Not Dead Yet

CHAPTER 27

  Pringle's face shook and his voice went white. "M-M-Maddox. What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I want to chat. Turn around and go back inside."

  Pringle ducked back into the cabin.

  Gary followed and waved his pistol towards a bench. "Sit there and keep your hands where I can see them."

  Pringle sat next to a pile of fishing magazines and spoke with a burr. "What's this about?"

  "Been very busy recently, haven't you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You've killed four people, and you tried to kill me."

  "Really? Who'd I kill?"

  "Let me see: first, you killed Pedro Garcia and a guy called Morales, when you ripped off eight kilos of coke. Then you killed your accomplice, Tony Thompson, and then a woman called Robyn Parsons."

  Pringle looked nervous. "I didn't kill any of them - that's bullshit."

  "It's not. You killed the first three to cover your tracks. Then you tried to kill me, but killed the woman instead."

  Pringle shook his head vehemently. "Don't know what you're talking about."

  Gary shrugged. "Fair enough, if you don't want to talk, that's fine."

  A hesitant smile. "Really?"

  "Yes, so I'll kill you now."

  Gary raised his pistol and pointed it at Pringle's forehead. He had feared he couldn't shoot Pringle in cold blood. However, he thought about Robyn and his corrupt father, and felt his head and hand grow quiet. Yes, he could do this.

  Pringle's eyes bulged and chin quivered. "Alright, alright, I'll tell you what you want to know."

  "Good, and remember this: next time you lie to me, the penalty is death. Then I'll go and have breakfast, probably bacon and eggs."

  "OK, OK. What do you want to know?"

  "First question: how much coke did you steal?"

  Pringle hesitated and shrugged. "Umm, about eight kilos."

  With some prompting, Pringle described how, with Tony Thompson, he killed Garcia and Morales, and ripped off the coke. Then he murdered Thompson and planted the bomb in Gary's apartment.

  Gary said: "Why'd you try to kill me?"

  "I knew you were looking for Trixie Powell. She was a big danger to me. I had to make sure you didn't find her first." A smug smile. "And, of course, I've never liked you. Killing you was gonna be fun."

  "What did you do with the coke you stole from Garcia?"

  "We sold some. But most is still buried in the Royal National Park."

  "Where in the park?"

  "I can draw a map. Give me a pen and paper. Why don't you take the coke and let me go?"

  Gary's heart grew cold again. "I don't want the coke."

  "Then what do you want?"

  His bitterness welled up. "Revenge."

  Pringle's whole face trembled. "Because I tried to kill you?"

  "No, because you killed someone very close to me."

  Pringle looked puzzled and shook. "Shit, you mean the woman in your apartment?"

  "Yes, Robyn Parsons. She was a good friend and you blew her to bits. For that, you're gonna die. Say your prayers."

  As his finger tightened on the trigger, something cold and metallic jabbed the back of his neck. Instinctively, he knew it was a gun. Shit.

  Someone behind him spoke. "You've had your fun. Don't move - not an inch."

  Gary immediately recognised the soft, almost childish voice. A massive brown hand reached around and tore the pistol from his grasp.

  "Now, turn around." As Gary turned, Moses Hapeta stepped back, pointing his pistol at Gary's chest. "Hello, Gary."

  "Hello, Moses."

  Pringle gulped in air. "Thank fucking Christ. The bastard was going to kill me."

  "I saw that."

  Gary hoped Moses was on his side, but the signs weren't good. "So, umm, Moses, what're you doing here?"

  "After we chatted in the pub, I wondered why you were so interested in Brian."

  "Interested? We talked about a lot of people."

  "True, but you were obviously digging around for information and we talked about him last. So I wondered if Brian tried to blow you up and you wanted to bump him off. I was right, huh?"

  "Yes, he blew up my apartment. He's now killed four people."

  "I know, I've been listening."

  "You should arrest him."

  Moses giggled. "No chance."

  Gary's heart sunk. "You mean, you're working with this prick?"

  "No, we don't work together. I have my own business operation. But we sometimes help each other out, don't we Brian?"

  Pringle smiled. "That's right. Thanks for saving my bacon, though you could've warned me this arsehole wanted to ice me."

  Moses shrugged. "I could, but I wanted to find out what was going on first. You know, I wondered if you ripped off Garcia."

  "Now you know."

  "Yes, and you grabbed eight keys of coke?"

  "Thereabouts."

  "Well, I want half. That's my commission for saving your arse."

  "No problem. You've earned it."

  "Good. Now, what do you want to do with Gary here?"

  "First, I've got to extract some information."

  "What information?"

  "There's a chick I've got to find, and I think he knows where she is."

  "Who?"

  "Her name's Trixie Powell. She was Tony Thompson's bitch. She's the last mouth I've got to shut."

  Moses turned back to Gary. "Hear that Gary - where's Trixie? Tell us and I'll make sure Brian shows mercy."

  "You mean, you'll let me go?"

  Moses didn't even blink. "Of course. We go back a long way."

  An obvious lie. They both had to kill Gary because he was too dangerous to release. "Get fucked."

  Moses smiled mirthlessly. "Look, Gary, I know we're friends but, if you don't hand over Trixie, I'll have to re-evaluate."

  "Don't worry, I think our friendship's over."

  Moses shrugged. "Have it your way. Let's see how much pain you can take."

  While Pringle covered Gary with a pistol, Moses moved behind him and patted him down. Finally, he used police-issue handcuffs to fasten his hands behind his back.

  Pringle opened a collapsible chair next to a fold-out table and barked: "Sit".

  Gary complied.

  Pringle said: "This is the last time I'll ask nicely - where's Trixie?"

  No point crawling. "Fuck off."

  Pringle slammed the pistol butt into the side of Gary's head. The world turned dark and he felt a strange, remote pain, as if it wasn't quite his. He toppled off the chair and, because he was handcuffed, his head bounced on the wooden deck. He blacked out for several seconds. As he regained consciousness, the pain got up close and personal.

  Moses heaved him back into the chair. His head throbbed. Blood dribbled into his eyes and mouth, tasting bitter. He wanted to rub his head, but couldn't.

  Gary looked up at Moses. "Enjoying yourself?"

  Moses's flat face remained impassive. "Wise up Gary. Tell us where Trixie is and we'll let you go, I promise."

  "Bullshit."

  Pringle smiled mirthlessly. "OK, smart guy. I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I don't have a blowtorch - otherwise, I'd roast you like a turkey."

  "The bad news?"

  "I've got a big boning knife. If you don't cough I'll cut off your fingers, one by one. Understand?"

  "Piss off," Gary mumbled through stiff lips and braced himself for another blow.

  Instead, Pringle flashed an evil smile. "Alright, I'm going for the knife. You'd better have an answer ready by the time I get back."

  Pringle ducked into the small galley and returned holding a huge knife. He ran his index finger lightly along the edge, producing a few beads of blood. He sucked the finger and smiled at Gary. "Mmm, I use this to fillet fish. But you'll do. Got an answer for me now, smartarse?"

  "Get stuffed."

  Pringle turned to Moses. "Uncuff him."

  M
oses ground his pistol into Gary's neck and unlocked a bracelet. Gary put his elbows on the fold-out table and rubbed his wrists. Moses leaned forward and re-cuffed his hands.

  Pringle said: "Spread your fingers on the table."

  Moses jabbed the pistol into his neck. Gary slowly complied.

  Pringle grinned maliciously. "Last chance. Tell me where to find Trixie or I'll perform my first amputation."

  Gary couldn't tell the truth - that he had no idea where she was - because Pringle would kill him out of hand. Somehow, he had to send one of these bastards off on a wild goose chase and hope to overpower the other. But he couldn't capitulate too easily. If he did, Pringle would smell a rat.

  Gary said: "Bugger off."

  Pringle leaned forward, grabbed Gary's right wrist and slid the knife over his little finger, scraping the bone, drawing blood.

  Now was the time to capitulate. "OK, OK. I'll tell you where she is."

  "Good. Where?"

  "She's staying in Camperdown, with a friend."

  "Who's the friend?"

  "Girl called Jane - Jane Rourke. They used to work together, as hookers."

  "What's the address?"

  "59 O'Riordan Street, Flat 29." Gary once lived at that address, though there were only 28 flats in the block.

  Gary kept his eyes focused on the boning knife, hoping to see it rise. Instead, with a loud grunt, Pringle pressed down hard, lopping off the little finger of Gary's right hand.

  Gary screamed. He never realised his body could manufacture so much pain. Blood gushed from his finger stump onto the table. For a few moments, he blacked out. Moses stopped him falling.

  Gary cradled his bloody hand against his body, leaving the severed finger on the table. "Shit. Why?"

  Pringle grinned. "Because you fucked me around. You shouldn't have done that. Trixie had better be at this address or I'll slice off your nuts and eat them on toast?" Pringle took a dirty towel off a rack and threw it at Gary. "Stop bleeding on my boat."

  Gary wrapped the towel around his maimed hand and, ignoring the brutal pain, pulled it tight. It quickly turned into a bloody mess. Tears ran down his cheeks, his head floated and his vision wobbled. He wanted to open his mouth and scream. But, if he did, he'd never stop.

  Pringle said: "Got anything smart to say?"

  "Piss off."

  "Hah. Call that smart?" Pringle turned to Moses. "I'll go and see if Trixie's there. You watch him."

  "No problem."

  "You won't let your friendship with this guy get in the way?"

  Moses laughed. "I saved your life, didn't I? When you come back, bring me my four kilos of coke."

  "Sure. I'll be back in a few hours."

  Pringle left the cabin.

  The pain in Gary's hand had declined to a dull throb. He looked down at his finger, lying on the table, and croaked: "For God's sake, put it on ice."

  Moses ducked into the galley and returned with a tray of ice. He delicately placed Gary's finger on top and returned it to the freezer. "Satisfied?"

  "Yeah."

  "How does your hand feel?" Moses asked, curious rather than concerned.

  "Like shit."

  "Don't worry - it's only pain."

  Gary wanted to curl up into a ball and nurse his finger. But, if he wanted to survive, he had to keep Moses talking and wait for his chance. "I thought you were a friend."

  "Yeah, well, I'm not enjoying this," Moses said, without inflection.

  "How long have you been dirty?"

  "Most of my career."

  "I didn't know."

  "Sorry, I forgot to mention it. But I've always hated following the rules. Breaking them's a lot more fun."

  Gary understood what he meant. Moses turned to crime out of boredom, not greed. He loved walking on both sides of the street - being beyond the law. Gary used to think that, if he ever went dirty, that would be why. He always hated time-serving cops who stood for nothing, good or bad.

  Gary said: "You're helping dealers."

  "So what? The war on drugs is a joke. The only law that matters is supply and demand. They always meet. Cops just affect the price."

  "What about the kids who get hooked?"

  "So what? I don't give a shit about them. They're worms, cockroaches, bugs. If they had any will-power they wouldn't be addicts. I despise them. Don't care if they all die."

  Jesus, he wasn't just a criminal, he was a Nazi as well. "I didn't know you at all, did I?"

  "Correct." Moses sat on the long wooden bench. "So, Pringle put the bomb in your apartment, huh?"

  "Yes, and killed my neighbour. She was just an innocent bystander."

  Moses shifted slightly. "He shouldn't have done that. Innocent bystanders should be left, well, bystanding."

  "But you'll still help him?"

  "I'm not as upset about her death as you."

  "You know, don't you, he's going to kill Trixie as well?"

  "Of course. But he won't find her at Camperdown, will he?"

  "Yes he will."

  "Bullshit."

  "You think I lied?"

  "I know you did."

  "Why?"

  "You gave in too easily."

  "Jesus, he was going to cut off my finger."

  "That's not a big deal for a stubborn bastard like you."

  "If you think I lied, why'd you let him go?"

  Moses smiled. "So we can have a private chat."

  The pain in Gary's hand was growing again and he became light-headed. "About what?"

  Moses put his hand into his jacket, took out a little vial of white powder and waved it in front of Gary. "Know what this is?"

  "Coke?"

  "Correct. I carry it around in case I've got to load up someone. Tell me where Trixie is and I'll let you do a couple of lines. It'll ease the pain."

  Gary had never lusted after anything so much in his life. "Let me do them now?"

  "No, tell me where Trixie is."

  "I've already told you."

  Moses shook his head and put the vial back inside his jacket. "Suit yourself. Alright, stand up. I want to cuff your hands behind your back."

  "Why? I've lost a finger."

  "Don't care. Still don't trust you."

  Most undercover cops carry a small concealed weapon as a back-up. Gary was no different. He had a buckle knife in the belt around his waist. The buckle formed the handle and the three-inch blade nestled behind the leather strap. He wore it as a memento of his undercover days, until now.

  Gary palmed the knife with his left hand and hid it behind the bloody towel over his right. He tried to block out the pain and focus on what he had to do. Don't be jumpy; don't move too soon. If he slipped up, Moses would splatter his brains all over the boat.

  Moses stepped forward, key in his left hand and pistol in his right. Gary extended his hands. As Moses unlocked the handcuffs, his pistol moved offline. Gary jumped up and drove the buckle knife into Moses' carotid artery.

  Moses screamed and stumbled back, a geyser of blood spurting from the wound. Gary clung tight so Moses couldn't use his pistol. They danced a grotesque gavotte until Moses fell onto his back, Gary on top. Gary jarred his right hand and almost blacked out. But he still managed to head-butt Moses and crush his nose.

  Amazingly, Moses still held the pistol. Gary rolled onto his arm and buried the knife deep into his bicep. Moses screamed and dropped the weapon. Gary tossed away the knife and scooped up the pistol with his left hand. He staggered back against a bulkhead, clumsily tightening the towel around his maimed hand, pain excruciating.

  Moses lay on his back, both hands clasping his throat. Blood bubbled between his fingers. Jesus, how much more did he have?

  "Fucking arsehole," Moses croaked and staggered to his feet, still holding his throat. There was an edge-of-extinction gleam in his eyes - the last spark before death.

  Gary said: "Be smart Moses, I've got your pistol."

  As Moses let go of his throat and rushed forward, Gary raised t
he pistol and pumped three shots into his chest. Moses still slammed into Gary and squashed him against the bulkhead. Gary screamed with pain. Blood splashed his face, almost blinding him. Moses jolted Gary with two uppercuts.

  Gary jammed his pistol under the Maori's chin and pulled the trigger. The pistol roared. Blood and brains plumed from the top of Moses' head. The big Maori arched his back, convulsed twice and collapsed.

  Gary slumped to the deck and lay for a couple of minutes, panting. Then he climbed to his feet and looked down at the Maori's lifeless eyes, awestruck. Moses had been a magnificent beast. Strong. Brave. Cunning. Merciless. Yet now he was dead. Made a small mistake and paid a huge price.

  Gary's legs buckled and he crashed to the ground. Everything went black.

  Gary opened his eyes, bewildered. But the throbbing pain in his right hand, the sight of Moses' dead body and the huge pools of drying blood quickly reminded him of what happened.

  After tightening the bloody rag around his right hand, he reached inside Moses' jacket and took out the vial of cocaine. He flipped off the cap and emptied its contents with a couple of big snorts. The pain receded to a distant throb, somewhere beyond his hand.

  He found the key to the handcuffs in a pool of blood. As he removed them, he heard beeping and got confused. Was he carrying a mobile? No, must be Moses'.

  He opened Moses' jacket, dragged out a mobile phone and pressed the receive button. "Hello."

  "Moses?" Pringle said.

  The coke made Gary light-headed. "Moses can't come to the phone right now."

  A long pause. "That you Maddox?"

  "Yeah."

  "You killed him?"

  "It wasn't suicide. You'd better get rid of him before he gets smelly."

  Pringle wouldn't dare call the police, because he'd have to explain too much.

  Pringle said: "You'll pay for this."

  Gary didn't have time to trade insults. He hung up, dialled triple-0 and told the operator to send an ambulance to the marina.

  The operator said: "What's the nature of your injury?"

  "I've lost a finger."

  "An ambulance will be there soon."

  Gary slowly climbed out of the cabin cruiser and staggered up the jetty towards the road, nobody around to help. The cocaine already seemed to be wearing off. His head swam. He staggered through a gate and slumped onto a curb, blood everywhere. Shit. Couldn't have much left.

  He realised he'd forgotten his finger and didn't have the strength to go back. Damn. He had to stay awake - had to.

  Five minutes later, an ambulance siren shook the air. His vision dimmed and he pitched forward. He tried to put out his arms, and couldn't.