Preamble.
This story forms part of a larger work, which is connected.
The work is a collection of short stories. Some are written in other peoples' voices, some in first person, others in third. It's a bit like a jigsaw.
Some pieces have to be found, and others may be missing.
Some of the stories have links to the past, and so become other peoples' stories. Some stories want to be told. Some need to be told. The complete story is about a complex war.
Some of it is true, some not.
The names and places used are not of real people, they are false.
Nevertheless, it is about a real life war, where the protagonist doesn't always
win, and an honest man or woman often pays a heavy price. The title of the complete work is 'The Wolf and the Tiger'. By Morgan Ramsay © 2014
Published by Sampson Management Services NSW Australia.
Contact email sampsms at ozemail dot com dot au
Contents
Chapter 1 On the Job
Chapter 2 Mannie's Foxhole has a surprise visitor.
Chapter 3 Constable Cox
Chapter 4 Mannie and Pugsie on a road trip
Chapter 5 Mannie is back and hears bad news
Chapter 6 Mannie does a deal with Constable Cox
Chapter 7 Mannie as a vigilante for Divorce court murders
Chapter 8.. Mannie meets Violet
Chapter 9 Mannie visits Justice Watson
Chapter 10 Mannie goes to the spirit land
Mannie Gossips
©Morgan Ramsay 2014
Chapter 1 On the Job
Mannie and Thomo decided to go for a walk. Not walkabout. Walkabout
meant to go for a long journey, but Mannie, being only half caste and Thomo
white with red hair, was a gubbah (white man), and didn’t abide by the aboriginal terms.
Thomo, at 25, was much taller, and had claimed aboriginal heritage only because Bunny, one of the elders, convinced him that it was a good idea. Bunny had made the arrangements, and went as referee. All Thomo had to do was turn up at the meeting and get the 'look over', and he was in.
Bunny, was another city coffee coloured half-caste, and he needed Thomo to join his “firm”, and the heritage claim helped them consider themselves blood brothers in business. It could also help keep him out of jail. Bunny had lots of projects on the go, all at the same time, all involved drugs, stolen goods and trafficking.
The first thing needed when they went for a walk was a sugary drink.
They didn’t drink alcohol much, but the drug taking seemed to require a fair amount
of sugar. They walked along sipping the milky drink, and when finished,
kicked the containers into the gutter and watched them roll down the incline.
There was always some sort of rebellious act associated with everything they
did, although Mannie was much more sensible than Thomo.
Mannie didn't like to leave his DNA around. He always took his straw with
him, throwing it away somewhere else.
Mannie’s thinner frame and shorter height helped him to hide.
His dark clothing and dark grey hoody, added to that cloak of darkness. As
they walked along the street he always seemed to keep to the shadows, even
in the daytime. That was his habit, but Thomo walked about boldly like he
owned the place.
Mannie didn't own the place, because the place, the plants, the trees, the
animals all owned him.
He was a true aboriginal in that he had the sprits with him. He could
communicate without words, and he could read people's minds. He had a
secret spiritual connection to everything. He was like one ant in a colony, or
one cell in the Spirit -God's big toe, and the Spirit-God knew he was there.
He had a spiritual belonging that Thomo would never know, a belonging he
could never explain.
If Mannie wanted it to rain he went outside and asked the sky to send rain.
He would ask it to send rain for three days in a row, and it would.
He usually did this when bush fires were raging.
Sometimes, he raged against the injustices of the world, and if he felt
particularly revengeful and wanted a flood, he went down to the creek and
asked it to swell up and send a flood. He'd only done that twice.
He felt bad afterwards, but powerfully self satisfied at the same time.
He thought that to speak to a creek or a tree or any other so-called inanimate
object was natural. That they all had a spirit. That they were all living things.
Even a rock or a grain of sand was alive, because they all held living cells.
If he needed help, he sent a mental message, and help would always come.
He would receive a message back telling him what to do. Almost like another
person was in his body and giving instructions. It wasn't like he was hearing
voices. He couldn't explain it or even understand it, he just knew that it was
all part of communicating with the spirit world.
If he wanted to know where his friends were he could see them in his mind's
eye. He would just turn up. He thought it was an instinct.
He always knew things, and for a long time he thought everyone else did
too.
He always sensed danger.
He was more than a cat with nine lives.
He was very much like her.
The Tiger, the- old- one.
She talked to the trees and the birds and the animals.
She was part of that secret spirit world.
He would have liked her for his grandma.
He must've had a grandma somewhere but he didn't know where.
He was different.
Thomo tried to get Mannie talking about the old one.
“What was she up to?
how come they hadn't got her?,
What does the boss say?
When will it end?
How long has it been?”
Thomo was intrigued by the cat and mouse game, and Mannie didn't have his
heart in the job at all.
Most of Mannie’s answers were one word.
“I Dunno, I Dunno”,
“I Dunno”, but after some prodding Thomo managed to get him to open up.
“I just do what I'm told”, he said.
“Well what did he tell you to do tonight?”
“I just gotta stay on look out. They got a bloke coming to put a wire under the
floor near her bed. I just gotta kick grass till he's finished”.
Thomo glanced at Mannie's shoe heels. He knew he had a habit of actually
kicking grass. He often left tittle tufts of turf disturbed and kicked up.
“Then I gotta put out the sign. Leave a few sticks in the gutter to say all's
done. So when the boss walks past in the morning, he'll know. He takes the
dog for a walk. The little white terrier.
That way, there's no phone calls, and no talk. And I don't have to throw sticks
at his window and wake him up.”
“sounds a bit boring”. Thomo sympathised.
“Yep. And it's getting cold too.
We're a bit early. Let's sit here while we wait”.
“You need to wear two track suits. Plus one of those outdoor windproof
jackets. I'll nick one for ya.
Why don't we sit in that guys car? It'll open up easy?” Thomo was one for
comfort.
“No, just stay here. I don't want nothing to go wrong. The boss himself could
be watching for all I know, she could even be watching from that window
there.” he pointed at the left side front window.
“The boss watches?”, said Thomo.
“Yes. He's usually there somewhere. He lives just down there, and he's friends of the one who lives next door to hers”. Thomo looked downhill where Mannie's eyes went.
The house could be number 8 or 10, or even 12. He wasn't going to ask.
His eyes focused on the two recently parked fishing boats.16 footers. Small
outboards, obviously the fishermen weren't intending to go out far. Probably
just far enough to pick up a parcel dropped overboard from one of the cargo
ships. There's always a line of them outside the harbour. 'I should have been
a copper', he thought. It's not hard to see what they're up to.
He wondered if it would be worth watching and nicking their stuff after they
brought it ashore. He'd chew it over.
They sat in the shadow of a few small bushes, 2 houses up, across the road
from her place.
Mannie huddled in his jacket. He was so small that he looked like a ten year
old child, yet he was now 24. He curled up so tight that his feet protected his
private parts and his long arms curled around his thighs like a pair of snakes.
He was used to hiding. His mother abandoned him at age three, and left him
in the housing commission house for weeks on end. Her boyfriend didn't want
to have him with them, and bashed him every chance he got. His mother left
some food now and then, but the neighbours mostly fed him, and abused
him, and the older boys and men used him.
He could read and write, because he was an habitual criminal before he was
eight. Some where along the way, maybe when in juvenile detention, he had
been given an education. He could write beautifully if he wanted to, and he
could speak well when he needed to appeal to the judge. He usually got off.
Mannie could have have been a 'somebody' if he hadn't been born half black,
and abandoned. Now he was just lucky to stay alive and be 'an anybody'.
Thomo, had been so much better off, but he didn't know it and wasn't even
aware of his advantage.
The greatest gift life had given, was that Thomo had been loved.
His mother had cuddled and held him, and praised him.
He had been adored. He still was. His mother spent all her life defending him,
Denying that he had done this or that, refusing to believe anything bad about
him. He never had to take responsibility for his actions. She never punished
him or withdrew her love. Thomo never knew any sense of isolation and
abandonment.
Nevertheless, Thomo hated the world for what he didn't have, and was never
willing to build on what he had.
Even a one year stretch in jail didn't help him.
Eventually Mannie broke his silence and started whispering.
“So many things go wrong. Did I tell ya about that Michael who lived across
the creek opposite hers?”
Thomo shook his head sideways and opened his eyes wide as if to say, go
on..
“Well, it caused one big racket. She even got him arrested”.
“How?” Thomo whispered.
Well, it was one of the few days she was out in the back garden, close to the
back fence. Quite a while back. Longa time ago. Maybe even 8 years.
Michael, part of the boss's firm, thought it might be a good idea to try to win
her over. Pretend to make friends, so he took his dog for a walk past her back
gate.
He had to go round the long way, cause he can't just walk across the creek.
Anyway, She saw him of course, but she stood her ground, cause she's not a
runner. Then she just said, 'g'day. How ya going'.
So Michael tried to start a conversation. He introduced himself and said his
name was Michael. Then he said, “I'm just giving the dog a bit of a run”.
“What his name?', she asked. Michael told her, so she said, “you live across
there don’t you? In that house, number 49” and pointed to it.
Well, Michael got flustered and asked her, “How does ya know where I
lives?”. Cranky like. He's got quite a temper.
“Oh that's easy”, she said, “I don't actually know where you live, but I do know
where the dog lives. When I was a little girl I always knew where all the dogs
lived. So I just guessed you live there too”.
Michael scowled, so she asked more questions about the dog, and made
some comment about how it was such a fine black and white cocker spaniel.
As if she knew all about dogs. Michael called the dog, and kicked up a bit of
grass and left.
She went inside too, must've sensed he was trouble. Same afternoon a big
fellow, one of the soldiers, followed her around the supermarket and then sort
of bumped into her and nearly knocked her over. Threatening her like.
“He didn’t get arrested for that did he?”.
“Oh no. It was later. One Sunday morning Michael had a couple of other
friends over, and it turned out she filmed them. She was heard to say that
some spirit had guided her. Told her to get her camera and film them. The
boss snarled about that. He doesn't believe in the spirits. A bit like you
Thomo. You don't believe it either, do ya?" Mannie didn't need Thomo to
confirm. He knew, so he continued.
"The trees weren’t grown much then and you could see all his back yard.
They had that Spanish ETA woman telling them how they were going to get
her. Waving her arms like her sort do. Pointing, as if to say, one go that way,
and the other go around that way. Then that tall ex con arrived, and Michael
came outside of the shed and showed them one of those cassette guns, and
a floor plan of her house.
5,000 of them guns had been landed at Thirroul, but someone told the cops,
and the shipment was busted. Anyway, Michael already had one.
So here they were at their meeting in their backyard and she films the lot.
Next morning she went to the cops, took the video with her. Early like, before
work. She was still working at that BHP place then. The same day they raided
the place, it was on the 6 o'clock news. You could see part of the driveway
and the same plants. The cops said they were arrested for having stolen
goods”.
“Geez, Mannie, she's not just sitting there playing with her dolls”. Thomo was
impressed. He had seen her doll's houses through the back glass doors.
“No, says Mannie She's got a bit of the tar, a bit of black blood, and she may
be old, but she's got the spirits with her all right, and
that's why we ain't sitting in that blokes car”.
He added,
“She even sussed me once. It was about 4 am and I was walking past, and
she pulled back the curtains and looked out. She must've sensed it.
Oh yeah, there was another time. I was the watcher on duty, and I sat on the
steps near the Bottle o. I had a can of fosters in my hand and she came up
and spoke to me. She said that stuff will ruin your life, or something like that.
Then walked away. The boss saw it and wanted to know if I knew her. I said
no, I wasn't going to admit nothing.”
After a few minutes, Thomo asked,
“Did that Michael do time?”
“He got 5 years. His grandpa owned the house and I think it was sold to help
pay his legals. He's out by now. The boss was not very happy for quite a few
months.
Here comes the others now.
You stay here, I don't want them to see ya.”
Mannie walked toward them, keeping his hoodie on, his face half covered,
and didn't speak. He sort of nodded, and took up his position in the front yard.
While he was standing there a white sulphur crested cockatoo swept low,
right past him. Almost clipped his ear. Thomo watched the bird swoop but
didn't take much notice, except that he thought the bird should be asleep on
its roost by now.
It only took about 5 minutes to put the bug under the edge of the house.
Then they left, and Mannie came back to join Thomo.
“She was already in her bedroom. It's a wonder she didn't hear them.” Thomo
commented.
“Maybe she did, who knows. I'm sure the Boss heard it too. He's got cameras
under the eaves as well as the bug in her car. I dunno why they need to put
the microphone there. She's very quiet most of the time. Going deaf, so
doesn't bother with the music much. Watches a bit of TV though, with the
captions on. Has to sit about a metre from the box, cause she can't see too
good either. Lots of things wrong with her eyes.
Likes her computers though.
Even I could hear the microphone buzz when he tested it.
Then the fella fitting it actually said, 'all's done'.
Idiot.
The Boss keeps using idiots and morons.
Let's go, I'm so sick of this job”.
Mannie was in a very touchy mood. He seemed spooked.
“I'm sick of the job and sick of that totem of hers”.
“What do ya mean?”, Asked Thomo.
“The bird. Its just that it's her totem. He warns her. I seen him follow her car to
the shops, and watches from his perch in the trees.
He swooped low and gave me a start. Nearly bit me on the ear.
I don't like it, 'cause it's about the spirits.”
Thomo wanted to ask more but knew enough to shut up.
Mannie was clearly in a very black mood, and Thomo had no understanding
or empathy about 'the spirit people '.
Thomo, being a true whitey, thought it was all nonsense. So what was a
totem? he thought. Big deal. Thomo didn't know about totems and ancestors
and spirit people guarding you.
After they were well out of hearing range, Mannie added.
“Most of the blokes on the job don't like it.
They just do as they are told.
We all know what will happen if we don't.
Either the Boss will turn us in for a job we did for him, or
we will be left in the gutter with a bullet in the head.”
He was quiet for a little while, then he added,
“Like, it's not like we're trying to get someone who didn't pay up
or who ratted on the boss.
Or someone in competition.
It's just some favour he has to do.
Remember that guy in Tarrawanna who had the golden gun and a million
dollars in his roof? Matt Peisley? Well, he hid some of his stuff under her
house. They reckon she dobbed him in. She kept complaining to the cops that someone was hiding under there, plus she told them that there were lots of other things.
Something to do with the murder of that guy Terry Falconer.
The one who was chopped up and his bits put in black garbage bags, and
thrown in the river up north. She reckoned she knew who dunn it”.
“Might be why she's gotta go”. “Old ladies and kids. They aren't good for business.
It will mean a lot of trouble when it goes down”.
They didn’t walk far. Mannie led down the southern side of the creek from her
house. Then he stopped. “Wait here, Thomo, I've got to pick up the stash.
The signs out”. Mannie was off like a shot in the darkness, toward number
55's and 57's back fence. There was an orange road marker near the fence,
and a bit of orange plastic fencing. The back light was on. Thomo noticed that
the light was so big, you could see it for miles. Talk about drawing attention to
themselves. Mannie came back with something, about the size of a paving
brick. One kilo of cocaine.
“I nearly forgot. I gotta deliver this to a guy a few streets away”. They both
walked on. When they were higher up the hill toward the back of Figtree,
Mannie gave his owl hoot. Twice. Someone came to the front of a house,
then Mannie dashed across the road, then whistled. The man from the house
looked under his garbage bin, sort of nodded and Mannie disappeared
without the recipient ever having seen his face.
Thomo asked if Mannie had been able to spoon out some of it for himself. He
just smiled, his white teeth shining like perfect pearls against his brown -
black skin. “Mine's in a separate packet”. He held his hand open and there
was a small plastic bag full of white powder. “I'll give ya some when we get
back”.
At the same time Mannie dropped another packet on the ground. It held
brownish powder and what looked like carpet fluff.
“What's that? It looks like all dirty?” Thomo asked as Mannie retrieved it.
“It's just what it looks like. Dirt , dust and carpet fluff. To cover me tracks when
I go inside.”
Mannie laughed out loud.
“Ya can't be too careful Thomo, ya can't be too careful”.
He laughed again.
He had a strange laugh, you never knew if he was laughing at you or himself
or just raving. “you sound like a kookaburra with a sore throat.”
Mannie laughed again, then added “I sure do, I sure do.”
Thomo didn't know whether to laugh with him or not. He didn't put anything
past him.
They had about 2 kilometres to walk back to their recently stolen car. They
used to steal a car whenever they needed to go somewhere, but always left it
some distance away from where they were doing 'business', especially the
Boss's business.
Thomo tried to lift Mannie out of his sombre mood, but it wasn't possible.
Mannie was in now in one of his black dog depressions.
Eventually, Thomo broke the silence with, “Paying in drugs is one thing, but
you need money, but I guess you can sell some”.
“You sell it Thomo, and I'll deliver. Fifty fifty ok?”
They trudged on. Mannie still thinking about the old woman.
“Guess what she did the other day? She went down to the shops and parked
in the disability spot under the ANZ cameras. Like she always does. If she
can't park there or in the open she drives off. Anyway, the boss had a fellow
waiting and as she gets out and locks the car, a cop car pulls up into it's cop
parking space. Straight away she looks around and sees our man, so she
takes 2 steps toward the cops, like she is about to ask for help or something.
Our man makes a run for it, and she calmly goes into the shop to get her
groceries. She didn't talk to the cops at all.
Another time she pretended to use her phone and kept moving her mouth
and her head as if she was following our man. The boss says he knows that
she only pretended because the bug in the car didn't pick up anything and
none of her phone sims were used. But it was enough for our man to get the
heebie jeebies and buzz off.
Then yesterday, the boss planted an old woman friend of his, to sit and
watch her car. When she came back to it, she sprayed under the driver side
wheel housing with fly spray. She actually said out loud, to our watcher, that
she thought she saw a spider, so she sprayed all under. The watcher said.
“so you're always well prepared?” and the old one said, “yes, that's me”. The
watcher quickly left. Like the old one was double trouble.
He thinks she sprayed underneath because she knew that a new bug had
been planted the night before. She's got a couple of de-trackers but they only
work while the car engine is running. She always takes her phone battery out
so it's not so easy to find her. She likes to do the unexpected. Sometimes
backtracks.
“But how does she know?”
Mannie replied, “ She probably saw the stick message that was left in the
gutter, or maybe he left a bit of paper, like those security blokes do.
The idiot probably left a piece of paper under the wheel where the bug was.
I seen her myself, kinda tracking. She goes out front and checks out the
gutter and driveway, and sometimes tracks around the back of the house.
Sometimes those idiots use plants or sticks that aren't found in her yard, or
she sees the Y shape branch and the pointer going to a window, or
wherever.
They had even cut off the screws to her side window and left it unlocked.
She comes along and pushes it, so it opens. She put in more screws and
some of that cement hard putty, and now they can't use it. She even puts a
jungle power electric lead here and there, hoping to zap them. Doesn't turn it
on all the time, though. Probably scared of burning the house down.”
He paused,again, and had a draw on his smoke. Thomo had passed him a
fag of hash to calm him down.
Mannie then added.
“Our watcher quickly left because it had unnerved her. She sorta scares
them if she can. Lets them know that she sussed them. It's eerie. There was
no way she could possibly know that any of them were scouting her. Even if
she thought she had been followed there, she couldn't know who was who.
Each watcher was new.”
Thomo put in his sixpence worth. “She probably expects that there is a
watcher, and just looks around to see who is taking too much notice. She
probably knows that one person follows and another gets in front. You can
learn about it on TV, or on the internet. There's plenty of lessons in counter
surveillance. She probably looks for their perches.”
Mannie continued, as if he hadn't heard anything of what Thomo had said.
“Then on her way home, she didn't do any back tracking like she does most
times, but went straight up London Street. The Boss had a bloke in front and
he pulled up opposite her street. You know what she did? She slowed right
down, looked at his number plate, and at him, then pretended to go to her
house, but drove off and went somewhere else.
“How could she know? How could she know?”, The boss kept saying. It had
cost him a lot that day, because he paid that big bloke to look like a copper,
you know shirt and all, and the plan was to go and snatch her when she got
to her front door.
I didn't tell the boss, but she's got the spirits with her man, they tell her.
She's got the spirits with her alright.”
Thomo was 100% white and didn’t have that innate aboriginal fear of spirits or
devils.
He was only ever logical, but Mannie saw a spirit lurking behind every tree.
He was also scared of the dark, and was always nervy when he had to go out
at night on a job. That was why he invited Thomo to come along. Mannie
liked open spaces, and low scrub. He always felt intimidated by tall buildings
and trapped by fences.
“Look Mannie, when she came over the hill, the copper bloke probably had
his foot on the brake. That would have told her that he had just pulled up.
Then when she drove past and saw his police shirt with the emblem on the
sleeve, she decided she didn't trust him.
You know yourself, you would wonder why he isn't in a cop car, and why is he
stopped on the corner of her street. Like only 5 houses away. So she just
legged it. We would've done the same.”
Mannie said nothing.
Then Thomo asked about the Wolf. “What happened to the Wolf who got
zapped in the hand? The one who tried to choke you and Pugsie, your Tongan mate?”
“They can't find him. He legged it from the flat where we tracked him. He had a Harley motorbike, may have been part of a gang. Could be a member of the lone wolves. The shark feeders are looking, said that they'll get him one day. Pugsie's said he had the bike's rego number.
We should have looked ourselves, and got it traced. Those blokes aren't thorough enough.
I'm so sick of it.
It's just been a nightmare.
The Boss knows I'm sick of it.
I'm good at what I do, but I never killed anyone.
I told him that I'm not a killer.
He sort of nodded when I said it.
Just rolled himself a fag and changed the subject.
He was working on his jigsaw, and said he wanted me to sit there in the shed
and just keep him company.
But that wasn't true. I was there for three hours. He sorta wants to pick my
brains to get my spirit secrets outa me.
He kept asking about the spirits. Even had some old rock art pictures and
kept asking me what it meant. Like, there's one that looks like African people
in their gear. It has a woman, with drooping breasts, in the middle. Sorta
whipping some black on the ground and others gathered around sorta
watching and waiting. The book says they don't know what it means. like,
maybe it means Africans were there in the middle of Australia at some time.
Like, it 's clear enough to me. If I want to warn you about these Africans,
people who don't look or dress like us, who beat blacks, I'd draw a pic of what
they look like and what they do so you could see it and keep away from 'em,
wouldn't I?
Why is that so hard to decipher?
Some of these arty people get paid to write a lot of bull. If I ever went to uni
and got a job like that, I'd do it better."
Thomo was listening and commented sarcastically. "You go to uni, I'd like to
see that Mannie."
"You can do it in jail. I could do it that way. I'll show ya one day, Thomo. I'll show all of ya."
Mannie was a bit annoyed at Thomo, but he hadn't talked to anyone at all for
a week, so he went on.
They think the art is just a painting, done for art's sake. They are such idiots.
They think they can say sorry and everything gets fixed up. Well, it doesn't. They give nothing. What's a word like sorry from someone who never suffered nothing. They know nothing."
Mannie was angry and kicked at the ground. Like an overstrung colt tied to a
tree. "They don't understand that it's a message. A how to.
Like a picture of a whale, or a tortoise or a turtle. It shows the bones and the
heart and all. Like out of a textbook. It's not about painting a pretty picture at
all. It's about teaching. Passing on the knowledge. So I wasn't telling him nothing. He wouldn't understand anyway. He'd just say I was a ratbag, like the rest of them coffee coloured half castes.
But I know different. I'll tell ya more one day.
He said that I'm just like her. He reckons that I read his mind. and one day
he'll prove it.
Plus she reads his mind.
Somehow she knows when it's safe to go outside or when there's less risk if
she goes shopping.
He wants to learn how to do it.
Well, he can't. That's what.
Cause it's the spirits that tell ya.
He's only got the bad spirits.
No good ones are gonna come to him are they? I won't be telling him, that's
for sure. "
Thomo looked puzzled. He really couldn't believe all this spirit business.
He was a whitey through and through. He had to have logic and science.
Even if he could experience it himself he wouldn't believe it.
It had to be proved by science. tested, not experienced.
"do ya think his brain is going? Alzheimer's or dementia?
He's not young. Could be going round the bend." Thomo asked.
"Na, it's his obsession. His power. He's got to do a favour for someone higher
up. He acts like his life is on the line, but then he chickens out.
I heard him on the phone, barneying about it. He was saying to someone, that
'you sent you're own man and he couldn't do it, then you sent another and he
failed. I'm doing my best.
it 's like she's jinked us.
There's always some sort of intervention.
Like she belongs to the sisterhood or something'.
His last words were,"How in the hell would I know."
He warned whoever it was that she's gonna cost us heaps.
and said, "She'll cause us all to be sent down."
He was in such a bad mood that I got outa there fast.
I just legged it when he wasn't looking.
He thinks the old one is like a jigsaw, but there's lots he doesn't understand.
Like she wrote to her own email the other day and the message just said that
the white widows password is these numbers. 8715 m13 and AL Qaeda.
What does that mean he kept asking?
I could only say I dunno, but that made him really cranky, so in the end I said
well her rego is MT13X.X Plus the M is her first name initial and 13 is also
the house number where she lives. Maybe m13 is something about herself.
Then the Boss said the Americans have been asked to track all Aussies for
any terrorist activity since 2011, so she was just making herself a target.
Like if you put bomb, or al Qaeda or Bin Laden or anything else like that in
your messages you will be tracked.
So I added, Maybe that is what she's doing.
Hoping they will track and follow her.
He said yeah, maybe, because she even saved the message in a folder
called sus al qae on her email server.”
He didn't think about the words 'white widow'. The tiger isn't a widow, so
maybe it was about someone else. He didn't ask google what white widow
meant. So I googles it later and it refers to Samantha Louise Lewthwaite
She is or was a female terrorist who was born in Ireland and went to
London and was married to one of the suicide bombers who bombed London
in 2005. That's what Google and wikipedia came up with.
I just love the internet, you can learn anything. The Boss also said she spent months downloading Al Qaeda files. When his mate looked at them he said it was all coded. She had hundreds of em.
Apparently got obsessed with de-coding em, and even sent 'em off to Canberra.
She wrote a letter to go with em.
So he got a mate to pretend to be a Sergeant Preston and ring her up and tell
her not to write any more letters.
Fancy calling ya self Preston. Preston was the scary dog in movie, 'A close
shave'. You remember that one don't ya? We used to watch it over and over
when we were kids. They probably picked that name to be scary.
Odd isn't it?
Thomo butted in with his own theory. “8715 could be a pin number. 13 even a
birthday, if not hers, then one of her kids. Nick her eftpos card and we could
try it.”.
Mannie rejected that idea straight away, "I'm not allowed to do anything that I'm not told to do. There's plenty of other people to get money from."
Mannie clung to his theory that it had something to do with a doll, but the boss dismissed that idea, and Thomo let it pass over his head.
"She had written about the doll in one of her stories. She wrote that she
bought the doll second hand and googled it's numbers on the back of it's
neck, to see if it was worth something. That was when she found the terrorists
forum, and all that coded stuff. She's got all those dolls in her bedroom. Laid
out on that red couch, and more on top of her wardrobe covered by a
mosquito net. sorta on display. "
"A mosquito net?" Thomo was incredulous.
"Yes." Mannie repeated it. "yes". " probably to stop the dust".
Thomo was still thoughtful."It's all bull, Mannie. This Al Qaeda stuff. It's too far
fetched. The government's got professional code breakers and computer
experts to de code this stuff. Old ladies aren't capable of doing it.
She just writes terrorists stuff because she knows her computers are hacked.
Just to lay a false trail." Mannie shrugged his shoulders like he always did. It usually meant that he
didn't agree and wasn't going to waste his words on it. He always acted like his words were precious, unless he was in an unusual talkative mood and then all his words tumbled out of him like they were wind surfing over a waterfall.
“The bosses wife came up once with tea and biscuits cause she just wanted
to see what he was up to. She's one of them skinny bottle blonds, who's been
too long in the sun. Lots of wrinkles.
She's opposite to the old one. She's been cooped up so long her skin's gone
even lighter. And she hasn't got many wrinkles. Looks ten years younger and
sorta softer, and fatter of course.
His missus glared at me, real nasty like, but the boss said, “say hello to my
young friend”.
So she says “hello.”
Eventually, he told me that '”He'll get someone who enjoys his work”.
He is obsessed with the old one. Like he seems to enjoy the chase, but doesn't really want her dead. He often calls off the chase.
He's like a cat with a mouse”.Thomo suggested that the boss fancies her.
“No, I don't think so. He’s just a sadist. Like a kid who collects flies and ties
them up with fishing line while they're still alive. I saw him mutilate a live cat
once. Sorta showing off. It's getting me down. It's not a real do. Like it's not exciting. A big warehouse
robbery or a transport truck full of hams and cheese with a good team would
be worth the hassle. This is all sorta kids stuff”.
“Thomo said, well you've been safe so far, and you haven't got done
anything. You haven't been caught and had to go to jail. Remember little fish
are sweet Mannie. Less risk. The drugs traffic is easy money, and no outlay.
We've all had plenty out of it”.
Mannie still kept talking, “If she doesn't do something odd, then someone else
does. Like one time when she went to Nowra. Next thing her son-in-law gets
a lift back with her. He's a pretty big bloke. So our fellows decided not to risk
it. They followed and then got level with the car. One of the daughters
driving. Kid and old one in the back. Both looking. They thought it was too
hard with four of them. When she was dropped off, he picked up his motor
bike from his parents house which just happens to be near hers, and drives
back home. There had been no talk about him going back with them before.
Like she didn't even know about it.
Its the spirits protecting her, that's what it is.
Sometimes she drives through red lights, and floors it to get away. Like she's
some sort of crazy racing car driver. It does make it hard for them to keep up.
That’s how she lost them a couple of times. She's even chased them, or they
thought she did. It's hard to know, all the watchers are either idiots or are
paranoid.
They reckon that she even doubles back sometimes to see if they did follow”.
Mannie paused.
Then went on.
“Oh, the best one was when they had 2 blokes with a portable amber light,
The kind you put on top of the car. I think they thought they would cause her
to stop. Like they were council workers or something. They had stopped on
the main street. She passed them, so they moved forward a bit onto the bus
stop, she goes around the corner, comes back past 'em and waves them off.
She waved her arm like, to say, get away. Urgent like. The idiots did as they
were told, thinking she was one of us. They drove off.
They were back there the next day when she went out and still missed her.
They must have been a couple of morons. He's always paying idiots and
morons. ”.
Thomo thought about it for a while, then said,
“what's a red light when you are about to get nabbed or shot?
She doesn't want to go on the missing list.
She knows that the cops won't even look for her.
There's over 420 unsolved killings since 1975. That's just in NSW. She's old
so they won't bother.
You can see all that on the internet.
She's got nothing to lose.
That car of hers has pretty quick take-off. It would do 180 klms easy.
Could be hard to catch if she floored it”.
Mannie was still talking about her.
Like he was possessed.
“The boss had two blokes try to snatch her from the reject shop.
There was no one around, and only 2 teenagers running the shop.
She had gone to the back and was looking at the books, sorta kneeling down.
Then the two came toward her, and the older one said, “Here's what we been
looking for”, and she stood up.
She said nothing but shot her hand up under her blouse, and held onto
something at the waist.
She just stood there.
The other bloke was younger and all pumped up ready for a battle, and the
older one, just said “Oh, Ok, Ok, let's go.”
He backed back, then turned on his heels with the off sider looking puzzled.
They both hurried off.
Apparently they thought she had a gun.
She had something, no one knows what.
They thought she would start screaming or something.
But she didn't.
She's not a screamer.
She just stays poker face.
That's what I mean by scaring them”.
Thomo piped up with some philosophical statements he heard someone say
in jail.
“Never underestimate the enemy”.
Then he added, “the most dangerous person is one who has nothing to lose”.
“She's not my enemy, and she ain’t gonna lose.” Mannie hissed crossly.
“How won't she lose?”, Thomo was more than intrigued.
“Stop asking me questions.
I told ya, it's the spirits.
She's got the spirits,” Mannie countered.
They trudged along and Mannie went dark again. He was like that. One
minute seemed ok, the next dark and sulky.
Thomo then suggested that they hit some nightspots, anything to cheer
Mannie up.
“Let's see the town and sell some stuff”.
He suddenly dashed across the road toward a rather flash car.
Mannie didn't follow. He just walked on.
Thomo had the car started in less than half a minute and drove around the
block, while Mannie kept walking, looking straight ahead as if he didn't know
a thing.
Thomo pulled up and said “get in”.
“So, why aren't we getting in the other one?” protested Mannie.
“This is a nice car. Stylish, sunroof, good tyres,
Plenty of petrol.
Even a phone.
I just rang the others.
They'll meet us”.
Thomo explained that he liked this one better.
Mannie asked, “who'd ya ring?, so when ya see 'em, tell em to chuck their
sim. ”
He complained that he didn't like it.
It would draw attention to them.
Too fancy for two street kids.
Mannie re-stated, “You should always take an older car.
A commodore if you can find one.”
Thomo complained about Mannie's rules.
He screeched around the corner and headed for the freeway.
Then drove quietly when Mannie groaned.
Mannie responded with, “I don't want to go out. Not now. I don't want to do
the nightspots. I just want to go home and get some sleep. She's been giving
me nightmares. I need sleep.
She's got the spirits telling her.
I'm sure of that, and all of us will get pay back when she dies.
Remember that Thomo.
Nothing's surer.
She's gonna come back and haunt us.
So
Just pull up.
You're too careless Thomo.
Dammit, You even used that phone!
You'll get us all caught, some day”.
Mannie was convinced that he was right.
“Just pull up!” he yelled again.
Mannie got out and as he disappeared into the darkness, he roared, “don't
ring me, I'll ring you”.
Thomo yelled back, “so where ya gonna get some sleep? You haven't got a
home to go to”.
“I got plenty of fox holes”. Mannie yelled back before he tore out the sim card
from his phone and threw it away, cursing under his breath.
Chapter 2 Mannie's Foxhole has a surprise visitor.
Thomo knew Mannie was right about his carelessness. He even felt bad
about saying that Mannie didn't have a home.
He drove around looking for him, and tried to figure out where he hiked it to.
He even bought a couple of hamburgers, to give as a peace offering when he
found him. Then he left the car on a side street. He didn't go back to it, but
when the police found it, they noted that the phone had been used and
tracked the call, and the web of subsequent calls. Not to mention the web of
previous calls. There would be a lot of information about drop-offs, and pickups
and favours.
It just so happened that the car belonged to a divorce court official. Those
people were running scared about being shot and or bombed by a disgruntled
parent. Usually a father. Some Judges had already been shot. Another had
died from a bomb.
Lots of innocent people had been injured.
It had been a long time ago, but the taste of fear stays.
They had friends in the police who would leave no clue unturned. Judge
Opas's friends would never forget.
So Thomo's friends phones were bugged, and the listeners heard some very
interesting conversations.
Thomo was not as careful as he should be, and Mannie had gone into hiding,
holed up somewhere, where no one could find him.
Thomo did feel bad about taunting him, and guessed that .
Mannie would go back to the best place he knew.
The old one's house. The home of the Tiger.
If the boss or the others found him there he was simply 'on the job'.
If no one found him he had the use of a nice cosy little flat, electric blanket,
towels, and all. He had some tins of food and another sleeping bag stashed in
the roof. If he had to leave the flat, he could get in the locked under house
section and sleep under her room. It was dry there, and there was a rolled up
sponge mattress and some canvas. A sleeping bag in a box would come in
handy. He'd slept there before. It felt odd to sleep under her room where her
bed was. A sort of double bunk with a floor, carpet and a long piece of pine
board between them. She had put the pine board under her bed, held down
with the weight of the bed itself. Mannie had noticed it when he was taking
photos of her room when she was out.
The others had drilled a hole through the floorboard, but hadn't been able to
budge the wood. She might have felt the bed move though.
When you were underneath, you could see the drill hole quite clearly.
Mannie thought that if the cops came, he would say that he was just
squatting. He would claim to be another homeless kid who had to find a safe
place to sleep.
He knew that she wouldn't press charges. He was sure of that.
She would just feel sorry for him.
She was one of those do-gooders you hear about.
The flat was behind her house was in the garden, and she had left it empty
for a few months. She got sick of the hassle of renting to overseas students
because of the language difficulties and their constant extra people staying
there for free. One of the students had been an Al Qaeda sympathiser and
supporter, who rented out the hot shower to others for $2.00 a go.
That had made her furious.
So for now she had left it empty.
It had 3 rooms, with the toilet and laundry separate, underneath the house.
Everything was supplied. Fridges, utensils, even bedding.
He checked it out, luckily it was still vacant.
The first job was to have a nice hot shower, then get some food, then bed.
He could get into the main house whenever he wanted and steal some food.
He preferred Mackas but right now anything would do.
He would re-arrange the cupboard to make it look like nothing was missing.
Like a real 'nigger in a woodpile'. In the old days, when they cut and packed a
pile of wood, a space would be left in the middle and would make the payer
think they had cut more than they did. That was the original reference for the
phrase. Probably someone could have even hidden in it.
He called her 'the Tiger', but the boss always referred to her as 'the old one',
even though she was about the same age as he was. The blokes on the job
liked to think of her as a Tiger in her lair.
She wore a lot of animal print. She had all this animal print stuff. A Tiger print
couch, a Tiger chair, some animal ornaments, some abo and New Guinea
artefacts. Lots of other animal stuff, including zebra rugs and Tiger pictures,
mixed in with some aboriginal pieces.
Mannie didn't like it much, because he felt threatened.
He wouldn't stay long. Five minutes at most, then he'd go to the flat.
Even if she heard him, she wouldn't come out of her room. He knew that.
Also, unless he or they started axing down her door, she wouldn't ring the
cops. The boss demanded that they “don't leave any evidence”. That was his
rule one, just the same as the Mafia.
So no one was game enough to axe her door.
She wanted her own real evidence, because she was sure that the cops
wouldn't believe her.
The listeners had heard her say, that by the time she rang for help, the
burglars would hear her and run away.
She'd been left looking like an idiot once before.
When she had called the cops, they came and made a racket.
Next thing, two of them knocked on her door and asked her to come outside
and check out the back.
She looked out and asked where their co-workers were, They said that the
others had been called urgently to another job. Then she asked them, where
was their cop car? They said they had parked up the street. She obviously
didn't believe they were real coppers. So she refused to go out. She told them
off, and shut the door. The boss had wondered what gave them away, and
decided it must have been that the main bloke looked too short, and no cop
car out the front was a give-away. Twice he had blokes knock on her door late
at night, pretending to be the police. She never answered, just went next day
and reported it. She was heard to say that they only gave soft knocks, not
loud thumps like real cops would do. They gave up too easy.
Besides, she didn't trust the cops, and she didn't want them finding her
zapping gadgets. She might get sectioned for being a harm to herself and
others. That would mean being committed to a mental institution. She thought
being committed was worse than death.
So, there he was, removing the smaller aluminium window from its frame and
getting into her office. On leaving at the last visit he had left the window held
with just 3 screws, and it was still ok.
He had a screwdriver in his pocket and used the chair from the porch to stand
on. That meant he didn't leave footprints or crush the plants. He disabled the
gadget, and climbed in.
It was only a few seconds before he was drinking her milk, eating some sliced
cheese and a banana. Pinching a few supplies to take down to the flat. An
egg here, two slices of bread there, a bit of butter in a plastic bag. Porridge
for breakfast, UHT milk and some meat from the freezer, and a few cans of
staples like spaghetti and baked beans. A couple of mandarins completed his
pantry.
The solid small bags of meat were hard to identify, but when defrosted, they
provided a sort of sunny surprise. One looked like it could be bacon.
Tomorrow night he would fetch his bag of clothes from under the neighbours'
house.
He felt comfortable and safe.
If she did come down to check out the flat, he could easily launch himself up
into the garage roof. The flat had been a garage with a side verandah, which
had been filled in, and another room added at the back.
He always pushed the latch on the door, and he had checked that the roof
hatch wasn't nailed down. She also had lots of storage shelves in there which
were wide and deep. He could always hide on one of those. Sometimes he
even slept up there. It felt like a bunk and he wasn't likely to be surprised in
his sleep. It depended on whether the spirits had him with the heebie jeebies.
If he was extra nervous. Usually he slept on the floor, or on a less troubled
night he slept on top of the bed in his sleeping bag.
He'd stayed there many times before.
Home away from home. Nice.
While he was collecting, he listened.
Suddenly he heard a noise.
Like someone getting in.
Under the kitchen bench.
The cutting table moved forward very gently.
He quickly hid under the dining table, pulling the tablecloth further down on
the far side. There was nowhere else to hide, she had every corner filled up
with stuff.
Mannie was surprised that someone had another way of entry.
Gradually a mop of blond hair emerged from behind the bench. Slowly and
quietly the bench was pushed forward, and then he saw him.
A child. No more than 4 years old. A very pretty little boy, blue eyes and a
thick mop of blonde hair. Nice white chubbiness under a pink skin. Pink arms
that were bruised as if someone had held him hard.
So now Mannie knew that when the Tiger, the- old-one, had reported a child's
hand print inside the back glass door, she had been right. Two female cops
came to look, but nothing came of it.
The boy looked around and went straight to the big Dolls house. He took
some things and put them in his pocket. Then he went to the back sliding
door, unscrewed the wooden bar, turned off the electrical gadget at the power
point, undid the locks and let a man in.
Neither of them spoke.
Then the man went to her computer and copied stuff.
He motioned to the boy, who by now had looked in the fridge and had a slice
of soft cheddar cheese in his mouth. The man glared at him sternly, sort of
scowled and the boy looked scared. Then the boy came to the table and got
under, just as the man walked toward her bedroom. Those blue eyes
widened, so Mannie put his finger to his lips, smiled and put a piece of
chocolate in his hand.
Mannie understood the situation clearly.
He knew the frantic fear of a captive child.
He knew what it was like to be taken from his bed,
or from the cupboard under the stairs
or from the ply box where he'd been kept.
He smiled at the blue eyes, and kept putting his finger to his lips, nodding.
The boy nodded back and Mannie gave him another piece of chocolate.
Mannie thought the boy was probably stolen.
One of those ones that boy lover dot com sold back and forth to different
men.
The Tiger, the old woman, had written about it, the boss said she knew what
was going on. No one knew how she had uncovered it, but she'd sent a letter
to the British cops and the paedophile ring was found to be based in Sydney
and something like 900 people were arrested and 243 kids rescued world
wide. There were on-going investigations which would find others.
Mannie didn't have to know all the details, but he knew it was the spirits
again. The boss had kept saying “how could she know?”
He remembered that his friends had found part of her letter still on her hard
drive, but most of it she had erased before saving. She hadn’t deleted it all
because she knew it could be retrieved. She left just enough to drive the boss
mad.
She had written a story about being given a murder magazine and it had
these two scot paedophiles (Charles O'Neill and William Lauchlan)who had
murdered a Mrs Allison McGarrigle, because she was going to dob them in.
One of the blokes had spent his childhood in Australia, (O'Neill) went to jail in
Australia when he was 21, attacked a warder, left him brain damaged,
escaped back to Scotland and teamed up with the another paedophile.
(Lauchlan). Years later, both these men were in the same town as was
Madelaine McCann when she disappeared.
So there was a link to Sydney and Aus. That was the link she uncovered.
She wrote to Scotland yard.
As he hid under the table, he could hear more noises, like the man was trying
to get her bedroom door open. Then he could hear her put the light on, and
walk about her room. She must have been wondering what to do.
Mannie was sure that she had a plan. He'd been in her room and took photos
for the Boss when she was out. He'd searched for a bug or anything likely to
catch the contractors out. She had a security camera outside and the old TV
video capture. They only had to spray the camera with hair spray or use a
remote to stop the video recorder.
She was hard of hearing so she had a baby monitor in her room, which
picked up most sounds. The amplified noise would wake her. She had bars
and electrical gadgets at the door, and what Mannie didn't tell the Boss was
that she had a small gas cylinder and matches near her bed. It looked pretty
dangerous, and Mannie thought she'd never risk it.
He didn't think she'd burn an intruder with a makeshift flame thrower, but he
did say to himself. 'you never know what people will do if pushed'.
She also had a loud alarm which sat ready for the power pins to be pushed in
and activated. The bedroom aluminium window was guarded with another
electrical gadget, so no one was likely to try to crow bar it open.
Plus, she had a light shining from inside her bedroom out onto the car in the
driveway.
Someone had wanted the car to give his girl for Christmas, and she had
heard them. They damaged the driver window and now she couldn't wind it
down. She couldn't afford to get it fixed, just had to put up with it. They tried to
steal it three times. The car had been kept under an internal light ever since.
It was only a few nights ago when he baby monitor picked up the suppressed
sobs of a child.
Little sobs,
suffering sobs,
subdued sobs.
She could hear him trying not to cry, but still she refused to come out and
investigate. She thought it could be a trap.
The emotional turmoil upset her so much, that she had pains in her heart.
Blood pressure ringing in her ears, and he head felt like it was about to
explode. She took more pills to try to avoid a stroke.
She could only pray for the child.
She didn't ring the police.
She knew they wouldn't believe her, and by the time they arrived the child
and the man would be gone.
So she prayed.
Mannie wondered if this contractor had someone on lookout and he
wondered what to do. Then he decided that this bloke mightn’t be that careful.
He was too sure of himself.
He walked cocky, like Thomo did.
Stood tall.
Shoulders back, chest out.
More out there than soldiers.
The kinda cocky walk that jailbirds get.
Defensive like.
Like he looked the whole world in the face.
Like he owned it.
Like he had total control.
Mannie pulled up his trouser leg.
Ever since the Wolf had tried to choke him he was armed.
He had a small gun in a holster strapped to his ankle.
He took it out and cocked it.
Meanwhile, the boy just looked at him, then played quietly with a boy toy and
a little boat, taken from her dolls house.
She had several dolls houses and she took photos and made little videos with
them. The boy doll was made to look like one of her grandsons, Ryan.
The Blonde blue eyed boy reached for another toy. Toy dogs at the big dolls'
house front door.
It was like he was so used to being there, he belonged.
Mannie didn't take long to decide what to do. If the man looked under the
table and found him, he was gunna be dead.
Mannie knew that this man was 'someone who enjoyed his work', and that he
would never have met or spoken to the boss. There was no point in trying to
explain that he, Mannie, was the Boss's right hand man.
The boss wouldn't like it either.
Fear of imminent death hovered over him.
Immediate death is one thing, fear of torture was another.
Mannie thought about that Asian kid who was tortured and murdered in Loftus
st, 2007, just a short walk away..
Just because he was a bit of competition.
Then he remembered that other poor bloke who was snatched from the bus
stop in Mt Keira road. Two streets away. His body was never found. Then
another who was snatched from Unanderra when he took his kid to
kindergarten. He wasn't found either
He didn't dare to think of the twenty or so others. Like the Indian woman from
Berkeley. Missing after going to the petrol station
She had already complained to the police and her Indian husband had
hurried back to India but she decided to stay. She thought she would be ok.
Mannie was getting seriously worried, because all these people were victims
who disappeared within a 5 klm radius of the Tigers house, or more precisely,
the Boss's house.
This fella, in the Tiger's – the old one's- house, was definitely someone to
worry about.
He would have been contracted by a third person.
Just like the Wolf.
Another Wolf look- alike but no where near as smart.
If he was smart he wouldn't have bought the kid along to leave his hand print.
He would never had met the Boss.
If he found Mannie there he would kill him. He might even kill the kid because
he would be a witness.
There was nothing surer.
There was no way out for Mannie. He was trapped, as surely as the Tiger
was, except so far she was safe. Mannie knew in a moment he would be
exposed. All his life he had been on the run, from people, from the cops and
from murderers. He couldn't get out from under the table without being seen,
he had nowhere to go.
The man came back and stopped next to the table. Mannie expected him to
look under, but he didn't. The boy looked scared again, and Mannie was
shaking. He held the gun and pointed up the man’s groin and fired. The man
fell with a bang and a groan. Then nothing.
The old woman didn't come out of her room, and the blue eyed boy sat
motionless.
It was only a few seconds but it seemed like forever before Mannie crept out
and looked.
The man lay as dead as a dormouse. Mannie took his pulse and looked to
see that the bullet had travelled upwards from his stomach to his chest on the
left side. There was very little blood, just a small ooze. He grabbed a kitchen
towel and stopped the trickle of blood and rolled the man onto his side. He
poured a little bleach over the stain on the rug. He knew where she kept
everything in the house, as if he lived there.
Mannie had prided himself in that he wasn't a killer, but now the awful truth
dawned on him.
He had just killed a man.
The man was dead.
Mannie was surprised that he didn't feel anything.
He felt detached.
Separate.
As if he was just an onlooker.
Almost as if some other spirit had entered his body and pulled the trigger.
He wondered if it was his grandpa guiding him. He did have a grandpa
somewhere.
Did his dead grandpa inhabit his body and take it over, in order to save him?
He shook his head to get it clear.
The body was still warm, when Mannie decided to get him out of the house.
He searched his pockets and took his wallet, keys and anything that could
identify him. He also took the man's gun and phone.
He looked at his forearms and noticed an old fashioned small tattoo on the
left arm. A tattoo of a forearm with a clenched fist. On his right forearm was
another small old tattoo with two arms with clenched fists, diagonal with a
cross like two crossed swords in the centre.
Both tattoos were on the outside of the arm, so if he wanted to hide them he
had to wear long sleeves. Costra Nosta, Greeks or Syrians maybe.
Mannie didn't know.
He dragged the body out the front door and hurriedly went to another house
to get their big grey garbage bin. He didn't take her grey bin because they are
all numbered and it might be traced. He wheeled the bin inside, lay it on its
back and pushed him in head first, and pushing his arms downwards and
tucking up his legs.
Then he lifted it onto it's wheels, and wheeled the dead man outside.
He pushed the bin down the street and around the corner, because the slope
of the ground made it easier to go that way. He didn't think about the fact that
the bin was now not far from the Boss's place. The Boss's house faced the
creek, but the road rose uphill from there so Mannie either had to wheel it into
the creek area or leave it on the footpath. So he wheeled it along the grass
path, then pushed it into the rather shallow creek.
He hoped that it might not be found for a day or two.
He quickly left, to race back to the house and lock up as if he had never been
there.
He didn't lose his head, he just carefully went about the house wiping
everything down. He didn't want any fingerprints or any DNA left behind. Not
his or the that of dead man's.
He'd been creeping about for a while, when the boy looked out from under
the tablecloth. Mannie had nearly forgotten him.
The beautiful blonde boy whispered,
“I just want to go home.”
“Ok, Ok, I'll take you. One more minute.”
Mannie responded softly, hoping the child knew where home was.
He put back most of the food he had taken, and decided he could get it later,
then watched as the boy put the toys back in exactly the same place where
they had been. He offered the boy a banana and a swig from the carton of
milk.
Mannie didn't think to check the boy's pockets
He looked at the the boy and said. “lets go”.
The boy motioned to him to go out first, then carefully clipped the back door
and let himself out the way he came in, while Mannie waited outside.
He remembered to dump the kitchen towel in someone else's bin.
Then the boy took Mannie's hand and they walked on.
It was a strange feeling, to feel a small child's hand in his.
It was so soft and spongy, and warm.
Like he was holding a little living thing, which of course, he was.
The child squeezed his hand tight.
Mannie had never held a child's hand before.
“so where you live?” he asked.
The boy shook his head, and said “I don't know”.
After a while Mannie asked if he had a mother and the boy nodded. A couple
of tears ran down his baby face. Mannie could see them by the light of the
moon so he turned away. The word mother cut a deep hole in Mannie's
heart. It hurt every time he heard it. It was a cry from the heart. He had tears
in his eyes.
He handed the boy his wipe- down- rag to wipe his face, and helped him blow
his nose.
As they walked along, Mannie asked, if the man he was with was his father,
and the boy said no.
The boy walked so slow, and said he was tired, so Mannie lifted him onto his
shoulders and hurried along.
He struggled with his decision.
Like where to take him. It was already 2am.
He could hardly walk into the cop shop and tell them what happened.
He couldn't take him to the hospital because there were cameras
everywhere. He had to avoid the main road with it's speed cameras and
anywhere he knew he might be seen or photographed.
He decided on the church on the hill at the back of Figtree.
Sort of at the corner of a side street.
The parson and his wife lived in the house next door. He could dump him
there. So he made his way as fast as he could. It was all uphill and hard
going. Mannie was already tired, but he did it in record time.
He put the boy down and said to him,
“Go knock on the door, tell the man you are lost. Tell him you were stolen. He
is a good man and he will help you. Say you are tired and hungry and that
you just want to go home.
You understand what to say?”
The boy nodded. “I'll say I just want to go home”.
Mannie added, “Listen, when they ask you how you got here or who brought
you, don't tell em. Don't say anything about me or what I look like.
Only say it was a white fella. Big bloke like the one you were with.
I'll wait and watch that you go in OK.”
Before he left, Mannie turned and asked,
“So what's your name anyway?”
“Timmy” the boy said.
“And your second name?”
“Diver. I'm Timmy Diver”.
Mannie watched as the parson came to the door and the boy was taken in.
The parson looked about as if he knew someone else was there. Then
Mannie left, knowing that he had saved one child.
He wondered if the spirits had sent him there to get the boy.
To rescue him.
He hoped he would eventually get back to his mother.
He trudged north. He couldn't go back to his little safe flat behind her house
or camp under her room while she slept.
So now he had to go to another hiding place.
He couldn't turn up at the St Vinnies men’s shelter, or the Lighthouse. It was
too late for that. Besides he had met some really bad fellas there.
Like the one who murdered the ex mayor. He usually stayed there, reading
his satanic books and talking too much.
Mannie had his own spirit people to contend with.
He had a few hideouts up his sleeve.
He was always well prepared.
He was thorough.
Just like the Tiger.
He had to lie low and wait for the body to be found, and for the fuss to settle.
He thought about dumping the gun, but decided to keep it until he got another
one. Two guns were better than one.
He let himself into another old pensioner's back yard shed, up near the
freeway and curled up in a sleeping bag. He had a stash he had hidden there
months before.
He thought he could sleep for a week.
But of course, he didn't.
It was in the papers the next day. That a body had been found dumped 20
miles away. Over the mountain, on the side of the freeway. Not where he'd
left it. The police had said that the man had been shot at close range and
from below, but not where he had been found.
So, someone had heard and seen him put the body in the creek.
They had retrieved it.
Then taken it some where else.
The boss must have had a watcher.
Or he had seen it himself.
Geezis.
Geezis.
Geezis
Mannie kept saying Geezis to himself, he was cursing rather than praying.
Later, when he thought about it, he decided that it was the best solution.
It protected the Boss's house, it avoided the truth of where the man had been
shot, and took the heat away from them.
Not that it helped Mannie much.
There was a small article about a four year old boy being abandoned and left
at the parsonage. There was a photo of smiling Timmy. He had been
interviewed by the police who were trying to find the boys mother, and they
were appealing for anyone who knew anything about him.
The only clue about the boy, was that he wanted to play with a dolls house.
He had a fine porcelain miniature toy dog in his pocket, which had been
carefully coated with fine threads to look like hair, with a bow around it's neck.
It was not a child's toy.
It would have been part of a miniature collection.
Mannie wondered how many old sticky beaks would have seen her dolls
house room.
He also wondered if those two female coppers would remember her house.
Of course they did.
They were there next morning. 8am. It was a Sunday.
She wasn't willing to let them in because she didn't trust anyone.
“I didn't ring you or ask for help.
I've asked for help before and just got threatened with being arrested instead.
You lot let that older woman die in her house in Nowra. You didn't even
respond to the 911 call. That old woman who was left tied to her bed. She
took 3 weeks to die, not to mention the other one you lot abandoned.
Goodness knows how many others were ignored.
So I've got nothing to say, except that these criminals only exist because
some of you, not all, are crooked.
I've rung up,
I've been to see you,
I've written letters but nothing, except threats to section me.
Oh, and that copper named Preston, rang and told me not to write again.
911 even said I didn't sound scared enough.
So don't tell me that you're here to help me.
I don't have to let you in”.
Well, the cops argued back and forth, but they knew how to deal with that
one.
They got a warrant and someone leaked the story to the press.
They threatened to force her to come out. Tear gas and stuff.
It was turned into a media frenzy. The front yard covered with media vultures,
looking for a photo or a couple of one liners.
The cops bought along a doctor and a mental health nurse, to threaten to
section her.
The press got a few pictures but the Tiger refused to say anything.
She covered her face with a bit of a netting scarf and refused to talk.
The defiant Tiger was taken from her lair.
“Buy my book” she yelled. “Buy my book”.
She kept saying to the cops,
“Charge me. Or leave me alone. I have rights. Charge me, and don't leave
the place in a mess or I'll sue you”.
They contacted her kids who came along with their own preconceived ideas.
They wanted to hire her a lawyer, but she said no.
She was going to defend herself.
She wasn't going to let them borrow money to pay another crook.
Timmy Driver, the four year old was bought along to confirm that this was the
house where the dolls house stood. He was coerced to show them how he
would get in.
He knew of two or three entries.
One near the sink, one under the bathroom, plus one near the pianola.
The entry hole near the sink had a section of floorboards cut and hinged.
That was the quickest way in.
Then there was the top window in the corner of the lounge room. The pane
of glass appeared to be firmly in place but it wasn't. He could get in that way.
The other space was where the floorboards were cut at the far side where the
bath stood against the kitchen wall. There was a curved space beside the
bath. He had to go under the house and open them that way.
Three sections of floorboards were cut and hinged to allow him to get in.
The wooden wall dividing the bathroom backed onto the old kitchen
cupboards.
The appropriate pieces of timber had been altered. The space allowed a
small person to get in and out, and turn a latch when they left.
It did mean they had to empty the cupboard first and replace everything after,
but one cupboard held only plastic containers and juicers and mixers. Another
held only saucepans. The boards didn't move, even if you pushed them from
inside the cupboard. It was really clever.
He took the little dog from his pocket and put it back where it belonged.
Swapped it for a whole block of chocolate, and eventually told them about the
dark fella who shot the man and took him to the parsonage.
They found the dead man's fingerprints on her bedroom door, but none of
Mannie's. No evidence that the murder had taken place in her house. Except
on the rug. Bleached where blood had been.
They photographed and searched the premises. Inside and out. Even up in
the lined attic. They had to move a lot of stuff to open the hatch and pull down
the ladder. There was lots of clear plastic bags of material, and paintings and
shoes and handbags. Things she had used for filming. Most packed fairly
neatly. Two animal print covered chairs, sitting on 2 tiger patterned rugs.
A small table and a red standing lamp made the room look like someone's
lounge room. Cosy.
One of the coppers noticed fresh footprints, where a large man's size ten
shoe had walked recently. It seemed he had got in above the front porch
ceiling. This person had left a finger print on the light switch and on the
railing. It wasn't Mannie's, and it wasn't the dead man's. They hoped to find a
match. The house had more burglar holes than a block of Swiss cheese.
Mannie knew that he was in a tight spot, he accepted his fate and decided
that he would just have to go somewhere else.
He'd have to go walkabout.
He wasn't to know if the boss knew or if the dead man had someone on
lookout, or who had retrieved the body and dumped it such a distance away.
He realised that he couldn't just walk away from the boss, the Boss owned
him.
Mannie was no better than a slave.
He would never be free.
Mannie thought he had to either go and tell him what happened, or carry on
as normal or find an excuse to keep him happy.
He'd think of something.
He decided on a real walkabout. Up country, longa way away.
He wasn't sad or upset, but he didn't really want to have to leave the place he
knew, or leave his friends, such as they were.
Plus it was the smell of the sea.
The seaweed sea.
He was like a salmon born near his spawning grounds.
He thought about his peoples contact with the sea and the dolphins and the
killer whales. His ancestors.
Someone had told him to call them by chanting and slapping the surface of
the sea.
He'd called them once. When he was in serious trouble. And they came.
They frolicked in the distance and one came quite close as if to say ,"Don't be
afraid'. It had been another strange unexplainable experience. The thought of
it made him feel better.
He was only ever 'at home' whenever he lived near the sea.
Despite all his troubles, Mannie felt pretty good.
He was happy because he had decided that he was a hero.
He had killed a man who was a child trafficker.
He had saved the Tiger, the- old- one temporarily.
He had saved the boy.
Mannie didn't feel bad about it at all.
He felt proud.
He felt he outa go out there and kill em all.
Become some sorta vigilante
He looked again at the beautiful baby face in the paper.
Timmy looked happy.
There was an older lady with her arm around him.
He was smiling because he knew that he was safe.
Maybe the cops would find his mother, if she wasn't dead or a druggo.
Gradually Mannie felt a sort of natural euphoria.
He was elated.
He'd done good.
Now he had two guns, so he could do payback.
He had a mission.
A purpose in life.
He would start with the Wolf.
He had to decide what to do about the boss.
The Boss had many coppers on the pay roll. The boss would never pay for
any crime he had done personally, and he wouldn't think twice about dobbing
in a worker for some crime he did or didn't do.
The danger for Mannie was that the Boss would get the cops to look for him.
He wouldn't just let him go. Mannie knew too much. So Mannie left a
message for the boss saying he was on walkabout tracking the Wolf. The
Boss would be pleased with that.
He was always wanting action, so Mannie would be seen to be taking action.
The cops tracked all the gangs phone calls, called on Mannie's friends, who
all said they didn't know anything and didn't know where he was. They didn't
know where he might go.
They pressured them about recent robberies and searched their relatives
homes, pulling drawers and emptying cupboards an leaving everything in a
mess. They pestered them relentlessly. They even sent the phones a
software that turned the phone into a microphone and they could then hear
what they were saying. It was new technology used by corporate spies.
Some big companies demanded that their employees removed their phone
batteries when they were attending meetings.
Secrets were everywhere and they needed protecting.
It was getting harder to do so.
The tiger- the old one had heard about that so she only inserted her battery
into her mobile when she wanted to use the phone, but the home phone was
harder to protect.
Two of Mannie's mates were taken into custody on trumped up charges,
hoping to make them talk.
Luckily for Mannie, he had always been quite secretive. He kept his cards
close to his chest, never letting the right hand know what the left hand was
doing. He learnt that early.
Chapter 3 Constable Cox
Constable cox was given the job of checking on the smart black 2009 Mercedes Benz Slk which
had been stolen from a few streets away from her house. It was already five years old but in
immaculate condition. The body was more rounded and somewhat plumper than the earlier hard
top models. It looked sort of womanly. Curvy. It suggested that a young sexy looking blond would
be behind the wheel.
The forensics report said it had not been damaged, and gave a list of all the phone numbers which
had been called from the car phone, the most recent belonging to a gang of young goons. All
previous calls had been traced, and all their phones were on alert.
The car belonged to a serving clerk of the divorce court in Parramatta, and the owners main interest
was in relating to his safety. He had worked on the Tracy Brown case when Justice Opas, and the
next two subsequent judges bombed or murdered.
The wife of one Judge was killed.
Tracy's, Uncle Stephen was shot and the Jehovah witness hall where her aunty was a convert, was
blown up with 110 people in it. A bomb was also left outside the Court but no one had been hurt.
(1980-1985) The murders and outrages were all over the custody of Tracy Brown, then a toddler.
Seven attacks, including the shootings and several bombings, left four people killed and dozens
injured but no one had been charged, despite all the incriminating links.
The $500,000.00 reward drew nothing. No one was charged.
Constable Cox thought that perhaps the police themselves were afraid of such a formidable
opponent.
The executive summary on the report suggested that these youths were participating in serious
crimes, and recommended around the clock surveillance.
Constable Cox put procedures in place to comply with the request.
Mannie had been right to be cross when Thomo had 'taken the car for a ride'. He
had chucked his sim card and luckily Pugsie had lost his phone and had a new sim
and phone for the past 3 weeks. Nevertheless, all old calls left a trail of interesting
information.
He told Pugsie all about what happened that night. He was usually closed mouth,
but often, when he started to talk, everything sort of poured out of him, like a
torrent. Thoughts and words welled up like an untapped spring. Probably because
most of his life was lived in isolation and alone. Hours together on a road trip was a
perfect place for confessions, and the companionship did him good.
Pugsie's life had been so different. He lived in a close knit family, eight in the house,
and other relatives close by.
Tongan society demanded close ties.
Pugsie was suitable impressed. He had been at the tiger's, the - old one
house, the night the Wolf had caught him and tried to choke him with his gold
chain. Pugsie had fought back and luck was on his side. He had been so
scared that he had hid for twenty four hours before he went home to a frantic
mother and relatives.
Mannie's plan was to find Pugsie and hope to get the Wolf's rego number,
then find him. 1st Nick a delivery van, go get some money.
Step 2 if Pugsie did have the number, Mannie planned to follow an innocent
shy, RTA worker home. Knock on his door and ask him to give him the bikers
name and address, and see how long the bike had been registered to him
Mannie would pretend that the biker had knocked him off his push bike, and
say that he wanted to get him pay for damages. He'd try for sympathy first,
limp a bit. He'd use the broken wing trick.
He'd try to convince the guy that it wasn't such a big deal to give out
someone's name and address, and no one would ever know how he got it.
If that didn't work, he'd tell the bloke that he'd be back and burn his house
down with him asleep in it.
Then after that, hopefully he'd find the Wolf.
The Wolf with those cold ice blue eyes, and the sadistic streak. Dark hair,
wide eyes with a square European head. Tallish, solid build.
The Wolf, the professional hitman, was a murderer.
Mannie decided that he would shoot him, and leave him in the street.
Execution style.
He hoped that the Wolf still had the bike, and that the rego hadn't changed.
After he stole the van, (a small older delivery van so he could sleep in it),
Mannie took the precaution of leaving a note for the van's owner. The note
said, 'don't call the cops, and you'll get the van back. The boss needed it.
He wrote it with socks on his hands as gloves, so it was barely legible.
He always wore a second pair of socks. They were used to wipe down
fingerprints, and sometimes as carry bags for jewellery. If the cops pulled him
up for for questioning gloves could be considered suspicious burglar tools,
but the wearing of two pairs of socks was not against the law. One of his
friends use to put socks on his dog when they were out on a job.
Mannie parked the van a distance from Pugsie's house and went there after
dark.
The house was always open. He could hear the mother in the kitchen, so he
let himself in, and crept up to Pugsie's room. He knew he had to wait a while
so he got into Pugsie's bed and fell asleep.
Pugsie wasn't so surprised to see him, and obediently went downstairs to get
a bowl of leftovers, pretending that he was still hungry.
Mannie ate it ravenously. Then they had a long talk.
Pugsie surprised Mannie with a message from Thomo.
The message was that "Thomo was sorry he had riled Mannie, and he had
tried to find him, and had taken him some grub. He didn’t get to deliver the
grub but had delivered something else."
Pugsie didn't know what it meant and Mannie didn't know either. His deal with
Thomo was for him to sell and Mannie would deliver, because Mannie still
had the packet of white powder in his pocket. Maybe Thomo had delivered
his own stash and Mannie owed him for it. It didn't make sense.
If Thomo sold his own stash, and got the money for it, then what did it have to
do with Mannie. Maybe Thomo needed more stuff to on sell.
He decided to figure it out later.
Instead of playing computer games, they tried to find the Wolf's details on the
internet. Pugsie had kept the Wolf's rego in case he needed it one day.
Mannie had learnt a bit about hacking, and Pugsie was pretty good too.
They hacked into a rego tracking site and found it. Maybe the RTA worker
wouldn't be needed after all. The Wolf had moved out west. Eight hours away.
He'd gone to Wee Waa.
They then searched for anything else about him. His real name was Peter
McAlister. He had an old facebook page which said what school he had
attended. More searches found old friends, so Mannie had more leads.
"Old friends can be useful", Pugsie commented, " they can tell ya all sorts of
things."
Pugsie was excited and wanted to go too, because he had good reason for
revenge. He had some money saved up, and begged Mannie to take him
along. After a lot of discussion, Mannie agreed.
Pugsie was a quiet friendly guy of Tongan descent. A good mixer. He would
be able to find other Tongans all over the country.
Mannie thought that he could rely on him, and he wasn't careless like
Thomo.
It was decided that Pugsie would leave a note for his mother and say they
went to Albury (south not north west) to Mannie's Grandma. She didn't exist
and it was a lie of course. He was to accidentally leave his phone behind, to
avoid any tracking. Mannie said they'd get a new one.
Pugsie was to write in the note to his mum not to mention Mannie to anyone,
because Mannie was in a false spot of bother with the cops.
He was innocent of course.
They'd be back in five days, and he promised to write a card each day and
say he was ok.
His mother didn't know that he would use a trick that Mannie taught him, a
trick which Mannie had learnt from the Tiger. The- old- one.
The boss had recorded her children complaining that she was in two different
states on the same day, and one of them had asked her how she did it.
That was when she had thought it was best to run. She ran off three times but
came back. Her tie to her children and her home was stronger than her fear
of death.
She had explained that if you write a letter to a postmaster and ask him send
it on, he would. He was obliged to do so. Provided it had stamps on it, of
course.
Pugsie wrote out his card and put it in a stamped envelope. Then put that in
another envelope, addressed to the postmaster in another town far from
where they were. He wrote on the back of the outer envelope, 'please post to
my mum so she knows I'm Ok'.
Next day he'd write to another postmaster a long way from there and do the
same thing. Maybe even write to another state. It meant two stamps for each
letter, but such little cost for peace of mind. The letters would arrive from
different places, so no one would actually be able to track where they were.
Mannie said that it was a good trick because it made it harder for them to be
tracked. It was unlikely that the postmasters would keep the outer envelopes
which would show a postmark where they actually were. There was a bit of
risk, but Pugsie's mother had to be consoled. She had to be stopped from
calling the cops.
They always kept their batteries out of their phones, and had a stash of new
sims if they needed to ring up. Mannie was careful to use cash everywhere.
To avoid being tracked by credit cards.
Mannie was bright and cheerful for once. It was not actually a walkabout, but
a sort of drive- by holiday. He'd have company and Pugsie had his own
reason for revenge. Pugsie still had the scar from the chain around his neck.
He wore a new gold chain he'd been given for his birthday, but he had cut
through one of the links, for safety's sake. If force was used it would come off
easily.
They left at dawn. Pugsie did a lot of the driving while Mannie slept. They
took sleeping bags and pillows, a couple of sponge mattresses, food, and
money. Pugsie had even provided some of his younger brother's clean
clothes that fitted Mannie.
They wouldn't have to fill up with petrol and scoot off without paying.
They had money to pay.
They were both careful not to draw attention to themselves.
Mannie even nicked a couple of spare rego plates. Taken from old cars of
course. He swapped them with the ones on the van when they were about
100ks away, then got Pugsie to post to his mum so she wouldn't go crying
that he was kidnapped.
Mannie was optimistic. He was sure all would go well.
Meanwhile, The Tiger was holed up at home. She'd been sent home after half
a day of questioning, and the magistrate happened to be same one she had
been to see 10 years previously. He remembered her. That was when
someone had crowbarred her front screen door off and broke the door jamb.
She had asked for advice, and at the time he had told her this was very
serious. She should take out a restraining order on the south side neighbours.
She didn't, because she thought it would make things worse. Eventually she
gave up her home of 30 years and moved to her present place. She was one
who made the best of it. Some of her motto’s were 'don't feel anything'. 'Don't
look back with regret', 'just keep on keeping on'.
She was back home, locked in, writing her little stories and filling her diary
with records of strange co-incidences, and looking for evidence of where
someone had got in. She was hopeful that the police would believe her and at
least watch the place. She'd been reluctant to use her gadgets to zap
anyone, in case it was a kid.
She re-read her story about the little boy lost. She didn't think it was much
good, but it was about him.
I just want to go Home
by Morgan Ramsay © 2012
When the little boy said, “I want to go home”, somehow I recognised his voice.
I already knew the tragedy of his fate. Tied to a father who controls him, used him like a
monkey to get into the old ladies house, my house,where I sleep in a locked room in fear
of kidnap and death.
I have heard and even seen them via my security camera, but not the boy.
I know he is there because he hides under the table. He pulls the cloth across as far as
possible to conceal himself.
The footstool is moved and he steals little things.
Little Boy things. Not little girl things
Like the dagger from the doll's house cooks apron. .
Sometimes it is like he wants to tell me that he was there.
He wants this to end because he “just wants to go home.”
He left a foot print between the window and the pianola. He'd got in via a small space
there. Maybe someone removed the glass from the window. He sometimes plays with my
dolls' house, and yesterday I found he had placed a small soft teddy bear at the front, and
“walked” it into the dolls schoolroom. Little bear footprints in the dust. The sort of thing a
lost child would do. Another time he took all the hats from the dolls' house hat stand and
put them on the dolls.
I wanted to leave some lollies for him, but it could have tragic consequences. His father
will beat him if he finds them. I have tried to cajole and make friends with him.
When both Margaret Chandler and Gil Bogle (Dr Gilbert Stanley Bogle 1924–1963) the
eminent scientist, were found on the bank of the Lane Cove River in Sydney, Australia on 1
January 1963 their deaths were both shocking and unexplainable.
They both lay there dead, apparently from the effects of poisoning. Perhaps from fumes off
the river itself. They were found in the early morning by two youths searching for golf balls.
One of the first people on the scene said there was a little boy walking along the path and
he rushed off saying, “ all I want to do is go home.”
No one came forward with any details of the boy. No further sighting or explanation of the
boy was found. He was about 4 years old, wandering alone in that cold lonely bushland
area near the river.
That was a long time ago, but his presence haunted me. Was he lost?, Was he
kidnapped and ran away?, was he sold? or was he simply a child of neglectful parents?
His cry resonated in my heart and I knew that one day I would hear it again.
A few weeks ago, after a restless night of hearing someone inside the house, I was trying
to stay awake in my locked room, listening for clues. In the morning there were clues.
Another boy toy taken from my dolls house, and a child's hand print on the inside of the
glass on the back door. The child hand print was clear. It belonged to a child about 4 -5
years.
You could see the hand, palm and fingers.
I rang the police. Two female officers came, and looked around. But that was all. I heard
nothing else.
The only comfort came when one said, “it's not your job to prove what you say. It's up to
the police to do that”.
The boy toy which disappeared this time, was a little silver Sikh danger in the doll's cook
apron pocket. On one of my op shop excursions, I had found a small shadow box picture .
It contained a silver palm tree, a silver dagger, and a silver bowl glued onto a black velvet
background. The sort of souvenir someone might buy on a trip to the east. Egypt maybe.
Probably symbolic.
I had carefully removed the pieces and placed the silver dagger in the apron. I had even
made the apron and ensured a large pocket on the front. Not to mention the cook himself
and most of the other pieces in the doll's house kitchen. I even made the recipe books.
I was sure a small child was often in the house because there was more and more
evidence. Each piece of evidence almost irrelevant, but in addition to other small clues, it
was compelling.
Some examples were that the tablecloth or cover on the table was often pulled down on
one side, and at the front. The sort of thing a child would do if they were trying to hide
underneath.
Sometimes I found a piece of fruit missing, or the magnets on the fridge door moved.
Yesterday the pull across curtains on the back door were caught under the light weight of
the moveable seat near the door.
My theory was that someone (s) had a way, a space or small entry, to put through a small
child and then get them to open the back door. It was just a part of the ongoing nightmare
presented to me as an older woman, a truth-teller and police informer. I had been
threatened with “taking out a contract on you” in 2002, and still have the recorded
evidence on videotape. I had played a significant part in an international investigation of a
huge paedophile ring. I had the comfort of knowing I had helped expose some serious
criminals who had even used their own children for the sickening pleasure of others.
It was part of this constant threat and more of the price I had to pay.
Today, I went out to the Salvation army at Unanderra, to donate some clothes, and maybe
buy some things.
While there, I heard a little boy say,“ I want to go home.”
I had hurried inside, and was looking about. I picked up a large reel of black cotton, and
walked over to the shoes.
That was when I saw him.
He was sitting on a chair, like he was chained there. Like a dog.
When he had said, “I just want to go home”, he had looked in my direction. He was a pretty
blond boy. Blue eyes. A perfect target for a paedophile.
Then I had heard a sharp command, which reminded me of my father.
Threatening.
“ Odd”, I thought.
There was a man about 30-35, medium build, on his haunches looking through the
children’s' clothes. Maybe his father but the boy was blond and fair, while the man had
dark hair and eyes.
I felt like saying, “those are all too small for him, and they are mostly girls clothes”. But he
furtively turned his head away, almost hiding in the the clothes rack, and all the time the
boy stayed still, like a trained monkey.
Later, as I drove off, I left via the ENTER driveway, and there they were. Backs against the
warm brick wall, sheltering against a cold wind. Brick east facing walls suck up the heat of
the early sun, so those who travel restlessly know that's the best place for warmth.
The man, maybe the father, had a fag in his mouth, and was zipping up a jacket on the
boy.
I wondered when I would see the boy again.
She added a postscript.
PS: I saw him again today. The same boy. But I didn't tell the cops that. They wouldn't believe me. I can hardly believe it myself. Thank goodness, at last he is safe.
Mannie and Pugsie were long gone, and had arrived in the town. They had a list of the Wolf's associates, that they had found on facebook. Most had been
quite open about where they worked and what they did, even pictures of
themselves at their favourite restaurants and cafe's .
There was a very pretty young mum named Anne. It said where she worked.
Pugsie saw a sandwich van near her work, so he sauntered over and bought
a couple of sandwiches. Mannie had provided him with a green fluoro vest, so
they looked like a couple of new workers. The vests were useful and easily
bought at a reject shop. There was a couple new ones and two half dirty ones
in the truck. Luck was on their side, when Pugsie noticed the girl serving was
a good looking young Tongan. He started chatting her up and asked if she
knew if Anne was working today, and found out what car she drove, and even
that she had a little boy and where she lived.
He used some excuse like he was a friend of Peter’s, her father, and said that
Peter had left a very expensive leather jacket at his place, so he wanted to
give it back, but Peter seemed to have moved.
Pugsie said it was all a long story, etc etc, and the girl was like putty in his
hands.
In no time at all, Pugsie even had her work phone number. "Too easy", he
crowed.
Mannie was pleased, he smiled as he said "People are too trusting, no ones
careful enough nowadays. Good work Percs."
A little bit of praise went a long way with Pugsie, plus the use of Perc as a
nickname, was a sort of secret. just between him and Mannie. Percy was his
real name, and most of his relos called him Pugsie or even Pugs. Only
Mannie used 'Percs', and then only occasionally.
Such little endearments were worth a thousand thanks.
Pugsie waited for Anne to leave work, then approached her in the car park.
She was easy to identify from her facebook photos.
Mannie had said it needed the personal touch. She probably wouldn't give out
any information on the phone.
Anne said Peter was her father, and right now he was working down in
Singleton.
"Great", said Pugsie, "I'm going back that way,
where is he staying? If he's working on a contract, and I show up, there might
be some work for me too. Do you have his boss's number?"
He also asked if Peter took his Harley all the way down there?
“Oh no”, she said, “he's in his precious red ute, with the new chrome roll bars.
Probably using it as a chick chaser, now that he's divorced, for the 2nd time.”
So Anne, being a trusting friendly soul, gave Pugsie all the details.
It wasn't long before Mannie and Pugsie set off.
It was a dark grey rainy night. Sombre and silent, it suited the mood in the
van. Another three hour drive, and soon they were sitting outside the motel
where Peter was staying. It was a 1960's low red brick building, with the
rooms built around a U shaped quadrangle. Nothing fancy. No pool, no play
area, just a few bushes in a central garden resembling a desert. They went
into reception.
The girl on duty had the book open on the counter and looked to see if there
was a vacancy. Mannie used his mobile to call her, as a distraction, but didn't
speak. While she was answering the phone he looked in the book. McAlister
was in Room 6. A red ute with new chrome roll bars was parked out the front.
She came back after grumbling about anonymous callers, and said they could
have room 17 for $130.00.
Pugsie said they'd have a think about it and would come back.
They went outside to discuss. There was a Kentucky fried chicken joint
across the road, and a few customers drove in and out. They walked all
around the perimeter, and then back to the van, where they made their
decision.
The light was on in room 6. Someone was in there with the TV on.
They watched to see if the person was alone, then Mannie went to the door
and knocked.
The door opened and a gruff voice said, “what do you want?”
Mannie recognised the ice cold eyes of the Wolf and fired.
One shot only. Right at the left side of his chest.
The man fell down, and Mannie quietly fled like a shadow in the dark, through
the back entrance, via the back gate near the shed.
Pugsie picked him up in the side street and they drove off slowly, to avoid
suspicion.
Pugsie asked “if he'd got him”, and Mannie said “yes”.
They were both very quiet. There was no fanfare, no hollering, no celebrating.
They were there to do a job, and now it was done.
Mannie didn't ever want to be a killer, but he had to. He thought of himself as
doing a necessary evil. An eye for an eye. Pugsie was such a soft hearted
kind fellow, and killing went against the grain. But he was pleased. Justice
had been done.
Pugsie said, “You did good Mannie, He won't choke no one again”.
“Let's hope I got him good.”
He turned up the music, but they were both silent for a long time.
Mannie thought about the Tiger. He thought about her sitting up in her bed
working on her laptop. A bright pink satin pillow at her back, he remembered
the feel of the pillow when he touched it. Another pillow had a white cover,
with a border around the edge. Nice smooth material. A soft white bag hung
off the bed, and she kept tissues in it. She had a fluffy sort of furry white bed
cover instead of blankets, it felt nice too. Next to the bed was a small table
covered in everything she might need, like pills and water, and even half a
glass of milk, the baby monitor, 2 phones plus the mobile with it's battery
detached. There was an old fashioned floral quilt and curtains. Large pink and
red flowers on a green leaved background. A rug to match. He had seen her
pale pink satin sheets, and guessed that it was probably easier to roll over in
satin. She seemed to like pink in her room, rather than animal print.
The bedroom was packed with 2 chairs, a sofa covered with dolls, 2 chest of
drawers, a bookcase, and a double wardrobe. Plus a TV and video player on
top of one set of drawers and a blue set of shelves on top of the other. He
thought about the lamp and the two bunches of artificial pink roses which
were balanced on top of that. Stuff everywhere, yet it all looked nice.
Oh, and the hats and necklaces. He nearly forgot about them. The pale blue
walls had lots of nails, anywhere there was wall space, and each nail held
some of her jewellery. Sometimes she sat up in bed and made earrings and
necklaces, it helped her stay sane, she'd been heard to tell her kids. Pearls
and gemstones, and the fittings along with the stuff needed were in kept in
boxes and shopping bags under her bed and under the couch.
She had some of her own paintings hanging in there too, plus some of her
mothers.
He thought it was odd that he could remember her room as though he lived in
it. It was the spirits he told himself. He had searched around for money, but
there was only $25.00 in an old purse and another coin purse holding less
than 10 dollars. He didn't take any of the money, because the boss had
warned him not to steal any. He was only supposed to steal images, like take
photos and video.
He was tempted to take a little memento, so he did take a little shoe from one
of the boy dolls, he kept it in the side pocket of his backpack. He had looked
at the dolls carefully and wasn't surprised to see that one was only sitting
there in pieces, even its wig wasn't glued on. He lifted that but there was
nothing inside the head. Good hiding place though.
The boss had said she was buying and making jewellery to resell, to
supplement her pension, but half the time she was too scared to go to the
post office.
That was why she had so much 'stock'. She had already given some away as
donations. Apparently she'd had shops in her younger days. The boss had
laughed about that, he liked them scared.
Mannie fell asleep again, while Pugsie kept driving.
Another five hours as the crow flies. They'd soon be home.
Mannie was dreaming, but they were not nice dreams. He kept coming to
and mumbling and he was sweating. Then he'd drop off again.
Pugsie heard him yell out,
“but I have got a home”, and later he mumbled,
“Mummy, mummy”, then
“I want to go home”.
So Pugsie thought he should wake him. Pugsie knew what a pain in the heart
the word Mummy was to Mannie. He thought he understood the long ago
grief, but he really had no idea.
Being abandoned at age three leaves a huge hole in the heart. It was a
miracle that Mannie had grown up as well as he did,
“Are you OK man? Are you OK?”
More "yes" mumbles as Mannie came to.
“You'll be home soon Mannie, it all been a bit of strain that's all”.
“What have I been saying?,” Mannie asked.
“Oh not much, I couldn't really understand you. You were just dreaming
Mannie. Lets stop for some food and a drink. What do ya reckon? ”.
“Not yet, it's too early. Soon. Another hour and we can look like workers
dropping in for breakfast. We'll put on the flouros. Do you want me to drive
now?”
“No, I'll do another hour. You just relax Mannie. You deserve it.”
**
Pugsie was the one closest to being a brother. Thomo and the others were ok
but they never really seemed to care about anybody. They were always out
for themselves. Pugsie was different. Mannie shut his eyes again and
wondered why he felt so down.
It wasn't that he had killed a man, or that it was so easy. Like too easy.
Knock on the door and shoot whoever it is when the door opens.
Like one bullet and the man falls down dead.
He didn't feel any regret.
He was somewhat subdued, but not sorry.
It sorta made him realise how vulnerable everyone is.
Him included.
Mannie thought about Thomo's talk of recent killings.
Thomo had read in the newspaper, that since 1975 there had been over 420
unsolved murders in NSW. He had rattled away that between 70 and 100
murders happen in this state every year. Like nearly two a week.
Thomo reasoned that if you killed someone, you could get away with it.
Especially if there wasn't enough evidence to convict ya.
Mannie hadn't taken much notice of what Thomo had been saying, but when
he talked about the divorce judges and the shootings and the bombings, he
did listen. Thomo liked to sound like a font of knowledge, but that case was
really proof that anyone could get away with murder.
It was between 1980 and 1985. What had happened was that a young girl
had been taken from her father's home after the mother left him, and then her
brother, the girls uncle, was shot dead because he helped take her. The girls
name was Tracy Brown.
Then The first judge, Justice Opas, hearing the custody case was shot dead
at his home, shot dead in front of his eight year old son.
Then the second judge hearing the same case, Judge Gee was the target of
a bombing at his house, but no one was hurt.
Then the third Judge in the same custody case, Richard Watson, had a bomb
left at his front door and his wife, Pearl was killed instantly.
Next, was a bombing outside the courthouse in Parramatta, but no one was
hurt.
A final bombing of the Jehovah witness church at Casula in July 1985, where
the little girl's aunty had been attending church. 110 people were in the hall,
one was killed and dozens injured.
Six months on, there was another attempt to kill someone close to the Family
Court: The tenant of a flat in Northmead found a bomb under the bonnet of
his car. The bomber didn’t realise that his ex wife's Family Court solicitor, had
moved from that address.
Thomo was always talking about it. He said that the police "knew who dun it",
but the man was never charged.
Thomo wasn't the only petty criminal who knew the case by heart.
There were plenty of single fathers who thought the judges and the divorce
system deserved it. Many men thought they owned their wives and their
children and that the new divorce laws of the 1970's were in favour of the
mothers.
Radical lone fathers groups thought the killer was a hero.
It became very political.
Mannie thought about the over 420 unsolved murders in NSW since 1970's,
as well as the killing of the judges and started to believe he'd get away with it.
"If they can't get someone who kills a judge, they won't get me. They probably
won't even bother. I'll be a hero."
That became his mantra. 'Catch me if you can, said the gingerbread man',
ran through his mind. He kept remembering little excerpts from childrens'
verses and stories. His mind began to play tricks, but he denied that he was
becoming forgetful He couldn't accept that a few little fun pills, little beads of
illegal chemicals, would cause any lasting change on his mind.
So many people were affected by the bomb blast at the church. One killed
and many injured. Still, the police didn't charge anyone.
Thomo was always talking about it, like it was his own case study.
It proved the cops were cowards. They weren't game to charge the girl's
father, despite the so-called evidence against him.
"You could get away with murder. It was easy, "
Thomo would often say that. :"All too easy."
Mannie re traced the events of the day. He decided that the killing of the Wolf
wasn't the cause of his black dog depression. It was something much deeper
than that.
No, what had upset him was the thought of home.
When he last left Thomo, Thomo had yelled, 'so where's ya going to, you said
home, but you ain't got one'.
Mannie had replied to the taunt with 'I got me own foxholes'. Foxes have
holes, he kept thinking but what was the rest of the quote? the birds of the air
have nests. Then, was it something about garments and how god gives the
animals everything they need?. And if he gives the animals what they need,
he will give me what I need?.
Where did all that come from?, he asked himself.
I must've learnt it when I was in detention for a bit of shoplifting.
Something from the bible.
Maybe that preacher at the parsonage had said it, when I was trying really
hard to be good.
Then the quote came to him, And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and
the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his
head.”
So that was it.
So long since I heard it, but I know how it feels.
“I can be good when I want to”, Mannie said aloud.
Almost sounding like a four year old.
That's odd, thought Pugsie. He was concerned that actually killing a man
might send Mannie round the bend. Mental like.
Then Mannie thought about little Timmy Diver, the little boy who had made
him feel like a hero.
“I am a hero” he mumbled.
To which the startled Pugsie replied, “you sure are Mannie. You sure are”.
Chapter 6 Constable Cox
While Pugsie was driving, Constable Cox had just signed on at 6am, at
Wollongong Police Station.
Constable Cox's 1st job of the day was checking on the car. He was always on a
short leash, a man with a quick temper. He was usually one to think that a check
like this was a waste of time. After all, he reasoned, the car had only been taken for
a joy ride. Found undamaged. His curiosity was aroused by the panic response of
the court officer.
Then he casually glanced at the second report of the boy who had been left at the
parsonage, and his female colleague's hand written comment that he might have
been in the house of the Tiger. The old woman who had the dolls houses and who
complained about the child's hand print on the inside of the back door.
She had gone to investigate.
In another of life's little ironies, it just happened that Cox had been the very man
who had threatened the Tiger with having her sectioned if she rang up again and
made a nuisance of herself.
He thought she was mad. Anyone over 60 was likely to be a nuisance and a pest.
The car was a smart black 2009 Mercedes Benz Slk which had been stolen from a
rather flash house few streets away, slightly higher up Mt Keira road.
It was in a leafy area under the mountain.
The photo showed that although the car was already five years old, it was in
immaculate condition.
The car body was more rounded and somewhat plumper than the earlier hard top
models.
It looked sort of womanly.
Curvy.
The car's shape suggested a young sexy looking blond in the passenger seat.
The forensics report said it had not been damaged, and gave a list of all the phone
numbers which had been called from the car phone, the most recent belonged to a
gang of young hoons.
All previous calls had been traced, and all their phones were being tracked.
The car belonged to a head clerk of the divorce court in Parramatta, and the
owners' main concern was in relation to his safety.
He had worked at the divorce court when Justice Opas, and the next two
subsequent judges were attacked. One had a lucky escape from a bomb, and one
had his wife killed by a bomb as she opened the front door. (1980-1985) .The
murders were all over the custody of Tracy Brown, then aged 6.
Seven attacks, including shootings and several bombings. left four people killed
and dozens injured in the bomb blasts, but no one had been charged, despite all
the incriminating links.
Her uncle was shot dead for assisting her mother to take her from her fathers
house, then Justice Opas was shot outside his home, in front of his young son..
Next was the murder of Justice Gee who heard the case and ruled against the
father, then another, Judge Watson, missed death but his wife Pearl was killed.
Then the Bombings outside the family court and the Jehovah Witness hall was
bombed. Tracy's Aunty had started attending services there.
.
A 500,000.00 reward drew nothing. No one was charged.
Cons Cox thought that perhaps the police themselves were afraid of such a
formidable opponent. He shuffled in his seat, and felt a metallic taste in his mouth.
It was a slight taste of fear.
The executive summary on the report suggested that these youths were
participating in serious crimes, and recommended around the clock surveillance.
Constable Cox put procedures in place to comply with the request.
...............................
On The Road again.
Mannie had been right to be cross when Thomo had 'taken the car for a ride'. He
had chucked his sim card and luckily Pugsie had lost his phone and had a new sim
and phone for the past 3 weeks. Nevertheless, all old calls left a trail of interesting
information.
He told Pugsie all about what happened that night. He was usually very closed
mouth, but sometimes, when he started to talk, everything sort of poured out of him
like a torrent.
Thoughts and words welled up like an untapped spring.
Probably because most of his life was lived in isolation and alone. The closeness of
hours together on a road trip was a perfect place for confessions, and the
companionship did him good.
Pugsie's life had been spent in a close knit family, eight in the house, and other
relatives close by.
Tongan society demanded close ties.
Pugsie was suitable impressed with Mannie's stories. He had been at the Tiger's,
( the - old one's) house, the night the Wolf had caught him and tried to choke him
with his gold chain. Pugsie had fought back and luck was on his side. He had been
so scared of the Wolf, that he had hid for two days before he went home, to a
frantic mother and revengeful relatives. He didn't want to risk the wolf tracking him.
It was on the road trip that Mannie's sixth sense helped them. He was like the tiger
-the old one- himself. A lot like her.
He would get a feeling, a sort of nervous alertness. The spirits told him he said, and
he would suddenly change plans or turn back or do something odd.
They needed more petrol, the last tankful was nearly empty, so Pugsie wasn't
surprised when Mannie told him to drive past and go around the block, and pull up.
Mannie wanted to see that Pugsie had cash money, and not about to use his credit
card.
Then he asked for his mobile phone, just in case Pugsie was getting homesick and
thought he should call his mum.
Next, Mannie got out of the car.
Pugsie was surprised and asked, "whats ya doing now?"
Mannie explained that he would wait there while Pugsie got the petrol.
Mannie said all those cameras were best avoided. One bloke in a car was not as
sus as two.
Pugsie drove off swearing. Even he was sick of Mannie's hide and seek games, but
he soon changed his tune.
As he walked in to pay for the petrol, two blokes came in and tried to chat to him.
Sort of asked questions about the van. Like "it must be hard doing deliveries this
time of night", and "nice to see such an old van in such good condition. Hasn’t got a
scratch on it.". Pugsie didn't say much, just yeah and uh.
Then he added, "I'm not doing deliveries, I'm on my way to see my grandma".
Pugsie had a sweet baby face, and everything about him suggested a clean living,
molly coddled, innocent young man.
"so where she live?"asked the attendant, who seemed to know the two blokes who
appeared to be plain clothes coppers. "up north. There's been a death in the
family.". Pugsie replied. He paid for the petrol, then left.
As he drove off, he wondered if Mannie had sussed them out and if they had been
followed.
He drove further north, then backtracked to where he had left Mannie waiting.
He pulled into a side street and turned off the engine.
Mannie asked "so what's up?", and Pugsie told him what had happened.
Mannie's response was that this needed a think and a smoke would be good, but
for the moment they would just sit there and think. Smoking a bit of hash here might
cause trouble.
Pugsie wondered if something had happened back home, and Mannie concluded
that the heat must've been on Thomo and the others.
He dug deep into his backpack and pulled out another phone and put in a spare
sim. He hesitated.
They discussed the need to find out what was happening. Should they risk
contacting the others or was it just a coincidence.
Mannie did say that these country towns were full of sticky beaks, people who were
like cockatoos, always on the lookout for trouble.
"if ya study the cockatoos, you can see they always have at least one on lookout.
When that one gets bored or thinks he has done his time, it pecks another one who
immediately takes it's place. They got eyes in the back of their heads. They never
miss a thing".
Pugsie said the two blokes could be plain clothes coppers, and they had followed
him into the petrol station, and it was odd that he hadn't seen their car, like it
must've been parked at the back.
He felt like they had waited in ambush.
But how would they know he was about to buy petrol?
Mannie said that he had seen two signs warning that this was the last stop for
petrol for 100 klms.
Maybe that was just a ruse, but probably most people would fill up just to be on the
safe side.
Pugsie contributed by expressing his worst fears. "Let's think about this van. Where
was it when you got it? Is it possible that it is bugged? Some companies have GPS
tracking on their vans so they can keep an eye on the drivers. Sort of secret
checking. Do you think it's that?"
Mannie thought about it.
"One". He said as he touched his first finger on his left hand with his right. Like kids
do at school.
"No. Because if they were really coppers, and they know the van is nicked, then
why didn't they arrest you? or maybe they already know there are two of us?
Two. If they are coppers, then maybe they put a bug on it when you went inside to
pay?
Three, they might just be a couple of local vigilantes, asking questions.
Of course, there is a chance that you've bought along another phone, and we've
been tracked by that. So Pugsie, where is it?"
Pugsie was about to deny it, and sorta shuffled nervously in his seat, but he knew
Mannie would find it, so he coughed up. It was under the seat. The battery was out,
but the sim intact.
"Don't do the crumpet, Mannie, I just had it as a back up".
Mannie shook his head in disbelief, as he checked the messages and said angrily,
"you sent a text just 2 hours ago. Dammit, dammit. Haven't I taught you anything?
Don't you believe that they can send software to this phone and use it as a
microphone? and they can find it within 200 yards. They're probably trying to listen
right now.
Mannie pulled out the sim and threw the phone into the back of the car.
"you agreed not to do the crumpet Mannie".
Ok, Ok. So what have we been talking about for the past two hours? Let's stay calm
and retrace our steps.
We ain't been talking much. You were asleep. Most of the talking was before I used
it. Anyway I took the battery out".
"Well, when was the last time you put the battery in it?"
"Only when I used it to send the text. I always leave the battery out when it ain't
being used. I'm good like that."
"you're good all right. Nearly got us arrested. that's what".
"Don't be cranky, Mannie".
"Cranky?, Cranky? you ain't seen me cranky Pugsie.
You've got no idea what being cranky is".
Mannie got out of the car and said, "let's do a check for another gps tracker.
He pulled out a detector, and also checked the car physically.
"You check that side and then re check after me. Feel with both hands up under the
wheel casing, and under the bumpers."
They didn't find anything.
"Geez it's cold.".
Mannie added, "You did do good for telling them you're going to see your grandma,
you know, the death in the family ruse. You probably convinced them. You do good
with that baby face."
We'll find out soon enough"
Pugsie felt so much better, He always responded to praise. Mannie knew that of
course. Mannie was a true manipulator. He had to be. He sometimes wished
someone would praise him, but they didn't. But it was enough that people like
Pugsie thought he was clever, because he was.
Mannie suggested a rest. "This place is as good as any. If they're gonna find us,
they will. Let's have a proper sleep"
They lay down in the back in their sleeping bags. Pugsie was asleep in a few
seconds, and Mannie was soon out like a light.
Meanwhile the Tiger was at home, sitting up in her bed, safely in lock down, writing
on her lap top.
It was 3am. She'd been woken again by a noise via her baby monitor. She often
sat up writing to wait for the fear to subside. For her blood pressure to go down and
her heart to stop racing. She took an aspirin to stop the pain in her head, and a
glass of milk to stop her from feeing sick. She was trying to avoid having a stroke.
She tried to make sure that she wrote in her diary everyday.
Today's entry said,
"Today, An absolutely amazing thing happened!
totally unexplainable.
mind blowing.
I can't even believe it myself.
My Eldest called in and suggested we go to the Salvos op shop, 50% off sale day at
Warilla.
I wanted to avoid buying anything, because I've spent too much lately and have lots
of bills. rego, car insurance, house insurance, contents insurance and electricity,
gas an water, all due this month.
Just as we arrived, I looked in the glass cabinet, and saw 3 tiny glass rabbits, the
right size for the dolls house. 1:12 scale. So I thought I'd buy them then and there,
rather than risk being caught in a long queue later, so I stood at the checkout.
As I looked at the pile of newspapers used for wrapping the purchases, I saw a big
article about the divorce court murders that happened 25 years ago! I had only just
mentioned them in one of my stories the day before.
What a co-incidence!
I couldn't believe it! I had intended looking it up on google, but hadn't done that yet..
And to think the newspaper was already one year old!
So I took the page and wrapped it around my little parcel, as if I wanted extra
padding.
It was such a surprise.
Like the article waited there for me to see it.
Almost as if Justice Opas wanted his story told.
Justice Opas was giving judgement in the Tracy Brown case, when the father of the
child had threatened he wouldn't be there for long.
He was shot dead at his home in front of his young son. Then two more judges who
heard the case, were killed or just missed being killed. One judge's wife was blown
up. Two bomb attacks wounded dozens, yet the suspected killer was never
charged. I remembered something about the police tracking him for two years trying
to find where he had hidden his bomb making equipment. Was it somewhere near
Stanwell Park. In the bush there? I often wondered if the police were too afraid to
charge him.
She added to the diary.
I always knew I had a sixth sense, and feel as is I'm in some kind of ESP fog.
(mental telepathy)
But this takes it to a further dimension.
It wasn't mental telepathy at all.
I had no way of knowing that an article on the murders would turn up and be there
exactly on top of the pile of old newspapers, just as I arrived there.
This was not ESP it was something else.
It seemed like some sort of spiritual intervention.
I wondered if the dead really do try to contact the living.
Does Justice Opas want his story told?
Does he and the others want revenge.?
Does the judge want Justice?
And why me?
I was totally blown away.
I still can't believe it, except that I have the proof and the page in front of me.
There really is a god, and I've been guided and protected over and over.
God must be saying, "I told you so. I promised you would not be harmed, but you
have such little faith . Do not be afraid".
That is the message, but it is so hard not to be afraid, when you are followed,
photographed, and hounded with anonymous phone calls. When you can hear
someone inside your house, someone trying to get your bedroom door open, even
worse when you can see them on the monitor. The only thing I can do is trust and
obey. so If I get a feeling or bad vibes, like to go inside or turn back or something, I
just do it. I don't always know what is happening, but I do know that I have been
kept safe. I guess I will find out when I die.
My short story about the divorce court killings, was just a little account of how I met
Justice Watson. The third Judge in this notorious case. It was around 1983-85
when I had my antique shop in Cliff road, before the one in the hotel.
He and his wife came in and bought a couple of things, including a pair of garnet
ear rings for their daughter. They paid with a credit card, so I could see their name,
and they mentioned that they lived on the north shore, Mosman I think. One of the
posh suburbs. I didn't know then, that he was a Judge. They were such a nice
couple. She was a lovely woman, enjoying a weekend away, and I remember she
said they were at a conference, One being held at the North beach hotel. They
reminded me what it was like to be happy. .
Anyway, I forgot to give them the gold backs for the earrings, and I felt bad about it,
so I thought I'd ring them up. I would check their address and post them.
When his wife answered she sounded nervous. I explained who I was, and about
the earrings, but she said not to worry about them, but then begged me to please
tell her how I found their phone number. I said that I was a bit embarrassed about
how I tracked them. She then begged again, to please tell her, because there had
been the murders at the divorce court and they were terribly worried.
I guessed then that he was a divorce court judge.
They had already changed their phone number three times.
By this time she was getting quite het up, so I eventually told her, that I had a very
old Sydney phone book, and looked up their name and there was an address in
Mosman.
She was amazed. I admitted the phone book was over eight years old. She said
they had never thought of that. That their number had been changed several times,
and then reverted back to their old number. I did wonder if I should have warned
her to take their names off of the electoral roll list, but I thought she sounded too
hysterical to listen. The electoral roll lists are available in every post office,
according to the current House of Representatives seat.
I thought the police probably advised that, but now that I have less faith in our
police, I doubt they would have considered it. It means that if you know roughly
where someone lives, you can track them via the rolls.
I didn't know the full story of the murders until I read the article today. No wonder
she was living in fear.
She was the one who opened the front door and was killed by a booby trapped
explosive.
She was about my age, and a really nice woman.
The Tiger, closed her laptop at 4.30 am, then went back to sleep.
**
They were about to pass through a small town and Pugsie was pleased to
see a hamburger joint sign. Pugsie spent most of his time thinking about food.
"There's a burger place up ahead" he announced,
but Mannie replied, "I'm still worried about them coppers. I think we should
scoot along a back street and bypass it. I'm not feeling too safe".
Pugsie argued that all seemed well, but Mannie insisted.
"Lets do a detour and go north for a while. Get over to Budgewoi and then up
the coast road to Newcastle. I know it will add a lot of miles, but I got a
niggling feeling. Maybe that Sheila at the run down motel mentioned us."
Pugsie did as he was told, and turned north.
Mannie dug down in his backpack and pulled out a packet of chocolate
biscuits. They were part of his emergency supplies "here, have some. It'll
keep ya goin' for a while".
Mannie added between biscuit bites,
"We could ditch the van and catch a train, or get another car".
Pugsie had a better route. "Wyong might be better. Catch a train there.
Another car might bring too much heat. Newcastle station will have lots of
cameras. Might be a good idea Mannie. At least it would settle your nerves".
"I could just leg it by meself. You could drive the van back"
Pugsie was lost for words. He felt he was about to be abandoned,
"Drive back by Meself?" His voice cracked and crackled.
"Just testing ya Pugs. We'll stick together if that's what ya want."
"We got an agreement Mannie. We help each other Ok?"
Pugsie was now reassured.
"We do. Ok. We stick together. Sounds good. Let's do it."
.
They both felt at odds at ditching the van. It had felt comfortable. It enclosed
them, they had felt safe for a while. It had memories of their trip. They
changed their clothes, even brushed their hair, grabbed a few belongings in
their backpacks and stuffed the flouros in the outer pockets, with a bit of
green showing, to look like they were going to work, then made their way to
the train.
Pugsie still had money so he paid the fares. Mannie promised to
pay him back later, they grabbed a milkshake and some grub, and went
aboard.
Mannie still had the bag of white powder, and wondered if he should ditch it.
Just in case. So he threw it out the window reluctantly. It wouldn't do to get
caught with it.
The trip south was uneventful. No one took any notice of them.
They looked like any ordinary young blokes.
Except for the touch of the tar.
No one guessed that they were a killer and his accomplice.
They thought that no one would ever know.
............
Constable Cox was in a sour mood, when he sat at his desk next day. He
noticed from the recent reports that a van had been stolen from a street a
short distance from where the black Mercedes had been taken. The van was
taken just 14 hours later.
He wondered if there was a connection so he rang the owner of the van.
The owner was away on business in Canberra, but his wife said it was all
very strange, because she had found a note in the letterbox and read it our to
Cox. He asked if she knew who the Boss was, and she said No, it was
probably just a ruse to stop them reporting the van as being missing.
What did her husband do for a living?, "Oh he imports farming machinery.
He's making some arrangements now to get some parts delivered".
Can I come around and talk? Cox asked, and she agreed.
Anything to get out of the office.
When he arrived, she made a cup of tea and he chatted about the house, and
the import business and the other cars.
He asked her when did she last hear from her husband? He had sent a text
that day, telling her not to worry about the van, he was pretty sure it was only
borrowed. She had already reported it stolen, but she didn't tell him that.
Cox raised one eyebrow. Has it been borrowed before? Not that she knew.
Did she have a picture of it? and yes she did. It was a nearly new small
delivery van with no signage. Nothing written on the side, except for the
single red line about half way up and which ran along both sides.
Cox had seen the single red line on another vehicle which had belonged to a
drug trafficker. He had wondered if the single red line was a code.
"In good nick" he said, "any GPS tracking on it?"
"Yes" she thought so. Her husband loved gadgets, "he put something in it or
on it". She didn't know what.
Eventually, she asked if there was anything wrong, and Cox said that it could
be related to a crime committed in the past 24 hours. But they weren't sure,
and until they find it, they wouldn't know.
He wandered around the back shed, and looked around the grounds,
pretending he was on a big case, when in real life he was just enjoying the
sunshine. He appeared to be one of those lazy SOB's and the wife thought
he was just a sticky beak.
He left when the welcome mat wore thin.
He drove around the block and walked to the next door neighbours. Did they
see anyone when the van was taken, did they know the owners, what were
they like, did they party a lot, have a lot of visitors, were there lots of
arguments?
The neighbours across the road didn't like to dob on others, but they did say
that they were popular. They had lots of friends coming and going. All hours
of the night. The wife was always dressed to the nines, flashy. a bit above
herself.
Their friends were always blocking the driveway. They were an aggravation.
The husband was a bit aggressive. A smart alec. Too big for his boots, and no
one really knew what he did for a living, like it wasn't that he used the van a
lot. Never seemed to go to work at regular times. Home a lot, or at the club.
Often came home in the early hours. He had a friend who often called in
about 11am. like 2 or 3 times a week. He was a much older man, probably
retired and usually walked a little white Westmorland terrier. Lives not far
away.
They'd seen him walking the dog in Phoraka Street, when they had gone that
way to town. They often went that way to avoid the speed cameras on the
highway. Sometimes they forgot to slow down to 40 near the school. She
complained that it was a speed trap.
Cox was surprised at how much info he could get with a little bit of charm. He
played good cop here to protect you and it always worked. It wasn't hard He
decided to see if he could find the older man and the dog.
The postie was doing his rounds near the Boss's house when Constable Cox
stopped him and showed his badge.
The postie was one of those who kept tabs on everyone in every house. He
prided himself on the investigative properties of the posties. He had read the
book on the American Anthrax killer. Amerithrax 2002. It was almost part of
his training. Anthrax had been posted to various people in the US, and
several had died including a senators clerk. The US postal service had been
better than the cops. They had tracked it, traced possible cross
contamination, and secretly removed letterboxes and post boxes in the
middle of the night for testing. They had back tracked every letter and parcel.
The posties were an investigative army in their own right. No doubt about
that.
He pointed to Number 8 and 10, gave some other information on the sly. Cox
nodded and thanked him. Then the postie mentioned the street where the
tiger lived.
"There's been a lot of activity going on around here, for the past couple of
years. Ever since I've been on this run.
People on perches watching from the corner, and up near the shop. You get a
good view from there. It's been like a constant stakeout.
Taking photos.
Seem to be watching the old woman's house.
That one there". He pointed to her house.
The man with the dog seems to be checking it out a lot too.
She's a nice woman, but always lives in lock down.
Rarely goes out.
Got a sign on her door saying that she can't hear, but seems to hear me ok.
Someone's got her scared though.
She's never let on what it is.
I check on her now and again, but that's all I can do.
There's something going on around here all right."
Cox went back to the station. He looked up the rego details from the car
parked in her drive. He saw his own report on her call. He felt a pang of
regret. He wondered if she was right in all that she had said. Drugs being
hidden under her house. People inside her house in the night. Someone
trying to get her bedroom door open. Being followed, being photographed.
He wondered if the man with the white terrier had something to do with it, and
if the man with the van was part of a gang of dealers and traffickers.
Cox was no longer just sunning it. He was interested. He was sure there was
something in it.
When he checked the van's details again, it had been seen.
Way up north, past Wyong. It had also been reported as suspicious near Wee
Waa, around the time of an execution style murder.
Whoever drove it had evaded police and gone east and dumped it there.
The report of the shooting said that two young men, were under suspicion.
They had been to the motel shortly before the guy was killed. A blurred shot
on video in reception showed one Tongan and one Half Caste. Both early
twenties.
The video seemed to have been sprayed and stopped. Odd.
The dead man's daughter also said a Tongan had asked about her father's
whereabouts the day before, but he had such a sweet baby face that she was
sure he had nothing to do with it. She did notice a gold chain he was wearing,
as though it was trying to cover a thick scar on the side of his neck. Like he'd
been cut some time. She was pretty upset on the phone, so it was hard to get
anything else that might prove useful. She hadn't seen what sort of car he
had been driving.
When Mannie and Pugsie arrived home, Mannie decided to front up to
Pugsie's mother, to give him some support and to monitor what he said.
His mother was absolutely thrilled to see him and clung onto him like he was
a baby, all the while a bit cranky with Mannie.
It was like she loved Pugsie more than anyone else in the world.
Mannie kept out of arm's reach and found out that she had received the
letters and was convinced that they had gone south to Albury, not north to
Wee Waa.
"The cops have been here looking for you Mannie, and asking about my boy
here. So what have ya got to say to that?"
"like what stories did they tell mam?
"Lots, like you saved a little blond kid from a paedophile and took him to the
parsonage. Is that true Mannie?"
"No, not me Mam, I'm not good enough to do that, I'm just one of them ones
whose rotten through and through. Must've been someone else. Some other
goody goody." Mannie laughed.
He had a funny way of showing his pearly whites. He could be quite
endearing at times. Like when he called her mam. He addressed her like she
was a Queen. Well, she was, Queen of her own castle. She smiled back
"so what other good goody stuff did they say that I been doin?", he asked.
"Oh, not much. They reckon someone told them that you were part of a gang
that shot that drug dealer at Splashes nightclub. That you were on lookout.
They also said you were the driver when someone robbed the National bank
some years ago."
Mannie was stunned. He knew where that came from. It had to be from the
Boss.
"Geez. they 'll be saying I am a killer next. Don't go believing everything they
say. It's probably a wind up."
Mannie looked upset.
"Don't worry too much", Pugsie said. "We'll all give you a good reference and
cover ya. My Uncle will say that you were at the pub with him."
Pugsie's mother was so glad to have him back safely, that she thanked
Mannie for looking after him. She probably guessed that they had been up to
no good, but realised that Mannie's activities were probably linked to her
son's. Like brothers in arms. Pugsie must have good reason to defend him,
especially to offer an alibi.
Then she said,
"Well, maybe you should go and have a shower while I make you some grub.
Like wash all that rotten stuff off yer, and uncover the goody goody
underneath. You can put on these clean clothes. Come back tomorrow and
change em over." friendly like.
So Mannie went off to the shower and he didn't hear what Pugsie told her.
Pugsie assured him that he had kept to the script. They had rehearsed their
story about going to Albury, and she had the letters postmarked from there to
prove it. Not that she believed them.
His mother didn't really care. All she wanted was for him to be home and to
be happy.
When Mannie returned, Pugsie's mother passed the newspaper to him. It had
a picture of the bloke who worked for juvenile justice. The one who had taken
them on outings. His name was Jim. He was another half caste. It said that
his son had been killed by being given an overdose of heroin. He was saying
that this was his second child who had died from drugs. But this case was
different. The police had charged a girl they suspected of deliberately killing
and then robbing the victims. There were other cases where she was
implicated.
"Geez. That's awful. I know that girl. She's rough but I wouldn't have thought
she'd do that.
Like, share some junk, then kill ya for your money!
You can't trust nobody. Nobody".
The three of them fell silent.
"Geez, I feel sorry for his father. Jim's a good bloke. He saved me from
getting nicked. The day we were gonna axe some trees.
Crikey, what's next?".
"where was that?" Pugsie's mother asked.
"Just up on top of Mount Ousley. We went up there for some wood to learn
how to make boomerangs and wadis and stuff."
Mannie didn't say that was the day they'd met the old one. She was a
volunteer and was on the trip with them. The tiger. She had talked him out of
his rage and made the others share some food with him.
She tried to help them, but she knew they were beyond help.
He remembered how she just ignored it when he stroked the hair on the back
of her head with the axe. What a day that had been.
She had written about it.
..................
When he finished his dinner, Pugsie's mother told him,
"Thomo has been looking for ya, he's even been here asking about ya."
"Here?" Mannie was surprised. Thomo wasn't exactly friends with the shark
feeders. "he came here?"
"Yep. Well he says it's really important. Ya gotta see him."
"Thanks Mam", Mannie said as he left. So Thomo had been there and
probably knew that he and Pugsie had gone on a little holiday. It was
impossible to keep anything quiet. Soon he was sitting outside Thomo's
place, looking to see if he was home. It was an old housing commission
house in Warrawong. Painted a sort of brick colour. Thomo's mother was old
school, and kept the garden looking neat, and the inside tidy and clean.
He gave out his owl hoot, and Thomo responded.
He came out the back.
"So what's the story Thomo?",
Mannie said sort of standoffish and curt because he was still cut from
Thomo's taunt about him not having a home.
"I'm sorry Mannie, I didn't mean it. I just get a bit hot headed now and then.
You were right about the car, I am careless. I know that now.
Come inside, Mums not here. Have a fag."
Mannie responded with, "like what else you gonna tell me? Ya didn't say it
was urgent just to say you're sorry."
So Thomo told him how he had dumped the car that night, and gone back to
the one they had 'borrowed' earlier. He said he had got some grub and driven
around looking for Mannie's foxholes. He just happened to be pretty stirred up
so he had walked about near the tigers place, to let off steam..
That was when he saw him pushing the grey garbage bin and dump it in the
creek. He went and had a look, and saw the dead man. So he had to go get
Johnno and they wrapped him in a bit of plastic and took him some distance
away and dumped him.
"I did it for you Mannie. Well, and yes for us. You told me that the boss lives
there. I knew it would come to no good if he was found close by. We'd all lose
our sources if he went down. Not to mention the fences. Everyone would
have closed up shop. It was too close to home."
"What did ya tell Johnno?"
"Oh I never mentioned you. I told him that I'd had a bit of trouble and it was
best if he never knew the details. Safest that way. I had to get someone, I
couldn't manage a big bloke like that by myself."
Mannie softened.
"I owe you one Thomo. It's a relief. I was worried if the boss had seen it."
"I sent ya a message about it, wasn't sure if you got it."
Thomo was still trying to patch things up.
"I got the message but couldn't figure it. Now I know.
So what's the cops been telling ya? what's been the go?"
Thomo was only too pleased to tell him the whole story. How they were being
harassed. That the flash car had belonged to the clerk of the divorce court,
but there was no evidence that he had stolen it. He had wiped it down good.,
except of course that the phone had been used. No proof that it was him who
made the calls. All would be ok as long as they all kept their traps shut.
He regretted taking it.
Anyway, the heats off, the cops were busy chasing someone for the killing of
a hitman in Wee Waa.
They might not look too hard though.
Someone might have done them a favour.
Thomo had a mate in the cop shop, so he was well informed.
"so where you been for the past 3 days Mannie?"
Mannie said nothing. He wasn't going to confess anything.
Thomo had lost a lot of his trust, and he was worried because Pugsie was a
bit of a softie, one who could be easily broken.
Luckily Pugsies' family would keep him in line and provide him with an alibi.
Probably find a friend in Albury who would swear they were there.
"Just the usual. Not much. But I could use a few bob. Got any money on ya?"
So Thomo paid the price for his carelessness.
He gave Mannie $50.00, and said he could sleep at his place tonight if he
wanted. Thomo's mother was away for the weekend.
They had some takeaway and watched some TV. They didn't talk much.
Thomo knew how to keep sweet with Mannie. He needed him and his
contacts.
Then Thomo dragged out a mattress and some bedding. Nice clean sheets
and a comfy pillow, and placed it on the floor near his own bed.
They talked about old times and past adventures.
Thomo told Mannie all that had happened with the cops. He also blabbed
about how the security guard at Warrawong had been kidnapped and driven
up to Mt Kembla.
"You know the bloke. The short fat one. Macedonian. Johnno wanted to teach
him a lesson for calling the cops on us. Johnno had threatened to pour petrol
on him and set him alight. Burn him alive, but hopped it when he saw
someone coming"
Thomo said someone had raised the alarm, a woman had seen him being
dumped and found him blindfolded, and tied up and all. He'd wet his pants.
She called the cops, they rushed up there in riot gear, stopping everyone
going up and coming down. They blocked the road at the top. Then he said,
Guess who came around the corner and got stopped by the cops? "
"who?"
"The tiger- the old one. She drove up there to her daughter's place.
She looked a bit shocked when she got there. It's not everyday you come
around the corner and get stopped by a team of cops in all that gear, face
helmets and all. They were like a lot of bull ants that had come outa their
holes.
They let her pass.
It looked like something outa star wars".
Mannie reminded Thomo of the recent robbery. "It was a wonder they had
enough riot gear. Someone had pinched a lot of their gear about six months
ago. Took it from the rescue training centre. Probably gonna sell it to the
terrorists. It had Police written all over it. Maybe that's why they wanted it.
Play pretend like. If they had half a brain they'd give it back.
Anyway, who saw her?"
"Oh Ricki was on duty. He followed. The boss couldn't find you, so he got him
to stay lookout. He wasn't going to let them get her. Like when she left he
waited a while. Gave her a few minutes lead, just like you do."
Mannie listened but denied helping her. He just said, "No, I don't"
Then he asked "how come the cops let him go up there?"
"Oh he had a story about doing some gardening at the pub. He had a few
tools in the car and went about picking up rubbish, and weeding out the front.
He wore his orange fluoro. He looked the part. Besides the guard had been
taken to a spot further up."
"So whose car was he driving?"
"his"
"Mmnn. That would have been tracked. The cops would know all about him
by now. At least he hasn't got form, but he has had some charges."
"Well he didn't know about the cops until he was stopped. He did good to
have a story. He couldn't leg it could he?
Nothing came of it. The security guy didn't know who had kidnapped him, and
if he did, he wasn't game to lay charges."
Mannie mentioned Johhno again.
"So now, Johnno is gonna start burning people is he?"
"maybe maybe", Thomo laughed. "The bloke deserved it."
Mannie asked, "Was Johnno on the Loftus street job? you know, sorting out
the competition? That Chinese kid?." Thomo nodded.
Mannie groaned and commented, "so now we're killers and we torture
people, do we? I never want to kill nobody.
I'm just a messenger. A lookout man. Nick some stuff. Buy and sell. Deliver."
Thomo retorted ,"Well your friends with the shark feeders. They get paid to
take someone out in a boat and dump them in the ocean. What's the
difference?"
"There's a big difference to being friends and actually doing it.
We don't have to do it, that's what."
Mannie didn't say any more.
He wasn't a killer or a torturer or a shark feeder.
He had killed a man, well two men now, but he was a vigilante.
He was justified. It was the vindication of the righteous.
He was doing something good.
Something that made him a hero.
In his mind there was a big difference between being a viscous killer and
doing necessary work.
He felt righteous.
He was obeying the spirits.
He didn't want to say too much in case Thomo was fishing.
He didn't trust anybody. Nobody.
He thought there were too many people knowing too much.
Too much talk, it was bound to go wrong sometime.
Just a matter of time before they all got caught.
He was lucky to have Pugsie and the shark feeders to speak up for him, but
that meant he would owe them something.
He'd be a slave to them, and to the boss.
He was depressed again, because he knew he would never be free.
Freedom only came in death.
Freedom was a dream.
Next morning he woke to a bright sunny day, and slept in. Thomo had gone to
the shops, and Thomo's mother wouldn't be back till night.
He gradually got dressed and went for a walk. He nicked a car and drove
over to the parsonage and dumped it.
The church service was on and he could hear them singing.
He went in and joined in, singing "Once I was blind but now I see".
His voice croaked when he sang, "saved a poor wretch like me."
He liked that song.
It was about change.
He had already changed. It had happened without him even knowing it.
He didn't trust anyone, but he knew there were goody goodies out there, and
he felt that he had joined them the night he saved Timmy.
He wondered how many more Timmy Divers were alone and scared and
captive.
The parson came up to him and said hello. He invited him to come and see
him and have a talk.
Gave him a card with his phone number and name on it.
Mannie thought the parson knew. Knew it was him who had rescued Timmy.
So he asked him,"what happened to the kid? Did ya find his mother?"
Mannie's voice had quavered. The words had trouble coming out. It was the
word mother. It stuck in his throat.
The parson looked at him kindly and said,
"Yeah, it had a sort of happy ending. His mother is dead. She blamed herself
that he'd been taken. Poor thing was an addict. She committed suicide six
months after he was stolen, but he has his Grandma and his Aunties.
He's safe at last. He is all smiles and looks happy.
God works in mysterious ways.
Remember, we are all his servants.
Come and see me.
We might be able to work something out for you."
"Maybe", said Mannie. "Maybe".
Then he was gone.
Working something out sounded like confessing, and putting his hand up, and
getting arrested by the cops, and jail.
He didn't want to go to jail, but he did want a different life.
A better one.
He went to a hamburger joint down the road, and spent some of his $50.00,
before he hiked over to the bosses place.
He had to front up sometime.
It might as well be today.
Get it over with.
The Boss was home and came up to the shed when Mannie gave his call.
"so you've been on walkabout have ya?"
"Well, I'm Back. Got any work for me?".
"Yep. Deliver this. and here's your pay."
Just as Mannie walked away, the boss said,
"You done good Mannie. There's a bonus there.
You can share some with Thomo. I heard what he did."
Mannie didn't ask how he had heard. He guessed that Thomo's house must
be bugged and the whole conversation had been recorded. Either that or
Thomo had been talking or maybe Johnno had blabbed.
So what else does he know?
"Geezis, Geezis". He kept saying to himself. "Will I ever be free?"
He looked inside the envelope and there was $1500.00 quid, plus some
bullets that would fit the gun he used in her house.
Blood money he thought.
I never did it for the money.
I killed him to save the kid, and other kids like me.
Nevertheless, he wouldn't refuse it. He put the money in his pocket and went
to his favourite foxhole to hide some and the ammunition. He made the
delivery, then went back to Thomo's before his mother got back.
They talked outside. Walked around the block.
He handed him the fifty he owed, and then gave him another $100.00.
He wanted to know how the Boss had found out.
He didn't ask straight out.
He had to skirt around it.
Find out how much Johnno knew and if he would have told the boss.
Mannie warned Thomo that there might be a bug.
Thomo thought the boss's friend in the cops had told him half of it and that
the boss probably guessed the rest. Mannie thought about the events of that
night. He wondered what else they had been able to get out of a four year
old? Possibly the man's car had been found.
His details uncovered?
Did they track down other victims?
Even so, that didn't explain the clear reference to Thomo.
Only Johnno knew that Thomo had moved the body.
Thomo swore blind that he hadn't mentioned following Mannie, or that Mannie
was on a job at the old-ones. The tigers house.
Mannie came to his own conclusion.
That his work on the job was now well known amongst his friends.
and he was sure that Johnno had blabbed to someone outside their circle.
outside their gang, their family.
He felt betrayed.
He would tackle Johnno about it.
...............
Mannie went to Johnnos favourite haunt at about the time Johhno would be
there. He was seated facing the front door with his back to the wall. He
always liked to be able to see who was coming in and who was going out.
He was dressed in the latest gear, covered with gold chains and rings. Black
hair sleeked back,with a straight Roman nose encircled with a neat trimmed
black beard. Sharp black beady eyes.
Same age as Mannie but on the up and up.
He liked to think he was head of their gang, but the group wasn't really a
gang because they often worked on separate 'jobs' for different crims, and
even different nationalities. They formed loose alliances, with no strings
attached. As sub contractors, they did casual 'jobs' for whoever would pay,
but at the same time they met and gossiped and seemed to know who was
doing what and where.
Mannie should have known what was coming.
He sat down at Johnno's table and said,
"I got something to ask ya"
"Like what? a favour or something, or do you need me to give ya a bite of my
hamburger cause ya haven't got any money or ya haven't eaten for days?,
like those real blackfellas."
In a normal situation Mannie would have tried to cajole Johnno to keep the
peace, but he didn't.
" I got money. I don't need a bite of yours. I just been to see the boss and I
came to ask ya what ya been saying. Like about Thommo and me".
Johnno gradually answered between mouthfuls.
"About moving the body?
or about you now being a killer ?
or about ya taking off with Pugsie and the shark killers who are now giving ya
an alibi?"
Johnno was even more cocky than Thomo. He was working on becoming a
leader. He was building a team of his own and nurturing a run up the ladder to
becoming a captain. He was gonna be a somebody, someday soon.
"Well, you tell me Johnno. What was it about moving a body?"
"Thomo came and got me to help move a body from behind the tiger's place
because you carted a bloke in a wheelie bin and dumped him. He had a
gunshot in his chest. So now ya gonna say ya didn't do it are ya?"
"Did Thomo say I did it?"
"He said he saw ya cart the bin to where we found the body and then we had
to move it, because it was near the bosses place and all, and it couldn't be
found there because it would bring heat on the boss and all our contacts and
fences and sellers would dry up.
They'd get scared, and that was not good for business.
He said he didn't know what had happened."
"Did ya tell the boss about it?"
"Yes, but he already knew. One of his copper buddies told him about Thomo
and me moving it."
"How do ya reckon they knew.?
did ya tell any of the fellas?
Did ya say it on the phone or in a text?
I am sure all ya sims have been tracked so I'm hoping ya chucked em. Did
ya?"
"I can't remember. I don't know who said what. I got me a new one the other
day, after Thomo was interviewed by the cops. Now we've all been pulled up
and questioned and harassed. and it's all your fault."
To which Mannie got hot under the collar and felt defensive.
"Thomo's fault that's what, and nobody can keep their mouth shut about nothing. Yus are all
blabbermouths."
"I told em nothing, but I'm telling ya now, you're in big trouble.
Ya gonna get a whole heap of charges laid, even about what ya didn't do.
You'll be carrying the can for all of us, when they find ya."
Johnno slurped on his can of coke between predictions.
"That won't be long will it?
Ya think ya so smart that no one can track ya.
We all know where ya likely to have a fox hole.
We can track ya Mannie.
You're not that hard to find.
We will when we have ta".
"Oh you will, will ya? " Mannie retorted.
"I give ya some advice Mannie. Go and talk to Cox. That Constable Cox is
like a bloodhound. He's not going to give up.
He wants a good collar.
He wants a few browny points.
It's his first big break.
So hand yourself in, take the heat off the rest of us.
Go be a good boy!
Here, use my spare phone. I put his number in there.
Keep it if ya want. I got about a dozen of em."
Mannie took the phone in anger. Went outside and rang Cox.
"Constable Cox? This is Mannie. I hear you 're looking for me.
I want to do a deal.
I'm gonna give ya something that'll make your career.
it's so good Cox, that you'll be able to write a book about it."
"I'm interested. Go on."
"I bump off a big fish, like the one the cops can't get, then put my hand up for
it, you charge me and get the credit and I get a light sentence for all the other
stuff I know.
You know that it would make ya a hero, and ya might even get into the
detectives. Ya might even get to be commissioner one day."
"What sort of big fish are you talking about?" Cox was interested.
Mannie played his best card.
"like one with half a million reward on his head. One ya haven't been able to
get"
"Come on Man, give me a bit more to consider".
Mannie reeled him in. He was a super salesman when at his best.
"Like the divorce court killer. The bloke who killed Judge Opas, bombed
Judge Gee, killed Judge Watson's wife, plus he bombed the Jehovah hall at
Casula with 110 people in it. Killed and injured lot's of 'em. You know the one
the cops have been too cowardly to charge.
He's been running free for thirty years. Tracy Brown's father."
Constable Cox was more than keen.
"Geez. Now that's something worth being hypothetical about. Well, well, well."
Mannie continued.
"Just send his name, his phone numbers and address to this phone. plus
anything else useful about him. Just Text it, and give me a few days. A week
at the outside. Ok?"
Mannie hung up. With a bit of luck he'd get the info. Cox might even
implicate himself as being an accessory. He was willing to do a deal with the
cops, but he still hated them.
Part of his heritage was an anger at authority.
He would be happy to cause trouble for Constable Cox if he could.
That would be a bonus, but he wasn't going to bet on it.
Mannie was well versed in the law. He had a legal, rather than a classic
education. He could've been a better copper than any of them, if he'd been
given half a chance. But no one had given him a chance. Not even his
parents.
Not his mother, because she hadn't been given a chance. He came from a
long line of the unloved. Uneducated.
No matter how clever, how good, he could never get those bits of paper.
Those certificates that are needed to get to the next level. Besides he hated
all their rules. There was only one place where he thought he had a chance to
get qualified in something. That was in jail.
He waited.
It didn't take long. Only five minutes. The information was sent.
The target was living south west of Sydney. Not too far away. He'd go and do
his homework. Then he'd ring up, knock to the door, and shoot. Or Something
like that.
He borrowed another old van. Just took it from outside the old pensioner's
house. The owner was in hospital, and none the wiser. He'd take it back next
day or next week, and no one would ever know.
It was a valued mode of transport, because he could always say it was his
grandpas.
He used to get into his house and pinch food and stuff. He knew everything
about him.
Mannie felt elated. He was on his biggest vigilante job yet. He was going to
dish out justice. He would avenge all those who had been injured or killed.
Even Justice Watson would be pleased, He would want to see the man who
killed his wife Pearl, pay for it.
Lot's of people would be grateful.
Even the tiger would.
She had met Pearl Watson and had written about her.
He used to read the files he had copied form her computer when she was out.
He kept his own copies before he gave them to the Boss.
Mannie wondered if it might be worth contacting Justice Watson.
He might become an ally.
He might give him a reference and get him off, give him a new life.
Maybe someone would even start a 'Let Mannie go free' club on twitter or
facebook.
So he texted back to Cox and asked for Watson's info, saying, "I want to tell
him when it's done."
Constable Cox was a bit hesitant about it, but sent it anyway.
Now it was up to Mannie.
Mannie drove to where the crack shot bomb maker now lived. He was old
now, aged 66. But maybe not too old to shoot him back. He wouldn't be an
easy target. Mannie thought that a bloke like that would always be on the
alert and armed. He might have to shoot him in broad daylight and in public.
Like when he was at the shops or dropping his grand kid at school, or
whatever.
He sussed out his house. Mannie guessed that he would have high security
and probably a pair of guard dogs as well.
First he sussed out the neighbours. Knocked on a door two houses up. No
one answered. He put on his flouro jacket and went up to the telephone hub
on the council strip and lifted the lid with a crow bar. so he looked like he was
doing some work. He had a small book and pen and appeared to write
something in it. He fiddled about for five minutes, looking in the pit and
scrapping about. He even had a small telecom portable fence, and put that
around the open hole. He went door to door asking if they'd had any trouble
with their phones lately. Most said a curt no. The house directly opposite his
target's, was owned by an old lady, and he soon charmed her.
He asked if her phone was ok, and if her neighbours had any complaints
about crackling or buzzing on their phones?
He heard that most of them didn't know each other very well.
They 'kept to themselves' which meant they probably didn't talk to her.
Old women on their own were best avoided in case they became a pest.
Loneliness meant they talked too much.
It was a mistake to be too friendly.
He asked if it was okto get a drink of water from the tap, but when she invited
him in for a cuppa, he insisted he stay outside while she got it.
He needed her to feel safe.
He sat on her front porch and sipped his drink, all the while getting her to talk.
"nice place here. Plenty of space. Is it a good neighbourhood?"
"Oh yes", she gushed. Like she never had anyone to talk to."I've been here
for forty years now. It has changed a bit, some moved out and new people
moved in".
"What about the ones next door, they been here as long as you?"
"Oh yes. Quite a long time".
"The ones over there. Are they newbies?"
It only took a short time to find out that Len X had a new family. Two adult
children kids, a girl and a boy, and a five year old grandchild. He drove her to
and from school.
He never waved, or acknowledged her. He was the sort who kept to himself.
His wife didn't talk to anyone.
She always seemed down trodden.
Bossed about, it seemed.
"dogs, He got dogs? It pays to know where the dogs are in my line of work."
"Yes, two Alsations. But they're tied up during the day".
Mannie looked at his phone, and exclaimed loudly. "I've got a fella to meet
and now he's an hour late. Geez, some people are unreliable".
The old lady agreed.
"do you get much help in the garden?, do ya kids come over and help?"
"Oh, I don't see them much nowadays. They're always busy. You spend a
lifetime bringing them up and then they're gone. I'm just lucky that they didn't
choof off overseas. I see them Mothers day and Christmas. Last time they
were here they left a pile of garden rubbish in a heap. Didn't have time to pick
it up and put it in the bin. When you get old, it's hard to bend and your fingers
get stiff and don't want to work. You have trouble breathing and hearing and
seeing..That's just the start of it.
There's no lessons in how to cope in your old age. "
"Where's the pile? I'll do it for ya while I wait."
"How much would you charge me?"
She was pretty canny and didn't expect him to do it out of the goodness of his
heart.
"Nothing. I'm already getting paid to wait. Can't some one do something for
nothing nowadays?"
She showed him the pile out the back, went inside and came back later with a
glass of milk and a sandwich. .
While Mannie was filling the bin, he asked her name, and told her his. Then
asked what day does the bin get collected. He wondered if he might 'hit his
target' when he came out front to take his own bin back in.
"I'll put it out on the kerb now Violet, it's probably a bit heavy for ya anyway. If
I get a chance I'll come back and bring it in."
Violet. It was such a long time since she'd been addressed by her name.
Violet had a nice ring to it. Violet reminded her of times long gone.
She half expected him to call her missus, like the blacks and half castes did in
the old days.
She smiled and said, thanks Mannie. You've got a good heart.
"Yep I sure do. I joined the God Squad."
"So you believe in God?"
"Of course", he smiled.
"How can anyone see a seed grow and not believe that there is a great
designer?
It can't all happen by accident, can it?.
Maybe he had to do some tinkering as things grew. So some animals and
plants changed along the way. Some of 'em couldn't change quick enough.
That's how I see it anyway.
Even these weeds here are God's little masterpieces."
She nodded and smiled.
Mannie commented on her garden, "So if I get some spare time, what would
ya like me to do here? I'll try to come back and tidy it up a bit. I see ya got
some of your namesakes growing. I'll spread them violets about a bit. They
usually flower in autumn and look pretty right up to spring.
One of the best places to grow em is where ya get a bit of run off. It's nice to
see em around the edges of the concrete. Softens it up a bit. A little bit of
water is all they need. Plus a few kind words now and then, if ya don't mind
talking to ya plants, like Prince Charles does."
Violet said she always tells them how well they are growing.
Mannie confided that he does too. Said ,"it's sorta on the quiet".
He said that a scientist put a lie detector on his plants and tested them to see
if they could pick up people's vibes. Like he had one person go and talk nice
and another come and say they were going to pull them out, cranky like.
The lie detector showed their responses. The ones which were threatened
showed they were scared, and he proved that they did respond to the
thoughts of the person doing it.
He stopped short of saying, they got a spirit just like we do, but he thought
she already knew that.
Mannie thanked for the milk and the sandwich.
"see ya later, look after yourself".
He called out as he left.
He put back the cover and removed his portable fence.
All those watching from behind voile curtains, were now reassured.
So now Mannie had the lay of the land. Who lived where, and who he could
trust. Violet might provide a foxhole if he needed one. She gave him an
excuse to be there.
He had noticed the solid brick garage with a shed at the back. He could use
that. Perhaps park an old van behind it, and no one would notice. Even the
target would get used to him being around. He'd have to think about it.
Anyway, she was a kind person. If he didn't have a grandma or an aunty he
would adopt one.
He would've chosen the Tiger, but she was out of reach. It was enough to be
able to hide under her house and sleep hearing her snoring above, or wander
about her house and handle his ancestors old artefacts.
The adopted ones would probably be better than his blood ones.
All his people were damaged, or ruined with the drink, or addicted in one way
or another. They didn't seem to be able to love. To care enough for their kids
to keep em clean and fed and safe. All their toilets were filthy. Spreading
germs far and wide.
So many of his people were infected with hate, or anger or suspicion.
They were a jealous and envious lot, and all the ones he knew would never
try to lift themselves out of it. They used their own half baked rules to control
each other, just like the whitties did.
Mannie was never considered one of them, because he didn't know his
history. He couldn't say where his country was, because he didn't know his
ancestors. He never belonged to any of them.
While ever they clung to the coffee coloured clan, they had no chance.
It was only the whiter ones who had any hope of escape.
The only thing the coffee coloured ones could do was say they were Maori or
Tongan. For some reason the islanders were respected, were equal in white
man's eyes, but not the blacks.
Mannie thought it was because the Islanders had fought against them when
they first arrived, not like the blacks who first thought the whites were some
sort of "god people" or a re-incarnation of their own people.
He comforted himself in being different. He knew that this being different,
having a foot in both worlds, was an advantage. Being in touch with the spirits
meant he could see and hear things that were invisible to others. It even
made him feel superior, but not always.
.........
Soon he was back at Violet's house. Working in her front garden, but mentally
he was busy on the trail of the now aged bomber.
He chipped at the weeds, dug some plants up, moved some and replanted
them along the fence line.
He could see the bomber's house clearly as he wandered about the yard.
Suddenly he was taken by surprise. His quarry did the unexpected. The aged
bomber crossed the road, and fronted Mannie while he was on his knees
weeding. "So what are you up to Sonny?" he said gruffly.
Mannie looked up, but stayed weeding.
"I'm weeding ain't I? I'm not exactly having a picnic."
"What for?", the man asked
Mannie stood up. He answered, "it's called work. It's not much but it's an
honest living. What's it to you?"
The aged bomber said nothing and walked off, back to his house.
Mannie hoped he was satisfied. He didn't fancy a sharp shooter like him,
aiming at him from across the road. He did feel vulnerable and wondered if
this was going to be an easy job.
He decided it might be a good thing. The bloke might accept him as part of
the scenery and not be too suspicious. Probably thought he was a copper.
Could be for the best.
It would allow Mannie to get closer to him, when the time came.
Mannie had watched him before as he left home and timed his trip to the
school to collect the grandchild. His target always waited in his car, and the
child stood on the footpath until the others had left, then the grandfather
would pull up and let the child get in.
Mannie went to the school and watched as the parents gathered near the
gate.
He ambled across to the group and sat down on his haunches. Like he was
waiting for someone. Then he up and went into the school premises, like he
was about to talk to the teacher. He gave the impression that he belonged.
He was good at that. Most of the parents were mothers but there was a
sprinkling of unemployed fathers. He nodded to them, reassuringly.
He stood inside the school yard while he waited.
He decided that he needed to do this soon. like today.
He wasn't really worried about the van being seen, or even him being caught.
He had planned for Cox to catch him, but now he he had cold feet.
He admitted to himself that he was only half-hearted about being caught
because all his life he always aimed at not getting caught.
This change of direction was a bit unsettling.
Out of character.
Contrary to everything he had trained himself to do.
He was not sure whether to do or die,
or do and don't die,
or don't do and don't die.
It wasn't a choice like Hamlet's, 'To be or not to be". Black or white. That isn't
the question. It's more like what if. What if it doesn't go right? What if the
bomber shoots back.
'To be' infers to be alive. 'not to be' is to die, but Mannie knew there was a lot
of grey in between.
He might do the deed, but be injured and bleed.
He didn't really want to die. He was looking forward to a new life.
His hoped for choice was not so easy.
He would prefer to do and don't die, and have a happy ending.
What he really wanted, was to be a hero and be treated like one.
To be hailed as a conquering hero.
Like when he was young and the gang came back to their roost at the end of
the day. The others would come out of their houso houses and ask, if "ya got
anything?" They waited like children to praise and pat them on the back. They
waited for free goodies to sell off to the fences, and would give them a few
dollars as a reward.
He would never be hailed as a hero. He knew that. He wouldn't have anything
to give except peace and revenge to those who had been so cruelly injured
by the bombs, or vengeance to the relatives of those who died.
He could only offer the retribution of the righteous.
His mind was running around in circles.
He knew that he was getting tangled in his own life's choices.
He wished Pugsie was there as a back up. He needed some moral support.
Then a voice said to him in his ear,
"Just do it. Get it over with. Go up to the car and shoot him while he waits for
the kid. One bullet is all it takes."
Mannie recognised the spirit voice of revenge. He knew he was now bound to
do what the dead wanted. He was only an instrument of the murdered and
the bombed. He was their tool.
He could hear dead Justice Opas say,
"I direct you to carry out this sentence on this man who has murdered and
bombed and destroyed the lives of so many.
You have been chosen to carry out the retribution of the righteous.
It is now firmly in your hands to do what the custodians of the law failed to do.
It is your duty to do or die.
Death has no power over you.
The power of life or death belongs to the already dead.
Trust and obey. Leave the result of life or death to the powers that be."
Then in his half awake daydream he could hear the Tiger say.
"Do it Mannie. This is what you were meant to do.
Be an avenger.
Make this man pay for what he did to Pearl and all the others.
He has to pay for the fear he put into the hearts of all those affected.
He can't continue to get away with it.
It's now Mannie.
Do it now."
He didn't think for a moment that he "was hearing voices" or that he was mad.
It didn't matter if he was psycho, as long as he had a purpose in life.
A goal.
Some reason for his suffering and alienation.
Some explanation for his miserable existence.
.
The Rod of Retribution of the righteous was in his pocket.
It came in the form of a gun.
Mannie swallowed hard and tried to relax his jaw muscles, and felt for the
gun. It warm from the heat of his body.
He walked slowly to the kerb where the child stood. He said Hello and
whispered, "don't get in the car when he opens the door."
"Why", the girl said, and Mannie responded reassuringly,
"because it's a surprise. Just stand on the footpath and you'll see".
He handed her a half opened block of chocolate.
The child looked puzzled, and Mannie walked away and crossed the street as
her grandfather's car approached.
When the car halted, the grandfather flung open the door and was looking at
the child. She just stood there and unwrapped the chocolate. Her little white
fingers tore at the packaging, while her grandfather yelled at her to get in.
While the man's attention was focused on the child, Mannie walked up,
pointed the gun at the the grandfather's head and shot him right through the head.
The gun shot reverberated inside the car and the noise was loud
enough to almost deafen a bystander.
The child had stayed on the footpath, but she had seen what had happened
She was screaming and screaming. Mannie ran around the corner into a side
street and escaped.
Then he drove off slowly as if nothing had happened, and just kept driving
and driving, merging into the daily grind and joining all the other city
commuters .
He mumbled to the dead.
"Ok, I done it. It's done and dusted. It's up to you lot now",
He turned up his music and thought about food. He was not actually elated,
just relieved. He did what he had to do and he felt free.
He felt as if his life had changed.
He was released from something.
He didn't know what, but he was sure the bonds, the ties, the demands that
had held him were now broken.
They had been like a horses bit and bridle.
They were gone. He was free. He didn't have to go to see the boss ever
again. He wasn't afraid any more.
Mannie visits Justice Watson
He drove to see Justice Watson. He parked a few streets away from the
house.
The judge opened the door. He eyed the rather scruffy 25 yr old warily.
"I'm Mannie Small. I've come to give you some good news about Pearl's
murderer." He didn't add, and ask for some help.
"Come in son", said the retired judge. "Sit down".
The house was impressive. It had been a very grand house in it's day and
was probably over 100 years old. Spacious, old fashioned with cedar
panelling. Comfy.
The judge sat in his chair at his desk, as if he was interviewing him.
He had two glasses of iced tea on a tray, and a handful of sweet biscuits.
Mannie thought he already knew. He knew that Mannie was coming.
"So you've heard. You know. He's dead."
The judge nodded. "Yes I heard it on the news. Justice took a long time but
it's been done. I'm pleased."
Mannie smiled, his white pearly teeth glistened.
They engaged in some small talk, then Mannie got to the point.
"I was hoping you could get me into witness protection. I know lots of stuff.
Like who dun what. Could you get me on the dole, get me a place to stay.
Help me make a new life? I could even go to university. Learn the law. Like
you."
The Judge smiled and then frowned.
"You know Mannie, that the law isn't about justice. That it's not even about
being fair. It's about governments making laws and we judges and lawyers
abiding by those laws and often by precedents. That is following what other
judges decided in similar cases. It's not about Justice.
Judges do try to be just, but they are bound by what those laws say. I
wouldn't advise it as a career. It's full of rules.
There is probably something else you'd be better suited to.
But the immediate thing is your needs. You need shelter, a stable income, a
place to feel safe. you need time to re-adjust your life.
I can help you with that, but you have to trust me."
He had no sooner finished his sentence when the doorbell rang. He said,
"wait here". and went to answer it.
It was the cops.
Mannie could hear one say that they know who killed the aged bomber, and
that he may come here. The Judge pretended to be surprised.
and said he would call them if he did.
They left, but when he returned to his study, Mannie was gone.
He'd vanished.
He was nowhere to be seen, and the back door was shut.
Judge Watson called him but there was no answer. He didn't think that
Mannie was hiding, he was sure he had gone. Judge Watson knew that
Mannie would never be able to trust him or anyone else.
It was too much to ask.
He'd already sussed out an escape route, via the back garden across the
neighbours yard and out through a side lane. He'd made it back to the van.
Puffed out and disappointed.
Hungry and tired.
"Where to now?"
He wouldn't go to a men's refuge centre, they would look for him there.
He didn't have much money left.
He was hungry but he wouldn’t go to a hamburger joint.
Maybe buy something at a quiet side street joint.
He couldn't decide what to do. He just drove and headed south.
Back to his known foxholes. Where he could find food and shelter.
He couldn't think straight.
Before he went to see the judge he thought he had it made.
He thought it was all worked out, but it wasn't.
Now he felt forced to go to plan B. Give himself up. Fall on his sword like they
do in the theatre. To do and die was a big ask.
He had promised Cox that he would do so, but he just couldn't.
It was against his nature. He had tasted freedom for a moment, and now he
was a hunted man again.
He had even smelt the smell of comfort and money.
He had hoped for a new life.
Now that hope had faded.
He felt depressed, because he knew that if he didn't give himself up, the boss
would have him shot. He knew too much.
He just kept driving south, like a homing pigeon.
Driving on automatic.
Like he himself was some kind of automaton.
Just a puppet on a string.
Doing the bidding of the spirits of the spirit world.
When he was near the Tiger's house he returned the van. He parked it out
front and put the keys in the letterbox.
Then he went walkabout.
Back to the Tigers place.
As he walked past the Boss's house he could see he was home watching TV.
He wondered if he should shoot him, but he knew he would simply leave an
opening for another cocky crim like Johnno to take his place, and Johnno
would be worse than the Boss.
Meanwhile the Boss heard the news.
Mannie Small was wanted for murder,
He wondered if Mannie was now a liability.
He didn't want him found by the police, arrested and offered a reason to talk.
He guessed that he would return to the place he knew best. The place that
was familiar and felt like home. He rang his copper mates.
Mannie watched her house from a safe distance, and sure enough a cop car
cruised slowly past, and a couple of undercover cops walked about in the
creek. So he legged it.
He went further uphill under 'the hat', Mt Keira, where he knew there was a
nice old commodore car. He had only travelled about two kilometres toward
Berkeley, when he heard the sirens. He floored it around some bends, and
across town. He was going so fast, too fast, but he didn't care.
To do or die, to be or not be,
nothing matters now.
He didn't care any more.
He was done.
It was done.
It was over.
He was gonna be free, one way or another. .
Epilogue:
A young man's short life was extinguished when he borrowed a dark red
commodore. The cops chased him for a couple of miles and he was driving
too fast when he hit a telegraph pole. He was thrown from the car and died at
the scene. A witness heard a huge thump, but no skidding or brakes
squealing.
There were no tyre marks on the road.
A woman stood watching and was recorded to have said, "No one deserved
to die like that.
Die on the side of the road, alone, uncovered, and nearly run over by another
car. No matter who he was.
That cranky copper, Constable Cox, jumped out of a cop car, stood and
looked down at the boy's body, and had some sort of breakdown.
He started screaming that he couldn't see, that he'd been blinded.
Sort of struck blind, and in pain.
Like Saul on the road to Damascus, in that old bible story.
The other coppers dashed over and formed a circle around him, and shielded
him from view, then sort of half carried him into the cop car. They drove off
quickly, but he was still screaming. Covering his eyes with his hands, and in
pain.
It was so strange. really, really strange."
The little group of onlookers dispersed when the young body was taken away
in the ambulance. It drove as slowly as a hearse. No lights, no sirens.
Another onlooker said that the cops left him lying there for 20 minutes before
they covered him with a blanket, and that there was a strange mist which
descended on his body. At first she thought there was something wrong with
her eyes.
It came like a slow willy-willy. A mini tornado. Slow and silent.
Misty figures seemed to come from it. This strange mist sort of swirled like smoke
and almost obscured his body for about ten minutes, then sorta floated away.
It was very odd because it was a bright sunny day.
But was it Mannie?
The tiger watched the news and wondered if it was him.
She didn't think so. Seemed more like Thommo, or another coffeee coloured half caste.
The end (for now)
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Look up and out..By Renee Conran
This blog is for sharing my modern Australian poetry and short stories with you. so Be surprised, be enthused, Be emotionally challenged. Enjoy! Please respect my copyright. for permission to use this material, write to me at sampsms at ozemail dot com dot au. SCOLL DOWN FOR MORE!
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Look up and out..By Renee Conran