Honorable Assassin (14 page)

“Mark Valentine hangs out at Victor’s on
Saint George Crescent on Drummoyne Bay. He is there every weekend.
He has a tattoo on his shoulder of a heart and a bunch of roses.
You know, a play on his name. He is 178 or 180 centimeters, sandy
blond hair, wears sunglasses a lot, even inside.”

“That is a start. Associate.”

Terry hit Bartholomew in the stomach three
times, causing him to vomit spittle and bile upon himself.

“That, Mr. Marlowe was for being less than
forthcoming. Your children have 13 minutes to live unless you give
me something more. Your wife will live longer but she will wish she
had been killed with the children. Now give me something real or I
may let you live knowing that you could have saved them and did
not.”

“But I don’t know… Wait. He drives a BMW, a
gold one. He smokes American cigarettes, Camels. He has a titanium
ring with a diamond in it on his right hand. Uh… He wears tailored
suits and prefers a grey or black suit. He wears Armani shoes. He,
uhh… Shit, that’s all I know.”

“Nine minutes. I don’t believe you. You’re
going to let my associates rip your children limb from limb to
protect this vile creature?”

“But, God help me I don’t know anything
else. I…”

“Calm down and think of every conversation
you ever had with him. Think of everything he said, every offhanded
comment. Does he have family in Queensland? Does he like sport
fishing? Does he hunt foxes?”

“Sport fishing! Maybe not fishing but he has
a boat. It’s… uhh… oh, furtheluva God. Uh…”

“Five minutes Mr. Marlowe.”

“I’m trying. It’s a 42 foot…
Bacchus.
That’s it, that’s the name. Please, call off your men. Please!”

“A 42- foot yacht named
Bacchus.
We
may be able to use that. Where does he dock it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Three minutes, Mr. Marlowe.”

“I don’t know. He hangs out at Victor’s on
Drummoyne Bay. There is a dock there, right under the Gladesville
Bridge, you know, across the, uhh, Parramatta River. I bet he
berths it there. I’m sure of it. Please!” Demetrius Marlowe was
becoming desperate now and grasping at straws. He had told them all
he knew.

Ginger picked up the phone and dialed a
number. He told his imaginary associates on the other end of the
line that they were to stand down and let the Marlowe family sleep.
He repeated it again, forcefully, as if he got some resistance from
the man at the other end of the line.

In a matter of minutes they had bundled
their captive back into the van, making sure he was blindfolded, to
prevent his knowing where he had been held. They dropped him off at
a restaurant that would be opening in an hour, with a strong
admonition against saying anything and a pack of cigarettes to keep
him company.

“What are the chances?”

“Terry, one of the things you will need to
learn is that it is almost impossible for people to keep secrets
except from themselves. If a man does not want to know something
then he will deny it to himself or simply refuse to think about it
and thereby deny all evidence.”

“Ok. But I…”

“Trust me, this is going somewhere. Did you
plant the tracker?”

“Aye. The tracker is under the back seat and
I took the clamp off the radiator hose. It left a bit of a mark,
like you could tell it had been clamped off if you knew what you
were looking for. All in all, it was a brilliant method of stopping
him in the middle of the industrial area.”

“Thank you. I do have my moments. Have a
look-see. What’s he doing?”

Terry got out of the van with a scope and
slipped around the side of the abandoned church to determine that
Demetrius Marlowe was walking back to the steps of the restaurant.
He had used the pay phone next to the road and was now waiting for
someone. He smoked as he waited.

As Terry watched a taxi stopped and picked
Marlowe up. The sun was coming up. Terry got back in the van. “I
think he’s just going home. He called a cab.”

“Good. As I was saying, people seldom keep
secrets, but I think this one has enough sense to know what will
happen if he opens his mouth. We have about a week to make a move.
Give it a couple of hours and we have some telephone calls to
make.”

Between Five Dock Bay and Drummoyne Bay
there were lots of boats. The
Bacchus
was not berthed at the
docks under the Gladesville Bridge, but it was found, a couple of
kilometers south, at the docks on Birkenhead Point. It was a
handsome vessel, well cared for. The identification numbers were
all that was needed to determine the name and address of the owner,
using the insurance companies’ program. Terry took care of it from
a laptop computer hooked to the telephone line in the motel room.
Ginger was amazed at the system. He had fallen behind the times so
drastically that he didn’t even know it was possible. Terry jibed
at him about not even having a telephone line. Ginger replied that
he was certain to never have one now for fear that people would be
spying on him through the computers.

“Yep. Mark Valentine has a policy against
this boat with the Ranchers Insurance Company. He opened the policy
through the Wallton Agency on Underwood Road in Homebush. He also
has a homeowner policy through them for a residence on Cornwall
Road in Regents Park. There is no one else on the policies so he is
not married, currently. His beneficiary in the event of his death
is… Well, well, Randy Arganmajc.”

“Capital. Will this thing tell me his shoe
size as well?”

“No, Uncle, but it will tell us he drives a
1998 BMW, gold colored and he has not reported an accident with it.
He did, however report some damage to the Mercedes he was driving
two years ago. It looks like he hit a tree with it. No charges were
filed.”

“License plate number?”

“PKY 449.”

“Capital. That’s all we’re going to need.
Where is Marlowe’s car?”

“It looks like it’s been towed to a garage
on Youngswood, north end of Rosebery.”

“Amazing. Things sure have changed.”

“I’m thinking, Uncle, that we’ve seen
nothing yet. The advancements being made are increasing so fast
that one man cannot keep up with the progress.”

Demetrius Marlowe had counted himself very
lucky to escape his captors, though he was still not sure what it
was they had intended. He had no love for his underworld contacts
and only continued with the operations because they had insisted
and had too much on him. Privately, he knew they would never turn
him in to the police. He was much more likely to be killed and
buried in the outskirts of the city or fed to the sharks. He
continued making his sales as if nothing had ever happened and
after a week he stopped considering every stranger as a potential
executioner. He accepted his next shipment and tried not to look
too nervous. His problems began at that point. The day after he
accepted the shipment of cocaine he was alerted to a break in. The
office he stored the drugs in was a small-time retail outlet in a
strip mall. It had a security system, which had been tripped by the
burglars, but the safe box was nothing more than a fire safe and it
had been wheeled out the door and stolen in its entirety, with half
a million Australian dollars worth of cocaine inside.

Bruno Ziegel was the first person to contact
Demetrius about the break in who was not a policeman. He got there
before the insurance investigator.

Marlowe had never considered insuring the
contents of the store and the safe for the actual cost of
replacement. He would have been hard pressed to explain how he
could have anything worth that much money in so small a safe.

Bruno was not interested in the insurance
payoff. He was interested in how he was going to get paid the money
Marlowe owed him and he was not shy about asking.

At first, Demetrius offered to give him the
deeds to two businesses, legitimate, profitable businesses. Bruno
was not interested. His was a cash only business and that was all
there was to it. Marlowe assured him that he would pay the money
but that he needed some time to amass the capital. He would need to
sell some properties and take out some loans. Bruno gave him two
weeks to get the money. That was the time frame he would have had
the return on the cocaine in. There was no mention of men in
executioners’ masks but there was a definite hint of a forthcoming
execution if the money was not delivered on time.

“What’s your take on it, Bruno?” Mark
Valentine asked tossing out a half finished Camel.

“I don’t think he’s trying to fuck us, Mr.
Valentine. I think he was stupid enough to let somebody know where
his product was and that somebody stole it.”

“Ok, look, I want everybody on the lookout
for somebody trying to unload a little weight or somebody with a
big stash that has no reason to have it. Cocaine makes people
stupid and whoever stole this from us is exceptionally stupid. When
we find our idiot we need to make an example of him. We may need to
make an example of Marlowe as well. I’d like you to visit him on
the agreed upon date and regardless of what he pays you, break one,
no, break both his legs. Do not deliver to him again, ever. He is
out of favor. I do expect my return on investment from you or there
will be the same sort of repercussions in your bullpen. Have I
expressed myself sufficiently?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Valentine. I’ll make sure it
happens.”

“Call me in a couple of weeks. We’ll go
sailing.”

“Oy, Uncle, they really shove this shit up
their noses?”

“They can stick it anywhere they want, I
don’t care. What matters is what we do with it.”

“It’s worth a lot of money, eh?”

“Can it. We are not drug dealers. This shit
is responsible for destroying men’s minds. It makes you happy for a
little while and then it sucks your brain out and turns it into
chum. The only thing a man is good for after a while is drawing in
sharks.”

“I’d like to try some. So I know what I’m
dealing with.” The truth was that Terry had done cocaine a couple
of times, and heroin once, but he did not know how Ginger would
react.

“You’re a man, I can’t tell you what to do.
I can tell you, if you start doing that shit, we’re done working
together.” Terry could not have known it was a hollow threat. The
truth was that Ginger was really enjoying the action. He wouldn’t
stop frivolously.

“It’s not worth that.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.
Stick to beer. The worst it will do is make you fat and
stupid.”

“So who are we going to stick with it?”

“I can’t say, yet. I think we got away
clean. I’ll wake you about two in the morning. I think we need to
get another big dog to protect the place but until we do, we need
to keep on the alert. If we made any mistakes, they’ll be coming
for us.”

“Right-o. I’ll get some tucker and sleep
early. Oh, when are we going to get the tracker back?” Terry asked
opening the refrigerator.

“I think we need another one. I don’t want
to go anywhere near Mr. Marlowe for a while. He may well be found
in the trunk of that fancy German car.”

“No worries, I took the identifying numbers
off the tracker.”

“I don’t know if they can track it back by
the signal.”

“Not if I don’t access it. Hey, what about
this cheap safe?”

“Oh, we can use that as well. We just make
sure the proper people find it.”

“Right. Beer?”

“No, and I would appreciate it if you don’t
drink while on watch. If we are going to do this, we do it right,
or we die.”

“Well, I’ll have one with supper and then
turn in.”

“Two days.”

“Eh?”

“Two days and we go to the suburbs and find
a willing victim. Someone who deserves what he gets.”

Two days later they contacted the eldest son
of Beth and Jerry Cuthbert and told him to take care of the place
for a couple of days. Jerry Junior was more than happy to since the
pay was good and the work was easy.

With all the factories in Blacktown, there
was a good smattering of taverns but the clientele were all of the
older, stodgier variety. Their first choice was a poor one. They
had more luck near the airport, in the Quakers Hill area. They
found a club that catered to the younger crowd and observed it for
a while, after dark. It wasn’t the sort of place where a line
formed at the door and you only got in if you were pretty enough or
cool enough. It was a coke den. The windows were covered well
enough that one could not see in from a car. One of them would need
to go in and Ginger was too old. His appearance would send up red
flags. It had to be Terry and he would need to certify himself as
one of the crowd. In most places buying people drinks qualified
you, but not here. Here you needed to be passing around the cocaine
and snorting it yourself. Terry looked the part but his experience
was almost nonexistent and with Ginger watching he did not want to
slip up.

Sitting on a bar stool with a draught, Terry
watched and listened. The music was loud and the crowd was lively.
They were drinking and dancing and passing around cylinders that
dispensed a little snort or they used little spoons. Many of the
men had grown the fingernail on one little finger long and used
them as a spoon for snorting. Everybody in the place was doing it
and it did not take long before someone offered Terry some. He
refused and told the man he was sticking to beer. It got him a
funny look and then more funny looks. It was obvious that he was in
the right place but unless he joined in their brand of celebration
he would be marked as a narcotics agent. The funny looks became
more obvious and a dead zone formed around him. He finished his
second beer and left.

“Look, I felt like those blokes were going
to lynch me. I can’t stay in a place like that without blending
better and without doing what they are doing I can’t blend,” he
told his uncle.