Evan McCormick and his Dark Knights moved in. There was some difficulty keeping the rowdy bikies focused on the job at hand, but eventually the real leaders and organizers proved themselves. Evan may not have been a great strategist, but he was able to recognize genius in someone else’s strategy.
~~~
Chapter Fifteen: The Play
“Chief Inspector Slaughter, what have you brought me on this bloody race war?”
“Superintendent Barlow, as near as I can tell we have this Chip Long Tim, second generation Cambodian. He was put in the hospital by Sergei Karskeroff. Karskeroff ran into him on the road and then beat him unconscious with something, probably brass knuckles. We have Karskeroff in custody but he denies any knowledge of the incident. He claims he was in the Beluga having dinner when his car was stolen. He did report it stolen, but not until about half an hour after they found this Tim character leaking his brains on the roadside. We should be able to get a statement from him in a couple of days, but given his condition it may not be reliable. He’s no longer in a coma but the doctors are talking about brain damage.
“That was the first problem. It looks as though Tim’s friends retaliated, killing one of the Russians with one of those funny three pointed knives they use in the movies. He had no wallet, neither did Tim. I think they were lifted but I don’t think robbery was the primary motive.
“The Russians won’t talk to us any more than the wogs. We spin our wheels trying to get anything out of them.”
“So you have nothing?” Barlow looked like he was about to rise from his chair like a dragon of old and smite the Chief Inspector with liquid fire.
“Well, not exactly. The long range killing of Kim Tang and his bodyguard was done with a .223. This was in retaliation for their killing the Russian. We haven't gotten the ballistics reports back yet but I’m willing to bet it’s the same gun that killed the two wise guys on the docks a few weeks back.”
“What evidence do you have?”
“Long range assassin’s shots. Amateurs don’t even try shots like that. Both were done with the same caliber weapon. Two men in each hit, two shots, two kills. Professional. Small bore weapon, only professionals can even make the shot, one, two. Dead before they hit the floor.”
“So he’s a Russian?” the Superintendent asked, his eyes boring through his subordinate’s skull, trying to draw out the knowledge.
“I don’t think so, sir. I think he is someone playing both sides against the middle. The evidence was a little too pat. An empty box of Russian cigarettes on the roof where the sniper was indicates a sloppy amateur. This killer is no amateur. The box was placed there for us to find; to point the Chinamen in the wrong direction. It did, too.
“The Chinamen went on a rampage and killed a half a dozen Russians that we know of. The Russians burned half of Chinatown in revenge. Then the Dark Knights moved in and took over. They restored order as if they were the fucking Gestapo.”
“The bikies? You’re shinin’ me on now.”
“No, sir. They came in as if they knew it was going to happen and were just waiting for the lead to stop flying so they could take over.”
“It’s a fuckin’ bikie then?” Barlow’s expression was incredulous.
“That’s what it looks like but we don’t really know what they’re up to. It looks like they set up both sides and then rode in to take over. I can’t believe they got away with it.”
“This is not the kind of thing I would have expected out of them. They’re mostly a bunch of degenerate idiots. Drunks and fuckalls can’t plan an operation like this. Hmm. Who were the first men killed? Not the Chinamen, before that.”
“Wise guys. The ones on the dock worked for the mob is what it looks like.” Chief Inspector Slaughter had put a lot of thought into his theories. He knew they sounded a bit far-fetched but he also stood behind them. He didn’t want to debate the points because they were just theories but was afraid the Superintendent would reject them out of hand.
“This thing has been going on for a year and a half or so, maybe longer.” Superintendent Barlow was unexpectedly taking the Inspector’s side. “The attacks began with assaults on the shipping, north of the city.”
“I thought we closed that case. Didn’t they decide Lee Pierce was behind that?” Slaughter was not beyond a little reverse psychology. He discovered that his thoughts were not far from Barlow’s.
“Lee Pierce was a bully and a wife beater. He sold guns to anyone who wanted them, but he didn’t do the truck killings. Yes, the evidence all pointed to him but it was bullshit. Why would a man with a cache of new firearms use an old rifle, with obsolete ammunition, and then leave it in his trailer? The answer is, he wouldn’t and didn’t. He was set up the same way the Russians were set up. The same way that mob cash van was set up, down in, what was it, Hill Top? Yeah, Hill Top. Same way, same man or team of men. This is what the problem is, but this is also where the solution is going to lie. Our professional is starting to get greedy and is looking to take a big slice of the fat Sydney pie for himself. Find out who is new in the Dark Knights. Within the last couple of years. That’s going to be our man. Use Senior Sergeant Black. I coordinate with him on Saturdays from time to time. He seems amenable to proper suggestion, but be discreet.
“Sergeant Black, a drink?”
“Only if you insist, Superintendent.”
“Oh, but I do.”
“Yes, sir.”
Barlow poured two tall glasses of scotch and they both savored the flavor before getting down to business.
“I’ve got what seems to be as complete a list of the bikies, the uh… Dark Knights. The recent recruits, last few years, are a miserable lot of bottom feeders. If you put the lot of them in a train station, they couldn’t find the pisser. There isn’t one of them with the brains god gave a ‘roo. It’s not that they’re not dangerous, though. Lately, the Knights are picking up men who’ve crossed the line.”
“What line?”
“Well, sir, the line between bollux and brains.”
Theodore Barlow chuckled and took a sip. “Yes, there is a fine line between bollux and brains.”
“Indeed, sir. But these men have crossed it deeply. Brains are not their claim to fame.”
“What about their upper… their leadership.”
“Evan McCormick is their president. He has been for a long time. He’s a sharp man but without the real ambition required to pull off the jobs we’ve seen lately. They hold elections from time to time and the ranks move about a bit, but they haven’t brought in anyone new that we know of. I agree that they are acting with outside direction, but we cannot determine precisely who it is.”
“Maybe we need to backtrack. Think about this. The man who set up Lee Pierce used his wife for the job. If we can get his wife to tell us who she was working with we have our brains.”
“That case is closed, sir. If we bring her in it will need to be for something else. Or we can interview her away from the usual channels.”
“Set her up. Drop a bag or a gun in her trunk and bring her in to regional. I want to be there when she is questioned. No cameras, no lawyers.”
“Yes, sir. When do you want it done?”
“Next Saturday. Work me up a file on her first, I want it Wednesday morning.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll start that today and get in touch with the boys in Orange.”
The two men made small talk and drank their Scotch for a while.
“I can understand why you would think that, Mr. Troy, but the bottom line is that he is in there under a false name. He lied about where he was born and everything about his past.” Henry was calling from out of the country. He had managed to escape and was making good on the promise for information.
“Henry, why would this man do this? What possible motivation would the son of a farmer from Molong have for attacking our business and killing our men?”
“He is not the son of a farmer. He is his nephew. His father was killed 15 or 16 years
ago. Both his parents, I think, and this man took him in. Check it out, Terry Kingston. I’ll tell you now, this is the man you’ve wanted by the cods all this time. Thompson Barber’s the name…”
“Yes. I was introduced to Mr. Barber,” Adam Troy said.
“He’s been tearing into you all the while, getting set up with good jobs. As I said, Terry Kingston is his real name. I stake my life on it.”
“We will look into it, Mr. Cuthbert. I hope you are enjoying Borneo.”
“Dreadful place full of diseases that real white men don’t know nothin’ about.”
“The best place to hide in the world is where nobody wants to go to look for you. Lay in for a while and we’ll find a position within the transport industry for you.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be available.”
The connection was cut and Henry Cuthbert sighed deeply. He was not in Borneo, he was in the Philippines. He was having anything that was sent to his address in Borneo forwarded to an accountant who deposited the checks for a small fee and covered his tracks. He knew the game and would never attempt to work with the Troys again. There was nothing but a pine box for him in that direction.
Adam Troy looked pensive for a moment and picked up the receiver again. He spoke for only a moment and hung up. Then he called Abel. Abel agreed that despite the dearth of manpower they were currently experiencing, it was a proper move to have this Thompson Barber brought in. If Henry Cuthbert was right, it would stop the vigilante crusade against them. They acknowledged that Henry Cuthbert might well be lying about the whole thing in an attempt to divert attention from his own stupidity and thereby save his own skin. They also agreed that Henry knew too much about the organization and would need to be killed. He would be drawn back into the fold with promises of a position in the transport of southeast Asian heroin and killed quietly. No drawn out torture for him, he had not been traitorous just stupid, and there was no sense in bringing him back to Sydney for it. Kill him quietly and sink him in the ocean.
Then the conversation turned from Henry to Thompson Barber again. Adam had already put out the word to have him brought in. Once he was in their custody, he would never leave alive but they also agreed that there might be some investigation in order. They thought that it was a good idea to verify what Henry had told them.
Jimmy Cognac had been unhappy with Thompson Barber for a short while. Tommy tended to disappear from time to time without telling anyone where he was going and he was always vague about his excursions upon return. Jimmy was happy to get the news that Tommy was to be brought in for “questions.” Very few men ever survived when there were questions of that sort. The only disappointment was that he was required to wait a couple of days. That order was given at the last second. Tommy was to be watched closely in the interim, however.
Hercules always set out to making a ruckus when someone pulled in the driveway. Strangers were best advised not to exit their vehicle until he had been given the command. The BMW filled with men in suits would not have looked out of place in Los Angeles or Miami, but it stuck out like a cat at a trout farm in Ginger Kingston’s driveway. And Hercules did not like it.
Ginger did not get much company and never had. It was unusual enough to get one of the neighbors stopping in, let alone some fancy suits. Ginger had a scope trained on them from the moment they pulled in the drive, but they did not exit the car and they did not display any weapons. They sat patiently in the car. Finally, Ginger decided they must have some business with him other than simply asking for directions.
It got the men’s attention when Hercules took off running for the pasture. It was even more attention getting when a large, balding, red headed man tapped on the back window with a shotgun. Even if they were armed to the teeth, that shotgun had the entire interior of the vehicle covered. If it were loaded with slugs, there was a chance one of them might survive, maybe even two, but there was no telling what sort of load it held.
The driver’s window slid down and the man behind the wheel smiled as easily as one might expect. He made his greeting and asked if Terry Kingston was available. Ginger replied that there was no Terry Kingston there. Then he asked what business they had with him. The man told him that there had been an accident and that they were from an insurance company. They were there to assess the damage. That shut Ginger’s response down to zero. He did not want to shoot these four men in the driveway of his own home. He felt sure that with a five round clip filled with buckshot, and one in the chamber, he could kill all four of them. He also knew they were not insurance investigators and that they were probably armed. Terry was in big trouble. It was obvious that something had happened and he was on the run.
Once it was plain that they were going to get nothing out of Ginger, the men in the BMW left. This was one of the few times in his life that Ginger found himself wanting a telephone badly. The nearest phone was some way off. Ginger debated calling Terry for only a minute and then he stuffed a .45 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver under his arm and a .32 in his waist band. The shotgun was in the truck with him as he exited his driveway. The men had driven off toward Orange, Ginger went the other way, toward Molong.
Wednesday morning the report was delivered to Theodore Barlow’s desk before he arrived in the morning. It was just one of a number of reports that he was reviewing that day, so it took him a while to get to it. When he did, he scanned it carefully.
Linda Pierce was using her maiden name, Pettigrew. She had just begun using that name a couple of months before and had not officially changed it back so there was some confusion in the file but it was not insurmountable. She had begun using her maiden name again when she had accepted employment at the Kingston Agency.
Superintendent Barlow had only recently begun wearing reading glasses and often left them in his desk drawer. As he ran across the name of the Kingston Agency, he opened the drawer and put them on thinking there was some sort of error on his part. The glasses brought the words into sharper focus and confirmed that Linda Pierce, under the name Linda Pettigrew was employed as a secretary. She was employed by the insurance agency owned by Terry Kingston.
When Superintendent Barlow thought of Terry Kingston, he saw a frightened and confused eight year old who had just witnessed the murder of his mother. He could not help thinking, at the time, that the boy was emotionally disturbed beyond reason by the event and that he would need some sort of therapy for the rest of his life. That had been a long time ago.
It had been a long time since Theodore had thought of Terry Kingston, but time had not dulled his memory of the event. He remembered driving out to Molong to visit Terry’s only living relative though he could not remember the man’s name, he distinctly remembered the man. He pushed the intercom button and summoned his secretary into the office. It took her a while to find the file he was interested in, but once he had it, he was sure of what he was seeing.
Any good investigator will tell you there is little coincidence in the real world. Theodore Barlow did not believe in coincidences of this magnitude. He had already intended to set Linda up and to apply pressure to her but this changed things.
“Sergeant Black, you are coming in to work today,” He said when the man had answered his phone.
“Uh, I’m sorry, Superintendent, I… uh, I’m not scheduled to work today. I just got home from the night shift an, uh, an hour or so ago.” Senior Sergeant Randolph Black had obviously been sleeping.
“I did not ask you if you were reporting to work or when. I told you that you were reporting and I meant now.”
“Yes, sir. May I have a moment to get a shower and a shave?”
“Of course. I expect you to be presentable. When you see me you will have an undercover car already assigned to you. It will be filled and ready to go. You will be ready to drive.”
“Yes, sir. I will be there in short order. Might I ask where we are headed?”
“We are going to Orange.”
Terry Kingston had not been answering his phone for
two days. He didn’t have the kind of cell phone that displayed the number of the incoming call. If the message a caller left was important he would call back, otherwise he could not be reached. The call from Ginger was urgent, but by the time Terry had listened to the message, the phone booth it was made from was empty. The call from Linda Pettigrew did not have the same urgency of tone but it was, in fact, more telling.
Both messages told Terry that there were men in suits looking for him and they were disguising their true business. They were not looking for Thompson Barber, obviously, they were looking for Terry Kingston.
Since he could not call Ginger, he called Linda at the agency and asked who it was that came inquiring about him and where they had said to contact them. This was most telling. They did not leave an address or professional reference; they had merely left a telephone number. They had not claimed affiliation with a business, they had not identified themselves as policemen, and they were not customers. Two of the men had come into the office, but Linda had also seen two more in the back seat as they drove off.
The later message was every bit as disturbing.
Senior Sergeant Randolph Black wasted no time in getting to the station. He took the bare minimum of time getting himself presentable, and after checking out the undercover car and pulling it into the front parking lot, he joined Superintendent Barlow. The two of them drove directly out of town with Randolph saying nothing until they were outside the city limits.
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