Honorable Assassin (18 page)

Adam and Abel finished their business with
the accountant and shooed him out the door. The next order of
business was waiting in the employee lounge, drinking machine
coffee out of a paper cup. The warehouse manager pointed out the
door to the office and the specialist filled the doorway entering
it.

Some men can walk into a room unnoticed.
They can walk through a crowd without being seen. The specialist
was no such man. He was about 194 centimeters tall with flaming red
hair and beard. He had shoulders like an ox and hands like
sledgehammers. His thick brogue gave him away as a Scotsman, though
Adam and Abel couldn’t have told Scot from Irishman.

“Call me Glasgow,” rumbled from his
chest.

“So, mate, where you from?” Terry asked
casually. He already knew where the man was from and he had a good
idea why he was here.

“Glasgow.”

“Glasgow. Is that in Queensland?”

“No. Scotland.”

“Oh. You’re in town for the Olympics,
then?”

“Something like that. I’m a
photographer.”

“It’ll be a while before there’s anything to
photograph.”

“Oh, there’s always something to photograph
in a city like Sydney.”

It was still early for the drinking crowd so
the place was relatively empty. Terry had taken a stool at the bar
and was nursing a beer. He had seen this big Scotsman informally
interviewing another wheelman, in a different tavern but had not
been seen, himself. The photographer disguise was a handy one,
considering that the Olympic Games would be bringing in trainloads
of them from overseas. It gave the newcomer a good excuse to be
carrying around telephoto lenses and long distance viewing
equipment. It did not explain the bulge under the man’s jacket
however. Photographers seldom carried guns.

“Are you planning on doing any wildlife
photos while yer here?”

“I hadn’t planned on it. There’s plenty of
photos of kangaroos and koala bears out there. No money in it,
unless the Smithsonian or Geographic contracts you for it.”

“I could show you some spots outside the
city where you could get some shots of native life but we’d need to
take a plane out there. It’s too far to drive.”

“No, I don’t think so. Like I said, that’s
not in my contract. I’m looking for shots of Sydney night life
right now. I need to get a feel for what goes on in the city.”

“Well, enjoy yourself. This area is not so
slanted toward young women and dancing. We do more billiards and
head knocking around here.”

“That can make for a good study as
well.”

Terry finished his beer and said his
goodbyes. He might be wrong about the photographer but he saw no
reason to be too accessible. On the street he walked to a different
bar, watching carefully to see if anyone was following him. Nobody
did. The bar he walked to was more of a lower-class establishment,
where men were engaged in proving that they were tough. The air was
heavy with macho.

After Kingston had sat for a couple more
beers, he saw four large and outwardly pugnacious men enter the
bar. He had seen a couple of them before but did not remember
where. It was not long before the hackles on his neck rose. There
was going to be trouble with these men.

While his instincts had worked in predicting
the fight, Terry was too late to avoid it because it was clear they
had targeted him for their abuse. Whenever possible, Terry avoided
confrontation because he did not want to call attention to himself
but in this case it was not an option. They had him surrounded and
he was alone. He had no mates with him. The situation called for
him to strike first or take a beating. His only other option was to
pull a pistol and that was to be avoided at all costs. He almost
never took out a gun unless he intended to shoot something.

If Terry had more experience and savvy, he
would have known he was being set up. Three men surrounded him and
one stood by the door. As it was, he only knew he needed to diffuse
the situation or suffer the consequences.

“Gentlemen, let me call a shout and we’ll
all get pissed,” Terry said in an attempt to avoid what he saw
coming.

“I won’t be schooling with a poofter the
likes of you,” one man replied.

“Oh, well then, perhaps I can…” The sentence
was never finished verbally. A large, round, glass ashtray sat on
the counter and Terry butted his cigarette in it before smashing
that man in the face with it. The man went down and did not get
back up.

The man on his left managed to punch Terry
in the face and spin him off his bar stool, but it was a glancing
blow because he was already turning in that direction. He dropped
to his knee and punched the second man in the crotch. As the
unfortunate buckled forward, his nose met Terry’s rising head. The
man who had punched Terry from the left would have been well
advised to watch his own flank as well. A foundry worker who had
been playing pool had seen the situation developing and was not one
to see a man bullied. That assailant went down, struck in the head
with a pool cue.

Terry and the foundry worker looked at each
other for just a second and then both headed for the door. The
bartender was already calling the police department. The fourth
man, the one who had a post by the door, ran for cover. Terry
headed south and his new friend headed north but Terry was not
satisfied that the incident was as innocent as it had appeared. He
stopped a block away and stepped into the shadows of a doorway. He
saw a couple of men exit the pub and head the other way. He also
saw the reflection of the lights on the lens of a camera, in the
front seat of a car across the street. There was not enough light
to photograph anything outside the bar but maybe enough to see
inside.

The automobile started up and headed,
slowly, out of the neighborhood. The police showed up a couple of
minutes later, but there was nothing to report except that there
had been a scuffle. The fighters had all left the premises and the
damage had been minimal; one broken pool cue and a smashed ashtray.
Fortunately the fight had not spread this time.

“Victor, I think we have a problem,” Terry
told his immediate contact. It was late morning and Terry had
walked to the pawn shop where Wellington conducted business.

“Come in the office and we’ll talk about
it.” Victor said, signaling to the counter man that he would be
stepping off. “What’s the trouble?” he asked when he had closed the
door behind them.

“I think we have an inspector of some sort
looking into our business. He’s a big man, red hair and beard,
maybe 25 or 30. He’s been asking questions, nothing suspicious,
just talking to the crew. Says he’s a photographer from Scotland. I
think I saw him photographing me last night.”

“Well that’s what photographers do, isn’t
it?”

“Right, but not the way he did it. I can’t
say for sure, but I think I saw him hiding in a car outside the pub
I was having a drink in. I think he’s dangerous. I think he’s a
copper of some kind.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’ll look into
it.”

“Right then. Well, I know it’s not cricket
to target the man but I think this one…”

“I said I’d look into it.”

“Right then. That’s all I had.”

“No, that’s not all. I’ve got a run for
you.”

“I’m not sure that would be the best idea.
If this man is…”

“Are you telling me how to run this
business?”

“No, Victor, not at all. I’m merely saying
that if this man is…”

“If he’s got a bead on you then the best
thing you could do is shut up, take this run and get out of town.
I… Will… Investigate. You… Will… Drive. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Terry could barely stand the
condescending tone in Victor’s voice. It took everything he had to
control himself and not bash the man’s skull in at that point.
Later he realized that he would have enjoyed that way too much. He
had been warned that to enjoy killing is the path to madness.

“The truck is already loaded. It is at this
address.” He handed him a slip of paper. “They will inform you of
the destination upon arrival. Your payment, on delivery, includes a
bonus if you get it there on time. Now get moving.”

Terry thought it strange that he had been
given a time-sensitive run in that manner. He had not been called
in, it had been handed to him as if he happened to be there so he
got it. The address was the warehouse end of a PVC piping factory.
The truck was loaded and locked. The destination was on the
manifest. He was going to a concern off Hindmarsh Drive in Phillip,
just across the Tuggeranong Parkway from Canberra.

The truck ran smoothly and the day was mild;
summer was over. There was no indication that he was being
followed, but that did not mean he was not. There was something
else that bothered him about this run, but he could not put his
finger on it. It seemed legitimate enough and the paperwork was all
in order. A light load, in a short truck, so there was almost no
chance of getting rousted by the road patrol. There was plenty of
time to get there so he was sure to get the on-time bonus. It was
too easy. That was what was wrong. It was too easy.

The run went smoothly and the unloading was
uneventful. Terry got his bonus in cash, which was very unusual but
not unheard of. Then the real job was explained to him. He would be
taking a crate full of something to the next destination, in
Melbourne. None of this had been explained to him before he left
Sydney, but they made it clear in Phillip that he had no choice. He
would be delivering this load.

There was no sleeper on the truck and it was
eight hours farther to his next destination. He had three hours
under his belt already but with some judicious adjustments to the
log he could still pull it off, legally, if he hurried. So he
logged the loading and unloading times as an hour longer than they
were and got on the road. Regardless of whether he went north or
south, Terry had to skirt the Australian Alps to get to Melbourne.
He chose the southern route as being less hilly, though more
populated. He kept the truck at close to the speed limit and was
not surprised when he was passed by several full-sized trucks. He
increased his speed to match them but was careful not to go so fast
as to catch them. The road was not busy as he headed south on the
Monaro Highway. He had intended to turn west onto Princes Highway
at Cann River but he never made it. As he passed the heavily
forested area south of Noorinbee, he heard the bullets strike his
radiator.

“
Fuck. Some bastard is using my own
tricks against me. Thank God they didn’t do it in some mountain
pass or I’d be boxed in.”

Terry floored the truck and held his finger
on the windshield washer, trying in vain to keep the coolant from
obstructing his view. He would not make it far but he knew if he
didn’t get past the trap he would never get out of there at
all.

It was not far down the road when he heard
the first rattle in the engine. It would seize up soon, so he
pulled it off the road, jumped out the passenger side and ran into
the trees. He heard a vehicle grinding to a halt behind him and men
yelling as the doors slammed.

When he felt he was far enough off the road,
Terry peeled off his driving gloves and turned back in a sweeping
arc, trying to get behind whoever was hijacking his load. He heard
two men blundering through the forest behind him and soon enough
saw two more men at his truck. They had cut the lock, thrown up the
roller door and were moving his load into the back of a panel van.
It was seconds later when a Ford Explorer pulled up behind them and
one man got out.

“
He is undoubtedly the bugger who shot my
truck,”
thought Terry.
“I’ll need to deal with these two
first, however.”

The two men pursuing him were city-bred
thugs. There was no doubt they knew their jobs and were probably
quite efficient in the city, but they were no match for Terry in
the woods. At another time he would have taken pleasure in sneaking
up on them, but he was pressed for time. As he waited for the pair,
who were not smart enough to distance themselves from each other,
he heard a scream behind him, from the road. He did not have the
option to check it out, the two men were too close. He would much
have preferred to take them quietly, with a knife or an axe, but
once again he did not have time for the hunt. They came around the
bole of a large tree and he shot each of them in the side of the
head, simultaneously, one round from each revolver. They dropped
like stones.

Hoping the men at the road had assumed that
his pursuers had shot him, Terry slipped up on the three vehicles
parked at the edge of the trees. What confronted him was not what
he expected. The Explorer and the van were idling but the three men
were not in them. They were lying by the side of the road with
bullet holes in them. He did not recognize any of these men, or the
two dead in the woods.

“
What in the name of God is
this?”

Terry froze, just within sight of the
incident, behind the vehicles. He saw a car pull up and then take
off in a hurry, its owner obviously deciding not to help after all.
The crate from the back of the truck had been transferred to the
back of the van. With no scope or binoculars, Terry could only rely
on his natural sight, but that did not tell him where the shots had
come from.

“
Bloody hell, I got two, no… I got three
choices. I can scamper like a rabbit, into the woods. I can get in
that Explorer and leave the load here. Or… I can jump in the back
of that van.”
With Terry, the decision was the action. He ran
full tilt out of the woods, cutting in close to the Ford and diving
into the back of the van. He pulled the doors closed behind him as
quickly as he could and was relieved that no bullets came pounding
through them. He leaped into the driver’s seat, slammed the shift
lever into drive and floored the accelerator. No bullets pierced
the van as he drove off.