A Murder Is Denounced

by Cenarth Fox

  There was a long pause. Was she giving him the flick? She hadn’t prepared that speech. She hadn’t decided to dump him. It just slipped out. She opened her mouth without engaging her brain.

  He sounded flat, in pain. ‘Of course I will do as you suggest ma chérie. But you will need to do much more than that to stop me from falling in love with you. Even now, it is probably far too late.’

  Silence from Jo. Tears welled then decorated her cheeks. She couldn’t speak. He did. ‘Sleep well, my favourite detective. Au revoir.’

  Jo tried to say au revoir but choked. She dropped on the sofa and had what could best be described as a bloody good cry.

  A suburb or three away in Kensington, Vlad was settling in with his new buddies. Pam and Colleen reckoned Mike was Mr Perfect. He was good-looking even if his nose looked a tad unreal, seemed loaded and was generous with it, could fix things, and packed a sizeable dose of sex appeal. What’s not to like?

  Pam made an A5 flyer under the heading Captain Fix-It. He took it to a print shop, and the girls helped him carry out a letter-drop to chunks of Kensington. Soon after, Mike’s phone started to ring. Life rolled along nicely.

  Chapter 19

  WES WAS A TOP ASSASSIN because he prepared well. He took pride in his work, never rushed a job, and never left a mess. There were unsolved murders in several US states thanks to the brilliance of Wesley Johannsson. Talk about a pro, he was the best in the business.

  He worried about his latest assignment for two reasons; he was in a foreign land, and working with a partner, a first-rate knob. Rabies was straight from Looney Tunes land. If ever a hit was likely to fail, killing Vlad was it. Rabies had a tatt which summed up his life—Psycho.

  With Rabies in charge, the plan would go as follows. Barge into Vlad’s abode with all guns blazing. Yes, the hit would succeed but the cops would find the crims in five minutes. With Wes in charge, the hit would go like clockwork with nary a trace of the assassin to be found.

  Next morning, Wes wandered the streets where Vlad lived and spotted a young mother with pram. He followed discreetly and saw where she lived, diagonally opposite Vlad’s house. Wes reckoned the peeling paint and weeds meant she was renting. She and the boyfriend were. Wes charmed his way into their life by giving his phoney ID routine with a story about catching visa and dole cheats. The woman was naturally wary but knew about the foreign females over the road, and when the cash was flashed, she agreed. The boyfriend too was suspicious but the cash won him over. From their front room, the lounge, Wes sat in his OP (Observation Post) diagonally opposite the target’s abode. He only worked the night shift. Killing in the dark has so many advantages—victim doesn’t see you, cops can’t find you, weapons not seen, etc.

  ‘Where are you goin’?’ asked Rabies.

  ‘Planning the hit, but you wouldn’t know about that. Stay here and be ready when I call, if I call.’

  Rabies told his boss in Sydney who told Larry in Florida. ‘Leave my man alone,’ ordered Larry. ‘He’s the best. Do exactly what he says.’

  So Wes carried on observing and making plans for the faultless hit. Rabies carried on drinking and fuming in his motel room.

  Vlad found work. He got a few smallish jobs but then a bigger one. Housemate Pam’s friend, Dani, lived in the next suburb, North Melbourne. She was planning to sell her flat and wanted it fixed for the sale. Vlad dropped in for the guided tour.

  ‘Pam reckons you’re the best handyman in town.’

  Vlad laughed. ‘She has to say that, she’s my agent.’

  Dani liked Mike, and he thought her Rubenesque proportions would be wonderful to paint—with chocolate. Dani wanted taps and tiles replaced, floorboards repaired, and most of the flat painted. Vlad used his clipboard and calculator and came up with a price. ‘Cash of course,’ he added with a grin.

  She smiled. ‘Wow, that’s cheap. When can you start?’

  Vlad opened his arms. ‘I’m here, what’s wrong with now?’

  He measured while Dani made coffee. He found items she didn’t know needed fixing, and she was delighted with her knight, the shining charmer. They chatted and Vlad fell in love with Melbourne.

  He told Dani how much paint she’d need and agreed to start the next day. ‘Can you make it in the afternoon?’ she asked. ‘I’m a late riser.’ He grinned. ‘Perfect,’ she said, and followed him to the door. There was genuine affection with a tinge of lust as they said goodbye.

  Next day, Vlad was on time, Dani had bought the paint, taps and other items, and the flat refurbishment began. He was good, and a lot was done when he called it quits. Over coffee, Dani got serious.

  ‘Mike, I hardly know you but I have a problem and need some help.’

  ‘Sure, what’s up?’

  ‘I’ll pay you.’ His curiosity kicked in. ‘I have an ex-boyfriend who doesn’t think I’m serious when I told him it’s over.’

  ‘How big is he? Does he play footy?’ Vlad was pleased he’d learnt the local jargon and asked half in jest.

  ‘No, he’s not violent just persistent. He’s married and well, it’s not going anywhere. If you were here when he arrives, he’ll think I’ve found someone else and hopefully get the message.’

  ‘I knew I was fast but not that fast.’ He grinned and she liked him.

  ‘Then you’ll do it?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  ‘He wants to come round tonight about 9. If you could be here by 8.30 that would be great.’

  ‘Not a problem. Telling my housemates I’m working nights might be interesting though.’

  They laughed and he left, his mind bursting with ideas including several of a carnal nature.

  That night, Wes arrived at the OP and handed cash to the young mum.

  ‘How long will you be coming here?’ she asked, wanting to know how long the extra income would continue. So did the boyfriend.

  ‘Hard to say,’ said Wes. ‘Could be a day or two, might be longer. Is there a problem?’

  ‘No, not at all. Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Thanks, I’m fine.’ He looked at her and she got the message.

  She told her mother about the arrangement and Mum went right off. ‘He could be a rapist or murderer. What’s he doing?’

  ‘He says it’s government work and he’s trying to catch dole cheats and people who’ve overstayed their visa.’

  ‘You were a dole cheat.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. See ya.’

  Wes considered several plans but hoped Plan A was all he’d need. At 8 pm, he got some action. Vlad opened the front door, called goodbye to his housemates and walked into the street. Wes moved. He left the OP house and slipped down the drive, stopped at the fence and peered around a bush. Vlad was on foot. He wore dark jeans, a dark jacket and a black baseball cap. He could have been a footpad.

  Wes followed, calling Rabies en route, telling the Sydney thug to bring the car to Kensington and to be ready; for what he didn’t say.

  Vlad kept walking. Wes tailed him from the shadows. When they reached Macaulay Road, it was hard to hide. Street lighting flooded the area. Wes hung back and Vlad got ahead. Once he saw Vlad’s direction, Wes sprinted across against the lights and copped a few blasts from drivers. He hoped it wouldn’t cause Vlad to look back.

  No chance. Vlad was on a promise and found his stride quickening, his heart pumping faster and his mind feasting on possibilities.

  One more intersection and he turned left and headed to a block of trendy flats. Wes saw the street name, and called Rabies with the address. Rabies spoke to himself. ‘What am I, a fuckin’ cabbie?’

  Rabies crawled along Notting Hill Crescent then stopped when Wes stepped out of the shadows. He got in the car, on the correct side.

  ‘Park there, where it’s dark. Our guy’s in that apartment block.’

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Rabies wanted to do something, anything.

  ‘We wait and watch.’

  ‘Wait and watch? I thought we were supposed to knoc
k the prick.’

  Wes was close to losing it. Having a partner was bad enough. Having a moron was too much. Wes spoke with evil in his voice.

  ‘For the last time, pal, there is no we. I do the shooting, you do the shitting. Now shut it.’ He tipped his seat back and watched. Rabies fumed. Then the rain arrived and got heavy.

  ‘Oh great,’ moaned the Aussie. ‘How do we wait and watch when the windscreen is a wall of water?’

  ‘We can see if he comes out. If he does, you switch on the wipers.’ Wes shouted softly. ‘Now shut the fuck up.’

  They waited. This would not make a 41 minute TV show about cops and robbers. Nothing happened. Time dawdled. The rain persisted.

  ‘I wanna piss,’ said Rabies.

  ‘Get out,’ said Wes.

  Steam rose from Rabies’ ears. He slipped down a lane and peed against a house. He got back in the car and flicked water over Wes. After more sighing and mumbling from Rabies, Wes snapped.

  ‘Get out! Go back to the motel.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If I need you, I’ll call.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Get lost. Call a cab. Go.’

  Rabies hopped out, jogged to the end of the road and disappeared.

  The rain stopped and Wes went for a walk. He checked the car park of the apartment block, the stairs, letterboxes and windows with lights. Back in the car, he checked his armoury. Midnight came and went. He tried sleeping with one eye open. Then he hit on an idea.

  It was put out your rubbish bin night. He collected bottles and cans and placed them by the flat entrance. Anyone coming in or out would knock at least one of them. He dozed trying for a catnap. It started raining again.

  The sound of the bottles being kicked snapped him awake. It was someone coming home who made the racket. Wes looked at his watch—0350 hours. Plan A was looking shaky. He stretched and felt sore then nearly died. Someone tapped on the driver’s window. Wes thought police and shoved his gun under the seat.

  ‘Open up, Yank,’ said Rabies who bent down with face against the window. Wes unlocked the doors. Rabies climbed in dripping water. ‘My boss said you wasn’t allowed out without a friend.’

  Wes thought about smashing Rabies in the face but stopped when someone came out of the flats. Wes stared. It was Vlad. ‘It’s him,’ whispered Wes. Rabies panicked. ‘The cap, jacket, height, it’s him.’ Vlad headed towards the killers.

  ‘You sure?’ snapped Rabies.

  ‘Yes, it’s him.’

  Rabies grabbed his gun. Wes stopped him. ‘Wait. You stay here.’

  Rabies was having none of that. ‘No way. Let’s do the business,’ he hissed. ‘It’s dark, no-one’s here. Come on.’

  He quietly got out of the car. Still it rained. Wes wanted to shoot Rabies but scrambled out to control his lunatic minder. Both killers crouched behind the back of the car as Vlad headed their way.

  He was on the other side of the road, and for protection, pulled his jacket collar higher. He was 20 yards away and closing. With no sense of danger, he was walking to his death.

  The killers froze, waiting. ‘It’s my kill,’ spat Wes. ‘Do not fire.’

  The men looked at each other. Rabies thought about shooting Wes and then the target. Vlad came closer. Wes took aim. Then panic kicked in as Vlad left the footpath and crossed the road heading straight for the car hiding the killers. The darkness and rain became the perfect cover for the murder. This would be dead easy.

  Wes knew the rules of assassination. Rabies couldn’t read. The plan was simple. No wild shots in the dark. Use the silencer. Aim for the heart. Get up nice and close, my son.

  Look out, here he comes.

  Chapter 20

  VLAD CROSSED THE ROAD heading to the footpath beside the assassins’ vehicle. He would pass within touching distance of the killers. With everything working perfectly, Wes steadied his stance. This was shooting fish in a barrel time. Goodnight Vlad. Wes held his breath to maintain a rock solid position and started to gently squeeze the trigger. Rabies bobbed up, pointed his gun, and spoke. ‘Oi.’

  Wes suffered a rage attack. Vlad froze, saw the men and guns, knew what they were there to do, turned and sprinted down the middle of the road. Rabies swore and followed. Incensed, Wes played Chasey. Three men raced, two with guns. Vlad headed for Dani’s apartment. He reached the entrance, kicked bottles and cans, made a heck of a row, and in his desperate haste, fell. He didn’t get up because Rabies arrived and put two bullets in his back and, for luck, one in his head. Goodnight Vienna.

  Wes arrived and again wanted to scream.

  ‘Let’s go,’ whispered Rabies rapt he’d done what the great American superhero couldn’t do.

  Wes leant down to feel the neck of the victim. He was dead but Wes felt sick. The baseball cap was dislodged revealing Vlad’s face.

  ‘He’s dead, come on,’ hissed Rabies.

  ‘It’s not him,’ spat Wes.

  The look on the face of Sydney’s finest moron was difficult to describe. Rabies was confused, angry, scared and nervous all at the same time. ‘You said it was him,’ he gasped.

  Wes didn’t hang around and raced back to the car. Rabies followed. More Chasey. They climbed in. Rabies didn’t need to be told to get moving. They drove with Rabies cursing and blaming Wes who said one word. ‘Airport.’

  ‘Airport?’ shrieked Rabies.

  Wes roared. ‘Take me to the airport.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Rabies who now started to seriously worry.

  Wes cracked. He pulled out his gun and shoved it into the ribs of the driver. Wes could not believe the mess he’d left behind. His unblemished copy book now sported big black blotches, and worse, far worse, his target was still alive. To compound his fury, Wes knew no-one in this town or this country and needed to get out—now. This was failure with a capital F.

  ‘Listen, arsehole, unless you get me to the airport I’ll shoot you and drive meself. Now drive.’

  Rabies felt fear nibbling on his ears. He believed the Yank, and drove but en route tried to talk the assassin down.

  ‘Where will you go? You’ll need your passport and money.’

  ‘Drive,’ growled Wes. Of course he carried cash and passport. He was a pro. Getting rid of the gun might be tricky but first things first.

  They drove and the tension in the hire car kept rising. Both men breathed with difficulty. They sweated, Rabies big time. That’s how he got his nickname, often looking like a mad dog. Wes stared at Rabies who every now and then would glance at the assassin.

  ‘Watch the road,’ snarled the American and pressed the gun harder against the driver’s ribs.

  The airport signs became bigger. They were close to the airport car parks. Rabies tried to think of a way to survive. ‘Where do you want me to drop you, national or international?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘What?’

  Wes screamed. ‘Pull over here, now.’

  The car stopped beside land near the airport entrance. ‘This is not the drop off. It’s too far to walk,’ pleaded Rabies.

  ‘Give me your gun,’ ordered Wes. The look in the assassin’s eyes told Rabies to do it. ‘Slowly.’ Rabies handed his gun, handle first and only then noticed Wes was wearing flesh-coloured gloves. Rabies felt sick. ‘Drop the window.’ A gun against his ribs helped Rabies obey. ‘Now get out.’

  ‘Come on, man. How can I get back to town?’

  ‘Move,’ shouted Wes, and aimed his gun at the head of the driver. Rabies couldn’t believe he was about to die.

  ‘Okay, don’t shoot.’ He got out but there was no way he would turn his back.

  ‘Move away,’ spat Wes who, with difficulty, climbed into the driver’s seat still pointing his gun at Rabies. It was decision time.

  Do I shoot the moron?

  Then Wes struck trouble. Back home in Florida, his boss, Larry, told him about Oz. ‘They drive on the wrong side of the road in Australia.’

  For Wes, right now the st
eering wheel was on the wrong side of the car. The gear shift in the middle was okay but you needed to use your left not your right hand to move it. Confused, Wes moved his eyes from Rabies to the controls. In that instant, Rabies bent and pulled a pistol from his ankle holster.

  Wes looked up and saw Rabies performing his “I’m fighting back, scumbag routine”. It was raining and dark but the silver pistol made a statement. “Hi!” it yelled. Wes tried to do two things at once—shoot Rabies, and put the car into D for Drive. By succeeding with the second, he failed with the first. The vehicle lurched forward in a perfect kangaroo hop, appropriate for the locale, and Wes fired and missed. Rabies ran after the car, fired, hit the assassin of the century, and the car veered left and smashed into a wire safety fence. Having failed to obtain his Australian driving licence, Wes fell forward on the steering wheel, and died alone, unloved and on foreign soil.

  Rabies leant in, grabbed the two guns, and panicked. Should I drive the car? What do I do with the Yank? Am I up a certain creek sans paddle? Rabies didn’t know any Latin but he knew what Shit Creek looked like. He grabbed the keys and the motor died.

  Thinking clearly was not his forte. Clutching a small arsenal, he started running along the side of the road heading back to Melbourne. After about a hundred metres, he stopped and heaved the two guns and keys into the dense scrub. He thought about his pistol then reluctantly undid his ankle holster, with pistol inside, and gave it the heave-ho too. He boarded Shanks’s pony and headed to town.

  What a night.

  As Rabies staggered along the side of the road in the pre-dawn light, in the rain, he rang his boss in Sydney. What else could he do?

  Desmond Spear, arguably Sydney’s Mr Big in crime, lost it. ‘Why are you ringing me at this time?’

  ‘Sorry boss. I thought you’d wanna know the job is done.’

  ‘What? Good. Now get your arse back here.’