Sinners & Scarecrows Page 4

  Danny chuckled. “What about Papa Bear?”

  “Just look at him.” He motioned his head towards the living area. He was lying down on one of the worn out couches. He was in his early fifties, and had a big, bushy beard along with shoulder-length, frizzy hair. He sported a rounded beer-gut, and was snoring worse than a warthog. “He’s like our father figure,” Lemon explained. “He’s our treasurer, our bank of knowledge, and a gentle giant to boot. Just don’t catch him on the one day of the year that he’s angry, because he’ll punch a hole right through you.”

  “Again: note taken,” said Danny.

  Ace and Trigger untangled themselves from the pile of bodies in their bedroom and saw Danny and Lemon at the bar and joined them.

  “Looks like the love birds are awake,” Lemon teased them.

  Ace playfully punched him in the shoulder.

  “What do you mean by ‘love birds’?” Danny asked.

  Lemon grinned. “These two party animals are nigh-inseparable. The eat together, bang chicks together, sleep in the same fucking room together; I’m pretty sure they’re faggots.”

  This time Trigger punched Lemon in his kidneys. They all laughed together.

  “Say, has anyone seen or heard from Fish yet?” Lemon asked.

  “No, I haven’t,” replied Trigger. “I’m actually starting to worry about that drunken little weasel.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ace reassured them, “I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere. He always does.”

  Chapter 7

  Carl and Jess pulled off the Brighton Highway in their maroon 4x4 ute into a rest area to take a break from the road and have a bite to eat. They also thought it would be a good idea to walk their energetic dog, Monty, a chocolate-brown German Shorthaired Pointer, while they were at it. He was starting to get a little stir-crazy after being cooped up on the back seat for the past few hours.

  They had just passed through Brighton twenty minutes ago, and had somehow resisted the temptation to buy drive-through takeaways in the city, opting to stick to their healthier diet of home-made salad rolls and fruit salad.

  They were both slim, and in their late twenties. They loved hunting, fishing, and camping together, and had decided a trip up north was the perfect way to end their summer holidays.

  As Carl unloaded the chilly bin and blanket from the back seat of the ute, Monty tore off into the bush reserve that stretched for miles beyond the highway.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered

  “It’s all right, I’ll get him,” said Jess. “Monty! Monty! Here, boy!” she called out to him.

  But Monty didn’t come.

  “He’s probably picked up the scent of a possum,” said Carl. “I’ll go chase after him.”

  Carl left Jess with the ute and sprinted after Monty through the bush. “Bloody hunting dogs,” he muttered to himself, “always chasing after something.”

  After running and calling out to Monty for a full five minutes, he finally found him down by a shallow creek digging a large, deep hole in the semi-soft dirt. “Monty! No! Bad dog! How many times have I told you not to dig bloody holes!” he shouted.

  Monty happily bounced over to him, and as he got closer Carl noticed something unusual wedged between his teeth. “What have you got there, boy? A stick?”

  Monty dropped it at Carl’s feet. His blood froze and he threw up. He walked over to the hole and threw up again when he saw what lay inside.

  After his stomach had settled and he’d pulled himself together, he attached Monty’s lead to his collar and made his way back through the dense bushland to Jess. When she saw him, she noticed his complexion was pale, slightly green even. “Are you okay?” she asked him. “You look like you’ve just been sick.”

  He hunched over, resting his hands on his kneecaps, taking deep breaths as he said, “No; I’m not bloody okay.”

  “What happened?”

  “Monty found something...”

  “What was it?”

  Carl covered his mouth with his hand as he visualised Monty’s disturbing discovery. “Just get your phone and call the cops,” he said, before rushing behind a tree and emptied what little contents remained in his stomach.

  Chapter 8

  New Zealand Police Commissioner Peter Stuart saw an important name appear on his office phone’s caller ID. He immediately picked up the receiver. “Agent Watson; it’s only been two days since your last report. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, Commissioner, everything’s fine,” Agent Watson replied. But there’s been some new developments on the case that I need to make you aware of.”

  “Such as?”

  “I think something big is about to go down, and it might just be the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

  “Go on.”

  “The Lombardis and Seth Archer are venturing into a new market, of what nature I’m not sure yet, but as soon as I have more details I’ll report back to you. But there is something else I needed to report...something we could never have anticipated.”

  “Yes?”

  Watson took a deep breath. “Blaze is back with the MC, sir.”

  “Blaze is back! Are you certain?”

  “Yes, and he’s back on Mr Lombardi’s payroll, too.”

  “And you’re definitely sure of this intel?”

  “Yes, Commissioner. He’s also initiated a new member into the club.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Danny Foster.”

  “Any details I need to know about him?”

  “I conducted a search in the national database, but he came up squeaky-clean, too damn clean for someone who just escaped from prison.”

  “He just what!”

  “That’s where he met Blaze. Last night the MC held a massive homecoming party, and while everyone was severely intoxicated and running their mouths off, I was told that Danny was falsely accused of murdering his wife and daughter.”

  “So he escaped from prison and changed his identity?”

  “It would seem likely, yes. And he’s also agreed to work for Seth Archer and Mr Lombardi.”

  “Good. One more rat we can put away when we sweep the SAS and all associates out of Brighton.”

  “Yes, sir, and there’s more...”

  “Please continue.”

  “Well, I heard that Blaze and Danny didn’t actually want to come back and work for Archer or Mr Lombardi.”

  “So why did they?”

  “Well, as you already know, Blaze was cleared of all previous convictions after capturing the serial killer in Glendale. He was going to head south for Summit Lake with Danny.”

  “So what changed?”

  Watson explained about Zoe, and how Archer had made Blaze literally fight for his life during his time at Winterhill.

  “So Blaze was blackmailed into working for Archer and the Lombardis?” he asked.

  “Yes, Commissioner. And he’s less than happy about it.”

  “What will be his role?”

  “Same as usual: running drugs and weapons, and something to do with the new merchandise they’re bringing into the country that I mentioned before.”

  The commissioner paused, then said, “As soon as you’re sure of the time and location of the delivery, we’ll nail the whole lot of them.”

  “Sir, I actually think we should hold off.”

  “Excuse me? Are you losing your faculties, Watson?”

  “No, sir, I think Blaze is up to something.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The MC is going after Saul Gunnerman.”

  “Saul Gunnerman? Why?”

  “Because he’s the one who murdered Danny’s wife and daughter.”

  “I see.” The commissioner paused. “And that’s why Blaze and this Danny were headed to Summit Lake, to avenge his wife and daughter?”

  “I presume so.”

  “And you are of the opinion we should let them try?”

  “Why not? From what I’ve gathered, Blaze ha
s a plan to bring down Archer and Mr Lombardi with him, as retribution for kidnapping Zoe. Why put our resources at risk when you have some angry bikers hell-bent on revenge at our disposal?”

  “Do you really think they can pull it off?”

  “I’m not sure. But as you well know, Blaze is as smart and ruthless as they come. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he did.”

  “Very well, let them proceed. I will also send an elite team to take advantage of the situation. I want that lunatic biker and his crew behind bars as soon as possible!”

  “Agreed. Especially now that Blaze has a clean record; we are virtually starting from scratch; we need as much dirt as we can find on him!”

  The commissioner shook his head in disbelief. “How did this happen, Watson? We were so close to nailing him before he suddenly disappeared.”

  “I know, sir. We’ll just have to work twice as hard to put him away for keeps this time.”

  “It makes me proud to hear you say that, Watson; you’re a fine agent.”

  Watson smiled, then said, “The MC is headed south in the next few days. So you need to be ready at a moment’s notice.”

  “Understood. Oh, and just one other thing—”

  “Yes, Commissioner?”

  “Whatever happens, I want Blaze alive. I will even make the trip personally. I want the pleasure of cuffing him. It would be a fitting end to my career before I retire next month.”

  The Commissioner was about to put the receiver down, but suddenly stopped himself as his secretary entered his office and handed him a report. After a quick glance at it, he said, “Watson, you still there?”

  “Yes, Commissioner.”

  “There wouldn’t happen to be anyone currently missing from the MC would there?”

  “Actually, there is. The member they call Fish has been AWOL for the past couple of days. Why do you ask?”

  “Because a young couple just called in a multiple homicide on the side of the Brighton Highway. Their dog dug up a grave some distance off the main trail in the bush reserve, and it’s highly likely that one of the bodies recovered is this Fish character.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Because the young man is quoted to have said that one of the pieces of human remains he saw was wearing a black, leather cut with the name and emblem of what he thought was a motorcycle club on the back of it.”

  “Really? What was the name?”

  “You already know the answer, Watson: Sinners & Scarecrows.”

  Holy hell. “Who would want to kill Fish? And what do you mean by pieces of human remains?”

  “Well, according to this report, there were ten body parts found in the grave, all belonging to different people. The main torso belonged to your missing biker.”

  Agent Watson shuddered, then had a brilliant thought. “Commissioner, may I make a suggestion?”

  “You may.”

  “Perhaps we should call in that detective Blaze worked with in Glendale. We could use him to subtlety extract information from Blaze while he works his MC-brother’s murder case. From the stories I heard last night, Blaze trusts him, which is massive when you consider he wouldn’t spit on a cop if he saw one on fire.”

  The commissioner thought it over for a moment, then said, “That’s an excellent suggestion. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. Until then, lie low and keep me informed. I presume you bugged the clubhouse with that listening device you requested?”

  “Yes, last night when everyone went outside to welcome Blaze and Zoe home. I can listen in and record their private conversations if I’m not there.”

  “Excellent work, Watson. Your dedication to this assignment will not go unnoticed.” He hung up the phone and called his secretary on the intercom. When she answered, he tersely said, “Get me Detective Cameron Ryan of the Milton City Homicide Unit on the line, at once!”

  Chapter 9

  Francois stopped the limousine outside the tall, arched, steel-barred gates that surrounded Mr Lombardi’s mansion. He patiently waited for his window to wind down and spoke into the intercom mounted on a post beneath one of the security cameras. The gates slowly opened inwards. He drove the limo along the smooth, stone-paved driveway.

  “Now don’t go doing anything stupid,” Archer said to Blaze before the car came to a stop at the circular end of the driveway, parking behind a convoy of late-model BMWs and Chevrolets. “Anyone who’s anyone in the Lombardi family is present for this meeting. Speak only when spoken to. And try keep that temper and vulgar sense of humour of yours in check. You know what it means to your club and to Zoe should you try any tricks, and this is your one and only shot at making a good impression on Mr Lombardi. So don’t blow it.”

  “Scout’s honour,” Blaze replied.

  The three of them got out of the limo and walked towards the front entrance. Two sturdy, wooden doors with large, black door-knockers greeted them, along with two guards sporting powerful machine guns.

  The mansion was enormous, big enough to house an entire village of people. The cream concrete exterior looked exquisite against the palm trees that lined the driveway. The deep-blue water in the luxurious swimming pool looked inviting. The grounds resembled that of a finely manicured golf course. There was a tennis court and a bowling green around the back, as well as a large stone-paved patio at the end of a red-brick path that wound its way through the back lawn and flower gardens, where one of the security guards led the three men upon their arrival.

  Mr Lombardi smiled as he saw Blaze, Archer and Francois approaching. He stood up from his chair among the circle of men already seated. “It is good to see you again, Blaze,” he greeted him with a heartfelt embrace and a peck on both cheeks. “Welcome to my home. It is an honour for me to have you as my guest. What can I get you to drink? Espresso? Whisky? Beer?”

  Blaze was taken aback from his warm welcome. “Er— beer’s fine, thank you,” he stammered.

  Archer opted for whisky on the rocks; Francois declined his offer. Mr Lombardi walked behind the bar. He poured Archer’s drink and fetched a bottle of ice-cold beer. “I trust Zoe is in good health?” he asked Blaze as he opened and served his drink.

  “Yes, Mr Lombardi,” he replied calmly, controlling his anger. “She said that no harm came to her during her stay here, and I thank you for that. But that does bring me to something that I must ask you—”

  “Refreshments first, then we talk business,” he cut him off.

  Blaze noticed all nine of the giant Italian men sitting down were staring at him. He knew all of them well from his time when he’d previously worked for Mr Lombardi. They were a mixture of Mr Lombardi’s sons and nephews. They all had naturally tanned skin and slick, black hair. They took exceptional pride in their appearance, wearing expensive tailored shirts and trousers, and genuine leather shoes. They all wore chunky gold rings on their fingers, and thin, silver chains around their wide, bullish necks, complete with gold Rolex watches. They smelled of expensive cologne.

  The Lombardi family had controlled Brighton city for three generations. Mr Lombardi was the last of his, and had kept the business in the family by offering each of his nine captains an area in Brighton to control. Vino was about to be reinstated as his tenth. They each had a posse of men who worked for them selling drugs and weapons, debt collecting, giving beat-downs, and giving protection to businesses who were ‘persuaded’ into purchasing it from them. They all got to keep a generous percentage of their profits, and the rest went to Mr Lombardi.

  A man walked out of the mansion, catching Blaze’s eye. His thick, curly, black hair and noticeable limp made his identity obvious to Blaze. Vino fucking Barsetti.

  Francois clamped his hands over Blaze’s shoulders, holding him back from doing anything rash. Blaze wrestled himself free, delivering a solid combo of elbows into his gut. He smashed his near-empty beer bottle on the edge of the bar and dashed up the path towards Vino.

  Vino’s eyes bulged with fear as he saw Blaze c
oming at him like a bull out of a gate. He saw a wooden garden stake holding up a freshly planted tree in one of the garden beds. He ripped it out and thrust the pointed end at Blaze.

  All nine captains stood up to intervene. Mr Lombardi’s fleshy nose twitched as he ordered them to stay back, and to let them sort out their differences.

  “You’re a fucking dead man, Vino!” said Blaze fiercely. “I’m gonna ram that garden stake right up your ass until it comes out of your fucking eye socket!”

  “Please, just let me explain,” he replied frantically.

  Blaze charged forward without letting him finish. Vino tried to skewer his chest with the garden stake, but Blaze was alert and slid to the ground, taking out Vino’s legs and skittling him over. Blaze quickly turned around and drove the jagged edges of his bottle into Vino’s thigh. He cried out and reached for his leg, dropping the garden stake. Blaze picked it up and taunted Vino by sticking the pointed end under his chin and lifting his head up with it. “You said you wanted to explain something?”

  “Yes,” Vino whimpered.

  “Go on then, explain, before I make a throw rug out of you.”

  He winced before he said, “You think I took Zoe just to spite you, don’t you?”

  “You’re goddamn right I do!” he replied.

  “That’s not why I did it, I swear!”

  Blaze raised the garden stake above his head. “What other possible reason could you have done it for!” he shouted. “I thought she was dead, you Italian prick!” His anger reached boiling point. He didn’t care what Vino’s reason was to justify his actions. Nobody touches my girl and gets away with it. He went to swing the garden stake down on Vino’s head, but Francois grabbed hold of it from behind him and wrenched it free from his grasp.

  “That’s enough,” he said firmly. “You’ve had your fun for the day, now go and join the others.”