Читать книгу Savage Skies - Graham Guy - Страница 11

Chapter 1

The morning after Senior Sergeant Ken McLoughlin had bagged $3,000,000 in commission from Bruno Formicella for the return of his stolen $20,000,000, the headlines of the paper almost jumped out at him: FIRE DESTROYS HOSTEL.

The paper had been pushed under the door of his motel room. He picked it up and read on.

‘Fire has caused more than $1,000,000 damage to the Single Mother’s Hostel in Nambucca Heads.

Run by the Salvation Army, the hostel was home to more than 35 single mothers and their children.

No one was hurt in the blaze that broke out shortly after midday yesterday.

Salvation Army spokesperson Major Peter Evans says upon investigation, it was found the complex was not insured as the company that held the policy went to the wall three days ago…’

McLoughlin’s mind was made up. He dragged a satchel out from under his bed and unzipped it. Satisfied $1,350,000 was still accounted for, he made his way to the post office and purchased a box about the size of a beer carton, bubble wrap and brown paper.

Returning to the motel, he took the money from the satchel, wrapped it in the bubbled plastic and packed it inside the box. On a plain piece of paper he wrote:

Dear Major. I hope the enclosed is sufficient to cover your loss. This is not stolen money, drug money or money gained via illegal means. In fact this is money that actually doesn’t exist. Even if you try to trace it, you’ll find there is no record of it in this country. Rebuild, dear sir, give the girls a home and enjoy.

McLoughlin placed the note inside the box, sealed it, addressed it to Major Peter Evans and returned to the post office. On his way back to the motel he was laughing out loud. He was immensely proud of what he’d done. “Yeeeees!” he exclaimed, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Never let it be said McLoughlin was Mr Fifteen Percent. Those bloody gold bars are gonna get the arse too. Bugger all that. I need to sleep at night. I’ll just stick to me piss-ant salary and me even bigger piss-ant super.”

As he rounded the corner to swing back into the motel he noticed a black Mercedes Benz with darkened windows close by.

That’s the same bastard as yesterday, he told himself.

Immediately the hackles rose on the back of his neck and his laughter turned to a tinge of fear. When he drew to a halt outside his room he watched in the rear vision mirror as the vehicle slid quietly by. He jumped from his car and raced back down the driveway of the motel and cautiously peered around the corner of the building. The Mercedes had drawn to a standstill a short distance away.

Instantly he knew the situation. He ran back to his room, grabbed his mobile phone and dialled the number in Italy of Bruno Formicella.

“I thought you might call,” Bruno said.

“You can call your dogs off, OK! I’ll be leaving here in about twenty minutes. You tell ‘em after I’ve gone to come into the room and look in the fridge. I didn’t pick you as being one to welch on a deal!”

“The deal was $3,000,000. Not my gold as well.”

“I’ll leave the door open.”

“I hoped you’d see reason. Maybe…”

But McLoughlin didn’t let Bruno finish. Instead he pushed the OFF button on his phone. For a few moments he stood motionless, shaking his head in dismay. Were there no ends this man would go, to keep his wealth? McLoughlin knew if he’d played dumb there was no way Bruno could have or would have known he had the gold bars taken from his safe along with the $20,000,000. Like the money he’d just sent off to the Salvation Army, he was also planning the same fate for the gold. He wanted no part of it. To do so would have meant looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. He packed his belongings, stowed the gold bars in the fridge, paid for his room and left.

As he did, he drew alongside the black Mercedes. He motioned for the driver to wind down his window. There was a degree of reluctance on the driver’s part but after a few moments he conceded.

“You bastards better move your arse or the cleaning lady will beat you to it,” he called out.

Quickly the window zipped shut, the engine burst into life and the car sped off into the driveway of the motel. McLoughlin allowed himself a quiet chuckle.

“And it better be a long list of summers before you pricks cross my path again,” he said out loud.

As he drove away, suddenly he felt as if a great load had been lifted from his shoulders. He knew he’d just given up a fortune but was overjoyed at having done so.

“Guess that’s why blokes like me get to be coppers,” he murmured. “Spent my life trying to catch pricks like that. Doesn’t make much sense in becoming one.”

* * *

As he continued to drive towards Sydney after leaving South West Rocks and the showdown with the Weasel, McLoughlin’s mind swung to Kazumi. He reached for his mobile phone and dialled her number.

It was Katie Caplin who picked up. “Oh Ken! Wonderful…just wonderful to hear from you. Where are you?”

“Just out of Sydney. You still got that good lookin’ sheila from Hong Kong there?”

Katie laughed. “Talks about you every day.”

“Bullshit!” he laughed.

“I kid you not…hang on I’ll get her.”

McLoughlin changed lanes and pulled in to the side of the road.

“Hello, Sergeant Ken?”

“Did you think I’d call?”

“Everyday I watch the phone and think maybe it will ring.”

“How would you like to go out to dinner with a tired and grumpy old cop?”

“Oh Sergeant Ken, you coming down, yes?”

“Be there in a couple of days, OK?”

“That’s wonderful. You cook for me, yes?”

McLoughlin laughed. “I’d be delighted to cook for you. But you said I wasn’t allowed in your kitchen!”

“Miss Katie, she say you are and Miss Katie, she the boss lady, yes?”

“I think I miss you a little,” he told her.

“Oh Sergeant Ken. I think of you often. Will you stay long?”

“How long would you like?”

Kazumi giggled, “Could be trouble if I say.”

“What about a week or two?” he asked her.

McLoughlin heard a muffled shriek and the words, “Miss Katie, Sergeant Ken. He come for a week. Maybe!” Then to him, “You here in two days, yes?”

“Probably, but I’ll talk to you again before then. Is that OK?”

“Oh yes, Sergeant Ken. That very OK. I put Miss Katie back on. But you hurry. Yes?”

“I hurry,” he told her.

“A week?” asked Katie.

“I’ve got a few plans,” he replied. “Can Kazumi hear us?”

“No, she’s gone outside.”

“Good. What do you think? You reckon I could be a chance?”

Katie laughed lightly. “A chance? My God she can think and talk of nothing else. What happened with you two the night you stayed here?”

“No. Nothing! Cross my heart.”

“Well, something has happened to her and I’d suggest you are the only one who can fix the problem.”

“Well, if things work out, I want to take her away for a few days. I’d like yours and Gabe’s permission to do that?”

“No need to ask. Of course you can. Good heavens, we’d be delighted if something could happen with you two. And if you have to go away somewhere to do a bit of heavy breathing, then that’s fine.”

“Well I do believe you’ve made me blush a little, Mrs Caplin.”

Katie laughed. “But if you two get together, I wonder for how much longer? Why don’t you go away together for a while? Robe’s nearby. Wonderful spot.”

“I was thinking a bit further away.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll tell you after we’ve spent a bit of time together. And Katie?”

“Yes.”

“You and Gabe got a passport?”

“Er…no. No we haven’t.”

“Better get one. See you soon.”

Katie put the phone down and felt a tinge of excitement run through her body. A passport, she thought to herself. Well that is interesting. Something tells me big things are about to happen here. Big things.

* * *

The following morning, McLoughlin’s mobile phone rang when he was just south of Goulburn.

“Senior Sergeant McLoughlin? Commissioner Jack Rowland would like a word.”

Shit! What now? he scowled, and pulled to the side of the highway.

“McLoughlin?”

“Sir.”

“Jack Rowland. Where the hell are you?”

“Driving, sir, just south of Sydney. About to take a six-week break after all that business in South West Rocks.”

“Bloody shocking that! And to think those television mongrels sacked that girl for not giving you up. Anyway, how ya doing?”

“I’ll live, sir.”

“Good. Because before you head on your break I want you to come to Melbourne. There’s a couple of things that might interest you.”

Oh, really? he thought. “How long will you need me, sir?”

“Just the day. I’ve managed to convince Ford to give us a couple of their new schmicked up, gee-whiz XR8s as a try out. They’ve got all the bullshit. Satellite phone, GPS navigation, bullet-proof glass and doors, bombproof floors. They’ll be Tickfords and the donks and suspensions will be tricked up to cope with the extra weight. I’ve told ‘em we’ll give ‘em a run for six months and see what we think of them. What do ya reckon?”

“Sounds bloody good, sir. And the second thing?”

His boss paused, then said, “This has caused a lot of angst down here. We’re still trying to come to terms with losing Dave Bourke. Bloody terrible that! Christ knows you must still feel like shit over it too. But we want you to drop by and meet your new partner…you there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you hear what I said? We want you to meet your new partner.”

McLoughlin was too dumbstruck to speak. Finally the words came. “Male or female?” he asked dryly.

“Oh Jesus, Mac, we wouldn’t stitch you up with a bloody sheila for Christ sakes. No. A bloke. A senior constable. He’s currently based in Hawthorn. We went through about three hundred applicants before deciding upon him. Tony Delarosa. You know him?”

McLoughlin’s head was spinning. How can these pricks do this without even consulting with me over who I might have wanted?

“No, sir, I don’t. Delarosa you say. What’s that, Italian?”

“Born here. Parents are from Italy.”

McLoughlin exploded. “Jesus Christ, sir! Bourkey’s barely bloody cold and you go and stitch me up with a…!”

But Jack Rowland wouldn’t be messed with. He cut McLoughlin short. “Now you listen to me, Senior Sergeant, and listen good. A lot of people went to a lot of trouble to find a top man for you. And they did that out of the sheer bloody respect they have for you. Delarosa’s a good man. Twelve years in the job. Sharp as a tack. Good brain. Fit. Agile. Single. No female problems. Dedicated. Exactly what we need. Ring me the day before you get here and you can come into the office and meet him. Now go and get some rest, you hear?”

When Jack Rowland put the phone down McLoughlin felt like shit.

Hell of a way to be treated, eh? Boss just rings up and says sorry about your partner, you know, the dead one, but now you’re working with so and so. No consultation. No prior warning. No doubt this new fella, Delarosa, is a top bloke, but to be just assigned! Jesus! It’s like an arranged bloody marriage. What if we hate each other’s guts?

Then the full impact of his partner’s recent death hit him like the bullets that had slammed into Bourke’s body. “How the hell do you bastards draw straws to replace a bloke like Bourkey?” he screamed, pulling back onto the highway. “Jesus Christ! You’ve stitched me up! Well he’d better be bloody good, that’s all I’ve got to say about it. Let me tell you right now MR BLOODY COMMISSIONER, I’m not gonna like the prick. Game, set and match. Stuff all of you.”

McLoughlin’s vocal discontent continued until he reached the cherry orchards in Young. He’d begun to settle down a little as he passed by the huge suspended wine barrel and Lions Lookout. The Woodonga winery slipped by as he pressed down on the accelerator. The wooden power poles, still to be replaced by their concrete and steel cousins, passed by almost like a picket fence.

“Well, Mr Commissioner,” he said aloud, “you better make sure that XR8 is all set to go when I get to Melbourne, that’s all I can say. You owe me, boss, big time.”

He gunned the big Ford V8 on past the Hermitage Murray Grey Stud farm. A passing semi-trailer reminded him it was also sheep country. No mistaking the smell, is there? Also to catch his eye were large roadside signs, ‘Pumpkins $3’ and ‘Sheep manure, $3 a bag’.

He let out a laugh, releasing his pent-up emotion.“If they can get $3 a bag for sheep shit up here, imagine what you could get for a bag of bullshit at Police HQ?”

As he passed through Cowra, the Japanese garden reminded him of Kazumi and pissed him off big-time. “Shit!” he cussed loudly. “Not gonna make it down there in two days now, am I?”