A Tropical Cure (A Darren Mangan Thriller Book 2) Page 12

  “Fuck. What the hell happened to you? You are bleeding like a stuck pig. Come on buddy, I’m gonna get you to a vet.” Trying to remain calm outwardly, his mind was panic-stricken. Where would he go? Which vet would be open? Would Patch die if he moved him? Stop. Breathe, slow down. Think, for fuck’s sake.

  Darren ran his hand over Patch’s head, a gentle rub, reassurance he wasn’t going to abandon him. “Fuck it. I’m ringing triple zero.”

  He retrieved the mobile from his back pocket and dialled the number, not long after, “Yeah, I need an ambulance urgently. There’s been an accident at home. The victim is bleeding badly.” After confirming his name, he gave the address ensuring the location of the nearest cross street was included. He wasn’t risking a wrong address situation, or a visit from the coppers by providing a vague description. Luckily, the triple zero operator believed his story about accidental injury at home.

  The light from the interior of the cab allowed him to spot the torch on top of the beer and bait fridge. He found the light switch which turned on the only fluoro shining on the driver’s side of the truck. Only then, did he see the spatters and smears of blood staining the concrete floor. He grabbed what he was looking for, a towel hanging from a nail near Patch’s kennel. He quickly returned to the dog who hadn’t moved from the seat. Somehow Darren needed to stem the flow of blood from a large gash in the side of Patch’s chest.

  “Stay with me, buddy. Stay with me,” Darren said softly.

  Darren held the towel firmly over the wound with one hand and caressed the dog with the other. Who would do this? Darren ran his thumb gently over Patch’s head, the only place without the presence of blood.

  A hundred scenarios flashed through his mind, none of them made sense, except for two. One, Patch tried to scale the fence chasing a possum or cat, and on the way down he ripped his chest on a nail sticking out, or a piece of splintered fence paling. The second one, someone had entered the property and hadn’t counted on Patch being on watch. The last scenario seemed hard to fathom, quite possible and a real worry. The first scenario was unlikely, there were too many cuts on the dog.

  And how did Patch wind up in here?

  A dark cloud blackened everything in his mind. Simon’s mates!

  The sound of a siren stirred him and he looked up. Within a minute the red and blue flashing lights appeared at his driveway. Two doors opened simultaneously. Calmly, the occupants went through the gate, walking towards the voice that bellowed, “Over here. Under the house. Please hurry.”

  The ambos approached behind Darren who was still tending to Patch.

  “Where are you hurt, mate?” the female paramedic asked.

  “It’s not me. It’s my mate here.” Darren lifted the towel draped over Patch.

  “Sorry, sir, but we’re not animal rescue.” And the male paramedic started to turn around. The female paramedic didn’t move. She gazed at Darren, and without warning she gently pulled him away. “Let me have a look.”

  She took fifteen seconds, “Stay with him. I’ll be back in a sec. Keep the towel on him.” She ran past the other paramedic, who had stopped.

  “Well, don’t just stand there like a stunned mullet. Get the gurney out,” she yelled.

  Suddenly, it was all action. After treatment to stem the blood flow, the paramedics wasted little time to place Patch securely on the gurney. Donna, the female paramedic was on the phone to a close friend, a veterinary surgeon. Within minutes they were packed up and ready to leave.

  “You’ll have to organise your own transport, meet us at the vet’s. Remember the address?” She barely waited for an answer, “Let’s go!” she commanded her colleague.

  ***

  Darren disliked going to a vet clinic more than Patch probably did. It wasn’t even the bill at the end of the consultation, he couldn’t stand the smell of the surgical room. Tonight, was an exception. He stood back from the surgeon, she was hunched over Patch, who was out to it. The floor beneath the operating table was wet with blood.

  He dared not ask how this was going to pan out, in case it was bad karma. His feet were sore from standing, shifting and not being able to settle in a spot. His neck felt like it was trapped in a tractor tyre.

  “Maybe, you should go home for a while.” The vet mumbled without taking her attention away from her patient. “He’s a lucky dog. Whatever he was stabbed with narrowly missed his heart,” she said glancing up fleetingly.

  Darren gazed at Patch, tubes coming out of everywhere, tongue flopped on the table, “Will he be alright?”

  “No promises. Though, he seems a tough critter.”

  “Cattle-dogs are pretty resilient. Born to take a few kicks,” Darren said hopeful.

  “A few kicks yes, but not what looks to be a frenzied attack by someone with a decent size knife.” A few dark locks of hair covered her sweat-covered forehead, her eyes were stern, showing deep concern. She stepped back from the table and wiped her forehead, whisking the tussled hair off her face.

  “Helen. Helen Pappasoulis. Sorry we didn’t get introduced.” She peeled the surgical glove off her right hand, and extended her arm to Darren.

  “Oh, yeah. Darren. I can’t thank you enough for looking at him. Fixing him. I mean ….” Darren quivered. The emotion set in and little he could do about it. His eyes welled, his feelings mixed with relief, anxiety, fatigue and … anger.

  “All part of the service, although I’m glad these incidents don’t happen every day.” she stroked Patch’s head gently. “Let’s let him sleep. How about you come back later today.”

  Darren glanced at the wall clock. It was just after four in the morning. Outside it had just started raining again.

  ***

  The gates were still open, he drove the XC in and parked a few metres behind the Patrol, flicking the lights to high beam, and turning the wipers off. He left the car running and wandered to the driver’s side of the big four-wheel drive. The smears of blood had turned darker, nearly a brown colour. The spatters were close to the truck. Darren looked to the driveway. Whoever came must have jumped the front gate, it was only four feet high. The yard fencing was too high. A closer glance at the driver’s door revealed blood on the door handle and thick smears all around it. He bent over to examine the smudged doorhandle and door. Patch must have taken a chunk out of the intruder’s hand. Good, at least it’s not all Patch’s claret! Speculating that the intruder must have been keen to rid himself of an attacking dog, by opening the door of the truck …Patch would have jumped in, or he was picked up and thrown in.

  But who?

  Someone was sent to ensure an outstanding debt would be honoured. You picked on the wrong person to do that to. A bloodied dog-collar lay on the ground next to the truck. Darren stepped over, picked it up and checked the tag, Patch, it said. Whoever you are – you better hope Patch recovers. Darren ground his jaw, staring at the concrete, he imagined he’d catch up with the coward sooner or later. I’ll show you what happens to you when you carve up my dog.

  CHAPTER 24

  AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE

  “Next time you oughta be more careful. How come you didn’t see the dog?” Davo dabbed more Dettol on the bite wounds. Eddie winced, teeth grinding, growling like a crocodile. A torn shirt sleeve still wrapped around his wrist was soaked with blood.

  Ryker shot an angry look at Davo. The ruse had gone pear-shaped, Eddie wasn’t even supposed to come back, instead they were having to nursemaid him.

  When they proposed the ‘message’ to Eddie, he was less than enthused and bluntly told them that he wasn’t someone’s standover man. He accused the Riders of being a bunch of pussies getting someone else to do their dirty work. Eddie’s opinion went down like a lead balloon.

  Although Ryker and Davo were seething about Eddie’s denigration of their club, it was Davo’s clever ruse to entrap Eddie by mentioning a quantity of cocaine which the target had in his possession that suddenly got his attention. And to their total bewilderment, a photograph o
f a bloke resembling a famous movie star, called Tom Selleck, caused Eddie to jump out of his skin in a concoction of rage and elation that ballooned into a psychotic explosion of rants. Payback was coming!

  Ryker and Davo exchanged glances both thinking the same, so this was the cab driver who had ploughed through the Sinners’ clubhouse and killed two of Eddie’s top disciples.

  By this time, the bikers saw the writing on the wall: the ‘message’ was never going to be a message, Eddie was going to kill this cab driver – and then carve him up!

  The instruction from the mystery caller was clear: no killing! Ryker wasn’t about to screw up a simple instruction. Letting Eddie in on how this job came about wasn’t an option either. It was just a ‘job’. And stopping Eddie now, well, that wasn’t possible – the cat was out of the bag and the lion was in for the kill.

  There was little the bikers could do but sit back and watch, comforted by the thought that Eddie meeting up with this cab driver was likely to turn into a fight to the end. Odds were fifty-fifty; from the stories Eddie told them this cab driver was some sort of gladiator. A worthy opponent whose demise would crown the ultimate champion, Eddie. An outcome, that Eddie was sure about. It was that attitude, the bikers, in fact, all of the brothers of the Redemption Riders, despised about Eddie.

  Instead, here he was, the wounded warrior had crawled home.

  “You’re gonna need some stitching or something. That’s an ugly looking tear. Fuck me, I reckon that dog might’ve had a good taste of you. Fucking hope he didn’t like it too much,” Davo said and broke out in a sarcastic laugh.

  Eddie’s face screwed up in anger from the stinging pain and Davo’s mockery. He snatched the blood-soaked shirt-sleeve and carefully wrapped it around his wrist, at least the bleeding had stopped. The hairs on his neck were tingling, he could feel the stares from the two bikers as he tightened the temporary bandage and tucked the tag end under. Eddie felt the adrenaline surging through his veins, the thought of having missed his target and then having to put up with two condescending idiots made him furious. These cunts have been nothing but a fucking pain in the arse. Maybe I should do them after I finish with the cab driver. The idea appeasing his anger. It would have to wait a few days, give his wounds a chance to heal.

  Eddie eyeballed both bikers while standing up. It was a silent exit.

  He would take himself to the emergency ward and present himself with bite wounds. After all, Townsville had the biggest population of dogs he’d ever come across; being attacked by a stray dog was a believable story.

  Eddie didn’t shut the door behind him.

  Ryker watched Eddie leave, one of the taillights on the Charade wasn’t working, “With a bit of luck, a copper might pull him over. With his temper the way it is, he might decide to deck the copper, and get arrested. Or better still, get a bullet in his chest.”

  “Wishful thinking.” Davo fiddled with a box of matches on the table.

  “We’ve dug a big fat hole for ourselves. Before you know it, we’ll have the mob, or whoever they are that gave us this job on our backs, and the coppers won’t be far behind. Eddie is a like great big dog shit, soon all the blowies will be around, because the dog shit is in our yard.” Ryker lit a smoke inhaling deep.

  “Maybe it’s time to get serious and make the dog shit disappear,” Davo uttered.

  “Too right,” Ryker said quietly.

  “It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Davo left Ryker standing at the door. Heavy drops of rain started falling from the sky spurring him to reach the car. By the time he shut the car door, it was pissing down.

  ***

  The windscreen wipers on the Charade had one setting left, a slow slap from left to right, ending with a groan each time the rubber paused against the weather-strip on the cracked windscreen. Eddie turned the wheel one-handed, steering the small car into the hospital parking area. He reached over with his left hand to manipulate the ignition key. His right arm and hand were throbbing with pain. Eddie squeezed his large body out of the front seat and through the door. He slammed the door shut with his knee while holding his injured arm up against his chest.

  The emergency room was barren. An older Aboriginal woman with greyish frizzy hair sat stooped staring at the floor. Eddie noticed her leather-like feet flat on the floor. The frail woman remained unmoved as Eddie limped past. The one nurse behind the counter continued writing on the duty-sheet. The stillness of the room contrasted the scratching and tapping noise of the pen. Eddie cleared his throat as loud as he could. The fifty-something looking nurse briefly lifted her eyes from the desk. “Be with you in a sec.”

  Eddie shifted his weight and answered, “Guess you won’t mind me bleeding on your floor.”

  “You’re not the first one to do that, believe me.” She put the pen in the fold of the duty-roster. “Now. What can I do for you?” Finally raising her head.

  “Got bitten by a dog.” Eddie brought his arm towards the counter and held it up for the nurse. She gazed at his arm at first, carefully she lifted the edge of the make-shift bandage.

  “Can you remove the tourniquet? Or whatever that is.”

  Eddie grunted and undid the temporary bandage wincing as the cloth unstuck from his bloodied wrist.

  “Yep. That looks pretty nasty. Will have to get the doctor to attend to that wound. Do you know the dog? Or the dog’s owner?” She came around from behind the counter, put her spectacles on and had a closer look. “A pretty vicious bite mark.” She brought her finger close to the open wound, but avoided contact. “Well? Do you know the dog?”

  “No. No, never seen it before.”

  “Where did it happen? This will need to be reported.”

  “Reported to who? It’s just a fucking bite.”

  “Police. This dog could kill a child.”

  Eddie was angry. He hadn’t counted on the hospital staff being concerned about public safety. Now, he’d have to come up with a believable story. Coppers! I don’t want the coppers involved! The wound needed treatment and resolved to push her to do this, then he would bail and disappear quickly, without a trace.

  “Can we get this looked at first? I promise I will tell you exactly where this happened. You’re right, don’t want some kid attacked. Do we?” Eddie put his best citizen face on.

  She appraised his suggestion briefly before nodding in agreement. “Let’s get it cleaned up first. Then I’ll call for the doctor. Never know, this dog might have been rabid.”

  “Doubt it,” said Eddie.

  The only thing rabid here will be me, when I go back and deal with both – dog and owner! Eddie swore underneath his breath.

  CHAPTER 25

  A BLAST FROM THE PAST

  The kettle was rumbling on the kitchen benchtop. Two heaped teaspoons of instant coffee were dumped in the bottom of the mug, followed by a half teaspoon of brown sugar, then milk. Darren stirred the mixture vigorously and poured the boiling water into the mug. Barely three hours of sleep by his calculation, nevertheless he was alert, anxious to see how Patch was doing. He sipped his hot cup of coffee. Thoughts from last night’s events were pinballing around his head this morning. Lack of sleep and lingering anger did little to help him put things in a sensible order, let alone having a plan of action. First, he would see to Patch.

  He retrieved the number from the vet clinic’s business card.

  “Hi. Is Helen there?” he spoke, hearing his voice was hoarse.

  “Sorry. She had an emergency early this morning and won’t be in until tomorrow. Who am I speaking with?” The articulate and pleasant voice on the other end disarmed Darren in an instant.

  “Sorry. It’s been a long night. That emergency was for my dog. Patch. I am Darren. Just wondering how he’s doing?” His breathing stopped while the seconds turned into a lightyear. But the answer came quick.

  “Stable. His vital signs are stable. However, Patch is still very ill. Would you like to come in and see him?” Her voice was enchanting, with a thick Brit
ish accent.

  “Yeah, that’d be great. See you soon then.” Darren put the phone down, with a sigh of relief.

  No sooner had he finished his coffee when his mobile rang. It was the work number appearing on the screen. He didn’t feel like dealing with Pete, or passengers for that matter. The coffee had done little to improve his outlook on life on this day. Then he remembered. Shit. I was supposed to start at eight. He answered with an apology, “My fault, Pete, I forgot. But I can’t come in for a while yet. Had some shit happen last night.”

  “Well, you aren’t the only one. I got a smashed face.” Pete’s voice was tainted by nasal and lip distortion. His breathing sounded a little strained as well. “I was in the ‘ospital, late. At work now.” Nasally.

  “Okay, I’ll call in on the way to the vets,” Darren hurriedly said.

  Before starting the XC, he surveyed the blood stains on the concrete and the Patrol. Inside the cab looked like Freddy Kruger had been on a rampage. It was a wonder Patch hadn’t bled to death. Angered, Darren put his attention to the trail that left the concrete drive and spilled onto the grass. Although the rain had washed most of the evidence away on the grass, further left to the driveway on the picket fence some blood smears were visible.

  As Darren backed out onto the street he wondered what would have happened to Pete. By all accounts, Pete was better behind a desk than the wheel.

  Darren was shocked when he saw Pete.

  Pete’s face looked like he’d walked into a bus. Darren wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Although he was pretty sure that crying was not on the cards. Pete’s nose and most of his cheeks were covered in gauze and tape, his upper lip was stitched.

  “Geez, mate, what did you walk into?” Darren chuckled.

  “Isshh not funny. Bruddie hurtshh like hell,” Pete’s lisped reply was snappy, despite his temporary disadvantage.