A Tropical Cure

by John Hollenkamp

  “Where are you meeting him!” Eddie snarled losing his grip from Matteo’s wet wrist.

  “Out on the reef!” Matteo gasped buckling from the intense pain, falling to his knees again.

  Eddie noticed the purple lines on Matteo’s fingers. Angry purple welts, a bit of tentacle was stuck to his little finger.

  Matteo was sweating profusely. His breathing had become shallower.

  “Give me … give … vinegar. Please … vinegar. There.” Squirming on the floor he pointed. “I tell…Englishman…”

  Eddie eyeballed the pathetic man on the floor. Bruce would want to get to the bottom of the Pom’s arrangement. He spotted the bottle of vinegar and rushed for it. He unscrewed the cap and brought it to Matteo, who held his hand out trembling uncontrollably.

  “Onn … ohn there …,” barely able to verbalise.

  Eddie dribbled the vinegar on Matteo’s shaking hand.

  “More … p…p…please …”

  Eddie poured it on, emptied the bottle and chucked it in the corner. A brief moment of sympathy disappeared altogether.

  “Now, again. Where are you meeting this pommy bastard?”

  Matteo was gasping for air.

  “The reef.”

  “Ring the cunt, and tell him to meet you on a beach.”

  Matteo’s eyes rolled in their sockets.

  Eddie nudged him with his boot. “Stop fucking with me.”

  “No … phone …” A feeble whisper.

  Matteo had stopped moving, and he lay still clutching his hand. His breathing was shallow and laboured. His eyes were glazed over, staring at the ceiling. Matteo was barely alive.

  Eddie looked at the fading figure on the floor.

  Random bird noises came through the open window. A distant squawk from something Eddie didn’t recognise interrupted the twitter of finches flitting around the hibiscus blocking the view. Lorikeets, he did recognise them. Shitloads of the bastards in Narrabeen. Then he heard water. The sound was coming from another room.

  Eddie opened the narrow double doors and found himself looking at a huge fish tank with the most colourful fish and rocks, he’d ever seen. Yeah, nice. He mused.

  Then he turned his attention to Matteo, moaning.

  “Hey mate, last chance. Ring your fucking pal because I’m getting tired of waiting.”

  No sooner had he finished his sentence, and a mobile went off. It came from Matteo’s pocket. The Pom! Eddie’s first thought.

  He stooped and retrieved the device from where it was half hanging out of the Italian’s shorts. Eddie answered it politely.

  “Hello.”

  Eddie couldn’t understand the caller’s lingo. After listening for twenty seconds to the ranting on the phone, he bellowed, “Oi, fucking shut up. Speak English.”

  The phone went quiet.

  Then, “Who am I talking to?” Accented enough to betray the caller’s heritage.

  Eddie narrowed his eyes and frowned with a curling lip.

  Snarling, “I know you. Sal from Melbourne. Fucking Lewis’ uncle. You’re the bastard who set up our ambush in Manly.” Eddie was fuming. “You’re the low-life who had Bushy killed.”

  The old Eddie was back.

  “What are you doing with Matteo. You are stealing with him. Stealing from me!” Salvatore’s turn to roar.

  Eddie refrained from answering, instead he kicked the wounded man on the ground. Matteo puffed like a deflated basketball.

  “Fuck you! Old man. Your nephew will be swimming with the fish shortly. He’s a grub like you.” Eddie threw the phone against the wall.

  ***

  Salvatore hadn’t hung up, hearing a loud thoonk, followed by a clattering noise, which was over in seconds. Then, he listened to the protestations of his nephew echoing through the phone. Although the commotion sounded distant, the following events became quite clear to him. First, the “Noh, no … stop…” tailed by frantic screaming, then some glass shattering. After that, it went quiet. Then, another small noise, Sal couldn’t decipher. Some muffled noise. Sal squeezed his face trying to work out what it was. Silence for about a minute, abruptly broken by a God awful scream. Nothing after that. Salvatore pressed the end button, and shut his eyes momentarily.

  ***

  Eddie was shitted off from the drenching he received by throwing the Italian on top of the big fish-tank shattering all the glass plates. Matteo had sunk into the tank screaming and splashing water everywhere.

  Pissed off, and wet, water dripping from his forehead down his chin, Eddie glanced at the other tank from the corner of his eye. His frown turned to mirth, an evil glint in his eye. Fucking jelly-fish is hungry.

  A small long-handle net hung from a hook fixed to the fish-tank cabinet. Eddie snatched the net and went over to the other tank.

  Hovering over the Box Jellyfish, Eddie deliberated the safety of his intent.

  Just don’t touch the bastard. And Eddie carefully lowered the net into the water, watching the creature closely for the slightest movement. The jelly-fish remained suspended in its spot. Eddie held on tight, four fingers squeezing on the end of the flimsy handle, making sure his hands were nowhere near the poisonous thing.

  In a flash, while sweeping the net towards it, the Sea Wasp darted into it. Eddie pulled the net from the water quickly, keeping it well away from him. His heart was pounding. Nervous, but curious, he inched his head over the net.

  It had almost disappeared into the bottom of the net, looking like a mess of clear snot. How could that inflict such pain?

  He hurried back to the other room.

  It was a weird sight. Eddie looked at Matteo’s languid face, bobbing just above the water level, a slow blink washing over his faraway eyes. One ankle hanging off the side of the tank, a hand was moving up, fingers climbing the glass wall, leaving smears of watered down blood. Eddie brought the net and its contents closer to the glass face of the tank. The whites of Matteo’s eyes grew, guessing the contents of the net.

  Eddie lifted the net over Matteo’s head, and upturned it with a flick, the stinger slapped against the glass and slowly slid down the gap between Matteo’s face and the tank wall. Chironex Fleckeri. Matteo screamed as the slimy tentacles slid over his face. A minute later, all was quiet, except for the filtered water being pumped back into the tank, now splashing via Matteo’s forehead, before entering the tank.

  The reef fish gathered around, having come out of hiding.

  Suddenly, they fled when they saw a new inhabitant had come to live amongst them. The fish darted back into their hiding holes.

  Chironex Fleckeri.

  I call that a tropical cure, Eddie huffed.

  CHAPTER 68

  NOT YOU AGAIN

  Ruby was awake. She couldn’t sleep, worried and angry at the same time. She hadn’t been able to shake that feeling all day. Bloody Darren. Who the hell does he think he is? Ruby picked up her mobile. 11.07pm. She lay her head on the pillow, restless for a moment, then she rose and jumped out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom. Once in front of the mirror, she tousled her hair and grabbed a brush. Oh, bugger this! She mumbled and went back to the bedroom. Just as she was about to snatch the phone from her bedside cabinet, the screen lit up and the name ‘Mango’ popped up.

  “Well, well. Look who’s found their phone.”

  “Righto. Don’t get stroppy. I’ve had a long day,” Darren replied wearily.

  “You could have rung earlier. Would have saved me cooking tea for you.”

  “Sorry ‘bout that. I had to go to Cairns.” Darren thought better of it than lying to Ruby. “Should have told you yesterday. Figured you’d try to talk me out of going.” Clearing his throat.

  “Huh. Bloody right you are, Darren Mangan. I would not have agreed to your impulsive and stupid ideas. Were you going to walk up to the front door and exact justice on their doorstep?”

  Darren let the silence of his ‘no answer’ sink.

  “Well. I suppose I should be grateful that you’
re in one piece. Or? Did you do something silly?” Ruby was slow-pacing around the room, her head shaking in disapproval.

  “Couple of bruises. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Did you get him?” Ruby asked.

  “No. Missed him. Thought I found him. Got his cousin instead. Arseholes look alike. Size and temperament.”

  “Where is he then?”

  “Do not know.” Darren sighing fatigued.

  “Can you please come home?”

  “Yeah, righto.” Darren ended the call.

  ***

  Eddie left the noise from the pump and splashing behind as he went through the kitchen door. Outside, the palm fronds rustled from the warm breeze. Eddie hurried around to the front of the house. The back street in Horseshoe Bay was as deserted as before, except for a black Labrador standing at the edge of the gravel driveway where it met the bitumen. The dog’s tongue was hanging out and his tail wagging.

  Meeting with Eddie’s eyes said it all. Run away, dog.

  Goliath’s tail stopped dead, and within seconds he had bounded off with a single whimper.

  Eddie’s eyes followed the dog’s quick escape. Before running the risk of being seen by curious neighbours, he hightailed it to his car. Now he needed to get off the island. Eddie had no idea how soon Matteo’s body would be discovered. The keyless entry unlocked the car in silence, Eddie slid into the driver’s seat with a quick check of the rear-view mirror. He started the car and adjusted the aircon to full blast. Reversing onto the street, he quickly turned the wheel and accelerated with a screech.

  The cool air blasting from the vents calmed him from the lingering surges of adrenaline. The ride in the Statesman was smooth, feeling like it insulated him from the rest of the world. He glanced at the speedo. 87. Shit.

  Eddie took his foot off the accelerator pedal and slowed the car down to 60.

  Collecting his thoughts, Eddie started planning his next move. Once back in Townsville he’d pay the Riders a visit. How did they know where to find him up in Cairns? That was a mystery to him.

  On his way to the Nelly Bay Ferry Terminal Eddie stopped for a coffee in Arcadia. Walking back from the shop he paused in front of the newsagent; on the newsstand newspapers were displayed: several copies of the Townsville Bulletin, a Cairns Post, an empty tray, …

  Cairns Post.

  Fuck. The penny dropped.

  Cousin. You make some stupid choices.

  Eddie hurried back to the car, his hand searching the passenger seat for the ferry time-table. He brought the credit card sized time-table to his face, squinted to find the next departing ferry. He checked the time, did a quick calculation. Twenty minutes.

  Then his mobile rang.

  Bruce.

  “Still in one piece?” Eddie answered the call.

  “I’ll live.” Bruce’s voice was croaky.

  “Better be quick, mate. I got a ferry to catch in a few minutes.” Eddie took a sip from his coffee while starting the car. The mobile was wedged between his ear and shoulder.

  “Did you finish the biz on the island?” Raspy and slow.

  “I did.”

  “Why’s this arsehole that looks like that Yank actor after you?” Bruce’s voice had cleared some.

  Silence.

  “You there?”

  “Which fucking actor? The Magnum dude?” Eddie’s face flushed with anger.

  “That’s him. Curly dark hair and a mo.” Bruce replied terse and angry.

  “Long story.

  Silence again, this time from Bruce’s end.

  Eddie could hear the cogs turning in his cousin’s head.

  “Shouldna done that fucking ad, I gotta go.” Eddie hung up.

  ***

  Pete was scribbling on his notepad when the office door opened wide. Ignoring the large man in the doorway as he kept pencilling notes, to the annoyance of the visitor. Had he looked up straightaway, he would have racked is brain trying to remember who the dishevelled man with a crinkled white collared shirt standing in front of him was. After three seconds, Pete would have worked that one out, and shit himself.

  Without looking up from his paperwork, Pete remarked, “You could have rung our one-three-one number. Sir.”

  “Don’t sir me, you arsehole. I’m after your mate.” The large man’s gruff reply.

  Eddie closed in and hovered over the taxi boss’ desk, towering over the small man, who had just figured out who the gorilla was.

  Pete pushed himself back from the desk, but the office-chair stopped at the wall behind him with a thud.

  “Not you again.” His heart sunk, and his body shrunk into the chair. Pete’s eye whites popped with fear. He was still within the gorilla’s grasp.

  Eddie reached over, roughly grabbing the slight man’s shirt, shaking him from side to side.

  “Where’s he living these days!” Eddie spat.

  “Who …who?” Pete stuttered.

  Eddie lashed out with his free hand, backhanding the taxi boss across the face. Pete’s head recoiled like a Jack-in-a-Box on a spring. Stunned, with a reddening welt on his flabby cheek Pete stammered, “Darren … yes, okay …” Out of breath, swallowing rapidly, pointing to an archive cabinet.

  “Be quick about it,” Eddie barked, shoved the little man hard.

  “I … I have to find it.”

  Eddie let go of him.

  Pete sat for a moment trying to catch his breath, then he slowly put his hands on the edge of the desk, eyes up, a questioning look to make sure he would be able to stand without getting hit again. “Over there. In the filing cabinet. Can … can I get it?”

  Eddie gave him the nod.

  Pete got up and staggered towards the crème-coloured filing cabinet which had seen better days. He inserted a key in the lock at the top, jiggled it a few times, before it allowed him to open the drawer. Pete’s fingers danced over the files before pinching the Manilla folder he was searching for.

  “Here … I’ve got the address.” Holding it out, sighing with relief.

  Eddie snatched the folder from Pete’s hand. On the cover of the folder the old address had been crossed out with a black texter. Another address was scribbled below in pencil, followed by the name ‘Ruby’, written in brackets.

  “Wuh…What … duh…do you want with Darren?” Pete stuttered some.

  Stupid question. In immediate hindsight. Whatever it was, it felt like a rock. The room spun around him. His knees gave way. Then it all went black.

  The force from Eddie’s thump had caused Pete’s head to bang into the wall before bouncing back, body sinking to the floor.

  Eddie retrieved several plastic cable-ties from his pocket. Blood was dribbling from the man’s battered nose, lips and chin. Eddie put the .32 back into his trousers. He cable-tied the man’s ankles, and rolled him onto his stomach so he could tie his wrists behind his back. Then Eddie rolled him over again. The taxi boss’ eyes were half-shut, staring into oblivion, he was still breathing, but only just. Eddie spied the waste paper basket which had tumbled and spilled its guts.

  Satisfied that the man wasn’t going anywhere soon, Eddie took one last look at the pathetic figure on the floor, the wad of scrunched paper he’d stuffed into his mouth made the taxi boss look comical.

  Eddie made for the door.

  Just as he went to go through, two cabs turned up simultaneously.

  Shit.

  Eddie shut the door and pressed the lock button. Then he left the office taking the exit through to the workshop, from where he escaped through a side door, unseen.

  ***

  The signage on the front of the old building had not escaped the ravages of time and tempest. It was stuck up high. Faded with blistered paint you could barely read what it used to say. Joel was on his way home when Wilder rang him. Twenty minutes later, here he was standing in the driveway looking up at the name: Northern Taxi Co. barely legible.

  A faded sign for a fading, independent cab company. A victim of progress? Joel didn’t
think it was progress to wipe out the little guys. But there was no stopping to the big guys swallowing up the smaller ones. Once fishing with his uncle Kenny, the old man parted with simple, although twisted wisdom: big fish eat little ones, that’s why live bait is so good, hehehe…

  Joel was surrounded by the team, as he referred to them. Ambulance, several patrol cars and Wilder’s bland, maroon-coloured Commodore with black rims were parked in swoop formation, in front of the taxi company’s doorstep.

  Joel was still in uniform. No one would question his presence.

  A crowd of twenty or so people had gathered across the road from the driveway of the Northern Taxi Company. The paramedics were still inside, and a couple of Joel’s uniformed colleagues were milling around the premises to keep an eye on things.

  Wilder came out of the office entry door. He adjusted his trousers demonstratively by pulling them up by his belt. That big gut of his would only allow it to be a gesture of futility.

  “That better, boss?” Joel said with a straight face, but sniggering inside.

  Wilder gazed at him, a stern expression without a word.

  Joel cleared his throat, “What’s happened here?” Hoping to gloss over any sarcasm picked up by his boss.

  Wilder narrowed his eyes, looking over his nose, his chin raised.

  “Appears that the supervisor in there was mugged. The reason I called you is: I believe we might be dealing with something a little more sinister than a mugging. First, no money appears to have been stolen. The cash box is intact. Key is in it, plenty of cash in the tray. Second, the poor bastard that got mugged has been tied up, ankles and wrists, gagged as well. Whoever did this didn’t want the victim to warn anyone soon. Third, to ensure the last point the assailant knocked him out cold. Fourth, there’s a file on the floor in front of the records cabinet. It has Darren Mangan’s name on it.”

  Joel’s face tightened.

  “Shit. Sounds like trouble.”

  “We can only speculate as to who might have done this. I am running out of ideas.” Wilder balled on the heels of his shoes impatiently.

  “I better head over to Darren’s house. He went to Cairns yesterday.” Joel stayed composed. “His girlfriend is home. She might be in strife.”