A Tropical Cure (A Darren Mangan Thriller Book 2) Page 17

  His glassy eyes narrowed.

  “Chris.”

  The man’s brown eyes jumped skittishly from the car to Eddie. His sloppy fitting track-suit pants were soiled with workshop stains.

  “Where you want to go to?”

  “Nearest town. Cardwell maybe?”

  “I live just there. A couple of clicks in the bush.” He pointed in a forward direction.

  “How far is Cardwell from here?”

  “Twenty clicks.” The man shrugged, showing no interest in going to Cardwell.

  “Suppose you couldn’t give us a ride. I’ll pay ya.”

  “How much?” A quick reply.

  “Fifty bucks. How does that sound, eh?” Eddie smiled. “No need to be worried, Chris. I’m just after a ride.”

  “Sounds good to me,” And beckoned Eddie to follow him, he turned to lead the way. It was all that Eddie needed him to do. Turn his back.

  Fifteen minutes later, Eddie spun the front wheels of Camry and speared the feisty car onto the highway heading north. It hadn’t taken him long to subdue his victim. There was no resistance when Eddie had put his fist through the back of the old man’s head.

  To Eddie’s overwhelming joy the fuel gauge on the Camry showed a three-quarter tank full of fuel. It could probably get him as far as Cairns. The thought excited him, he’d never been to Cairns but had heard it was a great town. Eddie also recalled a close relative of his, whose last known whereabouts was: Cairns. Bogdan Livanescunic.

  ***

  On the Bruce Highway about twenty kilometres south of Cardwell, a red Charade was parked well down an embankment, pushed from the road’s shoulder, nearly out of sight from passers-by. Easily missed by travellers driving at a hundred kilometres an hour. The windows were wound up, the doors were locked. Not that the person sprawled on the back seat would be able to unlock the doors, or wind down the windows.

  CHAPTER 36

  A RUSTLE IN THE BUSH

  The phone call from Cynthia came late afternoon. The real estate agent had secured an inspection from an out-of-towner, a Melbournian on a hurried inspection spree to buy a property in Townsville. Darren’s property was second on the list of nine inspections.

  “Early bird catches the worm,” said the excited, young real estate professional. Her last snippet of advice as Darren agreed to an 8.30am appointment the following morning. Pumped about a possible sale, he went straight to the broom cupboard and pulled out the barrel-vac. Just as he tap-danced his foot on the on/off, he felt his mobile stirring in his pocket. Darren had been expecting an update on Patch, his nervous anticipation was two-fold: positive news from Patch’s recovery, and another chance to talk to Ruby.

  “Oh, hello, is this Darren?” Sweet and articulate.

  “That’s me. How are you today?”

  “I am good. And so is Patch.”

  “Bloody good news. Fu … err, sorry. Great news.” Caught himself.

  Ruby chuckled at his awkwardness, and offered, “Would you like to come and see him. I am staying over at the clinic tonight, so you can come when it suits you. Sorry. Let me rephrase. You can visit after hours.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Darren’s brain was ticking.

  “You could do me a favour though. Perhaps you could pick up a pizza for me. I’ll pay you for it. I can’t leave the clinic. Too many sick animals here.”

  “No worries. What sort do you like? I know of a good pizza place, just up the road.”

  “Good.”

  “Just hope you’re not in a hurry. I’ve got some chores to finish. Got a real estate inspection in the morning, and I need to do some tidying.”

  “Yes, I hate those stupid inspections every three months as well.”

  “It’s not one of those,” he corrected her politely, “They are a pain. I’m selling my house and the agent is bringing someone around early in the morning. All the blood from Patch’s attack still needs scrubbing off the concrete. No doubt, it will be a mission.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you.” Sounding genuinely apologetic.

  “No worries, that job would have to be done sooner or later.”

  “Sorry to be prying, but why are you selling your house?”

  A brief lull in response.

  “Thinking about moving near the beach.” It was the only thing Darren could come up with. “Thought I’d see how much I’d be able to sell the house for.”

  “Fair enough,” she replied.

  “You haven’t told me what pizza you like.”

  “I’m not much on pepperoni, or any meat for that matter. I would normally order a vegetarian pizza.” Ruby wasn’t shy about her food preferences.

  “I see. A vegetarian.”

  “Not completely. I enjoy having fish and chicken.”

  “Pizza with veggies and chicken?”

  She broke out in light laughter, “Sure, why not. I like spicy stuff too.

  “Done.” He quickly checked the time, “How about around nine? Not too late?”

  “Perfect. See you then,” she replied.

  “Great.”

  “Bye,” she whispered.

  Darren could feel his heart thumping in the silence following the call. Cate was the last person to be able to stir him like this. But Cate was gone.

  Dense, small clumps of doghair were randomly dispersed under furniture and in the corners against the skirting boards. Darren dragged the barrel-vac behind him as he roughly covered the areas where the doghair had gathered and balled-up. His mind wandered to thoughts of where he would move to. How would the money be sorted? It didn’t require much imagination. The bastards would garnish the proceeds of the sale and the money would disappear like it never existed. Darren wasn’t under any illusion – he could kiss all that dough goodbye.

  He finished vacuuming and grabbed a tea-towel hanging over the oven-door handle. There was a damp sponge on the edge of the sink. He went to front window, started wiping down the sills and architraves. Looking through the glass he spotted it.

  There was a dark coloured four-door Commodore parked across the road. The windows looked black. Its presence in the street was unusual. Darren decided he was just being paranoid, and dismissed any further suspicions. He moved on to the next window, dispensing with this job after a quick wipe.

  After shaking out the dust catcher he packed up the vacuum-cleaner and shoved it into the broom cupboard, he pushed the appliance back with his foot, quickly shutting the louvre timber door. He surveyed the lounge room and kitchen and decided it was time to go down below and tackle the clean-up job from the other night’s horrendous attack on Patch.

  He started down the stairs. From the corner of his eye he spied the dark car, still parked across the road. Halfway down Darren stopped abruptly, and turned his body to face the car, staring directly at it. Within ten seconds, the car started and slowly moved forward with no lights, a soft rumble was coming from under the bonnet. As soon as the car had passed Darren’s gate it drove off at a relaxed speed. Darren couldn’t make out what the driver looked like, or whether the driver was male or female. The only thought that crossed his mind, was he being watched? It sure as hell looked like it.

  An hour long of hosing, scrubbing and more hosing finally erased all evidence of the violence from the other night. The fluoro lit the area well enough for him to see, making sure all traces of blood were gone. He even managed to remove all the blood smears from the Patrol. On the outside. The interior was still badly stained with dried blood. The canvas seat covers would have to be removed and washed. The dash would need a good clean, followed by a rub with vinyl cleaner. Never mind he thought. I’ll come back to that later. The real estate agent wouldn’t be showing the buyers the interior of his four-wheel drive. When he finished storing the hose and broom, Darren’s eyes peered over the road, at the empty spot where the dark mystery sedan had been parked. It was time to have a word with a certain copper. Darren was sure that Joel Shallowater could shed some light. Sneaky bugger.

  *
**

  Darren slipped behind the wheel of the XC, the starter motor laboured when he turned the key. The starter solenoid whirred a couple of times before engaging and firing up the straight six. Fucking battery, he cursed. He slipped the column shift to reverse and eased out of the driveway. Parked in front of his gate he fidgeted with the mobile trying to wrest it out of his front trouser pocket. When he’d pulled it out he saw a missed call notice. Slightly panicked he checked in case it was a missed call from Ruby. The number showed up as private. Nothing he could do with that.

  At the end of his street Darren he decided to go left, the direction of the pizza place. Heading towards Aitkenvale on Fulham Road he veered left onto Charles Street, at the roundabout he spotted some headlights approaching rapidly behind him. Darren adjusted the rear-view mirror while keeping his eyes focussed ahead. He glanced in the mirror intermittently and realised the car behind him hadn’t let off and was trailing the XC by five or six metres. Am I being followed?

  Darren pushed the accelerator down a little further. The red needle on the speedo was nudging 80. He didn’t like going much faster, it was a residential neighbourhood. The clock read 20.37. He was already running late. The car was still behind him, sticking to him like glue. The next roundabout came up quickly. He braked hard and swung left without signalling. The two lights stayed in the rear-view mirror.

  Fuck. Who are these cunts? Darren pushed the XC harder until the next roundabout, then he braked hard again and gunned the Ford out of second exit, throwing the lazy car into a swerve. The traffic lights at the Ross River Road junction changed from green to amber. Sixty metres, shit, it’s going to be close! Darren gripped the wheel tight. No way he was going to stop at the lights. He just hoped that he wasn’t going to T-bone some poor bastard. His eyes shot to the right of the lights. No cars at the lights. Miracle.

  Five metres before the traffic lights, now showing red, he slammed the brakes, turning the steering wheel frantically, throwing the Ford in a violent left-hand turn, skidding sideways with screeching tyres. The rear end of the sedan was nearing perpendicular to his intended direction, Darren released the wheel momentarily, and spun the steering wheel opposite. The car slewed, before straightening. Are you kidding me?

  Darren saw the dark car sailing sideways; it’s headlights were pointing at the XC.

  Intimidated yes. Getting angry, oh yeah. Darren’s face hardened.

  He still couldn’t make out what make of car was chasing him. A wild guess would be, a dark green fucking Commodore! And who’s fuckin’ driving! Cops?

  He kept the pressure on the pedal, zooming past other cars at a speed of ninety kilometres an hour. Where are the cops when you need them? Where are you, Gibbs? Shit.

  Gotta do something.

  Darren reached under the front seat, one hand on the steering, the other groping for the .38. His fingers felt the cold steel of the barrel. He retrieved the .38 revolver, put it between his legs and continued speeding along Ross River Road. The lights behind him were close, and zigzagging.

  Another intersection was coming up quick. Darren speared into the left lane, stood on the brakes, and threw the XC into another wild skid. He gunned the Ford into Gulliver Road.

  Glancing in the mirror, it was still behind him.

  This time Darren slowed the XC from seventy to sixty. Let’s see if we slow right down. He carefully released pressure from the accelerator. Sixty…fifty-seven…fifty-two…forty-eight…forty…thirty-five… Darren’s fingers tightened around the butt of the revolver. The driver’s side window had been down the whole time. Glimpsing at the mirror: Shit…he’s gone!

  The roar of a quick downshift.

  Now he knew.

  The Commodore was right next to him, revving high from being in a low gear – a getaway gear. The cars were nearing each other. Only a metre separated them.

  Darren was face to face with dark-tinted passenger window, waiting for it to go down. He lifted the .38 from his lap. Not being left-handed was going to be a challenge for him, to shoot accurate, nevertheless, it was going to leave a clear message.

  Fuck it. I’ll just blow the window out. Darren brought the .38 level with the Commodore’s passenger window. A quick glance ahead. Shit the lights. Traffic from either side, crossing. Fifty metres. Darren braked hard.

  The Commodore roared forward, then slowed hard for the right moment, shooting through the intersection.

  Darren watched the red taillights disappear rapidly ahead.

  He breathed heavy. His heart was drumming in his ears. Adrenaline coursing fast in his veins.

  A rustle in the bush.

  He experienced that same feeling, from the rustle in the bush, when pig hunting with his father. You knew, the pigs were close. Your finger on the trigger. Ready. There was nothing like an angry boar only a few metres away to put the fear of God into you.

  That feeling: scared shitless, but ready. All your senses were peaking.

  Darren wasn’t sure if he was hungry anymore. It didn’t matter, the vet nurse, Ruby, she would be hungry because she wouldn’t have known anything about a car-chase or a rustle in the bush.

  CHAPTER 37

  PIZZA NIGHT

  Adrenaline. Darren still felt the surges after an hour. It was unnerving to stand in front of the clinic door; there were too many things going through his mind – the mystery car chase, Patch, the house sale, Eddie and now, Ruby.

  The bottom of the pizza box was hot on his hands, and making him more anxious waiting at the door. Footsteps neared the door followed by the clicking of a key, it only opened as far as the chain would allow. Through the aperture, Darren’s eyes met hers. Ruby smiled and unlatched the chain, letting Darren through.

  “Here, let me take that pizza from you.” She reached out and took the cardboard box. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about us.”

  “Yeah. Didn’t think I was going to make it either.” An ambiguous reply.

  “Oh. Was there something wrong?” Her face was serious.

  Save the moment, mate. She does not need to know. He decided.

  “Bloody battery in the car. Let me down at the pizza place. Couldn’t get the car to start and had to wait for jumper cables.”

  “Well, at least the pizza is still hot,” Ruby remarked.

  “Ahmm … yeah, lucky the pizza place kept it warm for me.”

  Ruby eyed him for a moment and conceded with a smile. She left Darren to close the door. Darren followed behind, hoping she wouldn’t revisit the pizza trip.

  “It’s a little late. Patch was awake for a short while about an hour ago, but I gave him some sedatives to settle him for a good rest. You can see him from here.” She stopped at the recovery room entrance, held the door open enough to throw subdued light onto Patch’s enclosure. Patch was out to the count.

  Darren’s earlier enthusiasm for the evening had been decimated by the car chase. The exhaustion showed on his face.

  “You look a little tired.”

  “Must have been all that scrubbing.” With a forced grin.

  Ruby yawned, “Sorry. I’m a bit spent myself.”

  Her loose shoes were clacking on the vinyl floor.

  He shadowed her to the kitchen where she put the pizza on a square table.

  “Would you like a tea?” Ruby picked up the kettle from the gas-stove.

  “If you don’t mind I might head off, let you get some rest,” Darren suggested.

  “I am rather tired. But, there is a pizza to be eaten. Do share some with me. Please?” Her smile and request were persuasive. “You can eat and run.”

  “Righto, I’ll hang around for a bite. A cup of tea sounds good too.” Darren pulled back one of the chairs, and sat down. After filling the kettle with water, she lit the large burner and placed the kettle on top of the trivet. Despite the invitation to share a meal and a cuppa, his mood was dark. He didn’t want to involve this beautiful person in the things that had started happening around him.

  “
Your frown is rather deep. Are you worried about Patch?” Her tone was one of concern.

  “Nah, I think he’s in pretty good hands.”

  “Good.” She nodded. “Patch will come out of this as good as he was before the injuries, I promise. He will need a bit of recuperation time though.”

  She opened a kitchen drawer and produced a pizza-cutter. She popped the tab on the box with her finger, opened it to reveal a pizza covered with sliced tomatoes, mushrooms, spinach and feta cheese crumble. “Oh yum, there’s sliced eggplant on the bottom as well.”

  Darren gawked at the meatless pizza. It was difficult for him to feel as thrilled as Ruby was about a pizza that didn’t have a skerrick of meat. Crikey a bit of bacon would have made it more palatable. But he wasn’t about to ruin her excitement.

  She began rolling the cutter through the mush, ran it through four times to produce eight slices. “Bog in, don’t wait,” Ruby urged with a smile.

  “Thanks, I’ll give it go.” With little enthusiasm.

  He picked the smallest piece and took a bite. She poured the boiling water into the cups and pinched two teabags, lowering one in each cup.

  “Sugar is on the table,” she said, putting both steaming cups on the table. ”Milk is coming.”

  They sipped tea as they ate from the pizza. It was calming and pleasant, neither saying much. Darren made sure he didn’t eat in a hurry, allowing Ruby to gorge herself on the food. He was relieved that the evening finished on a relaxed note. His anxiety from earlier had dissipated.

  After a quick clean up in the kitchen, Ruby escorted Darren to the front door.

  “Thank you for the pizza. Next time, we might have to share a vegetarian and meat lovers.” Ruby had a chuckle. “You were very polite not to complain.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Oh yes. But I like the honesty,” she said.

  Nervously, Darren avoided eye contact, “Is Patch going to be alright staying here a few extra days? I’ll pay for the extra board. I’m not sure, but I may have to go away for a couple of days.”