The Ottoman Motel

by Christopher Currie

  ‘Have to burn it.’ Tarden flexed his fingers. ‘Jesus. The last thing we need when we’re trying not to attract attention.’

  Kuiper made his way back to the door for another crab pot. ‘I said I’m sorry. I was just—’

  ‘Forget about it,’ said Tarden. ‘We’ll deal with it.’ He rubbed his cheek. ‘Supposed to be a pickup next week though.’

  ‘I’ll make some calls,’ said Kuiper. ‘They’ll understand.’ He flashed an empty smile. They both knew the people they dealt with weren’t the understanding type.

  Tarden knew they’d been incredibly lucky up until now, with a constant stream of work and a small town where nothing ever happened. Perfect until something did happen. Tarden had got on the wrong side of these people before. Groups of paranoid men drunk on power and shit-scared of losing it. No resolutions, no compromises, only high-stakes battles that always ended in bloodshed.

  It was the reason he was here, after all. The two battered bodies he could see every time he closed his eyes. The sun beating on their naked backs and the two other guys, fucking animals, sniggering, wiping their hands on the front of their pants. Adjusting identical trucker caps, spreading their legs, posturing like it was a fucking Clint Eastwood movie. And Jack—himself, still just Jack, still just a young man with his hands shaking, soft-baked bile in his mouth, the stench of soil his only connection to anything he recognised.

  ‘Robbie,’ he said, ‘if we get out of this, we’re going to make changes. Scale all this back. We don’t need this.’

  Kuiper turned around. ‘How do you propose we do that,’ he said, ‘when it barely works now?’

  ‘Shut up for one sec. We’ve got to get you clean. You’ve been skimming off the top, handing out samples.’

  ‘That’s fucking—’

  ‘No, I know you have. And you wonder why nothing ever adds up. I won’t even ask how long you and Megan—’ Tarden waved away his thoughts.

  Kuiper stared at him. ‘Like you say, Jack. If we get out of this.’ He hitched a knot tight at the top of a pot.

  Tarden wiped a slick of sweat from his brow. A pain shot up his side as he collected a can from the lowest shelf. Just get through it, he thought. Was this the best he could hope for now?

  Audrey had taken it well, Simon thought. Dredging up her

  mother’s disappearance, telling her Madaline’s secret, what Kuiper and Tarden were doing under the noses of the town.

  She had just sat at the table, a calm look on her face, even when Simon admitted he and Pony had broken into Madaline’s house. Pony let Simon do the talking. He got up and boiled the kettle again, heated the milk, made Audrey a hot chocolate. She seemed surprised by Pony’s generosity. Simon wasn’t. He knew Pony was a decent person beneath his bluster. Audrey seemed to relax as Simon finished telling her what he knew; perhaps she was just as glad of the revelations.

  But then a car’s headlights swept across the wall, its engine rumbling to a stop, and her face grew suddenly serious. She got up from the table and went over to the window.

  ‘Dad’s home.’ She clambered up onto the bench, tweed coat and all, pushing aside Ned’s herbs to get a better look. Suddenly, she slammed her hand against the glass. She dropped down off the bench and made for the doorway.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Simon.

  ‘I’ve got to talk to Dad.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  She turned around. ‘I’m fine, Simon,’ she said. ‘My life’s just fine.’ She stamped off down the hall.

  Pony didn’t move from the table. He looked down into his mug of hot chocolate as Simon got up quickly and followed her.

  Simon had reached the front door just in time to see Audrey fling herself at Ned’s car, hammering her palm at the driver’s window. She looked like a spectre in the darkness: just a white head and hand in her dark coat. Simon could see Madaline in the passenger seat. Then Ned got out of the car and put his arm around Audrey, trying to calm her down. Madaline stayed where she was.

  ‘She’s not real!’ shouted Audrey, pointing into the car. ‘She couldn’t find Mum because she’s not real!’

  ‘Audrey, hold on,’ Ned began.

  ‘There are criminals in the town and—and she doesn’t do anything about it!’

  Simon saw Madaline’s face through the drizzle, inside the car, frozen in horror. He felt the first trickle of remorse at the base of his throat.

  ‘I think we’re all a bit tired,’ said Ned. ‘Why don’t we get out of the rain and I’ll make us some dinner and—’

  ‘You don’t even care about your own family! You can’t even tell us the truth!’ Audrey’s body collapsed. She crumpled into Ned’s arms, retreating from angry ghost to sobbing child in a matter of moments.

  Ned held her, rubbed her back. ‘I don’t know what’s happened,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where you’ve got this from, but it sounds like you’ve got things a bit mixed up.’ Ned raised his eyes, picked out Simon in the light of the front door. ‘Simon,’ he said. ‘Do you know what’s going on here?’

  Simon nodded, despite himself. ‘Pony and I went to Madaline’s house.’ He shot a quick look at Madaline, who was getting out of the car. ‘We…we went into her house. But we didn’t break anything. She keeps the keys in the same place as you.’ Ned looked at him quizzically. ‘We went through some of the files.’

  Madaline looked pale. She put one hand on the car roof. ‘The files?’ There seemed no anger in her voice, just a deep resignation.

  ‘Yes,’ Simon said, ‘but we were only trying to find out about my…my parents.’ Simon knew he couldn’t mention the drugs. He could hear Pony’s croaky voice in his head.

  ‘You went through Madaline’s house?’ said Ned. ‘Without her knowing?’ He sounded far more indignant than Madaline had.

  ‘Just in the living room. We just looked at the files. Nowhere else.’ He turned to Madaline. ‘We’re not robbers.’

  ‘What on earth where you thinking?’ said Ned. ‘Breaking into someone’s…? I thought better of you quite frankly Simon.’

  Heat rose in Simon’s chest. His scars prickled. He was sick of being blamed for what he did, what he didn’t do. ‘I want to find my mum and dad!’ he shouted. ‘No one else except Pony is doing anything to help me. They could be out there, waiting for someone to rescue them, and nothing’s being done. If there were real police here, then—’ Simon let his words trail off.

  Ned turned to Madaline. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  Madaline blew a lungful of air through her lips and shook her head.

  ‘She resigned,’ said Simon. ‘We saw her letter. She’s not a real police officer.’

  ‘You saw—’ Ned removed his hands from Audrey’s shoulders.

  Simon sensed someone at his side. Pony, holding something in his hands. It took Simon a moment to realise it was the can. The drugs. Simon shot him a wide-eyed look, but Pony dropped his gaze.

  Madaline shook her head. ‘I did write a letter,’ she said, ‘but I never sent it.’ She bit her lip. ‘I wanted to. Ned, I wanted to. I didn’t think I deserved to keep my job after—’

  Pony walked forward. ‘This.’ He held up the can for everyone to see. ‘This was why me and Simon broke into Madaline’s house.’

  Madaline regarded Pony flatly. ‘A can of fruit?’

  ‘It’s not just fruit, actually.’ Pony passed the can to her, across the bonnet of the car. With a frown, she reached inside. ‘Ugh!’ She pulled her hand out, examining her sticky fingers.

  Pony shook his head. ‘There’s a bag.’

  Madaline reached back in and pulled out the bag. It was still covered in syrup but she took off the bulldog clip and opened it. ‘What the hell?’ She took a small flashlight from her pocket. Her expression hardened. ‘Where did you get these from?’

  ‘A storeroom,’ Pony said. ‘Belonging to Jack Tarden and Robert Kuiper. We saw them.’

  ‘A storeroom?’

  ‘At their house. A b
ig shed. There’s hundreds of cans like this.’

  ‘What is it?’ said Ned.

  Madaline swallowed. She held out the bag. ‘High-grade amphetamines by the looks.’ She stared straight at Pony. ‘You’re telling me there are more of these cans?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Lots more.’

  ‘And you’re saying you saw Mr Tarden and Mr Kuiper with the cans? You’re telling me these cans belong to them?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Simon. ‘They have a key for the storeroom, and there’s machinery and everything.’

  ‘I told you, Dad,’ said Audrey. ‘I told you there were criminals.’

  ‘They’ve got—’ Simon couldn’t find his voice. Everyone looked at him. ‘In the shed. I think…they have my parents’ car.’

  ‘What?’ Pony spoke first. ‘Where?’

  ‘At the end of the shed. It was covered with sheets, but I recognised the tyres.’

  ‘Simon,’ said Madaline. ‘Are you sure it was your parents’ car?’

  ‘It had the same tyres. I couldn’t see the rest of it.’

  ‘Christ.’ Madaline stared at the ground for a moment. She looked back up, an anger in her eyes. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Ned, I’ll need you to drive me back to the Ottoman. I’ll get my car and head out to Tarden and Kuiper’s place.’ She looked at the drugs again. ‘I’ve got to get back to my car and get my radio.’

  Ned turned around. ‘I’m going to need you guys to stay here, okay? I’ll be back in a minute, but I want you all to go into the house and stay there.’

  Audrey nodded. ‘Come on boys,’ she said, ushering Simon and Pony indoors with her wide black sleeves. ‘We’ve got to get inside.’

  There was a look in Audrey’s eyes that Simon had not seen before. A fire, perhaps. An impossible spark.

  Madaline knew as soon as she got back to the car. A habit

  returning she thought she had lost. Reaching to her hip for the cold comfort of her pistol’s grip. ‘Shit.’

  ‘What?’ Ned picked at the pocket of his coat.

  ‘My gun. My fucking bastard gun. I left it in my car at the Ottoman.’ She turned around. ‘I’m going to drive.’ They got in the car and Madaline gunned the engine. ‘You’re going to want to use that seatbelt, Ned.’ She hit the accelerator and Ned’s station wagon hared down the driveway. She hooked the steering wheel and they swung out onto the main road.

  ‘Jesus,’ said Ned, his arm reaching for the handhold above the passenger door.

  ‘Defensive driving course,’ she said as the car rounded a bend and just missed a tree.

  ‘Madaline,’ said Ned, ‘the resignation letter. I still mean what I said. You shouldn’t blame—’

  ‘Forget about it,’ she said. ‘We just need to get—’

  A dark shape veered in front of them. A dark blue new four-wheel-drive shot quickly from a side road, roaring past. The tinted windows gave no clue as to who was inside. Madaline wrenched her head to catch the licence plate, but she already knew. ‘That’s the Sawyers’ car,’ she shouted.

  Another car sped past, the tell-tale yellow of Tarden’s ute, a rust-streaked trailer rocking behind it. Madaline saw Kuiper’s shark-face in momentary profile. ‘The fuck?’ She noticed both the ute’s tray and the trailer were stacked with blue and orange mesh, and inside the mesh were shapes that glinted silver.

  ‘That’s the cans,’ said Ned, but Madaline was already

  turning, yanking up the handbrake and wrenching the steering wheel to the right.

  ‘Hold on!’ she called. The car slammed itself in a tight circle, tyres screaming. They both shunted roughly to the left and Madaline felt the painful bite of her seatbelt. The car slewed to a precarious tilt before righting itself, fishtailing back onto the road. Madaline floored the accelerator and the car lunged, engine whining before the tyres caught purchase on the bitumen and they hurtled forward.

  The cars had made a couple of hundred metres on them but Madaline did her best to keep up. She focused on the dim beacons of the trailer’s tail-lights; tried to coax what she could from the wagon’s motor, but she couldn’t get them closer. The gearstick felt caught in honey. The engine complained with angry growls. She struck her hand on the steering wheel. ‘Come on!’

  ‘This beast isn’t used to going much further than the shops,’ said Ned.

  ‘Bloody hell.’ She should have gone back to get her own car. If she had, she would have lost them anyway. ‘Shit.’ The tail-lights were gone.

  ‘Where would they be taking the cans?’

  Madaline racked her brain. They were heading the wrong way for the highway. Almost as if—

  ‘The wharf,’ she said. ‘They’re taking the drugs offshore.’

  They sped through town in silence. It was only as they approached the wharf that Madaline realised they had almost doubled back on themselves. They were near enough to Ned’s house to have walked. Madaline slowed the car and cut the lights. ‘Hopefully they didn’t recognise your car,’ she said. ‘If we’re lucky, they won’t think they’re being followed. Better safe than sorry, though.’ They approached the wharf, where the bluff provided a natural shelter for the large collection of fishing boats. Most of them were tiny things, fishing vessels made of aluminium with canvas strips for roofs. All around were heaped nets, the bright punctuation of buoys; a few were full-sized trawlers, with out-riggers that looked like giant feelers. Madaline parked the car a little distance away and unsnapped her seatbelt. ‘Ned, you don’t have to…I mean, you can drive back into town and get Tommy. I don’t need you here with me.’ She rubbed her forehead. It was all coming out wrong.

  Ned said nothing, just opened his door and stepped out.

  Madaline let out a noise of frustration. Was there a time in Ned’s life when he didn’t want to please everyone? She got out of the car. ‘Just stay behind me,’ she said. ‘Just stay quiet.’

  They crept down the slope, picking out Tarden’s ute among a handful of other parked cars. The trailer was empty. Kuiper had left the engine running and the headlights shone out over the wharf. Madaline edged up to the car, motioning for Ned to stay where he was. She withdrew her baton, snapping it out with a flick of her wrist. Cringed at the metallic crack it made. She carefully approached the left back passenger window, squinting her eyes at the car, trying to make out any movement inside. It was empty.

  She caught movement on the wharf and ducked down behind the car. Peering up, watching through the windscreen, she made out two figures dragging a flatbed trolley. It looked like they were hauling the crab pots down towards the boats. A mist had come up on the water, shrouding them further. She turned back to Ned, beckoning him closer.

  ‘They’re down there,’ she whispered. ‘I can surprise them.’

  ‘We can surprise them.’

  ‘Ned, I’ll be fine. You need to get back to the kids.’

  ‘Like hell.’

  ‘Ned—’

  ‘Come on.’ He got up and started down the hill.

  By the time they reached the wharf Tarden and Kuiper had started loading the pots into a boat, the metal cans clicking and squeaking as they fell together. Madaline and Ned hid behind a heap of fishing nets. Poking her head over, peering through the swirling mist, Madaline could see they had stopped loading the pots in. They stood beside what looked like a bollard, arguing. The darkness ate their words but Madaline could make out their movements. Hands on hips. Angry hand gestures. Kuiper twisted his body around and a dark shape appeared in his hand. The familiar shadow of a gun. Madaline’s stomach lurched, her mind racing ahead to dozens of possible scenarios. Her mind flashed back to training: disarmament techniques, siege psychology…it was too long ago. Her mind had been dulled by paperwork and inaction. Kuiper put the gun back into a holster that stuck out oddly from his hip. Oh, Christ. It was her gun.

  The bollard moved and suddenly there were three figures. The third was too small, it couldn’t—

  ‘Gin!’ Ned sprang up, leapt over the netting and sprinted towards
Kuiper; Madaline’s lunging hand just grazed his shoulder as he jumped away. She gritted her teeth.

  Kuiper swung around, coolly removing Madaline’s gun from its holster. ‘Easy there, Ned,’ he said. Tarden put his arms around Gin to stop him moving.

  ‘Dad!’ Gin was in his Superman outfit. His hair was mussed, slept-on.

  Ned slowed, but didn’t stop. ‘Get the hell away from my son!’ he shouted, his voice cracking out across the water.

  Madaline had never heard him sound like this.

  ‘I don’t think we will,’ said Kuiper. He flicked off the safety, steadied the gun with his other hand, pointed it at Ned. ‘You’re going to have to stay right where you are.’

  Ned stopped. He clenched his fists.

  ‘I’m going to assume that your friend the police bitch is with you,’ said Kuiper. ‘And I’m going to ask her to show herself, unless she wants two dead Gale males on her hands.’ He giggled.

  Madaline rose slowly from behind the netting, carefully stepping around it and out onto the jetty. She took in the scene, assessed the angles. Kuiper was a write-off. ‘You don’t have to be stupid here,’ she said, looking past him, talking directly to Tarden. ‘You don’t want to throw away the rest of your life.’ She focused on Tarden’s hands, his grip around Gin’s chest. She willed his fingers to loosen.

  ‘Hello, Senior Constable,’ said Kuiper. ‘I think you’re forgetting who has the gun and the hostage here.’ His face held a half-grin. ‘Thanks awfully for that, by the way. I’ll need the baton, too. In fact, give me that whole belt. Shame not to collect the whole set.’

  Madaline slipped her baton back into her belt, unbuckled it and lowered it to the ground. ‘Where’s Tommy?’

  Kuiper laughed. ‘Probably asleep at home. Left me outside the pub. What a trusting gentleman. Slide that belt over.’

  Madaline kicked the belt across the jetty. The one thing she needed Tommy to do for her the fat bastard had shirked out of. She had to put him out of her head. ‘You okay, Gin?’ she shouted. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Gin shook his head. His eyes were huge with fear.

  Kuiper picked up Madaline’s belt. ‘Shut the fuck up. Not our fault if the boy’s wandering around the wharf in the middle of the night. Can’t say that’s good parenting, hey Jack?’