A Tropical Cure (A Darren Mangan Thriller Book 2)

by John Hollenkamp

  “You’re right. Sorry, mate. So, what happened to you?” Darren leant against the wall facing the taxi-boss’ desk.

  “I wash about to shut shop when … a vevvy big man came through front door. Friendly, just arrived Townshville, want to catch up with mate who wash expecting him.” Pete took a breath and swallowed.

  “You right? Anyway, keep going,” Darren urged him on.

  “I ashked him … who? He forgot name. I ashked him how? No warning, he punching me.” Pete shook his head at the incongruity of it all. “I woke up on the floor, he gone.”

  “What’d he look like?” Darren’s back stiffened, face frowning.

  “Tall big arms and shoulders, black hair. Face growth…”

  “What growth?” Darren interrupted.

  “Beard … moustache.”

  Darren’s eyes narrowed.

  “Tattoo.” Pete’s forefinger tapped a few times on his arm.

  “Tattoo? … What did it say?”

  “Devil … devil something.”

  The taxi boss pushed himself up from the chair, straining and muttering something about his sore back.

  Darren didn’t hear Pete. His head was in a spin. He’s here. Still in Townsville. It was Eddie! Darren left without a word, he slammed the office door so hard, the roster-board fell off the wall and smashed to the floor.

  Pete rolled his eyes, now he had a headache as well.

  CHAPTER 26

  VIGIL

  As Darren stepped onto the wooden veranda he felt his heart skip the rhythm. Approaching the glass-panelled entry door to the veterinary surgery he was suddenly daunted, afraid the news wouldn’t be good. Standing still, he took a moment to steady his nerves. He had already lost Johnno, his best mate, from a calculated ambush by a cold-blooded murderer. He’d lost Cate, his soulmate, at the hands of a desperate, crazed killer. He wasn’t prepared to lose Patch to the same cold-blooded murderer and crazed killer – Eddie. Now he knew it was Eddie. Eddie was coming for him. How that came to be – that was a mystery. Patch got in the way. Patch had probably saved his life, now the poor bugger’s life was on the line. Darren sighed and decided to go through. You’re not dying on me today, you bloody hairball!

  Darren quietly approached the reception desk. For a moment, it looked unattended. Getting closer he could detect some rummaging under the desk.

  Her head was down and the streaked blonde hair was tied back with a hair-band, her face concealed. She was crouched on the floor behind the reception desk. It was obvious to him that she had lost something but wasn’t frantic about her search. The lab coat hid most of her. Darren said nothing and waited patiently, until an anxious yelp from the back room upset the quiet. Then Darren cleared his throat, hoping she would hear him.

  She sprang to attention although still behind the desk close to the floor. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. My apologies. Just looking for something I lost a minute ago.” She blushed.

  Darren’s eyes ricocheted from the door opening to the recovery room. “Sounds like Patch. Can I see him? I’m his owner, Darren.”

  “Sure. I’ll take you in.” And the veterinary nurse stood up, brushing her lab coat, straightening it before she darted from behind her desk.

  Darren zoomed in on the wire cage at eye-height. Behind the mesh, Patch was sprawled on his side, bandage plastered over most of his chest and abdomen. He tried to lift his head but slow-slapped his tail a couple of times instead.

  “See you got a good shave buddy.” A spritely attempt to hide his emotion. Seeing Patch unable to move, covered in bandages brought home the severity of his injuries. Another slow-slap. Darren bit down with pursed lips. Anger and anguish.

  And hate. An apparition of Eddie’s face clouded Darren’s vision for a second or two.

  You are so going to pay for this.

  “You alright?” That sweet British voice.

  Darren was absorbed with seeing Patch.

  “Yeah. Just hope he’s going to make it,” replied Darren.

  “We’ll give him the best care, I promise.”

  “Can I hang around for a bit? You know, so he knows I’m here.” Darren asked keeping his eyes on Patch.

  “Here, let me unlatch the door and you can pat him. Just lightly though.” She freed the barrel bolt from the saddle, pulled the mesh panel towards her and moved back to allow Darren access.

  Darren cupped his hand around Patch’s head. The smooth fur on his crown felt warm, and he moved his hand over Patch’s ears lightly caressing, massaging the soft spot behind his ear with his fingers. Patch’s mouth spread open with his tongue hanging out lazily. A cattle-dog’s smile.

  “He seems a lovely dog,” she said.

  “My best mate.”

  “Yes, we get rather attached to our furry friends.” She smiled broadly.

  She stepped to the corner of the recovery room and brought a red, plastic chair over, placing it behind Darren, “Here. Take a seat. Stay as long as you like. It’ll do him good. I’ll be out front.” Her eyes were fixed on Patch.

  Without further persuasion, he sat his weary frame down. His ankles were aching and his legs felt like rubber. Lack of sleep, too much anger. First opportunity he had to let everything sink in. He rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers under his chin. The events of the last twelve hours ran through his mind. Eddie was after him. How did he manage to find him? It was hard to imagine that the mob behind Simon’s death would have set this up. But it was possible. The bank. They would have known where he worked. A visit with Pete, and bang, he gets my address. Eddie didn’t count on a dog. Now, he had to set a trap to entice Eddie back to his house.

  Darren was tired. He settled back and slouched a little …

  It was dark behind his eyelids. He felt light pressure against his shoulder, and a little pushing. Still, the voice came from over the hill. A long way away. It was hard to decipher the words. There was a heaviness in his neck. I can’t hear you. Speak up.

  “Mister Mangan. Mister Mangan are you alright?” She gently prodded his shoulder with two fingers.

  Heavy. His eyelids were heavy. Oh shit, where am I?

  The fluorescent light from his surroundings engulfed the cracks in his opening eyes, shutter-blinking confused …”Oh.”

  Her face looked hazy. Her eyes had a magical glint, blue. Or was it green? One of her blonde locks hung just to one side of her face. Darren’s eyes were wide. Yes. She was beautiful.

  “Wow. I must have crashed out. What time is it?” Darren righted from his slouch. He sniffed hard, eyes surveying the area around him, looking for a clock. “Sorry… hope I didn’t snore too loud.” Making light of his perceived indiscretion.

  “Not at all, … hahaha.” She laughed heartily.

  Her laugh was life-giving. Darren broadened his smile as he caught her eyes. A three-second linger, it felt longer. Then, she turned away, but not so quick that Darren didn’t notice the pink blushing on her face. Even in her white lab coat he could discern her elegance – sleek and confident like a leopard.

  A strained canine groan. Patch emerged from his induced slumber unable to lift his head, his brown eyes searching for his master. Darren was already there and reached his arm into the enclosure, his hand touched down on Patch’s head. He watched Patch return to his sleep, reassured by slow swelling and subsiding of his torso that he was at least still breathing.

  It was time to go. There was no sense in staying with Patch. He would have to do the surviving on his own. Darren’s vigil would be present in mind. But he would ask to be able to visit, often.

  “Leaving?” she asked.

  “I was sort of hoping I could come back a little later this arvo,” Darren replied.

  “I’m sure that will be alright, but later this ‘arvo’ is actually now.” She directed her eyes to the wall clock, showing 5.10pm.

  “Yes. Guess the arvo is pretty well shot.”

  “Darren, isn’t it? May I call you Darren?”

  The words
sang to him. That cute British accent. His mum used to watch all those pommy shows, much to the Mangan boys’ disapproval.

  “That’s my name. How about you? What’s yours?” he asked.

  “Ruby. Just like the Stones’ song. Ruby Tuesday. It was my parents’ favourite song.” She smiled, but Darren felt some reservation as if she was going to say more.

  “Beautiful name,” Darren replied.

  “Thank you,” she cleared her throat, “I am working late. Helen lets me do my assignments here. It’s quieter than my flat.”

  Darren followed her with his eyes as she stepped behind the counter. She retrieved a business card, placed it so she could write on the back of the blank surface. Their eyes met for a few seconds, and then she wrote down a number.

  “It’s my mobile. The veterinary surgery phone goes to answer-service immediately, so I may not respond to your call.” Ruby handed him the card. He took it while gazing into her eyes.

  “Thanks. You reckon I should come back in a few hours, maybe eight or nine? Or is that too late?”

  “I will be here. I have exams this week. A long night of study for me, I’m afraid. I will keep an eye out, keep a vigil.” She finished with a smile.

  “Thanks.” Darren moved towards the door, “And it’s nice meeting you, Ruby.”

  She blushed as he left.

  CHAPTER 27

  A HOMING PIGEON

  Standing at his gate he missed Patch rushing him. Until now, his life seemed straightforward – find Eddie and deal with him, permanently. Although that part hadn’t changed, Darren hadn’t imagined that he’d be the hunted one. And not just by Eddie.

  The tables had turned. Or had they?

  He left the XC in front of the gate. Wouldn’t be long, before he’d be leaving to hunt down Eddie. He had left a trail of blood. If he was injured, then he’d have to make his way to a hospital. An Emergency Ward. A good place to start asking questions. As for the mystery caller, he would leave that pot to simmer for a few days – it would be his turn soon enough.

  Like in the boxing ring, there were choices: duck and weave, avoid the punches … or, don’t even give your opponent a chance, go in for the kill.

  Just before getting back into the car Darren groped the .38 Smith & Wesson from the small of his back. What a prick of a spot to keep a gun, he grunted under his breath. Darkness of the evening had set in, so handling the weapon in plain sight wasn’t too risky. Behind the wheel, he rested the revolver on his lap, a quick scan in the mirrors, making sure no one was around. Satisfied no one was watching, he lifted the weapon, shut one eye, unlocked the cylinder, spun it round making sure that all the chambers were loaded. He locked the cylinder, just for you Eddie, they’re all for you.

  His phone vibrated on the console. The ringer had been turned down since his last shift. “Hello.”

  “Is this Darren Mangan?” The question sounded official, but the voice was familiar.

  “Adam?”

  “Yes. It is,” Adam replied.

  “Wow. How are you, mate?” Darren sat up to attention.

  “Sound surprised.”

  “Didn’t expect to hear from you,” replied Darren.

  “Forgotten about me already?” A reserved chuckle sounded through the line.

  Adam’s reply hit a raw nerve. Darren had visions of Cate.

  “Darren, you there?”

  “Err … sorry, mate. You dropped out for a sec.”

  “Must be your end.”

  “Anyway, mate, what can I help you with?”

  “Our friend, Eddie. I gather you haven’t caught up with him?” A statement with a question. Darren hated those sort of questions, or statements. Cate was really good at throwing them around. Cate. His mind wandered again.

  A void in the line.

  “Darren. Is this a bad time?”

  “Yes. No. I just caught up with Eddie in a manner of speaking,” Darren answered, “He nearly killed Patch.”

  “Sorry. Who’s Patch?”

  “My dog. I wasn’t home.” Gruff.

  “Okay. Let me fill you in on a few things,” Adam spoke impatiently. “From the moment that I was interrogated about the events at the warehouse, I avoided answering questions about your ‘rumoured’ relationship with Cate. I knew that her involvement with the taxi driver that drove into the Sinners’ clubhouse would put a cloud over her integrity. The raid we carried out that led to all this misery wasn’t sanctioned. Because of the loss of two distinguished officers there was going to be finger pointing. I managed to retrieve Cate’s phone. I made it disappear. Eddie’s phone, the tech guys got it, hence my information about Eddie going to Townsville.”

  Adam paused.

  “Yeah. I remember the call. “

  “I wanted you to know where he went, to avenge Cate’s execution. Not sure if you knew, but the other officer, the undercover operative…he was a dear friend. No secret, that the raid on the Italians was organised by Eddie. To protect my own interests, I also had to lose my phone. You can imagine how all that looked to the circle of investigators.”

  “I was sorry to hear about him. Cate sort of told me.”

  “About me and James?”

  “Yeah.”

  Darren’s heart was aching. All he could think of was Cate: her missing face, her hair covered in blood. The memory, the pain and the hate.

  Eddie. The villain. The demon in his world.

  At this moment, Darren realised that he needed to face his own demons: regret, sorrow, guilt.

  Adam resumed speaking.

  “Now I work for a different organisation. I cannot divulge which, but rest assured that I am well-informed and up-to-date with Eddie. The sad part is that a warrant for his arrest will be issued, probably as we speak, and extradition papers lodged to send him back to New South Wales. Rumour also has it that a certain cab driver obtained a package of high-grade cocaine, which went missing last year. How the cab driver got these drugs remains a mystery, however.”

  “And who might this cab driver be?”

  “Don’t be facetious. I’m not in the mood,” Adam snarled.

  “Hey slow down, mate. You ring me out of the blue and tie me to a cocaine heist. How does that compute?” Darren wasn’t giving anything away. He wanted to know how Adam knew.

  And he didn’t have to wait long.

  “Simon Rowe. Ever heard that name?”

  Wow! Word really travels around! Darren couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  A brief moment on.

  “Went to school with him,” Darren reluctantly answered.

  “I heard you banked with him too.”

  Fuck. What else does he know?

  “I did.” Darren’s mind was ticking over rapidly. It was futile to dismiss Adam’s knowledge.

  “Darren, please listen carefully. You are in a pickle, mate. This call has nothing to do with an investigation into your affairs with Simon Rowe. However, it is a leg up, to give you an edge.”

  “What edge? That I’m now also wanted by whoever you work for.”

  “My advice is to stay clear of this mob chasing your money. They are being dealt with. Do not concern yourself with them. However, I would advise to continue with your house sale. It waters down the future need for digging deeper. Helps you disappear into the shadows.”

  Adam stopped, allowing Darren to consider the advice. He started to say something, but Adam interrupted him, “Find Cate’s killer. Find Eddie, before the law drag him in and the opportunity for payback diminishes … By the way, how did you get your hands on this cocaine?”

  “Remember a scrawny fucker called Martin?”

  “I do.”

  “I caught up with him.”

  “Cate told you then.”

  “Cate shared a lot of stuff with me. But I had already met Martin, long before your mob knew he even existed.”

  “That right? Anyway, whatever happened to him? He dropped off the radar.”

  “He went for a swim with a croc.
”

  “I see.” Adam’s answer was pensive. “Good luck, Darren. Get it done. So Cate can rest … James can rest, and we can rest,” he added. Adam ended the call, as abrupt as it came.

  Darren sat in the car staring at the phone for a moment. It had been a strange call, a voice from the past – a voice which connected him directly to Cate. A warning from Cate: time is running out – get Eddie. Another warning: stop hanging around those dodgy mates – look what happened to Johnno, and now Simon.

  Cate. Rest in peace, my beautiful friend.

  CHAPTER 28

  A WARRANT

  Joel was excited. He’d just received a message from Wilder to see him as soon as possible. That opportunity would be in ten minutes. He drove the squad car into the carpark.

  “In a hurry?” Gibbs noted.

  “Yep. Been asked to meet Wilder in his office,” Joel answered eagerly.

  “Second time this week. I’m impressed. Should I worry about losing you?”

  “Would you care? Really, would you?” Joel put on a puppy face.

  “Ah. Don’t know.”

  “Come on admit it, you’ve come to like me, after all,” Joel sniggered.

  “Go on. Fuck off to your new master. Traitor.” She laughed.

  ***

  Wilder managed to get a ceiling fan installed. No way the bean-counters were going to finance a new aircon. From time to time, Wilder’s arm would shoot across the desk to catch a bit of paper before it turned into a flyer.

  “You must have aced the fly-catching comps at school,” Joel remarked with a chuckle.

  “And you must have topped comedy class. Let’s get back to the issues at hand.” His rebuke was sober.

  Joel winced inwardly. He had to remind himself that Wilder was nothing like Gibbs. At least, she could dish out the same as she got. Fiona Gibbs was a uniformed police sergeant whose job was: to deal with the daily shit society dished up, mostly in the form of domestic violence, or other alcohol-related crime. Wilder was his ticket to becoming an investigator, a career choice Joel always aspired to. Although Wilder was a dry and boring sod, he was a top-notch criminal investigator, and above all, willing to take him, Joel Shallowater, under his wing.