Chapter Thirteen
John Mouller did not know how long he had been slipping in and out of consciousness, but this time he did not return to the dark nothingness. The room was silent but he felt a presence nearby. He tried to move but his arms held tight, restrained behind him with some sort of binding. A metallic coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. One of his eyes would not open and his face felt like it was made of rubber. There was a sharp pain in his chest and his lungs felt like they were on fire.
He tried to remember what happened but could not make his mind work clearly. Had he been in an accident? He could not recall.
His one good eye kept filling with something warm and sticky and he had to keep blinking it clear. He tried to focus but it was a struggle and nothing came into view. He tried to call out but the words would not leave his throat.
Fear started to prickle into his consciousness, he felt himself craving the darkness of before. At least he would not be in so much pain.
A face flashed in his mind, a pretty face, a face he knew. He had to stretch his mind to recall the name. Jill...? No, Jo... Jo Williamson. Another memory surfaced, the sight of Jo struggling with her captors as they dragged her into a building, ugly dangerous faces around her. More pain shot through his body and he convulsed, coughing even more blood into his mouth. Then it all came flooding back, the ugly pleasure on the faces that had been above him, the pain in his body as they lashed out. Taking whatever issue they had with whatever demon plagued their life and transferring it into their vicious assault.
He opened his good eye wide and looked around the room. This time things came into focus, it was then he saw her; she was lying on her back with her head rocking back and forth and her eyes closed. Her pale face was showing black stained tears running down her cheeks. The wretched sight made John’s stomach turn.
Jo's hands were running all over her own body, sometimes it was as if she was trying desperately to sweep something off her and then it would be more slowly, erotically, as if she was enjoying it. He could hear a small whimper coming from her lips.
He tried to call out to her but could not think of anything to say. She was lying there not wearing anything but her black lace bra and panties and he felt embarrassed, for her, for looking at her, and for himself.
He noticed another presence in the room; someone was standing near the door with his back to him, displaying a black leather vest with full regalia on the rear. He was watching Jo intently, in one hand, he held a camera phone towards her and the other hand had pushed itself inside his filthy jeans rubbing himself back and forth.
Anger rose in his throat and he struggled against his bonds in a futile attempt to stop the patched pervert from degrading Jo any further. He had not protected her when he should have and she had ended up as a prop in a sick fantasy, no better than a piece of meat. Anger and sadness invaded his head in equal proportions. He spat the blood from his mouth “Over here dick head”, he managed.
The Patch stopped rubbing himself and turned towards John, confused eyes, as if he had not noticed him in the room before now. Then anger flashed through them “What the fuck are you looking at faggot? Do you get hard looking at guys? Am I making you excited, is that it?” he grabbed his penis through his jeans and thrust his hips towards him. "Well you're gonna get a show shortly Mr Piggy. We're all gonna have a go on Miss Piggy and you're gonna enjoy that. We may even have a spit roast... Mmm-mm... I do like roast pork" The Patch licked his lips and looked back towards Jo.
John spat blood towards him “Fuck you, you're not going to get away with this. It’s time you let us go; it can only get worse for you”.
“It’s time you went back to sleep little piggy”
The Patch reached over towards the wall and picked up a wooden bat, holding it at waist level he walked closer to him.
John watched the Patches' leather vest move stiffly as his shoulders tensed up. Then the bat started moving in slow motion, he could almost hear it coming through the air towards him. It seemed to take ages to move towards his head, like a meteor on a deadly trajectory. He looked directly into the Patches eyes in the split second before the inevitable impact. John’s acceptance of probable death passed through them into the empty void behind the ugly facade that the Patch portrayed to the world.
A white light exploded in his head, followed by a sharp pain that registered just before he fell into a dark void of his own.
Bridger watched as the screen on the phone in front of him lit up with the blocked number, the vibrations moving it closer to him across the surface as if inviting him to answer. Taking another deep breath, he picked up the phone and pressed answer not bothering to say anything in greeting.
"Have you listened to what my old friend has to say...?” David McLaren’s voice was smooth and deep, no trace of the anger that Joseph had displayed.
"Where are my colleagues being held?" Bridger butted in.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know bloody well what I'm talking about, the two police officers you and Kingi have kidnapped as insurance."
There was a deep throaty chuckle on the other end of the phone. "Well now, it seems Joseph is as impulsive as ever, still pulling the same amateur moves."
Bridger remained silent unsure if McLaren knew anything about it.
After a short silence he continued. "Is he keeping well? Joseph I mean. I have not seen him since incarceration in this shithole was put upon me. From what you have just told me I see that he has delivered you his ultimatum. Have probably signed your life away?"
"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?"
"Well that’s all good and well but you see I can't let it happen. He needs to stay where he is, it doesn't suit my purposes for him to be released".
Bridger could not believe what he was hearing. He had just spent the best part of ten minutes fabricating the letter that Joseph was sure would lead to his release and now McLaren was telling him he didn't want that to happen.
"If Joseph gets out then my son would be in danger of falling into the same life I have led and I can't have that. Joseph and his son need to be taken care of for good and you’re going to see to it."
There was no winning with these two, Bridger thought to himself.
"What do you want then?" He said in reply.
"All in good time, but I need to give you reasons first, I'm not an unreasonable man and Joseph and I do have a history".
"Well get on with it" Bridger said angrily.
"Temper tempers Mr Bridger, it was that which put me where I am now, and you would be wise to remember that." David took a deep breath the sound audible over the phone. Then he continued
"We were as thick as thieves back in the day. We grew up together back in Pukekohe did you know that? Then we both joined the 'Gang' together, that was before he moved south to Dunedin. I followed a few years later with my wife; the leaders decreed a new chapter needed to be set up in the deep south. There were opportunities abound, untapped markets, and things to be explored. It was a brave new world and I was the trusted one, the new leader of a new chapter, we could write our own destiny and that is what we did. Neither of us saw this as an ending to that story though. My ending came at the end of a knife, his for drugs, robbery and rape. You tell me what is worse....
Bridger did not say anything.
Anyway it was me who recruited him back into the life", David went on, "But he had changed since our childhood days, his ideals never quite matched my own, he always had a different agenda it was if he no longer cared. Maybe he felt isolated in Dunedin before the chapter was set up, lost his way a bit. His only recourse was to lash out; and he liked to lash out. Violence was always his first port of call. I am not saying I was a saint but then I always had a reason for my aggression, he used it as a form of self-advancement. The gang was always a place for people like me to belong, to find purpose in our lives. He just used it for his own personal entertainment and gain; I did what I did to survive.
I know how the juxtaposition of this must confuse you a bit. You cannot really see the difference between us, violence is violence no matter what the justification, I can see that now, I have grown up a lot since I have been inside. I know I have missed a lot in my life because of the choices I made but I had no choice. It is what it is and I accept that, but I still think I deserve some sort of comfort and security. It was society that put me here".
Bridger listened to David's speech; the years in prison had not dispelled the arrogance of the man He still lived in a 'Poor Me' world, holding other people responsible for his position. He was right; there was no difference between the man he was listening to and the man sitting in front of him.
"This is all really interesting stuff Mr McLaren", he said "but it's not helping me or my colleagues is it, do you really know what is happening outside of the walls you live in, the people holding them could be doing anything that want, the picture shows that they are in a bad way".
"I trust they won't be harmed unless needed, even Joseph and his son aren't that stupid"
Bridger silently noted the fact that David had mentioned Joseph's son, the Pad would be a close bet for where the gang were holding Jo and John. He looked at Joseph across the table; he had not taken his eyes off him. There was no chance of Bridger relaying the information to anyone. A feeling of uselessness came over him, how could he have put himself in this position so easily? David continued to speak.
"After I was locked up Joseph ruled the roost, he cut most of the ties with the hierarchy from up North, playing on the fact it was a long way to come and fix the problem. He took the Gang in a new direction, one that I do not entirely agree with and his son is now taking it even further.
I do not expect to get out of here and I do not think Joseph will either despite his bullshit story about being set up. There is no way that any of your lot will be admitting to any funny business in relation to his arrest and conviction; he is just pissing in the wind. I need you to keep Joseph locked up and take out his son as well. I need you to do it to protect my own son from following me into this shithole of a life.
You see in the end we want the same thing, him and me, to protect ourselves and our offspring, but the truth is that we are just old men who have wasted a good chunk of our lives in shit-holes as we find ourselves in now. Prison is a young man's game, we are just two old bulls still rutting against each other, to arrogant, and pig headed to realise that our horns have become brittle and weak... Then when I think about it, we have probably both come to the same conclusion one way or the other. The difference is in the stakes. It is much harder to survive in Paremoremo maximum security than the holiday camp that Mr Kingi is in".
Bridger looked around the confines of what passed as an interview room at the Otago Correctional Facility; it was not at all hospitable in the normal sense of the word. He sensed there was a bit of prison envy in David's little speech, if there was such a thing.
He looked at Joseph Kingi who was sitting with his hands behind his head, looking directly back at Bridger but very oblivious to the other side of the strange conversation he was currently engaged in. he looked more relaxed now that Bridger had written and signed the paper he wanted. He had to use a bit of poetic license in the detail but it seemed to placate Joseph. It was entirely a work of fiction and he had no idea how he was supposed to use it. He did not think Joseph had any clear idea of where this went from here either. It was the actions of a desperate man not thinking clearly. McLaren on the other hand was a different kettle of fish. He was much more dangerous. His reach seemed to be wide and he had nothing to lose. Between them, they were causing Bridger’s head to ache. So called brothers in arms, they were willing to sell each other out in the end to ensure their own comfort and safety.
David's monologue went on.
"My son, his name is Martin. He would be about 21 or 22 now; I have lost count of the years. I have never seen him as anything than a baby. I have no idea how his life has been going so far, what his experiences have been. My last image of him was in his cot before I got done. I never wanted this life for him and I still don't. When I heard about the current troubles, what Joseph’s son was doing, Martin's involvement in all of it, I saw it as an opportunity to see to his welfare, do what a father should.”
Bridger’s mind made a quick connection and put Martin in the frame with Tama and Joseph for the robbery slash murder. It made sense; why else would McLaren be going to all this trouble. He wanted to keep his sons name out of it. The sound of McLaren’s voice, still talking obliviously bought Bridger back to the present.
“Joseph reached out to me to set this up; he doesn't have the pull, not really. The only thing he could pull off was kidnapping your colleagues, and even that was probably a last minute thing, it had to have fallen into their laps as I don't think they have the ability to plan something as elaborate as that".
Bridger held his breath, McLaren did not care either way what happened to John and Jo. He was trying hard to force back the anger he knew would burst out any minute and derail any hope for an amicable solution. McLaren continued, oblivious of Bridger's feelings.
"The real power still lies with the Northern Chapter; I'm still a big part of that. A word in the right ear, a wad of money here and there, they are the things that can get you anything you want. Knowledge is power; if you know something about someone then it is up to you how you use that information. I worked that out pretty quickly early on in my life; it has stood me well all these years...” David paused for a second and Bridger could hear him breathing down the phone. "How do you think Joseph ended up where he is...? I had my man talk with our tame copper; let him know where to look. We put a couple of things in place for you to find and then Joseph did not know what had hit him.
Bridger's thoughts flashed back to Matthews, was he someone's tame copper? Was Matthews fed the information of where the evidence would be? It tainted the evidence if found that way as it could never be verified, especially as it was not there when he had looked the first time. Joseph's story of being set up was sounding more plausible.
"What's to stop me from using what you have just told me?"
“Did you like the photograph of your wife? That was my contribution to this little shindig. Joseph does not even know who took the photo or who they are. So you see it's not Joseph but me you have to worry about. She's really quite hot isn't she, your wife. But, she's nothing on that sexy blonde lawyer who was with her. My man in Dunedin told me he nearly had to help himself… He is an ugly man that one, but a useful one. I am sure he would have treated her real nice. Still there's always time isn't there…"
“Fuck you McLaren, you do not get to threaten them, not now, not ever" Bridger's anger had gotten the better of him; he wanted to reach down the phone and grab him by the neck. Joseph was watching his display of anger with an amused look on his face. This only served to fuel Bridger's rage even further. He stood up and hurled the phone against the concrete wall, smashing it into two pieces as the battery separated from the case.
Joseph looked at Bridger "That was dumb; you shouldn't get so angry Mr Bridger"
Bridger stood there breathing heavily, wondering what to do now. Then his cell phone started ringing. Joseph held it up towards him.
"Answer it, and this time don't do anything stupid, it’s the only phone we have left"
Bridger took the phone and pressed answer. David's voice showed no trace of emotion. "Now Mr Bridger, let's conclude our business."
Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 14