Strange Ink

by Gary Kemble

  There’s only one language these people understand.

  I would say that this magic would require blood to satisfy it.

  From the scaffolding he climbed onto the building, took the stairs to the second-highest level, then laid down the case and opened it. Assembled the gun while looking out across the mix of shops, suburbia and industrial estate. The clubhouse was a low-set brick building off in the middle distance.

  As the light drained from the sky, Harry spread out a blanket and set up the gun. He opened the ammo case and chose a round with light-blue paint on the tip. He lay down, shifted his body weight until he was comfortable, and stared through the sight. His back throbbed. He focused on what he could see through the scope.

  Tile roofs. Blur. Tin sheds. Blur. A low-set brick building. Dreadnorts MC sign over the double door.

  The M82’s round would go through that door from this distance, but that wasn’t what Harry and Rob were interested in. The windows on the front of the building were screened on the outside, thick curtains on the inside. A round through the door or window would serve no purpose.

  Other than the throbbing in his back, the wait was quite pleasant. There was a steady breeze up here, and unlike at road level, it was relatively cool and didn’t stink of petrol and urine. In a nearby tree, noisy mynahs hassled a murder of crows until the big black birds got the hint and took flight, cawing at the indignity of it all.

  Harry took another look through the sight, then rolled his neck to loosen it. He looked away. Saw a dead bird, tucked behind a concrete pylon. Its flesh was gone. All that remained was bleached bone and a few feathers.

  An ant wandered across the concrete wall. Do you want to cut, or dig? Harry wondered how long it had taken it to climb this high. Whether it had come all the way from the ground, or whether the ants managed to survive on the seventh floor. What would they eat? There were tags up here – there were tags on the roof no doubt – but these were the tags of adventurers. There weren’t as many as on the ground floor. So it’s unlikely a colony of ants would survive on the meagre scraps brought by adventurous taggers.

  Movement. Harry pressed his eye to the scope. The Harleys announced their presence as they came down the highway, and then Harry watched as they pulled up at the clubhouse in ones and twos. It was Church. All full members had to attend. That meant Heathy. That meant Crow. And, to be frank, Harry wanted to destroy the culture that had allowed these two scumbags to thrive. The culture that had facilitated Cardinal’s rise to power.

  The front gate opened. The Harleys pulled in and parked next to the LPG tanks lined up against the side of the building. The guys climbed off their hogs; they seemed to be laughing about something. They filed into the building.

  When Heathy climbed off his bike, the white bandage wrapped around his torso glowed in the gloom. And Harry was glad to see Crow still walking with a pronounced limp. He wondered what they would tell their mates.

  Harry flexed his fingers. Crow and Heathy lit up cigarettes, stood there smoking for a while. Harry settled the reticle on Heathy’s forehead, caressed the trigger. But no, that wasn’t quite what he was looking for. Harry wanted to give them something else to worry about.

  Crow followed as Heathy sauntered around the side of the building. Harry followed them with the scope, then shifted his focus. Harry started his breathing routine. A small plume of smoke came out of Crow’s mouth.

  The M82 barked and kicked against his shoulder. The incendiary round covered the distance between Harry and the clubhouse in just over a second. There was a fraction of a second before the round ignited the gas in the LPG tanks at the side of the building.

  There was a blinding flash, followed by a loud crack and whump as the fireball blasted into the sky, engulfing everything in a fifty-metre radius. The force of the blast threw Crow and Heathy across the forecourt. Harry watched them through the scope. At first he thought they were dead, but then they stirred, clawing their way along the ground with their backs on fire. Harry fancied he could hear their screams.

  The side of the clubhouse was flaming rubble. The gum tree at the back of the compound ignited. The front doors burst open and Dreadnorts rushed out, one of them carrying a shotgun. The intensity of the heat pushed them back towards where Heathy and Crow were crawling.

  Secondary explosions tore the air as more of the tanks cooked off. Crow was out the gates now. Heathy crawled after him, still on fire. One of the other bikies dragged him across the concrete, while another smothered the flames with a leather jacket. Other Dreadnorts, some injured, staggered out after them.

  Sirens warbled through the streets below, from behind Harry on the main road. There was no reason for anyone to think this was anything other than a tragic accident. They would review the video footage from the security system. Unless it was a very good system, and unless they knew exactly what to look for, they would see nothing suspicious. No sign of forced entry. It would look as though one of the tanks had spontaneously ignited.

  The fire brigade arrived first, red lights pulsing through the darkness. Through the scope Harry watched them assessing the danger, unravelling hoses and spraying the fire from a safe distance. An ambulance arrived, paramedics checking over Heathy and Crow, and the other injured bikies. The big man pushed them away, clambering to his feet and gesticulating. They shifted Heathy onto a stretcher, loaded him into the ambulance and took him away. Two police cars arrived next. Detectives would follow.

  Harry’s legs quivered. The sensation ran up his body. He pulled himself to his feet, turned away from the blanket. He made it a few steps across the concrete and then vomited. He stood, heaving, eyes watering, nose burning. His legs sagged and he dropped to the concrete as the world swam out of focus.

  Harry’s hands shook uncontrollably. He held them between his knees, rolled onto his back. The breeze that had felt nice half an hour ago now felt Arctic. His teeth chattered.

  His body convulsed again, but nothing came up this time. A steady throb built in the centre of his head. He crawled to his knapsack, pulled out a water bottle. The drink tasted metallic and warm and it was an effort to keep it down. He walked closer to the edge, then sat down leaning against a concrete pylon.

  An unmarked police car pulled up and parked across the road from the Dreadnorts’ clubhouse. The firies were dousing the last of the blaze. Through the smoke, Harry could see two detectives talking to a Dreadnort on the far side of the compound. One had his notebook out. The other had his hands on his hips. Harry doubted either of them would shed a tear about the accident.

  Harry drifted. He was back under the house, staring at the crack in the concrete. He was under the slab, cocooned by the cold, dark earth. He was lying on the ground, while Crow and Heathy decided who was going to cut and who was going to dig.

  CHAPTER 43

  Harry kept his eyes down as he exited the elevator, glancing up briefly to get his bearings. He ignored the nurses’ station, instead following the directions Dave had texted him.

  Dave was waiting outside the room when Harry arrived. He looked scared, and he had good reason to be. Dave had taken Heathy to the wrong room, on the wrong floor.

  ‘Don’t be long,’ Dave said. ‘There’re cops downstairs. It won’t take them long to figure out he’s missing.’

  Dave opened the door for Harry, then closed it behind him.

  The room was dimly lit. There were a couple of chairs. A blank TV bolted to the wall. A window looking out on the northern suburbs. And Heathy, lying in his bed, white covers pulled up around him. His head was bandaged. His arms were lying on top of the covers, enclosed in beige pressure bandages. A heart-rate monitor bleeped at his side.

  Harry grabbed a chair and wedged it under the door handle. Heathy looked up. He was clearly expecting a nurse, or a doctor, or the cops.

  ‘What the. . .’

  Harry pulled up the other chair, sat down. Opened his notebook.

  ‘What do you know about Rob and Kyla’s disappearance?’
/>
  ‘Fuck you.’

  This close, Harry could smell singed hair. Could see the blistering skin beside Heathy’s eye, causing the tear tattoo to bulge.

  ‘Okay,’ Harry said. ‘Here’s what I know. I know that you and Crow served with Andrew Cardinal in Afghanistan. I know that you took part in rape and mass murder while you were over there. I know that you helped Cardinal set up a drugs operation here. And that you brokered a deal with Brian Swenson to launder the money. . .’

  Heathy grinned, then winced as the damaged skin pulled tight. He chuckled. ‘There’s a difference between knowing and proving, Harry. A big difference.’

  Harry felt Rob trying to surge, but Harry needed information.

  ‘Where are the cops, Harry?’ Heathy said. Harry’s eyes darted to one side. Heathy’s grin grew, despite his burned and blistered lips. ‘Naughty, naughty. Your friend brought me to the wrong room, didn’t he?’

  ‘I know that you and Crow tried to wipe out all links to the operation when Cardinal decided to go straight. I know about the Black Hawk sabotage. The IED Crow planted. I know about Rabs. Ahmed. Rob and Kyla.’

  Heathy reached over for the remote control and turned on the TV. Canned laughter issued forth. He laughed.

  ‘My lips are sealed, buddy,’ he said. He glanced at the TV, then back at Harry. ‘Did you have fun the other night? I said to Crow afterwards, we should have gone in with the knives earlier. Like Cardinal did with. . .’

  Rob surged again, and this time Harry couldn’t hold him back. Harry leapt out of his chair, grabbed Heathy’s chin and squeezed. Heathy cried out. Harry leant over him.

  ‘Look! Look at me!’

  Heathy looked. His eyes widened. The heart monitor beeped faster. Harry opened his shirt. ‘Look, you piece of shit.’

  Harry showed off Rob’s tattoos. Heathy shook his head.

  ‘No. No-no-no!’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You’re dead. You’re fucking dead!’

  Harry leant over the bed. Heathy struggled to free himself from the covers, but they were pulled too tight and he was too weak. He lashed out with his hand and Harry caught it. Squeezed. Leant forward with his other hand and shoved it against Heathy’s mouth, stifling the scream. He felt warm fluid seep over his fingers as the blisters burst.

  ‘Heathy. You’re going to tell me what I want to know.’

  Harry grabbed his pen, pressed it against the side of Heathy’s eyeball. Held the bikie’s head steady with his other hand. Heathy was sweating now, his skin grey under the red burns. Harry pushed back. Rob retreated slightly.

  ‘It’s Rob,’ Harry said. ‘Believe it, Heathy. Tell him what he wants to know.’

  Heathy panted, whimpered. ‘You know it all!’ he yelled. The pen jerked forwards, pressing deep under Heathy’s eyeball.

  ‘Shhhhhh,’ Harry said.

  ‘You know it all. Why do you need me to tell you? Those fuckers in Afghanistan. They deserved it, right? Blowing us up every day. Every fucking day. IEDs. RPGs. Having to live with that shit and for what? For what the ADF thought it was worth? Deployment allowance?

  ‘Bullshit. That’s bullshit. If we didn’t make money out of those poppies, they would’ve. More money for the Taliban. More money for the warlords.’

  ‘What about the kids? And rape? Did she deserve it?’

  Heathy’s chest heaved. Tears flowed out of the corners of his eyes. ‘That was Cardinal,’ Heathy said, barely a whisper. ‘Cardinal. He’s fucking sick.’

  ‘And you let him do it?’

  Heathy shrugged.

  ‘What about Vessel? How much does he know?’

  Heathy’s eyes lost focus. He stared straight ahead. Outside, Dave was talking to someone. Harry couldn’t make out the words. Footsteps, heading away from the door.

  Harry climbed onto the bed. He laid his knee against Heathy’s arm and pressed. Heathy groaned. His eyes rolled back in his head. Harry slapped his face.

  ‘What. About. Vessel?’

  ‘He’s. . . he’s like Cardinal’s controller. Keeps him on track.’ Heathy shook his head. ‘Helps him find an outlet for his. . . his urges.’

  ‘Urges?’

  ‘You know. . . like Kyla.’

  Rob surged forward again, so hard that Harry almost blacked out. Harry grabbed Heathy’s hair through the bandages and squeezed. Shoved the pen sideways in Heathy’s mouth to muffle the scream.

  ‘What do you mean?’ He removed the pen.

  ‘Vessel sets up meetings. Women. Women who won’t be missed.’

  Harry’s mind reeled. Outside, there was a commotion. Dave’s voice rose. This time, Harry could make out the words. He thrust his hand over Heathy’s mouth.

  ‘I’ve been told we could use this room!’

  Someone mumbling.

  ‘Well, go and check it!’

  Footsteps. A knock on the door. Harry was running out of time.

  ‘One last question, Heathy,’ he said.

  Heathy’s eyes moved to the door. Harry pressed the pen against his eyeball again. ‘I swear to god, I will kill you if I have to.’

  ‘Okay,’ Heathy said. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Where’s the dossier?’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The information. The stuff Rob had.’

  Heathy laughed. Flinched as the pen stabbed towards his eye. ‘The dossier? You think I know? That’s why we came after you. After the old guy. Cardinal and Vessel think you’ve got it. They’re shitting themselves!’

  Rob tried to surge again and Harry dragged himself away from the bed, groaning in frustration. If he stayed here any longer, he’d find himself up on murder charges.

  Heathy shook his head. ‘You had it all mapped out, ya silly prick. All except the most important part! Watch ya back.’

  Harry removed the chair from under the door handle, opened the door a crack, looked up and down the corridor. Dave had moved a few metres towards the nurses’ station, anticipating the return of whoever had rightful claim on the room. He looked back at Harry.

  ‘Go. Get the fuck outta here,’ Dave mouthed.

  Harry slipped out of the room and down the corridor away from the nurses’ station, taking the fire exit to head downstairs.

  CHAPTER 44

  Fred looked like he was sleeping, or dead. Lying in the bed, staring out the window with glazed eyes. His papery skin looked translucent in the pale light filtering through the windows. Harry stood in the doorway, barely breathing.

  Fred sensed him standing there and turned his head.

  ‘I thought visiting hours were over,’ he said, waving Harry in and wincing as the cannula pulled at his arm. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘About nine. When you know a nurse you can almost get away with murder,’ Harry said, thinking of Dave’s pinched expression as he snuck out from Heathy’s room. ‘I can’t stay long.’

  ‘You all right?’ Fred said. ‘You look a bit peaky.’

  Harry rubbed his face. ‘Exhausted. Trying to tie up a few loose ends. You know how it is. Anyway, you’re the one who had the heart attack.’

  Fred waved it away. ‘Yeah. Just gave me a bit of a fright, that’s all.’

  ‘You had a heart attack.’

  ‘Yeah, well that’s what happens when blokes my age get a bit of a fright.’

  He looked back out the window.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said.

  ‘Nah. Don’t be. Old busybody like me – it’s bound to happen sooner or later.’

  ‘But if I hadn’t. . .’

  ‘Harry. Come on. You’re doing your job, right?’

  Harry sat in silence. There was so much he’d done lately that wasn’t his job at all. It was Rob’s job. Getting the bad guys. But Fred was almost up on his elbows now, ready for a fight. So Harry said nothing until he settled down again.

  ‘Besides, let’s face it, if someone is out to get us, I’m safer here,’ he said.

  Harry thought of Heathy, one floor up. But he didn’t consider him a threa
t anymore. ‘I think you’ll be pretty safe now, regardless.’

  ***

  Once he was out of the hospital, he pulled out his phone. It had been such a massive day. He was beyond exhausted. But Rob drew from a well of strength Harry didn’t know a person could possess. He dialled the number, muttering to himself as the phone rang over and over again. Finally, she answered.

  ‘Jess?’

  ‘Harry?’ she sounded sleepy. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s late. I’m sorry. It’s been a hell of a day. Can I come over?’

  ‘What? Where are you?’

  ‘Please.’

  Silence.

  ‘Of course. Drive. . . drive safely.’

  In the car, he called Dave.

  ‘Haven’t I done enough for you tonight?’ he said. He sounded like he was only half-joking, but that was fair enough.

  ‘Thank you,’ Harry said.

  ‘Did you get what you needed?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry.’

  Dave hissed in frustration. ‘Harry. Take it to the cops.’

  ‘I can’t. I need to finish this.’

  A pause. ‘Is that why you called me, so we could have this fight all over again?’

  ‘No. I called to warn you. Do you and Ellie have somewhere to stay until this blows over?’

  Dave cursed. ‘You really are stretching our friendship, mate.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. A carton of beer isn’t going to cover this one, is it?’

  A pause.

  ‘Throw in a bottle of Bundy and you’re getting closer. Don’t worry about it. I’ll give Simmo a call. Where are you going to camp?’

  ‘I’m going to pick up Jess and then see if Christine can put us up for a while.’

  ‘Burning all your bridges, mate. Good to see.’

  ‘Yep. To the ground. I’ll give you a call when I know anything new. Take care.’

  ‘Thanks, mate. You too.’

  CHAPTER 45

  Harry pulled up outside Jess’s place. Relief flooded through him when he saw the curtain twitch and her face peer out. She met him at the front door wearing just a singlet and underpants.