Honorable Assassin (32 page)

“I’m not certain yet, sir. I can make it
happen if you think it would help.”

“Yes. If they give you a problem, tell them
to see me.”

It was actually never a problem for Senior
Sergeant Randolph Black to be assigned to boring office duty
Saturdays. Nobody else wanted it, and even for overtime pay it was
the least desirable assignment to be had on a summer day in Sydney.
Black had his own ideas about it however. Meeting with the
Superintendent and hashing out big plans without Inspectors or the
Chief Inspector made him feel special, important, and destined to
succeed. Not finding anything of significant value made him look
like a failure. It was imperative that something be found, fixed or
fabricated to indict Henry Cuthbert.

Sergeant Black saw the opportunity when one
of the constables brought in a runner from the street. He was in
possession of a little under an ounce of cocaine in separate little
bottles. Half the bottles mysteriously disappeared and nobody ever
said anything about it.

A half ounce of cocaine was enough to
imprison anyone, especially when it was already packaged for
sale.

Terry was looking for another candidate
worthy of consideration but the field was bleak. He was in the gym,
pumping iron and running, when the bearded man covered with tattoos
stopped by for a workout. It put Terry on his guard when that same
man joined him in the steam room after the exercise. There was
nothing to worry about, however. Saxon wanted a conference and his
messenger was being simply being discreet. Messages were often sent
this way.

The meeting was not held in any of the usual
haunts of either the Dark Knights of the wise guys. It was held in
a family restaurant. It was after the lunch crowd was gone but
before the dinner patrons started to fill the place. Terry was
there before Evan but he was not the first in. There were already
several seedy looking characters eating or just drinking coffee.
Saxon arrived by himself but he was not alone.

“What are you?” the club president wanted to
know. “You have never been arrested. You have never been implicated
in any sting operations. You are not a regular customer and you’re
not a wannabe.”

“That’s a question that only my eulogy could
answer.” Terry addressed himself to his ham steak.

“And a mysterious fucker as well.”

Terry said nothing. It was plain that Evan
McCormick was interested in what he was proposing or he would not
be here.

“So why are we talking?”

“Look, Mr. President, our interests coincide
but we must barter on a level of trust that we do not currently
have.”

“Do not call me Mr. President.”

“I shall call you…?”

“Call me Saxon.”

“Ok, Saxon. Before we are able to have a
proper relationship, we are going to need a heightened level of
trust as I said. I know I can trust you to work in your own best
interests, but that is not a problem since our interests
coincide.”

“In what way?”

“You want power and control of the illicit
trade in Sydney and I want to give it to you.”

“Why? What possible reason do you have for
wanting to enhance my position?”

“As you have stated, my current employers
are men with no honor. I wish to upgrade the man in that position
with one of a certain morality that they do not possess, but I feel
you do.”

“And the benefit to you?”

“I shall obviously advance my own position
to one of more authority and influence. I am not looking to be in
charge of the operation. I leave that to men with more ambition. I
wish to work behind the scenes making things right for my friends
and associates.”

“But you already have friends and
associates. Why would you come to me, a stranger and offer to do
anything for me? I suspect your motivation and mistrust you.”

“Saxon. You are obviously an educated man.
You do not speak like the leaders of, say the Rebels. Yes, I have
spoken with him. He is a boor and a lout.”

“A boor and a lout? You sound like you come
from a hundred years ago.”

“This is my point. You understand what I
said; they would not have. You have what it takes to lead men who
are not a drunken rabble. You have potential. Tell me, who are your
biggest competition, your enemies?”

“We need to get back to my first question,
what are you? A king maker?”

“Once again, your competition would not even
recognize that phrase. You have what it takes to be in charge. Now
who is your biggest competition?”

“We don’t have much competition but the
Berserkers cause us the most trouble. A bunch of one percenters.
Why?”

“Honor and trust. If you are going to trust
me I need to prove to you that you can. Look for a package in a
couple of days. I’m assuming the Berserkers will fall apart without
their leader, right?”

“I don’t know. I do know I don’t want to go
to war because someone did something stupid. You planning on doing
something stupid?”

“Only my eulogy can say that.” Terry rose
and said goodbye. He paid the check on the way out.

Saxon sat, still rubbing his chin. He still
had no idea what the man was all about but he was certain he would
have been successful as a businessman. He would look for a package
in a couple of days, but he had no idea what was to be in the
package. He was not used to working with such mystery and he did
not like it.

Three days later he got the package. It was
delivered to the clubhouse in a locked, insulated box. Evan took it
into an office and cut the padlock off. Inside, packed in dry ice,
was the former head of the Berserkers motorcycle club. That is to
say the head of the former head was in the box.

Saxon prepared himself for war but the
Berserkers went after a club from Brisbane instead. There was
something left with the headless body of their president that
indicated The Damned had been responsible.

When the Berserkers hit The Damned, it was
like something from an old Western without the Indians. They moved
in on the clubhouse, slaughtered everyone in the place and set it
on fire. The Damned were not geared up for it and never saw it
coming, but their response was not timid either. When the smoke
cleared, both gangs had been decimated and the remaining members
were searching for new homes. The Dark Knights refused to consider
members of either club.

Terry was contacted at the gym that
week.

“So you got my fuckin’ attention now.” Evan
McCormick did not look as happy as one might expect after having
two of his major rivals dealt with.

Terry hoisted his pint of ale and took a
long deliberate drink. They were alone but the back room of this
bar had been chosen carefully. There was one small barred window.
There was no exit save the door and the bar was full of Dark Knight
colors. Not only had he gotten their attention, he had gotten their
respect. There was never a question among the bikies whether it was
better to be loved or feared. Fear was the only way.

“Saxon, what are you willing to do to
consolidate your power?” Terry knew the time for subtlety had
passed. He needed to hit him with the plan and suck him in like a
jet engine.

“I don’t know that I need to consolidate
anything. I’m in power now. One word and my brothers will cut you
up in little pieces. Nobody will ever hear from you again.”

“You misunderstand the situation. I am not
threatening you and I have no power of my own, nor do I want it.
I’m no leader but you… You are a natural leader of men and heir to
the throne of the underworld if you can take it. With the proper
direction, the Dark Knights could easily take over the entire
city’s drug supply; the tarts, the cards, all of it. No disrespect
mate, but you’ll be sitting in the ivory tower instead of that
shitty little compound.”

“Watch it.”

“I told you, no disrespect. You built that
up from nothing but you should be gaining momentum, not clutchin’.
There are half a dozen men in this entire country that have the
power to make things happen behind the scenes. The only reason they
have this power is they have guards around them. Take them out and
set your own men in place. Supply the guards and boom, you are in
power. You pay tribute to no man, they all pay tribute to you like
a Roman Emperor.”

“How do I know you’re not setting me up like
the Berserkers? How do I know there isn’t a box waiting for my
head?”

“Again, no disrespect, but you’d never see
it coming if I were.”

“Again, no disrespect, but what the fuck are
you?”

“I’m nothing but a man who knows what he
wants and knows how to make friends. My friends are very happy to
be my friends, and my enemies…” Terry knew this was the critical
juncture. This was the moment where the pendulum would either swing
for or against him. He kept his right hand on his beer, but his
left hand was below the lip of the table. He reached the fingers of
his left hand under his belt. He took a drink of his beer to cover
the movement and slipped his middle finger into the loop of a
length of wire he had sown into his belt.

Evan McCormick sat looking into the eyes of
the man across the table. The man was young and despite his
assertions, ambitious, but he was no stupid little boy running away
from home to join the circus. Evan had seen enough strikers with
that look to them. Striker is what they called the recruits who did
not yet qualify for colors. The man who was calmly drinking ale,
and talking about taking over the drug trade for the entire
country, was different.

“I’m going to need some more specific
information to make a decision,” Evan said, slowly.

The moment had passed and Terry slowly
pulled his left hand out of the waistband of his pants. The wire
stayed where it was. Both men knew he had been sold on the idea,
now all that was to be presented was the plan.

“Come now, I’ll shout a round.” Evan knew
that men spoke out of hand when drunk and he very much wanted to
get this man to speak out of hand.

~~~

Chapter Fourteen: The Berserkers and The
Damned

“What do you make of this, Sergeant?”

“That the file on the bike war?”

“Yes, the Berserkers headed up to Brisbane
and went all hairy on The Damned. Between the two of them, about 10
percent are left alive from what I gather. Most of ‘em went to
ground somewhere. We got three of the Damned in jail in Brisbane;
weapons charges. They don’t appear to be willing to talk.”

“Well, Super, I won’t be crying over
it.”

“No, nor will I but what I want to know is,
were there hard feelings between these men before? I don’t remember
any but I have been off the streets for a long time now and things
change.”

“I don’t recall any problems between the
two. The Damned stay in the Brisbane area. They’ve been spotted
down here at the bike rallies but never caused a problem. They ran
a bit to the darker side of things if I recall. Brought a couple in
for heroin some time back. They wouldn’t turn over though.

“The Berserkers are crankers. They got a lab
or two set up somewhere making the shit and that’s what they do.
They don’t compete with each other I don’t think. There is one
thing that’s strange though. The leader, president if you like, was
dead before they went north. He was probably killed by someone in
his own club. Cut his head right off, they did. Never found the
head, either.”

Superintendent Barlow poured them each
another glass of scotch. The disappointment at not having found the
torturer had passed and they were on to bigger and better things.
Sergeant Black was certain of a promotion and the superintendent
was certain that things would get done without question.

“I see you had Henry Cuthbert’s car
impounded. Did you find anything in it?”

“No, not this time. He should be more
careful where he parks that thing. There’s no telling what might
happen.”

“So, you think something might happen?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure something is going to
happen.”

Something did happen. The Provincial Police
pulled Henry Cuthbert over on the expressway and the entire
incident was recorded on the dashboard camera of the officers’
vehicle. Everything was relatively standard for a traffic stop. The
lead constable took the license and registration and brought it
back to check for wants and warrants. The German Shepherd in the
back was getting very jumpy, so the constable riding shotgun put a
leash on him and took him out of the vehicle. The dog went directly
to the trunk of Henry’s car and sniffed and whined, with his tail
going in circles. Naturally the constables wanted to look in the
trunk. It was a death sentence.

Henry popped the trunk from inside the car.
As far as he knew there was nothing in the trunk, but he also knew
without reserve that if the dog smelled something, there was
something there. He took what was, in his mind, appropriate action.
He pulled his pistol and when the two constables looked into the
trunk to find the vials of cocaine the dog had smelled, he popped
the door and came out shooting.

The first constable hit was the dog handler.
The .45 caliber bullet blew a huge hole beneath his ribs and above
his hips. He spun around and went down in a spray of blood.
Cuthbert could not see the second constable through the trunk of
the car but he fired two rounds through the trunk lid, then he came
around to the back. The police dog was restrained by the leash
initially; the handler had the thong on his wrist. As Henry came
around the back of the car, the handler slipped the loop off his
wrist and released the dog. Like a bolt of teeth and fury, the dog
leaped straight at his target and as Henry instinctively raised his
left hand the dog clamped down on it. The lead constable fired one
shot that would have taken Henry in the chest if the dog had not
made him stumble backward.