A Tropical Cure

by John Hollenkamp

  “In Cairns. Looking for you,” Eddie answered.

  Half an hour later, they embraced each other. Shortly after, Eddie was instructed to follow Bogdan to his home, where they would catch up on old times and everything in between.

  “What happened to your hand?” His cousin eyed the bandage wound tight around Eddie’s left wrist and hand.

  “Fucking long story.”

  “Sounds like a long evening ahead of us. I’ll make sure we have plenty of vodka and food.”

  The house in Palm Cove was grand and splendorous, with an outstanding view to the blue Coral Sea framed by lipstick palms and cane palms surrounding a crystal-clear swimming pool.

  “Selling used cars must be lucrative,” Eddie remarked with a tinge of jealousy.

  Bogdan huffed quietly, “Don’t be naïve Eddie. There’s no money in second hand cars. You know where the money is.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie eyed his cousin with caution.

  Bogdan gazed at the ocean beyond the palm trees. “You know how I got all this? I got this, my lifestyle, my toys, my business … by giving people what they want, sometimes whether they want it or not. I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” With his hands resting on the stainless-steel tubing of the balustrading on the top-level deck overlooking his pool and the landscaping, Bogdan was a picture of success.

  Eddie stood two centimetres taller than his cousin. Height didn’t take anything away from Bogdan’s imposing presence. He was every bit of ‘better not fuck with me’ size. It made Eddie feel very strong, to be standing next to his cousin. In a mirror, you’d swear they were twins – apart from the hairstyles and clothing.

  “I spoke to Bob about a year ago. He mentioned how you were in a gang of bikies. Told me you were a bikie-boss. Everything his mother Elena warned about you, came true. Obviously, Bob has no idea what I do, other than sell cars.”

  “Fuckin’ fat cunt. He told me you were concreting.”

  “I was, for a very short while, when I buried a bloke who didn’t pay his bills.”

  That last comment from Bogdan sparked laughter from both men, a deep, obnoxious laughter.

  “Why did you get shunned?” Eddie suddenly asked.

  Bogdan gave him a scornful look, danger in his dark eyes, his thick eyebrows narrowed over his nose. “Remember Becca? At that same party, she decided to suck my cock. Too bad fucking Ivan walked in on us.”

  “Uncle Ivan?”

  “Evidently, he did not approve of his daughter sucking his nephew’s cock,” Bogdan said with sardonic amusement.

  Eddie was surprised about the revelation, but not in the least surprised about his cousin’s banishment. The Livanescunic family was entrenched in their old-fashioned, religious beliefs. Cock-sucking was surely something only done under the covers of ten thick blankets.

  “Bad luck.” Eddie shrugged his shoulders.

  “It was time for me to carve out my own future anyway. I chose to stay away in the end. Fucking religious cronies!” Bogdan waved his arms and spat over the balustrading into the patch of tropical plants below.

  “Got anything to drink around here?” Eddie asked as he followed his cousin back into the open lounge area.

  ***

  The banter about the family and whether Becca would be sucking off her husband every night died a speedy death. Both cousins realised very quickly that this reunion would be the start of a great new partnership to further their activities in the accrual of wealth. They would share the responsibilities of brain and brawn.

  “First, we need to transform you into a new man,” Bogdan said, putting his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, brushing his worn T-shirt. “New duds, new haircut, shave, a new man. Your bikie days are over, Boris. Tomorrow, you’ll learn how to sell cars in Cairns.”

  “Gotta get rid of the Camry. The boong that owns it won’t need it anymore.” Another burst of laughter.

  “We take a trip tonight, dump it in the river.” Bogdan lifted his vodka soda.

  “Cheers Bogdan.”

  “Lose the Bogdan name, from now on I am Bruce, because that’s my name around here,” Bogdan declared.

  CHAPTER 45

  RUBY TUESDAY

  Last night’s dinner invitation didn’t go far after the opening of a bottle of Merlot. Ruby and Darren had spent the evening in the kitchen at the vet clinic, which ended six hours later. Dinner was a toasted cheese sandwich at 11pm. Patch had fallen sleep after gnawing on his bone for what seemed two hours, with him staying at the clinic while Darren was sent home.

  Today, Darren and Ruby were going on their second date. Second day in a row.

  This time Patch was going home, Ruby insisted. It also meant, “I get to see your home.”

  The house would still be clean from the inspection, although Darren felt a little daunted by the prospect of her scrutiny. Patch ran through the open gate as soon as it opened. He did a complete round of the garden, marking his territory as he moved along. “Look at him.”

  “That’s a male thing. You men are very similar.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You just are.” Ruby walked into the garden. “It’s lovely. Shame to sell it.”

  “Too late now.”

  They walked up the stairs.

  Darren held the door open for her.

  “Your home is certainly an upgrade from my little unit,” Ruby said as she entered.

  She looked at the sparsely furnished room and commented, “Not much of a home-decorator, are you? Don’t worry, neither am I.”

  Patch stood at the door, tail wagging, ears pert.

  “I think someone wants to come in,” Ruby said smiling.

  “He knows that’s not on. He’s my best mate, but never really let him in the house. I was brought up with dogs, but dogs stayed outside.”

  “It’s your house.” She wandered to the kitchen.

  Darren left the front door open, and Patch lay down at the opening. From there the cattle-dog kept watch as his eyes followed all the movements in the house.

  ***

  Darren had picked them up from the clinic earlier; straight from work, he was sweaty and hot, hoping she wouldn’t mind if he had a shower.

  “I’ve had mine, so I’ll sit this one out,” she had replied.

  It shut him up.

  She chuckled, “Just teasing you.”

  Feeling his flushed face, Darren quickly retreated to the bathroom.

  Ruby waited, comfortably seated on the plain lounge for Darren while he showered and changed into fresh duds. It gave her time to consider what she was doing. A boyfriend, or the thought of a boyfriend had not entered her mind for a few years. Boyfriends, in her experience, took time and energy, not to mention the dramas when the boys became too possessive or reliant. Ruby enjoyed her independence, and she also liked being in control. And no bastard was ever going to lay a heavy hand on her, ever, again.

  Ruby heard a door lock click, she watched as Darren snuck out of the bathroom, taking a dash to the bedroom opposite. She managed to get a quick peek as he went between the two. Although his shirts didn’t hide the bony, sinewy body shape, she was awed by the glimpse of him in his briefs.

  “I saw that!” she yelled out with a giggle.

  “Sorry about that.” A muffled reply from behind a door.

  Nothing to be sorry about, she thought. That’s what she liked about him. Not too polished around the edges, caring but not a sop. There was a quality about him she couldn’t put in a box, because she’d never met anyone like him. Mysterious, not very talkative, although everything he said was necessary and never superfluous.

  And your relationship with Patch, moving and marvellous.

  It felt a little daunting, there he was: a man completely in control of himself, confident and self-deprecating at the same time, and there she was, like a butterfly not wanting to land on him. Even butterflies would succumb to a rest.

  “As they say: you scrub up alright for a scrapper.” Her comm
ent while getting to her feet.

  Darren blushed again, “Yeah, righto then. Let’s get some grub.”

  “Anyone ever likened you to that American actor? You know the fellow that plays a detective? Tom Selleck?” Ruby asked as they walked to the car.

  Darren rolled his eyes.

  “’Course I do. I’m his reincarnation.” Rolling his eyes again, with a quick dismissive headshake.

  ***

  The sunset view from Jezzine look-out had been awesome, a red-purple blotted sky to the west and the dark shade of Magnetic island to the north. They strolled down the stone steps leading down to the Strand. Patch was in element darting down the steps and then back up again, circling around Darren and Ruby. Once near the bottom of the hill, Darren whistled for Patch.

  “This is the part he hates.” Darren clipped the dog lead to Patch’s collar.

  “Necessary evil,” she commented.

  Dinner out was a democratic discussion to meet the needs of everyone involved: Darren, Ruby and Patch. In order to include Patch, they decided not to go to a restaurant and instead have a meal outdoors. The finest venue for outdoor dining in Townsville was sitting on the grass next to the beach, with a take-away meal. The evening’s choice was fish and chips – although not really met with approval from Ruby, Patch scoffed at least half the bag of hot chips.

  ***

  “Do you know when you have to move out?” Ruby asked as she lay back with her elbows resting on the grass.

  “The agent is working out a settlement date with the buyers. It’ll be soon.”

  “How soon is soon?”

  “A few weeks, I think,” Darren spoke with gloom.

  “I detect some regret. Do you wish it hadn’t sold?”

  “Maybe.” Darren gazed towards the island rolling a toothpick between his fingers.

  “I suppose we all make decisions that sound good at the time, and when the time presents, we have regrets.”

  Darren didn’t respond and started gathering up the empty food containers and the remnants of the chip wrapping that Patch had so successfully ripped. Ruby stopped him by putting her hand on his arm, then gently pulling him towards her. She kissed him on the lips, briefly at first, and then longer. Patch whined for a moment, then he wagged his tail.

  “Don’t worry Patch, I won’t steal him from you,” Ruby said as she scratched the dog behind his ears. “But it is only Thursday, I might by Sunday though,” she spoke to Patch as he nuzzled closer.

  “Jeez, you’re a bloody sook, Patch!” Darren finished gathering the dinner ‘dishes’, “No washing up, how good is that!”

  Standing with a plastic bag full of rubbish in his hand he scanned for a bin.

  “I overheard the fish and chips man call you Mango. Is that your ozzie nickname?”

  “Ha. Yeah. Not very original, is it?”

  “What about yours? Is Ruby short for anything?”

  “No. I was born on a Tuesday. My mother called me Ruby. After the song. Ruby Tuesday, by the Stones. She said it was playing on the radio when she first held me.”

  Darren bobbed his head, “Nice. I better find a bin.” He started to walk.

  Then, from the corner of his eye. No! That dark green Commodore!

  Darren’s face reddened, anger welling in his stomach.

  The lowered sports sedan crawled over the speed-hump, the tinted windows obscuring the driver. But, the front windscreen couldn’t hide the face lit up by the reflection from the bright streetlights. Dark-rimmed glasses, very light-coloured hair, maybe grey or silver. Even over the distance of forty metres, their eyes now met!

  The car revved hard, the Commodore shot forward and sped off. Darren sprang to his feet, arms out from his hips, standing as if ready to draw like a gunslinger. Patch was next to him, and growled.

  Ruby gazed at him, her mouth was open, and on the verge of saying something.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Darren’s face was flushed with anger.

  “Are you … Are you alright? I thought it was just a hoon. But … it’s not, is it?” Ruby’s look wasn’t fearful, it was like she was ready. Ready for anything.

  “What’s going on Darren?”

  “I didn’t want to involve you,” He finally uttered.

  Now he was angry at himself.

  “Involve me in what?” she demanded.

  “A complicated issue. I’m not sure you really want to know,” he answered.

  “I probably don’t.” Ruby kept up with Darren’s march towards the car. “But it’s not ever stopped me from helping someone in the past.”

  “Oh yeah. You might change your mind when I tell you.”

  “Give it a shot, then,” she said defiantly.

  Darren unlocked the passenger door first and held the door open. She stood still, then she squared up to him, lifting her finger to his chin to kiss him, “No doubt I shall regret this, but for now you have my full attention. Unless you’re some sort of pervert, of course, then I shall cut your knackers off, with a bread-knife.” Ruby slid into the front seat.

  “This is a mistake, I hope you realise,” he countered as he got behind the wheel.

  “Didn’t you listen to my last words?”

  “I’m not deaf.”

  Darren appraised the feisty, beautiful woman next to him.

  “A bread-knife would really hurt, wouldn’t it?”

  They both laughed, not for very long. Individually their thoughts ran along the same lines. Do I really want to do this again?

  CHAPTER 46

  CAT & MOUSE GAMES

  It was a still night, apart from the random chirping of crickets. The four boys strolled casually as if invisible to the rest of the world. Max lit a smoke. He twitched the igniter on the disposable lighter, after several go’s he managed to get a flame, he sucked carefully on the cigarette so as not to lose the flame, then he drew long, and finished by blowing a thick cloud of smoke. The other boys ignored the smoker as he had fallen behind a few metres. At this time of night, only the odd car would drive past them, usually fast. No coppers around. The group of Aboriginal boys were out on a hunt. That’s what it was, a hunt. Jarrah was the oldest, at eighteen. Skinny like the others wearing his colours, a shirt depicting Aboriginal symbols, brown shorts, Dunlop volleys without socks, Jarrah led the group. Jarrah knew how to drive fast. Jimmi was a mate of Billy’s, a few months’ Billy’s senior, Billy idolised him like a big brother. Max was the reason how Billy and Jimmi got involved with Jarrah.

  “See there. Ova there.” Jarrah nicked his head up a few times, signalling with his eyes, pointing to a lone vehicle a hundred metres up the road.

  “It’s gotta light over it,” Jimmi whispered to Billy.

  “Duddent matta, you fucken pussies,” Jarrah shot back.

  “Fucken shut the fuck up, all a youse, you’re meowing is gonna wake someone,” Max hissed, and he sucked on his smoke one more time before chucking it on the road.

  “Locked. Keep going.” Jarrah didn’t even slow down.

  “Heaps more aroun’ the corna,” Max whispered.

  The foursome continued, unhurried, like wandering in a park. Soon they turned into a street which would take them into the heart of a residential neighbourhood. At two in the morning, most lights were off, occupants of homes fast asleep. Soon the dogs would start barking. They knew from experience that only a handful of people would get up and check out the disturbance. Even that was easy to deal with, because lights would be turned on, giving away the places not to go into. Once they’d scoped a place and had alerted the occupants, they’d leave it be, moving on to the next. Max knew of other night raiders being stupid and returning to the same place the next night only to be nabbed, because the cunt who lived there was waiting for them. He wouldn’t be making that mistake!

  It was like smorgasbord – a street with lots of units, not enough garages to go around, with many cars parked in the street, others under carports. And no dogs. People in units weren’t allowed to have pets.
The lack of barking dogs to alert to intruders in the area, was a huge bonus for marauders.

  They split up in three: Max, Jarrah, and the two ‘trainees’, Jimmi and Billy stayed together. They fanned out quietly among the dozen cars parked in the complex. Quietly, they would check to see if any cars were unlocked. If not, and if old enough, Jarrah would decide whether to hotwire it, after breaking into it.

  Most new cars were too hard to steal without keys. Even that wasn’t a worry, because some people left their keys in the ignition, or under a floormat. Only, a handful of people were careless by not hiding their keys, but the opportunity was never missed. If necessary, they could break into a home and grab the car keys from a hook, or table. You just had to have the balls to do it. Jarrah’s mate, once stole the keys to a Pajero from a bedside table, right next to where the people were sleeping. They took the four-wheel drive and drove it all night, until abandoning it in the city, keys in the ignition.

  Jarrah signalled snapping his fingers three times. It meant, “No good.”

  The foursome resumed their trek into the neighbourhood, going deeper.

  “Commodore, there. Not an SS. Fuck!” Jarrah hissed.

  They surrounded the VY Ute, a S model with a six cylinder. “We not gonna fit in dat one,” Billy whispered.

  “Cause youse cunts kin walk,” Jarrah sneered.

  Jimmi and Billy didn’t respond, both blinked, mouths zipped. Max whistled under breath and beckoned the three boys to follow him. A security light flashed a bright beam next to them, followed the throaty bark of a large dog. The porch-light came on.

  “Run,” Max hissed, and he took off. The three boys shadowed him, running.

  They all heard the echo in the night. “Fuck off! You, mangy arseholes. I’ll be waiting for you next time!” As the warning trailed into silence.

  The rapid tapping of their shoes on the bitumen marking their flight, echoed in the streets. Other dogs were barking now.

  They ran.

  Four dark figures clustered in a group dashing across the park until they reached the bush at the edge of the playground. Once there they disappeared like rabbits in the scrub.

  Billy followed Jimmi, who followed Max; Jarrah was way ahead now.