Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel

by Mark Bredenbeck

  Chapter Eleven

  She opened her eyes but could not see; instead, images of a broken man were floating around inside her head, bloodied and bruised. His face looked at her with dark eyes, pleading for help. She tried to reach out but her arms were floating and she could not control their movement. Something was wrong, the man started to cry, blood leaked from his eyes like tears. Cuts were appearing on his face as if like magic until his face was one big bloody mess. It frightened her.

  She shook her head trying to distort the image. This could not be real. He was an apparition. A face leapt out of the bloody mess leaving a blank space, it came towards her clearly in focus, a familiar face without a head, the devils mask.

  The face was calling her name, over and over; the sound went from frightened to pitiful before fading to nothing. Still she could not see.

  The image of the body in her eyes started convulsing in front of her as if being attacked by an invisible force; the black hole where his face should be was deep and endless, drawing her in. She could see right into the core of his being. She felt every painful emotion of his torture as if she was inside him. Then in a puff of smoke, he was gone, leaving her empty.

  Her eyes finally focused on four walls, peeling wallpaper, yellow stained ceiling. A sad knowing entered her thoughts. She felt her body going cold, her limbs stiffening, growing heavy. The room started to spin; the floor was trying to take her beneath its wooden strength, submitting her to the horrors below.

  She could smell mould, mildew, dirt, the smell of death, the scent was overpowering, invading every pore in her body. The weight increased pressing on her, forcing her further down, she could feel the worms crawling beneath her. It was going to bury her alive; the worms were going to have her.

  Another face appeared in her vision, an ugly face, a face that had no ounce of compassion. It looked at her with contempt, a look that told her that it was going to do as it pleased. She knew this face, a memory flashing in her brain giving her even more fear. She had seen him before.

  A sharp pain erupted from her arm and she recoiled into herself but something held her arm tight. She tried to focus and saw a strong hand gripping her forearm; she looked down at an ugly needle sticking from her bicep topped by a plastic syringe filled with hate. The face smiled, he released the pressure on her arm.

  The face spoke. "There you go, just a little top up, get you in the mood; it didn't look like you were enjoying your first dose".

  She could feel a tingling in her arm where the needle had entered her skin, a warm feeling spreading around the puncture wound like an infection, the worms below scurried back into the dank earth, leaving her floating on a cloud of nothingness.

  Her body convulsed as the drugs transported themselves around her vascular system before slamming into her brain. A euphoric feeling radiated from the base of her cerebral cortex outwards, engulfing her body in a wave of pleasure that she had never felt before. Clarity invaded her consciousness, everything was sharp and in focus, a heightened state of excitement.

  The feeling was a polar opposite to what she saw in her false clarity. In the room with her, she saw Detective John Mouller tied to a chair in the corner of the room, his head was down, his eyes closed. Blood was spotting on the floor below as he bled from his nose and mouth.

  Joseph Kingi junior was standing above her smiling, a smile that did not reach his cold eyes. One hand was clasping the used syringe, with the other he reached out and put two fingers between her lips stroking around the edges delicately before forcing them into her mouth making her gag involuntarily.

  He looked at her with sick eyes, portraying not lust but a need for control, a power he could only feel when he took what he wanted.

  "Soon..." he said, before turning and walking from the room.

  Jo Williamson's drug induced brain could not find the fear it needed, the deceptively euphoric feeling winning out as she watched the door close on their stinking prison cell.  Then her brain spiralled downwards once more and the demons returned.

  "First of all I think we should show each other a measure of trust", Joseph Kingi senior said recognising his queue as Bridger looked at the now silent phone in his hands. Joseph's voice sounded calm and reasonable, "I will show you something that might upset you, but I trust you not to overreact."

  Bridger's own cell phone beeped in his pocket. Joseph smiled maliciously.

  "I've still got your number Mike…, from the old days," he said, seeing the question in Bridger's eyes. "I've had someone send you a picture..., open it and have a look".

  Bridger retrieved his phone and saw the 'New Message' icon. He scrolled through the options selecting 'Open Message'. A small image appeared on his screen, the wretched sight of a young woman lying on a rank mattress in a small room he did not recognise. The image of the woman was vaguely familiar although the image quality was too poor to see clearly.

  "See anyone you know?” he said quietly.

  Bridger tried to enlarge the picture to make it clearer, and then he noticed another person in the corner of the frame, his arms bound to a chair and he looked to be in a bad way. He did not need to adjust the settings to know who it was, he would recognise the flashy shirt and tie that John Mouller always wore anywhere.

  The synapses in his brain joined the dots and sparked a flash of recognition; if that was John Mouller, then the female had to be Jo Williamson.

  "What the fuck is this?" Bridger spat out angrily.

  "It's just an insurance of sorts; they sort of got caught up in this at the last minute you could say, just icing on the cake really. We will not harm them if you do as I ask. There are a few outstanding problems I need you to solve".

  The situation Bridger thought he was in had just morphed into something infinitely more urgent, it wasn't just him in this situation it was two colleagues as well, and they looked to be in worse shape than he was.

  "Where are they?" Bridger could not make out anything but blurry images of yellowing wallpaper behind his captive workmates.

  "That's not your concern, suffice to say that they will be released unharmed once we have completed our business". Joseph held his palms together as if praying, elbows on the table, fingers tapping against each other.

  "What you have done is detain me here against my will and kidnap my two colleagues, both very serious offences, whatever happens here today you or your mate on the phone aren't going to get away with it, no matter what business you think you have with me. I suggest you let my colleagues go then we may be able to start filling in the hole you are digging for yourself". It was Bridger's last throw of the dice; he did not really think he could reason with him.

  "I think you're mistaking me for someone who gives a shit Mr Bridger." Joseph sneered and sat back against his chair as if regarding his prey. He did not look to Bridger like a person who thought he would spend the next large part of his life behind bars.

  “I don’t know where they are either, before you ask, that part has nothing to do with me…”

  Bridger could not believe what he was hearing from this piece of filth. Both Kingi and McLaren were arrogant men in his eyes; they had both played the game by their own rules and lost. He was not about to let either of them dictate how this was going to play out.

  Holding his phone in his left hand, he lowered it below the table as if placing it in his trouser pocket. With his thumb, he blindly moved around the screen in an attempt to send out a message. He knew roughly, where the forward message icon was, and when he pushed it, he knew it came up with a recipient’s box. It would be a random selection but he hoped whomever it ended up with would know what to do. He did not have many numbers stored in the phone and most of those were work colleagues anyway. Blindly pressing send, the picture disappeared off the screen and pinged into another phone somewhere on the outside of the big concrete walls.

  "Now that you have seen your friends, give your phone to me", Joseph said, watching what Bridger was doing but not seeing.  "I wouldn't
want you to try and do something silly. That would only jeopardise our arrangement". His voice had a slightly patronising nuance to it.

  Bridger placed his phone on the table in front of him and held his breath. He watched as Joseph pulled it to his side of the table but left it on the top in plain sight. He did not bother checking the screen to Bridger's relief, he could not remember whether it would show his last text or not.

  Bridger was eager to progress whatever they had in store for him, "Get on with it please, I don't have all day".

  "You have as long as I say..." The menace in Joseph’s voice was immediately evident. "You and I have the small matter of evidence to discuss. Evidence which was planted..., which you planted".

  The look of utter conviction in what he was saying displayed on Joseph's face unnerved Bridger slightly. He truly believed that someone had set him up.  

  He took a deep breath and decided his only option was to play the same game, cooperate in his rules of engagement and see where it led.

  "Okay Joseph, I'm listening...."

  Standing in the shadows of the sports pavilion's covered concrete shelter Martin could see the fence line of 'The Pad' across the field. The golf course was behind him with the stand of trees where Tama had met his demise, the slight warm breeze making them sway silently against the blue of the sky, a gentle scene of green hiding a violent secret in its bosom. There was no sign of the police though, they had removed the emergency tape, the lights and the cameras were gone, taking with them images of a life that never was. It was as if nothing had even happened, as always when the circus left town. It left only an empty hole in which the fleeting promises of freedom withered and died a lonely death.  

  One life would never move on though, he thought bitterly looking at the ugly fortifications of the culprit’s castle across the road.

  Behind the walls, protected by tin and wood, watched over by a horde of minions blinded by a false loyalty, sat the dreadlocked devil himself.

  Joseph’s BMW had arrived a short while ago parking in its usual place directly outside the gates partially over a bus stop. It was driven by one of his men, Bazz Ropata had gotten out of the passenger side and both had gone inside the gates. Martin wondered what had happened to the police car that Baz was driving, an uneasy feeling rumbled in the pit of his stomach.

  He drew in a breath and then started walking over towards the pad, knowing that as soon as he got into the open of the field he would be in plain sight of the sentries, they would know he was coming and there would be no turning back.

  Walking across the field he could feel the eyes on him, he was taking a risk going to see Joseph with what had happened to Tama, but he needed to know what had happened, why it had all fallen apart. He had no idea how Joseph would react or whether he would see him as a threat. He looked at the bag he had retrieved from near Tama's body last night, a little less weighty now but he hoped it would still have the desired effect.

  The barking started as he approached the gate, the hyped up sentries straining at their lead, eager to do some damage. Tama's death must have stirred things up. He looked up to the top of the fence; wired eyes looked back, eyes cold and bloodshot. They had tasted blood, the dripping remnants displayed on their faces, and they had not quite had their fill.

  The gate swung inwards revealing the interior for a short time, a world visible to only a few. He stepped inside and the gate slammed shut. The barking stopped and he felt eyes on him once again, the silence was unnerving.

  Looking around him, he saw the faces, a mixture of fear and awe. Some were eying the bag suspiciously as if it presented a danger; others were looking at him as if he that presented the danger.

  Joseph stepped out of the shadows of the front porch and stood at the top of the stairs with his arms crossed. Martin sensed it was more defensive in nature than a confident pose, something he had not seen from the leader before.

  He felt a funny sort of respect from the yard full of dogs, as if he had risen in the pack and was now able to contest the Alpha status.

  J man's eyes had not left the bag Martin was holding.

  "What's up Star?" The question was innocent enough, the tone uncertain.

  Martin looked from Joseph to the bag he was holding then around at the minions encircling him. Their eyes were firmly on him, ignoring the old Alpha at the head.

  A realisation came over him, they think that he killed Tama, they were thinking the shotgun was in the bag he had with him. The thought slammed into his brain like adrenalin, they were afraid of him and it was that fear that their misplaced respect grew from. It was a strange feeling but it felt oddly comfortable, it made him feel wanted. He knew he could get used to this feeling if he let himself.

  However, if they thought he killed Tama then they had not been responsible, and if they had not been responsible then who had? He was sure Tama's death had been at the hands of Joseph or one of his minions, Joseph had most to gain from Tama's demise.

  The thought slightly unnerved him, he was sure it had been the gang. They were the only ones that could have been responsible, no one else stood to gain anything. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

  What did it really matter, he thought, Tama was dead. He would not let this new twist impact on his plan to move on from this place.

  He looked back up at Joseph who had not moved or said anything since his initial greeting, he could not read the expression on his face clearly but he did not trust him at all so decided to stay silent about Tama and see where it went.

  "Can I speak with you J man?"

  "Sure Star, sure.... Come in", Joseph stood aside and indicated the darkness of the hallway like a serpent guarding the entrance to his lair.

  Martin took the stairs one at a time, he saw Baz Ropata lurking in his peripheral vision. He had a look of contempt on his face as his eyes followed him as he crossed towards the door. In some ways, Baz had always scared him more than Joseph had. He was like a scorned second prince unable to ascend the throne by virtue of his circumstance. Always second to those born into the life before him. That made him a very dangerous man and Martin had seen that right away.

  He shivered slightly as he entered the hallway, he felt Baz's look cutting into his back like a traitors knife. He ignored the feeling and followed Joseph further into the interior. He had business to attend to inside.

  This time the feeling inside the main building had changed, the party had moved on, the doors in the hall shut tight.

  There were two boys standing outside one of the doors that looked like sentries on a post, put there to guard something. They were both younger than Martin but they had an arrogance about them that came from a false belief in what they belonged to and what they stood for. They had nothing outside the gang to give them any sense of purpose.

  They had been slouching against the wall, but as Joseph came into view, they both stood and looked alert. When they saw Martin behind him the look in their eyes changed slightly, it went from the arrogant indifference to something else that Martin could not quite place. Whatever it was, they directed it at Martin and not at Joseph.

  "What's in the room J man?" Martin asked as they went by.

  "Just a bit of business that’s all, looking after my father’s well being".

  Joseph did not elaborate anymore and Martin left it at that, not really bothered either way.

  Joseph led them into the same room they were in the previous day but the curtains were open revealing a room that looked like it had seen everything that a depraved life had to offer. It had a smell of sickness and decay. Stale air invaded his nostrils.

  "Sit down, let's talk" Joseph indicated the old sofa on the edge of the room. He cleared the debris onto the floor and moved a half-empty can of beer that had lodged itself between the seat cushion and the back. "Can I get you a beer Star?"

  "No thanks, this won't take long". Martin lifted the bag slightly as he sat down placing it on his lap.

  Joseph's eyes sh
ot straight to the bag and his body tensed slightly before he regained his usual swagger. It was only an instant but Martin had seen it, Joseph Kingi was afraid of him.

  "Tama's dead," Martin said without emotion.

  "Yeah, that's a real shame, T was one of the good ones" Joseph's eyes were going from Martin to the bag and back as he spoke. "Do you know who did it?"

  Martin decided to push things a little. "You put him there J man, he wouldn't be dead now if he hadn't got mixed up with you and the pack of mongrels that follow you about. I'm here to let you know that it’s over... it’s gone too far."

  There was no anger from Joseph in return for Martins description of the gang. "What are you going to do?” The fear in Joseph's voice was evident and he could not take his eyes off the bag.

  Martin moved the bag to the side of his feet and lent down towards it.

  Joseph's breath caught in his throat and he backed away slightly. Martin looked directly into Joseph's eyes; the power had shifted for the second time in two days, first with his stepfather now with Joseph. He was in control of the situation, the inadequate shameful feeling he constantly carried with him was dissipating. It was as if a light switched on inside his head, he smiled inwardly thinking of the new life he would lead, free of all of this.

  "I'm leaving..., from this neighbourhood and this shit-hole town. I'm heading north; I just needed to see for myself"

  "See what Star? What did you need to see?"

  Martin stood up prompting Joseph to take a further step backwards, fear and confusion fighting for prominence behind his dark eyes. Martin saw it all, displayed clearly on his face. Joseph was frightened and Martin enjoyed the feeling it was giving him. This was what he wanted to see, the only constant in the life Joseph Kingi led was the need for power and control; take that away and it left him with nothing, just like everybody else. There is always a bigger fish in the pond and today Martin felt like a killer whale.

  He hefted the empty bag over his shoulder, turned his back and walked out of the room not bothering to give Joseph a reply.

  "Fuck you Star; you're all shit anyway...." Joseph’s confidence had come back a little as he realised that Martin was not going to put two barrels in him as Tama had suffered. "What are you going to do up north anyway? The cops will be looking for you... You killed the killer man; we could use someone like you... Take care of business.... Star...? Fuck you… you little bitch..."

  The sound of Joseph’s voice faded as he walked back out into the sunshine.

  One more stop, he thought, and then it is all over.

  Baz Ropata was standing at the gate on his own, eyes hidden behind dark lenses, arms crossed across his massive chest. There was no fear in his manner like there was with Joseph. He was blocking Martin's exit and did not look like he would move as he approached the gate.

  Martin stopped in front of him looking directly at the black lenses of his sunglasses but did not say anything. He was beyond fear; he just did not care anymore. Intimidation would no longer work.

  Baz spoke quietly.

  "I knew your father Martin... he was a good man".

  He had not heard anyone but his mother speak of his father before and it slightly unnerved him to hear Baz speak with him in a slightly affectionate tone. How would a hard man from the gang know anything about his father? Still he stayed silent unsure of Baz's motives.

  "I need to let you know something... I need you to trust me. What you do with what I tell you is up to you..." Baz paused for a second as if expecting an answer.

  Martin just nodded.

  "We have two little piggies tied up in the back room, one waiting for slaughter and the other... Well let me just say the pleasure will be all ours.

  J man is holding them for his father, some sort of leverage to get another little piggy to squeal, but you see there is a higher power out there and that power wants a different outcome, a changing of the guard.

  You know J man is afraid of you now, all these losers are. It was a cold thing you did killing Tama, but a necessary one, I can see that. They wouldn't have the balls themselves."

  Martin was shocked at how frank Baz was with Tama's death. He wanted to tell him that it was not him but could not find the words. He let him continue.

  "I'm a bad man Martin; you probably know that, I have nothing inside. I will not make excuses for it, it is far too late for that now, but I made a promise to someone once to try to help someone else. I am doing that now, however late it is.

  J man is out of control, I don’t think he has a clue what he’s got himself into, and I don’t see a way out from this” Baz looked serious “He doesn't trust you not to go to the pigsty and fetch help"

  Martin just stared at Baz, hoping the growing confusion would not show on his face.

  Baz moved closer to Martins ear and whispered something; his voice was quiet and hoarse as if it was a struggle to tell him. Then he stood aside and spoke loudly.

  "Fuck off out of it Star..."

  The minions out of ear shot for most of the conversation started barking loudly in appreciation of the possible new Alpha who had stood up to the pretend killer.

  The gate opened and Martin walked out onto the street. Baz Ropata followed him out, got into Joseph’s car, and gave him an unseen stare from behind his dark glasses, lifting his chin slightly in Martins direction as he drove away. Confusion was winning the battle in his head; he did not know what he was supposed to do with what Baz had told him. He desperately wanted his new life and that was starting to slip away, he did not want to get involved anymore and the one thing he knew he would never be was a nark.

  One more stop.