony and Joe closing in, and left them to it. He reached a small cul-de-sac to his left, Sophia Close. The fence where the other runner-he had recognised the black and white checked shirt-had jumped over was further up ahead on Panama. Dan slowed and scanned around, his mouth half-open to hear properly over his panting.