Honorable Assassin (31 page)

The Inspectors were convinced that Henry
Cuthbert was in charge of what would equate to gangster
supervisors. He was seldom seen rubbing elbows with the
street-level thugs but often observed meeting with those who did.
These lower-level wise guys were not interesting to Barlow. He
wanted to pick off those at the top. One of these men was Jimmy
Cognac. He had come on the scene very recently, reportedly taking
the place of Randy Arganmajc, who had disappeared. Jimmy Cognac
came from the Melbourne Area where there had been a huge scandal
recently. The constables in Melbourne had been raiding the evidence
lockers and returning the evidence to the streets instead of
getting it destroyed. Jimmy had been exempt from suspicion in this
matter only because he never soiled his hands with such
matters.

The Superintendent decided that Henry
Cuthbert was to be the target and to get him, he would need to turn
one of the man’s subordinates. There was a small pile of files for
these men and he turned his attention to them now.

After examining some of the hard copy files,
the superintendent went to his secretary’s desk and booted up her
computer. It contained a duty roster for the weekend. He determined
that Senior Sergeant Randolph Black was on duty both days. Barlow
did not know Randolph well but he certainly had time to get
acquainted. At first he thought he would call the man to his
office, but then he realized that it would be more comfortable if
he went to the Sergeant’s office.

“Sergeant. No, please, sit down. I’m not
here for anything serious.”

Sergeant Black was unconvinced but he sat
back down. “Yes, sir, Mr. Superintendent. Uh, what can I do for
you?”

“You can relax and call me Ted.”

“Ok, Ted, what seems to be the trouble?”

“It is almost noon and I have a bottle of
12-year-old scotch that is not planning to get a day older.”

“But, I’m on duty, sir.”

“Then this is going to be a part of your
duties today. Lock the door. You are in conference with the new
Superintendent and cannot be disturbed.”

“Yes, sir!” Randolph Black was not used to
this sort of treatment from his superiors and it was clear that
this man had not started drinking yet. He only hoped he was not
setting himself up for an enormous fall.

“Sergeant Black,” Barlow said after a bit of
small talk and some scotch. “I have a need to get something on
Henry Cuthbert. I need to get a witness against him. A credible
witness.”

“We have been trying for years. I don’t
think we are much closer now than before. See, Superintendent, they
have created a culture of fear that keeps ‘em all clammed up. I’d
have an easier time getting a red blenny to turn over.”

“Yes, I know, I’ve heard the stories. The
torture… That’s it! The torturer. They’ve got some sick fuck who
does the tortures for them, right?”

“Uh, yes, I suppose so.”

“Then he is the one we need to get a hold
of. The bastards who do the really dirty work are often the easiest
to turn. Find out who this bastard is. Give it a try. I’ll bet the
very thing they use to scare others is a real pudding. I don’t care
how you do it, I’m covering you on this one. As long as nobody ends
up dead, you can use whatever means necessary.”

“Oy, there might be expenses involved in
this.”

That was the sort of reaction Theodore
Barlow wanted to hear. He knew he could trust this man to get the
job done. He might very well break the back of the mob in Sydney if
he went about it the right way.

Barlow took another drink and thought about
the Prime Minister’s robes.

Evan (Saxon) McCormick was by no means
sophisticated. As the president of the largest motorcycle gang in
Australia, he was not expected to be sophisticated. He was,
however, diplomatic. He had no formal education but he was well
read in practical application and leadership theory.

It was almost as difficult to get a
conference with Evan McCormick as with the Troy brothers or the
Prime Minister and for similar reasons. There were a lot of men who
would have liked to see Evan dead. Most of the rival gangs would
have been glad to see him expire because he was the glue that held
the Dark Knights together.

The makeup of the Dark Knights Motorcycle
Club loosely followed military tradition, with a president, a
general, majors, a Sergeant-at-Arms and recruits. They were all
elected positions, however, so nobody had lifetime rights to any
title.

The Sydney headquarters was behind the bar.
The whole complex was labeled “Choppers” including the tavern,
meeting hall, repair barn. The Motorcycle Supermarket was a couple
of miles down the road. Evan owned that as well. A bikie could get
anything from boots and a belt to a crank for a pan head. That was
just the legal side of the business. Sex and drugs were epidemic
and guns were ubiquitous. The whiskey flowed like wine and the
bandages were in ready supply. Evan made a show of joining the
party from time to time but more often he watched the crowd. He
knew with a certainty that the bikies were kept in line with bread
and circuses. As long as the party lasted, they were on his
side.

The money that flowed through his hands was
used well. He had no need for drugs but used them if they were
free. He drank but did not need the drink. He used women when they
wanted him but turned down as much as he accepted. Moderation was
not a subject that bikies considered but it made him a leader among
them. And it made him a very powerful man who paid his tribute to
the Troy brothers regularly. He knew who could shut them down with
a phone call. He knew there were judges that would look one way or
another depending on the brothers’ direction. He knew the police
would let him be, or come crashing down around his ears like a
falling tree, depending on what the brothers said.

The bike club and the organized crime
syndicate were separate entities entirely except when interests
crossed paths. The bikies manufactured and sold crank, a powerful
and heavily addictive form of amphetamine. They also used it
heavily. A little bit of good crank would keep you up for two or
three days. You could travel cross country non-stop like the
legendary truck drivers, or drink all night and still walk a
straight line in the morning. The down side was that the lack of
sleep unbalanced a man’s mind and he would be irrational in no
time.

The Troy brothers did not want much to do
with the bikies and their wild life. Once in a while they would
sacrifice one of the gangs to the court system so the police could
say they had scored a major bust and were winning. They had never
sacrificed the Dark Knights and never would as long as Evan
McCormick was in charge. He paid his tribute and he kept order. He
even kept order among the ‘one percenters,’ that rare breed of man
capable of anything at any time. He did not bind them too tightly,
however, men such as that could not be restrained except by armed
guards and steel bars.

Despite their reputation, the Dark Knights,
under McCormick’s rule, was pretty low-key. They made good money
from some of their operations but many of them squandered it.
Living for the day has always been bikie philosophy; eat, drink and
be merry for tomorrow we die. They needed to cut loose from time to
time but they did so at the bike rallies outside the city. The
rallies were huge events, open to anyone with the spine to attend.
Booze, broads and bands kept the parties hopping. The events were
held in a neutral zone where no guns were allowed. It was common to
have a man or two stabbed during the rally, but nobody had yet been
shot.

A rally was the one place a man could get a
conference with the president of the Dark Knights. One needed to
come in disarmed or be disarmed by the bikies, but it was a small
concession to be made.

Initially, McCormick refused to speak with
Terry Kingston alone. Terry, in turn, refused to speak with so many
people listening in. McCormick told him there was nothing to
discuss in that event, but that he was free to hang out and party
as long as he wanted. Terry did wait for a while, drinking beer and
smoking. He listened to the men around him but said little. While
Terry waited, the President of the Dark Knights was getting some
research done on Thompson Barber, as Terry was known to everyone in
the Sydney area. Laptop computers and wireless signals were not
what would have been expected, stumbling upon this group, but they
had both. Evan McCormick may not have been sophisticated but he was
sharp and cautious.

“Well then, Mr. Barber, what is it that is
so important that you must speak to me without my generals?” The
tent they sat in was not soundproof but the band was loud and the
two were sitting close.

“Mr. McCor…”

“Tsst. Call me Saxon. That is my name.”

“Saxon then. What I am seeing is a man who
knows how to run men giving tribute to men who know nothing about
it.”

“Make your pitch.”

“I think it would be mutually beneficial for
us to form an alliance. Together we could create a dynasty that
would incorporate all the various vices man is so eager to pay for.
You and I could thrive like foxes if we played our cards
right.”

“What the fuck are you talking about and
why? I already thrive like a fox and have no idea what you are
selling. I’ll call you if I need a vacuum cleaner.”

Terry was unscathed by Saxon’s comment. “I
am somewhat reticent about speaking in this venue. I don’t know who
is listening. I don’t know the men around you. I only deal with men
who possess a certain quality and quantity of honor. Are you indeed
such a man or have I misread you?”

Evan McCormick was not used to speaking with
men who used such measured words and reasonable tone. His research
had authenticated this man but his senses told him that anyone
pretending to be a crook and talking like a lawyer is definitely an
undercover cop. Trust was not something easily given to anyone
outside the club and only a few inside the club.

“Who the fuck are you to talk to me about
honor?” Evan asked. “You work for the Troys. I can’t think of men
with less honor.”

“There are many things about me you do not
know. Yes, I am currently associated with the aforementioned
association, but that is not a permanent situation. I foresee a
change in the wind and I will be there when the storm is over. I
want to know if you will stand with me. Will you?”

“You’re right. This is not the place to
carry on this conversation. I don’t trust you and I don’t think
there is anything you can do to make me trust you. I will say you
have balls, coming in here and talking shit, but I don’t think I
like you.”

“There is no need for us to like each other,
but there is a need for us to trust each other. I need to know if
you are the sort of man I can trust.”

“Get the fuck out of here before I kick the
shit out of you. I still don’t know what you’re selling.”

“All right. I’m going to leave, but we will
speak again. I am giving you the opportunity to become more than
you are. You have the ability to rise above the crowd, but you
limit yourself through your associations. I am suggesting that you
advance to the next level of authority. You may be the President of
this group but you still pay tribute to others. I am suggesting we
step beyond that.” Terry rose and nodded to Evan, who did not
move.

Kingston had shown up at the rally with half
a dozen men but he had not told them why he was there. As far as
they were concerned they were going to carouse and get wild. They
hung together nervously, however. They did not feel accepted among
the bikies. They were dressed wrong and looked out of place.

The one thing that concerned Terry was that
Evan might talk to someone else. He had been deliberately vague
about what he was up to, however. He had said nothing definitive
but that did not matter. It had not gone as well as he had hoped.
It looked as though he would need to find a different candidate. Or
maybe not.

It had been a month since Superintendent
Barlow had first spoken with Sergeant Black and though there had
been a real push, there had been no positive results in the search
for the torturer. It seemed that it had been a pipe dream.

Evidence against Henry Cuthbert was also
difficult to find. Henry conducted business carefully enough to
keep himself out of prison. They could probably have gotten him on
some minor charges but he would be provided with good lawyers and
the city would probably end up sued for harassment. They needed
something positive, something big and worthwhile.

“I’m sorry Superintendent, I have been
flogging my men to get something for you. I put money on the
street, but no one will take it for a good lead. This man has them
scared to death or they really don’t know. I found nothing on a
torturer.”

“Well Senior Sergeant Black, at least we
have made the attempt.” Barlow was relaxed by dint of several
glasses of scotch. It was late in the afternoon on a Saturday.

“The Henry Cuthbert thing is not that
productive either. He seems to have moved up in the organization
when his predecessor, or more than one, was killed. You remember,
that was the Lee Pierce thing where he went renegade and started
blowing up trucks and the like. Somebody finally shot him.”
Sergeant Black looked at the scotch bottle but Barlow did not offer
him any.

“Yes. Forensics determined that it was not
the driver that shot Pierce, right?”

“Uh, I was not on that case. It actually
happened north of the city and outside our, that is my,
jurisdiction. I can get you a copy of the files on Monday, but we
don’t have that case here.”

“No, thank you. I think I will take a trip
up there on Monday if my schedule is clear. I remember there was
something about that whole case that did not strike me as clean.
I’ll be going home now, Sergeant. Are you on the roster for next
Saturday?”