Honorable Assassin (7 page)

Ginger had not been much for birthday
presents or Christmas presents. He was a firm believer in earning
what one received so Terry never got anything much given to him
because of a special day. He worked for what he got. On his 16th
birthday he got taken to the Road and Traffic Authority to take the
first of the tests. He passed the test and left feeling strong. It
was 10 weeks since he had remembered the name of the craft that had
chased him, and he had not yet been able to locate it. The name of
the craft was not so easy to cross-reference as the numbers would
have been.

The search would have been easier if Terry
had known to look in the VicRoads database instead of the RTA.
Ginger was unwilling to help in the search beyond basic advice. He
not only wanted his nephew to work through it himself, he did not
want the culprit found any too soon. There were things Terry needed
to master within himself before he could be considered ready for
the odyssey he was considering. For one thing, he could not legally
drive by himself for the next year.

It wasn’t until May of 1996 that Terry got a
break in his search. The Helping Hands Insurance Corporation sold
an insurance policy for a dark blue fiberglass Bullet boat with
dual Evinrude motors. The policy listed the name of the boat as
Ellsinore,
to be changed to
Ripsaw
. The man buying
the policy, Grant Macintosh, had his home and his automobile
insured with the Dartmouth Insurance Agency, a Helping Hands Office
in Orbost on the Snowy River, well to the south. The new owner of
the boat made his living by running several lumber mills.

Ginger got the letter from the Kingston
Agency and almost tossed it out, then he considered hiding it in a
drawer. His hand snaked over to where the bullet had torn into his
chest and he changed his mind.

The trip was 660 kilometers and there was no
way Ginger was going to allow Terry to go it alone. He knew that
with a teenager’s typical brash, he would try to go in like Hitler
into Poland and probably get arrested rather than learn anything.
Terry could still not drive alone, legally, and would not be able
to until he passed the driver’s test. He couldn’t take that test
until December. The trail might well be cold by then, however.

When Terry got home that day, Ginger only
told him that they would be taking a trip that weekend. He did not
tell him why or where they were going. He did tell Terry that they
would be going in the Holden and they changed the oil in it that
night.

It was three o’clock in the morning,
Saturday morning, when Ginger rousted his nephew from a sound sleep
and told him they were leaving. Terry was surprised that Ginger was
wearing a suit. He did not know Ginger owned a suit. Terry fell
asleep in the passenger’s seat half an hour later. The trip took 11
hours with a stop for lunch and something that Ginger promised
would be explained.

Terry walked into the Whale Mart and bought
a bottle of hair dye at his uncle’s request. They went to a public
rest room in a deserted park and Ginger dyed his hair and beard
blond. It was a sloppy job but relatively effective. Terry was, of
course, intensely curious about the whole affair, but he was
assured that there was a good reason and it would all be revealed
to him.

They had a little trouble finding the house,
since it was off the beaten path, but they located it eventually.
Ginger was glad the boat was not parked in the driveway. He was not
certain they were on the right track and he didn’t need Terry going
ballistic. Terry had been driving at that point and Ginger had him
park so the interior of the car was masked by a tree. Then he left
his nephew behind the wheel while he went to the door with a ledger
in his hand.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Macintosh.”

“G’day, sir.”

“Mr. Macintosh, my name is Frederick
Samuels. I am an employee of the Helping Hands Insurance
Corporation. I have been informed that you purchased the
Ellsinore
about a week ago and I am here to tell you that
there may be some irregularities with the registration.” Ginger
opened the ledger and handed Grant a business card with the Helping
Hands logo and the name Frederick Samuels on it.

“They said nothing when I registered
it.”

“No, they wouldn’t have. The irregularity
involves the fact that this boat was reported wrecked at one point
and should not have been reregistered until it was certified by the
insurance company. May I ask where the vessel is being kept?”

“Well, I just… It’s on a trailer out back.
It didn’t look like it had been wrecked.”

“I need to look at the vessel and certify
that it is the same vessel. Do you have the registration on
hand?”

“Yes, just a moment.” Grant Macintosh
disappeared into the house for a moment and then returned with the
document. The two of them walked around the building and sure
enough, there was a dark blue fiberglass Bullet with twin Evinrude
engines.

Ginger climbed onto the trailer and onto the
deck of the boat. “It does not look as though the numbers have been
changed,” he said as he copied the vehicle identification numbers
into his ledger. Then he climbed out and performed a cursory
inspection of the hull. His inspection completed, he said, “There
may have been some sort of mistake. This vessel does not look as
though it was ever wrecked. Now, we do not have the name and
address of the former owner, since it was not insured through the
Helping Hands Insurance Corporation. The computer system is still
relatively new and there may have been a mistake in the
information. May I bother you for the name and address of the man
you bought the vessel from?”

“Of course. Give me a moment. I’m sure I
have that information in the house. Tell me, doesn’t VicRoads
provide that for you?”

“Yes, they will if we wish to wait for some
time. The Corporation will not honor any damage claims until we get
the matter sorted out, however. We cannot do that until we speak
with the man who claimed the vessel was wrecked. I assure you that
you are in no trouble, but if there was a claim filed by the former
owner then he may be in a great deal of trouble. We take a dim view
of insurance fraud.”

“Oh, I see. Well then, wait here a moment
and I’ll fetch it for you.” It only took a moment and Grant
returned with a scrap of paper. The name was Percy Darrow and the
address was north of Melbourne.

“Thank you, Mr. Macintosh, this will
expedite things greatly. Expect a call from our office in a day or
two verifying that your policy is again in force.”

“Uh, thank you Mr. Samuels. I was planning
on taking the boat out tomorrow. May I do so?”

“I’m sure there won’t be a problem, but if
there is an accident, wait until you hear from us before you file a
claim, just to be safe.”

“Very well, thank you for your concern.”

“Just keeping our end up. Have a safe
weekend, Mr. Macintosh.” Ginger walked around the side of the
building and back to the car. He told Terry to slide over to the
passenger seat. He breathed a slow sigh of relief and drove slowly
to a petrol station.

“Are you going to tell me what we are doing
down here in Victoria?” Terry asked, trying not to make it sound
like he was whining.

“Yes, killer, I’m going to tell you, but I
need to make sure we are on the right track. There are things you
need to know first and I will share those with you as well. It’s
time you knew, but I know a thing or two about boys and their big
mouths. After I tell you these things you are going to need to keep
your mouth shut. You have been a good chap and I think you have the
capacity but this is so bloody dangerous that if you open your
mouth I will shoot you myself.”

“Oh hell, Uncle, you need to trust me more
than that.”

“I’m pulling over here and you’re going to
fill the tank.”

Terry Kingston chewed on his lip as he was
filling the petrol tank. What on earth could be so secret and
important that this farmer would kill him over? Ginger was not one
to threaten folk lightly. If he said he was going to give you a
drubbing, you had better expect to defend yourself. If he said he
was going to shoot something it had better expect to take a bullet.
Terry’s father had let his mother issue the discipline most of the
time unless the offence was particularly heinous and since Terry
was an only child he didn’t get in much trouble. He was coddled a
bit but not spoiled and he had learned how to use his brain from
his father. His uncle had taught him how to use his back. At 16
years old and still growing, he presented a formidable picture but
he knew better than to cross Ginger. His uncle had beaten Terry a
few times, not to excess or too often, but he had given him a
severe knockabout a few times and Terry knew better than to think
he could better him. Terry could fight, but there was something
about the way Ginger handled himself that used his opponent’s
strength and weight against him. Terry was taller but not so broad
as his uncle and he was just coming out of the truly awkward stage
of physical development.

The pump stopped and Terry paid for the
petrol, then they left town with Ginger driving. They continued
south on the Prince’s Highway until the got to the port city of
Lakes Entrance and stopped at a nice dark restaurant where they
took a private booth in the back, away from the other patrons.

To Terry’s surprise, Ginger ordered himself
a rum and cola. Terry had not seen Ginger drink in all the time
they had lived together. He knew there might be a problem brewing.
His uncle had beaten up some of the local fathers and Terry had
been informed that this had been one of the reasons he had been
forced to fight so much in school.

The food was good and the waiters left them
alone but were on hand. Ginger said nothing while they ate and
ordered another rum drink after they were done.

“Terry, me boy, we are about to do something
I have not done in many years. Your father was much better at it
than I, much more subtle. He had a way of moving in and moving out
so nobody noticed he was there. He could walk through a crowded
room and have nobody see him. He was nondescript that way, even
though he was tall.”

“Two meters is not that tall, I’m almost
that now.”

“Boy, we are not having a discussion. I am
going to tell you some things and you are going to keep your trap
shut. There are things you do not know and you will never know if
you don’t stop talking and start listening.”

Terry recognized the tone of voice. He was
very curious but there would be no hurrying the explanation. It
would come in time. He did hope the information came before Ginger
got too drunk. There was no telling what might happen if he
did.

“What you know of your father is only half
of what he did. He was a calm and considered gentleman and a
devoted family man.” Ginger took a large sip of his drink as if he
needed it to continue. “He was also a world class assassin.”

Terry’s jaw dropped. He had never gotten the
slightest inkling of this part of his father’s life. If George had
survived, Terry might have suspected something after a while but he
had never gotten a clue during his formative years. He was about to
stammer some sort of protest but the look in Ginger’s eye silenced
him.

“This is not something I suspect, boy, this
is something I know. He and I did some work together years back. I
am a better shot than he was but he was so subtle about it that he
always made me look like an amateur. There are rules to this sort
of an existence and he followed them scrupulously. Do you want to
continue this conversation?”

Terry nodded his head, struck dumb by the
revelation.

“I will continue but I have already warned
you that if you open your mouth to any of your school chums, or the
silly little sheilas you’ll be plucking, I will shoot you myself
and bury you in the fields in four or five pieces. Am I making
myself as clear as I can?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. This is not a joke or some sort of
game. I will not do it willingly, and I will not enjoy it, but if
you can’t keep your mouth shut, I will dismember you and fertilize
the corn with your body. You never leave witnesses alive, that
includes family, friends, lovers, and children, if they can’t keep
their big mouths shut.” Ginger called for another drink and ordered
Terry a cup of coffee.

“That is the first rule, boy, you never
leave witnesses alive.”

“I understand, but why are you telling me
this now?”

“I created a witness when I went to that
man’s house and started asking questions about the dark blue boat
he had in the back yard.”

“Is he the one…?”

“No, but he is now a witness. Tell me what
he witnessed.”

“He saw a man in a suit, driving a Holden
Monaro, who wanted to know about the boat in the back yard.”

“Wrong. He saw a blond man in a suit and
hat, from Helping Hands. He may or may not have seen you, depending
on how curious he got. He saw a confused claims examiner.”

The waiter brought the drinks and Ginger
said nothing until he had left them alone again. Then he said, “Do
you want to continue this conversation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you had best be aware of all the rules
involved. You never leave fingerprints. You never allow yourself to
be fingerprinted. You never call attention to yourself. You never
accept a woman or child as your primary target. You never agree to
work with the police unless you can eliminate the entire station
force and destroy all evidence. You never talk. The men who hire
and distribute jobs in this part of the world are limited in
number, but they are ruthless. I have been expecting the man who
shot me in the hospital to appear at the farm for the past eight
years. I do not know why he has not. It has been a mistake on his
part, boy. He knew where we lived, there is no doubt about that. We
did not know where he was until today and we still cannot be sure
it is him. What are the rules?”