His heart had started thumping in his chest. Hard, and harder like wanting to burst through his solar plexus.
A horn beeped, jarring Darren. His eyes jumped from the sidemirror to the road, then back, he realised he wasn’t in any lane. Shit. Sticking his hand out of the window, he waved a ‘thank you’, and decided to pull over.
He sat, arms slumped over the steering wheel, chin resting on his folded knuckles. The diesel engine idling, chugging a slow rhythm, drawing Darren into its steady clicking.
It was wrong. He was wrong.
What was it that Carlos had said?
“Bitterness is a sour pill to keep swallowing. Better to think about punishment rather than revenge. They say that revenge can be sweet, but to my mind, punishment is sweeter. Less emotion, more of a resolution. Closure.”
A thumping heart gave away your weakness, guiding your opponent in a fight to an easy win, your demise.
It was a question that Cate would have asked him, had she been alive: What is it that you want from this? Her answer would have been: Closure, that’s all that’s needed.
Closure, Darren.
He sighed, flicking the indicator. Looking into the sidemirror, he decided to have some breakfast and return to the caryard later.
***
Not long after scoffing down a bacon and egg roll, Darren’s mobile rang. He grabbed the device from the console beside him. Bugger. He didn’t want to answer the call knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to answer the barrage of questions. Somehow, he would have to throw him off the scent.
Darren pressed the green button.
“Yeah, mate. What’s up?” Darren answered.
“I’m the one that should be asking you that question. You gone walkabout to Cairns? What the fuck you doing up there, bruddah?”
I was right. Here come the bloody questions.
“Why would I be in Cairns? Do I have to tell you when I go bush? I’m a grown-up. I do not need a chaperone.”
“You going bush without the trusty dog is as likely as an Abo becoming Prime Minister of this wonderful sunburnt country,” Joel shot back. “Don’t bullshit me. You need some sense knocked into you. Mate, doing what you’re planning to do will land your white arse in gaol. Or get you killed. Which one you prefer?”
“Neither. And neither will happen to me.”
“Cocky bugger.”
Darren didn’t reply, looking at the mudflats past the boardwalk. It was low tide. “I’ll let you know what’s happening. Just keep an eye out for Ruby. Make sure she’s alright.”
“Oh Ruby. You be lucky if she’s still here when you get back. She’s got the shits well and truly.”
“Don’t be a drama queen,” Darren dismissed his friend. “You know I have to do this. Be a mate, not a copper.”
Darren ended the call. Then he turned the device off.
A sea breeze was starting to build and there was no time limit on where he was parked, under a large canopy of trees with a warm sun filtering through the foliage. Darren reached under his seat to check that the .38 was still in its spot, wrapped in a hand-towel. Satisfied with its concealment, Darren burrowed into the seat and shut his eyes.
“…A large, white eagle flew low and circled. The majestic bird whooshed high over him. And circled again. Not in a hurry, he glided in a wide arc. The land was flat, the ground crumbly with hard pebbles. He’d been walking for hours … or was it days? It was hot, but he had no sweat. There was nothing ahead, no hills, no trees, and where was the horizon? Suddenly, the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of enormous wings fanned above him. The shadow of darkness descended upon him. Why is it so dark? A noise. A sound ahead. A cry. A cry for help. It was pitch black. Where is she? She called his name. But as he ran towards the cry, it went further and further. Cate!... Ruby! Then it was gone. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Deafening. Suddenly there was bright light. His eyes were stinging. On the crumbled hard ground, he was running. There in front of him! A hundred metres away, it was a head sitting on the ground. An angry head, the mouth was moving but no sound. Black long hair and a thick beard covered in caked and dried mud. But it’s dry here? He ran, it’s him, I got him. Eddie. I’m coming for you!... Above him, there flew a large black eagle, with fiery red eyes. He looked up at the raptor, his massive claws out swooping towards him. He ran faster, harder. The head in the sand. Who was it now?...”
Darren’s eyes opened with a start, eyelids burning. It was bright and hot, he stared straight into the sidemirror. Fuck. Where am I? Now realising that he’d nodded off, and had woken from a weird dream. Recalling the last vision, it was of his head sitting out of the sand, buried in the desert. His face was hot, from the heat. The sun had moved past the trees.
After gathering his wits, he quickly sat up, and turned the key. It was 11.36am on the dash-clock. It was time to do another drive-by.
***
Coming from the opposite direction, Darren caught a glimpse of the silver BMW parked in front of the caryard office. He drove further down, seeing to his dismay that all parking spots near had been taken up. It meant he would have to park elsewhere and walk to find a vantage point, where he wouldn’t be suspect. Darren hated all the cloak-and-dagger shit.
Finding a clearing between buildings, with a signpost ‘Private Parking Only’, he figured half an hour or so wouldn’t present problems. He parked the truck, and before locking the door, he snatched a cap from the dash, put it on his head, pulling the visor well down. He appraised his disguise in the mirror, and went on foot.
Pretending to be a casual shopper, he strolled past the small retail shops, stopping at a few, to peer into the windows. He crossed the street, where it was more open, in order to get a better view of the caryard.
Still, a bit too far.
His hand on the visor, pushing the cap a little further down, to shade his face, he stepped closer to the generous trunk of a large palm. Large enough in girth, to keep him out of view. When he ventured a casual peek, he noticed the slender girl coming out of the office and leaving. She was carrying her briefcase, so Darren imagined she wasn’t just going out for lunch.
Darren considered his options. He could jump him while he was on his own in the office. But it was broad daylight, and in the middle of trading hours. Silly idea. Someone innocent could get hurt. He opted to wait, keep an eye out and sit out the rest of the afternoon until Eddie would go home. Then, Darren would follow him.
It was a long afternoon. Darren had checked on the truck about a dozen times, and while doing so, he’d change his shirt. Grateful, for his idea to take extra clothing in case his stay would be more extended. He’d worn a trail to and from his spying position, never once seeing Eddie come out from his office.
Staring himself nearly blind looking at the caryard, Darren was jolted awake when he saw Eddie getting into his Beamer. He reversed it out of the driveway. With the engine running, he hopped out of the car to secure the chain.
Darren took off, running back to his truck. He had to catch up to Eddie, before risking losing him for the night. Then he’d have to do this again tomorrow. By that time, bloody Joel would probably turn up with half the local coppers.
A few minutes later, Darren found himself behind an old Valiant, whose driver hadn’t learnt how to reverse park. In the distance, he could see Eddie still standing next to his car, talking on his mobile. Darren couldn’t believe his good luck.
He backed up a little, giving old mate in the Valiant some space. Looking ahead, his mind raced. It wasn’t a one-way street. Which way would Eddie go? Left or right. If Eddie turned left, he would be compromised, the truck facing the wrong way. Turn right, and Darren could follow him, as long as old mate in front of him had parked his Valiant. And if Eddie didn’t get off that fucking phone it was going to cause even more drama.
Old mate succeeded in the parallel park.
Eddie opened his car door, and put his phone away.
The BMW pulled out of the driveway and turned right.
Fu
cking beauty. The Gods are with me today. Darren sighed with relief.
***
Although Darren had never spent much time in Cairns, the small city was easy to get around. Traffic conditions were in his favour. Not congested like Sydney’s choked roads, but just heavy enough at peak hour to keep things moving at a manageable pace. It was a cinch to keep track of Eddie’s silver Beamer. Darren had an inkling they were heading north to the beach suburbs. Eddie had passed the Trinity Beach turnoff and kept driving towards Clifton Beach. It wasn’t until the Palm Cove sign that he turned right. Darren signalled, following Eddie into the beach-side suburb, at a distance of a hundred metres.
With the streets getting shorter and narrower, Darren had quickly reduced the gap. If Eddie had kept his eyes on the rear-view mirror, he was likely to become suspicious.
Darren slowed up. Fifty metres in front of him, the flashy car signalled left, disappearing around the corner. Darren stopped at the junction. The BMW had pulled into a driveway four houses from the corner. Darren slowly moved the Patrol in forward motion, crossing the intersection. Now I know where you live, Eddie. Darren smiled thinly.
All he had to do was wait for darkness to set in.
***
It was a quiet street in an even quieter neighbourhood. Large homes with security features of all types. Rendered and painted block walls, timber screening, shielding the residents from the rest of the world. Dressed up homes, with large palm trees and tropical vegetation. It would be easy for Darren to hide, sneaking through ample green cover to allow him to suss out Eddie’s mansion.
First, he took a stroll past four houses on either side of Eddie’s house, then he would do the same across the street. Darren whistled softly, enticing any dogs around to give away his presence by barking. His ruse had worked. Two of the homes across the road had dogs. One, a yap-yap, the other dog must have been a larger breed, barking deeper. Neither barked for long, more importantly, no person came out of their house to check. Isn’t that what a barking dog does? Drive the intruders away.
Darren returned to the truck where he’d left it around the corner. This street had mostly vacant blocks, and one fibro cottage which appeared to be unoccupied. Darren switched off the interior courtesy light in the cab, and dug around under the seat for the .38 Smith & Wesson. He checked the cylinder once more, ensuring the revolver was fully loaded. He spun the cylinder once, for smooth operation. Darren was ready.
He began a casual wander back to Eddie’s street, as if he were walking his dog. Darren stopped at Eddie’s side gate, after a quick glance around him and over the one-and-a-half metre block fence Darren stuck his hand through the metal bar gate, and found the slide bolt. No lock. Good.
Darren’s breathing grew shallower, while his heart rate notched up.
It was deceptively quiet, other than the random chirping from a couple of crickets, from somewhere in the dark.
He lifted the metal gate slightly to take pressure off the slide bolt, stop it from squeaking as he tried to pull the bolt back to release it from the keeper. He shifted closer to get a better grip. The slide bolt refused to budge.
A bright security light suddenly lit up the driveway.
Shit! Darren grizzled under his breath.
Although well-hidden and out of sight, he moved away sliding into the cover of foliage. Fifteen seconds later, the security light went off, throwing everything back into darkness.
Darren returned to the gate and decided to scale the six-foot metal gate. Within minutes he found himself near the pool-area, with his back hard against the wall. He scanned the area for any security-lights that would trip and give away his presence.
Like a spider on a wall, he rounded the corner and into an alcove which had big glass sliding doors. Darren’s hand reached the black handle of the door. He shut his eyes momentarily, lightly pulling at the door. It moved without resistance. It’s unlocked! Relieved and grateful for a bit of luck, he pulled, with the door gliding easily. Darren held his breath for a moment, then stuck his head into the dark room, hoping it was unoccupied.
Darren listened for all the noises, and how far away they would be as he stood still as a statue. Nothing within metres of him. A slither of light emitted through the crack of the door, throwing a dim view of an unmade bed in front of him. Now he could hear the muffled noise from a television, upstairs. A good distraction. He could sneak up on him. Who sleeps here though? Looking back at the messed-up sheets.
Footsteps on the floor.
Darren looked up at the ceiling.
Then he tip-toed to the door. The light was coming from upstairs. Carpeted steps up, on concrete. No squeaks. Beauty.
Darren wiped some perspiration from his eye-brows, he breathed in and put his hand on the butt of the .38 and carefully pulled the gun from his belt. He wasn’t going to take any chances. Covering the revolver with his shirt to keep the sound down from him cocking the hammer he waited patiently for another ad. Ads always seemed louder than the program. Joyce Mayne ad. You beauty. Click, and the .38 was cocked and ready to fire. Darren was waiting for footsteps, for Eddie to return to the television. He heard a toilet flushing. Then the heavy footsteps clunked on the timber floorboards past the stairwell. Still has his shoes on.
Darren crept over to the bottom of the stairs, then he skulked each step, hugging the wall, revolver pointing up, in case he’d meet Eddie prematurely. The solid balustrade gave Darren another advantage as he emerged. He stopped breathing, and popped his eyes over the top, like a peeping Tom.
In front of the loud television, was the back of Eddie’s head.
I could shoot him right now. Be nothing left of his skull. A fleeting thought. No. I want him to see my face.
Darren moved in on his target, slow at first, then like a snake slithering fast.
Stopping the barrel of the Smith & Wesson a hair’s thickness away from Eddie’s head.
“Do not move an inch or I’ll splatter your face all over that tv,” Darren hissed.
Eddie flinched, but didn’t turn around. He sat motionless, stiff.
“Move your hands forward and put them on your knees.” Darren pushed the barrel into Eddie’s head.
“No worries.”
Darren pulled the gun back.
That’s a mistake. The big man ducked while bringing his arm up to knock the gun out of Darren’s hand. The .38 went off with a loud bang blowing the glass television screen to smithereens, sending bits of glass shrapnel everywhere. Darren jumped back a few steps as the other man flung himself from the lounge to face his attacker.
“Who the fuck are you!” They both cried out.
Darren stepped back again, aiming the gun at the big guy’s chest.
“I go first, ‘cause I got the gun,” Darren snarled. “Where’s fuckin’ Eddie?”
“I’m Bruce, his cousin, and I don’t know where the fuck that cunt is!” Snorting like a bull. “And I don’t give …a flying fuck!”
With that comment Bruce bent down lifting the front of the three-seater lounge off the floor. In one motion, he rolled leather lounge violently towards the stranger.
Darren let off another round which missed Bruce by a whisker. The recoil from the revolver opened an opportunity for Bruce to charge, crashing into Darren’s chest and winding him. The .38 flew out of Darren’s hand and clattered on the wooden floor, sliding to rest against the kitchen kickboard, with both men smashing into a wall scattering a side table, a lamp and other décor on the way.
Entangled on the floor like football rivals, arms and legs were flailing aimlessly. Bruce being the heavier of the two by a hundred pounds, was less agile and struggled to get into a fighting position. His elbow skirting Darren’s chin, not connecting while trying to recover, set him back further still.
Although grazed Darren had grabbed the big man’s elbow, using his force to push his elbow further around sending him off balance. He raised his own elbow and brought it down on Bruce’s neck. The force from Darren’s assault met w
ith a tough, hardened football player’s physique. Bruce swung with his free arm, the back of his fist colliding with Darren’s face. Oh yeah, that fuckin’ hurt.
A little dazed, Darren stepped back, checking his nose as it bled. He ran his tongue over his lips tasting the sticky liquid. Mistake. Don’t stop.
He felt the big guy’s fist crashing into his ribcage, just below the solar plexus, sending him sideways and down. Darren fell to one knee, out of air, gasping. Stand up now.
He came charging now, doubling his bull rage to ram into the home invader. Darren never got to his feet, still winded from the last strike, so instead, he went low, real low, the big man overran, his charge fizzled into thin air, then tripping over, sending his bulk into balustrade wall.
Smacking his body into solid blockwork hadn’t taken any of the fighting spirit from the big man. Bruce recovered in seconds, and sprang awkwardly to his feet. Giddy, blinking to get his sight into focus, he snorted loud. Blinking again.
“I’m going to rip you to bits, and feed you to the crocs.”
Keep talking fat cunt. Darren was back on his feet, licking his lips.
“Still haven’t told me who you are.” His voice was raspy, dry.
“Ask me, when I’m done with you. Although, I doubt if you’ll be able to talk.”
Bruce had started circling him. His pose was that of a wrestler.
A smart wrestler, he was catching his breath, getting stronger. Darren could hear his mother, “Being strong helps, being smart wins the race.” The voice on his shoulder.
“Must say, you’re a little quicker on your feet than your ugly cousin.” Darren stood ready in his free-style martial arts cum boxing stance, shifting nimbly from one leg to another. Bruce had the same wild look that reminded him of Eddie. You could see in their eyes that they hated that moving around shit. Fight like a man, stop dancing like a sheila.
The big man had his arms out, like an ape ready to strangle.
A Tropical Cure (A Darren Mangan Thriller Book 2) Page 34