Stealth

by John Hollenkamp

  Luigi set the small cup of expresso down in front of Cate.

  “Thank you, it smells wonderful.” She wasted no time to sip from the hot liquid. Then she cut straight to the chase.

  “I’ve been doing a bit of research. Part of my job. It appears that you do know John Reginald Watkins. Sorry. Present tense,” she apologised, “You did know him quite well.”

  Darren sighed. It took him a few moments to formulate an answer. Suppose I can’t keep pulling the wool over her eyes.

  “I had a few beers with the man in the past.”

  “A few beers. A few sorties in debt-collection,” Cate loaded up her answer.

  “Okay, I used to accompany him on occasion to help him with a debt. Perfectly legit stuff. No leg-breaking or anything like that.” Darren defended.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Her beautiful blue eyes opened wide in relief, “Now we can talk about some other things you might be able to help me with.”

  “Like what?”

  “His involvement with drugs and a bikie club, called the Devil’s Sinners.”

  A warm glow ran up Darren’s neck into his head. No we’re not going here. How the fuck does she know about Johnno and Eddie? He resolved to be casual and to appear relaxed and confident. Just deny all knowledge.

  “As much as I’d like to help you, I don’t know anything about drugs or this bikie mob you’re talking about. I do know that Johnno was not into drugs or bikies.”

  “I don’t know if I believe a man that has categorically denied knowing the victim at first, and then suddenly come clean. I am very sure that he was involved with drug distribution. But I admit I can’t prove that.”

  Darren decided it was time to leave.

  “I have to go. Although I’d be happy to spend more time with you. Don’t get me wrong, but I do earn an honest living.” Darren stood up and excused himself.

  He felt her eyes piercing the back of his head as he walked away.

  Cate drained her cup. She gazed at his bony, broad-shouldered body and she followed his casual gait as he moved through the crowd on the footpath. Casual, but determined. His curls are cute. Nice mo, too. There’s so much more to this guy than meets the eye. But at this point, she was wondering what she meant when she thought, ‘so much more’. Was it? As in, ‘he knows more about the victim’, or did the little naughty voice inside her head say ‘ooh, he’s nice’. He disappeared and melted into the crowd. Instinctively, she moved and raised her head to find him. Shit. Gone already. There’s something about him.

  CHAPTER 29

  CAN’T HELP MYSELF…

  Another night. Not quite sleepless, but disturbed nevertheless. Fucking six o’clock. Darren reflected on the events of the night. Events from deep inside his head. The carpark. Johnno. Instead of the standard three jabs, and punch, mix it up. Sally. Kick first, then jab. No, doesn’t make any sense. Carlos, crime and punishment. What do you want, you scrawny little shithead. Should have bought that .38. Where is that worm? Gonna kill you Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. The name echoed in his brain. Awake again.

  He gathered the crumbs of his thoughts. Fuck I’m tired. Darren kicked the bedsheet off, it was too hot under the sheet. He opened his eyes and realised another event in his mind. Her name was Cate. But she wasn’t part of his nightmares.

  Like clanging old church bells the ringing phone jolted him from his slumber. Exhausted, he rolled over and answered, “Yeah. What?”

  “I’ll have to teach you better phone answering techniques,” the female voice replied. “You’re pretty shocking.”

  Darren came to life, although gobsmacked.

  “Okay. I apologise. I shouldn’t be patronising at six-thirty in the morning.”

  “Hi. How about we call it even?” Darren finally spoke.

  “Okay. That’s sounds like a nice compromise.”

  “So, what’s the call for?” Darren winced at his abrupt tone.

  “You sort of left in a hurry the other day. Thought I’d let you off the hook for a few days, but those few days have now passed, so I’d like to continue our chat.”

  “And what will we chat about?” Darren taunted her a little. He sat up on the edge of the bed.

  Cate’s earlier bravado waned. “I was hoping to talk some more about Johnno. About your friendship with him.” No I don’t. I want to talk to you. She caught herself faltering.

  “You know, I already told you as much about me and him the other day. There’s not much to add. But…how about we have a coffee anyway?” Wow, what did I just do? Can’t believe it.

  Cate replied, “That sounds good. In half an hour?”

  “Christ. You always this full on?” Darren was still disbelieving of his own suggestion.

  “What about Long Reef? We could meet at the Kiosk. Coffee’s not as good as Luigi’s, but the views are better.” Her suggestion was playful.

  Sunrise was blood red. The charcoal grey streaks of cloud on the horizon were menacing over the darker strip hovering over the sea’s edge. Cate waited in her car. Her heart beat a little faster, as she glanced in the rear-view mirror. The Falcon eased into the gravel parking area.

  “Red in the morning.” Darren remarked looking out over the ocean.

  Cate approached him, “A sailor’s warning.”

  “Just a change in weather.” Darren turned to face her.

  Her long dark hair swirled around her face, as a blast of southerly wind disturbed the still morning. She hadn’t put her copper’s hairdo together this morning. Darren was taken by her natural appearance. He didn’t see a female detective, he just marvelled at the flow of her beauty.

  “Wow. Where did that gust come from?”

  “Southerly coming. Soon, probably. Let’s order some coffee,” Darren suggested.

  They walked to the Kiosk side by side. The conversation was light and mostly related to the beach, the horizon and sailors with superstitions. When their take-away coffees were served they sought some shelter from the stiffening breeze. They sat on a low rock down from the gentle dune sloping to the surf beach below. From this northern side of the dune they could see a dozen surfers in the water that flickered from grey to blue and purple as the sun played hide-and-seek through the horizon clouds.

  “So what else do you want to know about Johnno?” Darren asked.

  “What sort of connection did he have with the bikies?”

  “No idea.” Darren answered without looking at her.

  “That sounds a bit simplistic.”

  “Seriously. I don’t know. And what makes you so sure that the bikies and Johnno were connected?” Darren was still looking out to the ocean.

  “Do you really think it was a random stabbing?”

  “Johnno was a bouncer. That’s a risk that comes with the job. Getting into a blue with some arsehole was as normal for him as it is when your mob hands out speeding tickets.” Darren looked at her. The expression on his face was empty.

  “So you’re saying he was unlucky and as part of the job someone stuck a knife into his heart and tried to mince it at the same time,” Cate stated matter-of-fact.

  Darren’s face hardened. His blood boiled at her words. He sensed her scepticism. He looked away from her and peered into the red and purple horizon.

  “Sorry, mate. Carving up someone’s heart is not a random stabbing,” Cate re-iterated.

  “What do you know? How the fuck would you know whether his heart was deliberately carved up or minced!” he snapped and jumped to his feet. Darren left her and went to his car.

  Cate heard the car door slam shut. She got up and as she cleared the crest of the dune she saw him drive off. Forensics. Autopsy, that’s how I know.

  CHAPTER 30

  FIRST CHIP IN THE WINDSCREEN…

  When the adrenalin wasn’t surging through his veins Martin was a snail on the race track. Without the adrenaline rush from his scheming and perverted violent episodes Martin was not the sharpest tool in the shed.

  Quite often Martin f
ound it difficult to follow his cousin’s train of thought. But Matt was the boss, the big brother, the leader and the ideas-man. It was an undisputed position; Matt was crystal clear about his role. Martin, on the other hand was undecided about that position.

  “You like it here, Martin?”

  “It’s good, but a bit far from town. Don’t you think?”

  “Doesn’t really matter with my business, does it?” Matt defended.

  Martin thought for a minute and continued wiping the kitchen-bench. My business, always his business. The skinny lad threw the T-towel into the laundry sink.

  “I guess not. But I want to get my licence now. I’m sick of being stuck out here.”

  “That’s only taken you, what nearly a year? Good on you for wanting a licence. But why are you whining about living here? Fuck, man, there are people out there who would give an arm and a leg to live on a property like ours. Two hundred acres of private land, no cunt to tell you what you can and can’t do.” Matt shook his head.

  Martin thought about that last comment. No cunt to tell you what you can and can’t do. Fucking bullshit.

  “You tell me what I can or can’t do,” Martin blurted, like a little kid.

  “That’s different, I run this show.” Matt went out through the door. Fucking ungrateful bastard, he is. Matt thought. It was the first chip in the windscreen. The question was: would this chip be the start of a crack?

  The arrangement unfolded quite easily. Both the boys were on a night out at the Marlin Hotel in Ulladulla. “We’re going to Canberra tomorrow.” Martin volunteered, as soon as he overheard the skinny concreter whinging about having to go to Canberra in the morning. Matt turned and locked eyes with his cousin and before he could say anything to the contrary the deal had been sealed. Martin had a skinful and without any thought or worry he offered, “Mate, we can drop that off for you,” and sculled his beer. “For a small fee, of course.”

  Matt had missed the first part of the conversation between Martin and Larry.

  Loose lips: Larry the concreter. “Selling a few bags to my mate’s uncle. It’s only four bags. Not worth me driving up there, unless I have to.”

  Matt was livid. But he opted not to let on and decided it wasn’t a big deal, not worth starting a fracas over in a pub on a Friday night. I’ll sort the little shit out later. Silly boy.

  “Tell him he owes me ten green ones, a grand, and he pays you and I’ll get the dough off you next week. Here’s a hundred for you.” Larry handed a green note to Martin. “I’ll meet you tomorrow at the motel, or you can come to mine. Up to you.”

  Matt was casually listening, then he butted in, ”We’ll come to yours, early. About seven thirty.” Matt shifted his gaze to Martin. “Alright with you, cousin?”

  Martin his shoulders and stuck the hundred bucks in his pocket. Neither of them spoke to each other for the remainder of the night. Martin continued with a drinking binge. Matt stopped drinking; he was driving tomorrow. He had now broken two rules. One was not to drink alcohol before a trip, and the other, to accept a spur of the moment job which was poorly organised.

  Matt wasn’t too fussed about a few drinks the night before, if the job was a legal one. But now, they were transporting contraband. Never mind, that the illegal substance was only small fry. A search by a highway patrolman could still get you into the system. In Matt’s opinion, the key to success was to have a clean slate. No speeding tickets. No running of red lights. No reference points. No history.

  Matt left Martin to sleep it off. He got into the panel van and drove to Larry’s. Matt wasn’t happy about this loose arrangement. Having to meet a dickhead to deliver a handful of weed without upfront payment was bad business. For a pissy hundred bucks?

  At 7.30am the street where Larry lived was quiet. Matt parked the car in the driveway. At the door he hesitated for a second, thinking he could still bail out of this whole ridiculous deal. He knocked on the door, soft at first, and then much firmer. Matt heard some noise from behind the door. Larry appeared in the doorway in his boxer shorts, dishevelled and somewhat disoriented, “Fuck me, Villo, what do you want?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Matt thought maybe this was a good opportunity to get out of this. No. I’m here now.

  “Ah, yeah, you’re going to drop that shit off for me.” He turned around and waved his hand casually beckoning his visitor to come through.

  “Want a coffee?”

  “No mate, just get that stuff, so I can be on my way and you can go back to bed. By the way, I do need an address, a name, and a phone number.”

  “Righto, I got the details here, he’s not my uncle, aye, was doing this as a favour for a bloke I work with, didn’t really want anything to do with this either.” Larry wasn’t enthused. And Matt even less. Great, not his uncle. Some other cunt’s uncle, and no one actually is interested. What am I doing this for?

  At midday, their white Ford panel-van had just traversed the Burrill Lake Bridge. They soon left the sixty zone behind and Matt increased the speed to a hundred kilometres an hour. Martin was very hung-over – Matt had just woken him up and hurried him to the car without any coffee or a shower. Although Martin was grumpy, there was little in the way of talk.

  Matt decided to kick off, “Oh yeah, I picked up your ‘shipment’ this morning from your new best mate, Larry.”

  Martin answered meekly, “Thanks.”

  “Listen up, mate.” Matt’s instruction line when embarking on an educational rant. Martin was dreading the next thirty seconds and the following minutes of relentless advice.

  “I organise and you follow whatever is going. It comes from me. You don’t organise shit. Alright?” Matt was calm and clear with his words. And that’s where the lesson stopped.

  Martin passively accepted Matt’s edict with a simple nod. He was surprised that Matt didn’t do his nut. Relieved, he was too hung over and crook to argue. He shut his eyes and went to sleep, the zinging noise from the tyres lulling him into a soothing oblivion. Although Martin had many ideas of his own, he was content to let Matt do the steering. For now.

  “Isn’t that the shop?” Martin pointed to the Video Hire shop at the furthest end of the suburban shopping centre.

  Matt checked the scribble on the paper note. He flicked the indicator on right turn and entered the one-way drive. The winter-chill had well and truly set in for the late afternoon. The video shop window with flashing blue and red lights was an attention grabber. A beacon in a dead area shopping strip.

  Matt eased the vehicle past the shop, towards the end of the parking area. “Righto, I’m going to suss out the shop and see if the ‘uncle’ is there. Fuck, this is really stupid.”

  Matt got out of the car after instructing Martin to stay put. Entering through the front door he was surprised at how small the shop was. The overhead lighting was bright enough to see the titles while allowing a good view of the two television screens showing the latest releases. Bruce Willis was flying over a floor, as an explosion ripped up everything around him. Matt paused for a second to watch some more. The scene jumped to another and he lost interest.

  Behind the counter, a middle-aged man with a grey goatee and longish thin grey hair was punching away on the keyboard finalising a video hire. The overweight woman in front of the counter was displaying her large buttocks and thighs in a way-too-small and tight pair of tracksuit pants. As she fumbled around in her hand-bag, she dropped her membership card and bent over showing off her bigness and the crack of her arse. Matt looked away, in case someone thought he was perving at her. The shop was quite noisy, due to the movie releases being played on the two TVs. The shopkeeper packed her videos neatly into a stack and handed them over to her.

  “Evening. Can I help you with anything?” His voice was dull.

  “I’ve got videos from the coast, from Ulladulla.” Awkwardly, Matt recited his memorised line.

  The shopkeeper did not comprehend Matt’s line and looked at him as if he’d been spoken to in Russian,
“What?”

  Matt cleared his throat and didn’t want to be too loud, “I brought some videos from the coast, sorry, Ulladulla, that were due back. Larry said he rented them from you a while back”. Matt tilted his head slightly and opened his eyeballs wide and raised his eye-lids at the same time as he tried to evoke some sort of recognition from the man.

  The penny dropped. ”Yes…I remember now.” The shopkeeper looked with apprehension past Matt’s shoulders at the three customers waiting in line.

  Matt picked up on the man’s anxiety and immediately put his hand up, ”Look, mate I’ll come back a bit later. Sorry what was your name again? I forgot. And what time do you close?”

  “William.”

  “Okay, Bill. I’ll be around later.”

  Relieved, William quickly replied, “That would be great, we shut at nine.”

  Matt removed himself from the line of customers.

  The lid on the big dumpster bin was swinging loosely. The black plastic cover was hitting the back of the bin repetitiously. Not real loud, but enough to annoy Matt sitting in the car waiting for the last customer to leave the video hire shop. It was nearly nine. It was Canberra cold; a stiff wind coming straight from the snow-fields. Thump, and thump again. The swinging lid. Like an out-of-sync pendulum. Matt glanced at the dash clock, the digital dots blipped unceremoniously as each second went by. Blip. Blip. Fuck I’m gonna rip that lid off the bin! And then I am gonna smack the shit out of him. Matt sneered an angry look at his cousin. Martin slunk further back into his seat to avoid upsetting Matt any further.

  The carpark was poorly lit and suddenly went dark when Bill the shopkeeper turned off his carousel of carnival lights in the window. Matt could barely see the figure through the glass of the door, but he sensed the suspicious eyes peering out into the parking area.Matt took this as his prompt and got out of the panel-van. He made his way to the shop at double pace. As he approached the front door, Bill opened it just wide enough for Matt to slip inside. Before shutting it, Bill had another quick scan outside.