Authors: Lee Christine
‘I’m guessing the Altar Boys. Most likely one of the heavies.’
Allegra frowned, the information churning through her head. If Lizard was bargaining for his life, he’d need to pay off the Altar Boys.
How would he do that?
Her mind leaped ahead. He’d offer them money, information, or resources — such as a network of contacts.
Maybe even turf.
But would Mulvaney have gone through with it? Sold out his beloved motorcycle gang? Sold out the Southern Cross for his life and his family?
If that were his intention, little wonder he’d rid himself of his minders. If the Southern Cross learned of his betrayal, they’d have motive for murder as well.
By this time, they’d walked a half circuit of the park, and Allegra could see Luke, leaning against the car, pretending to watch the football game.
The crowd cheered and clapped as one of the players crossed the try line, and Allegra took advantage of the noise to finally ask the question foremost in her mind.
‘I was away last weekend when it happened.’ She moved towards a bubbler as the other woman let the dog sniff around the flower beds. ‘Do you know if Lizard tried to reach me?’
‘No, he never said anything to me.’
Allegra leaned over and sipped at the water, took the opportunity to look both ways and make sure they were still alone. ‘Do you know if he was in need of legal representation, if he had any new instructions?’
The other woman’s jaw worked as she chewed on some gum. ‘No. There’s nothing I can tell you.’
Allegra straightened, swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and thought about Luke’s theory that Nate Hunter could be working undercover with the Altar Boys.
‘I appreciate you meeting me. I know it won’t bring Lizard back, but with luck, the police may get to the bottom of this.’
Sandra shot her a doubtful look. ‘Believe what you want, honey. One thing I know, the police won’t be doing me and my kids any favours.’
10:00 p.m. Tuesday
‘Josephine Valenti.’
Nate pulled back, harnessing every particle of energy in his body to force his eyelids apart.
Breasts bounced in his face, a red-haired lap dancer writhing on his knees, arms linked around his neck — the hands he’d imagined encircling his throat in his semi-comatose state.
Ah, that’s right.
The hazing ceremony.
A mixture of relief and horror sobered him a little.
He was in the compound, in the midst of the initiation.
Heaviness weighing down his limbs, he looked towards the bar, muscles in his eyes aching.
The crowd had thinned.
Christ
he felt crook.
‘Josephine Valenti.’
Nate jerked his head up, heart pulsing against his ribs as someone spoke Josie’s name a second time.
It was coming from the mounted flat screen on the wall. Dressed in light coloured trousers and a blue polo shirt, Josie’s father, Silvano, was standing in the driveway of the family home at what appeared to be a press conference.
Across the room he caught Kennett’s eye.
‘Mr. Valenti. How is the police investigation progressing?’ a reporter asked.
‘The police are doing everything in their power to find my — I’m sorry,
our
daughter.’ The man’s voice broke, and he paused, staring at the ground as he struggled for control.
‘Have you received a ransom demand?’
‘As yet, no. The police are chasing several leads, and in an effort to expedite this matter, my wife and I are offering half a million dollars reward, for any credible, I repeat,
credible
information that could lead to the safe return of our daughter.’
‘How is Mrs. Valenti?’
The camera zoomed in on Silvano’s despondent expression, and it was then Nate became aware of the striking resemblance between father and daughter. ‘She’s in the kind of state you would expect a mother to be in. Again, anyone with information about my daughter, please contact police on the number below.’ A telephone number flashed at the bottom of the screen, and then it faded to black and cut back to the anchors in the studio.
Just then, Bull looked over and realised Nate was awake. He yelled for more Absinthe.
Head on fire, shoulder burning, Nate raised a hand and signalled no more.
Half a million bucks
.
Sweet Jesus. Every bounty hunter in the country would be searching for Josie now.
‘Come on, baby,’ the redhead cooed in his ear, ‘you got patched up. You have to come out back and celebrate with me.’
Oh
God
.
He had the sweats.
Needed to get out.
How much liquor had they given him?
‘Thanks for the offer, sweetheart.’ The sediment from the Absinthe burned his throat, and he rested his forehead against the redheads, just to keep his head up. ‘But I won’t be any good for you tonight.’
‘You’ll feel better once we’re alone,’ she crooned, spreading her hands across his chest. ‘It’s a twenty-four hour gig. You may as well make use of me.’
Twenty-four hours?
Nate focused his stinging eyes on the clock behind the bar.
10:10 p.m.
Eighteen hours gone.
Getting under the limit would take — God knows how long.
He was dehydrated, needed water.
Bit by bit, Nate’s memory of the morning returned.
The arrival of club members. The official vote, and his successful admission. His sworn allegiance to the club.
And best of all, Kennett’s agreement for him to take over from Grassy.
In the afternoon they’d plied him with beers, and sometime during the evening, switched to Absinthe. After that, everything became a blur.
Nothing. Until now.
The Altar Boys would like to see him celebrating, but the liquor, combined with the pain from the club crest, newly inked into his shoulder, was making him feel like shit.
Nate took a deep breath and fought down the nausea.
He’d done it though.
He was in.
Tomorrow morning, the couriers were pushing into Southern Cross territory, distributing drugs to the known suppliers. They’d collect the cash and bring it here, where it would be split into separate bundles to be laundered.
The following morning, he was charged with the task of delivering bundles of the dirty cash to both the drycleaners and the gym.
Grassy was so pissed off he’d split early and gone home.
Home
.
Six hours until the deadline, when Dickson would take Josie into Police Headquarters.
Six hours, until they presumed him dead.
It would be unlikely for them to leave at four in the morning though, and he could probably count on Dickson giving him another few hours, til seven at least.
But he couldn’t bank on it.
He needed to get an urgent text to Dickson Cross.
Nate patted his pockets.
Where the hell was his phone?
He’d put it in the cardboard box earlier this morning.
Nate raised his hands and slipped them around the redhead’s waist, pulled her close and held her long enough for the group of Altar Boys to notice and start making a noise.
She began dancing in his lap again.
His “get out of gaol card”.
Nate lifted the girl off his lap and dragged himself to his feet.
If he wanted to get home, his only choice was to go out back — with the scantily dressed redhead.
Ten minutes later, after retrieving his phone and sharing a goodnight joke with the bikies still throwing back the grog, Nate stepped into a bedroom at the back of the compound, right arm draped across the redhead’s shoulder.
He closed the door, pulled his wallet from his pocket and watched the redhead jump on the bed and begin unzipping one knee high black boot.
‘You can stop now. Nothing’s going to happen here tonight.’
The girl stilled, pouted, but then her eyes widened as he began taking fifty dollar bills from his wallet.
Nate pushed himself off the door, crossed the room and sat down beside the girl. ‘Here’s what you’ll do. Go out to the bar and get me a jug of water and three of the portable breath testing kits they keep out there. We use them all the time, so no one will think it odd. Come straight back here. I’m going to sleep for three hours, and then split. You’ll lock the door behind me and stay here until daylight. Get it?’
She nodded, eyes moving from his face to the money, and back again.
Nate raised his hand, the folded currency secured between his middle and index fingers. ‘Two fifty for your trouble now, another two fifty when I leave. In the morning, if anyone asks where I am, tell them you fell asleep and don’t know what time I left.’
‘Okay.’
‘Take the money.’
Nate watched as the girl took the money, stuffed it inside her boot and zipped it up.
He reached out a hand and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. ‘You’re very pretty, but — girls don’t do it for me — you understand?’
Realisation dawned on the girl’s face, and then she closed her eyes for a second and wailed. ‘This is
so
depressing. Why are the good looking ones always gay?’
Nate gave her a rueful smile. ‘Just keep it to yourself will you?’
‘For sure.’ The girl tipped her head in the direction of the door. ‘There’s a few out there who won’t like what you are, but I’ll keep your secret.’
The girl pecked him on the cheek and stood up. ‘It would have been a pleasure doing you, gorgeous, and I’m bummed that of all the seedy punters I’ve got,
you’re
the one paying me to have a good night’s sleep.’
She leaned down and patted her boot where she’d stowed the money. ‘Not that I’m complaining. Any time you need a cover, call me.’
Nate smiled and pushed himself up, staggered a little as the room tilted, though he was sobering up with every passing minute.
‘I’ll remember, sweetheart.’ He nodded at the door. ‘Off you go.’
The instant she closed the door, he pulled his iPhone from his pocket and pressed the button.
The screen remained black.
Panic surged through Nate’s hung over body.
No, not now.
He pressed the button a second time, and a third.
Fuck!
The phone was dead.
Shoving the device back into his pocket, he went into the adjoining bathroom, ran the tap and splashed his face with cold water. He couldn’t risk using the girl’s phone, or anyone else’s, couldn’t leave a trail that could potentially bring the operation undone.
What were the alternatives?
Buy a cheap pre-paid? Finding one in the early hours of the morning would burn time. Time he didn’t have.
He checked his watch.
Five and a half hours until 4:00 a.m. He’d need to sleep at least three to get under .05, possibly longer. Once on the bike, he’d head back to the house in Surry Hills, leave the Harley and walk the few blocks to where he’d parked the car. Not the best thing to be doing in the early hours of the morning when trying to stay under the radar.
Once he reached the WRX, he’d plug his phone into the car charger and send a message to Dickson.
It was his best shot.
His only shot.
Desperate to get some water into him, he drank from the tap, wondering whether the police had got him on camera last Sunday night. If so, they’d be going through the plate numbers of all the cars of interest to them, and it was only a matter of time until they turned up at James Street wanting to speak to him. The missing ute and shorter hair would raise a red flag, but it was critical he protect his cover. He couldn’t risk crossing paths with a corrupt police officer benefiting from an association with the bikies.
Nate clenched his teeth until they ground together, steeled himself as he pressed his fingertips into the tender flesh surrounding the tattoo.
Pain shot down his arm and his vision blurred.
He closed his eyes, dragged in a breath, did it again, harder.
This time, his stomach shifted, spasmed.
He leaned over the cistern and stuck two fingers down his throat.
Short of a stomach pump, it was the fastest way to rid his body of the alcohol.
3:00 a.m. Wednesday
Josie stared at the flashing numerals on the clock radio and tried to quell the restless anticipation inside her. She shivered despite the warm bedclothes.
Nate had to come back
.
Through the wall, she could hear Dickson tossing and turning, and she imagined him lying awake as she was, glancing at the clock, ears straining for the first sounds of a car, or the automatic roller door being raised.
Every hour Dickson did a sweep of the house, and in between sweeps, she tensed every time his bed creaked. She’d hold her breath, waiting, hoping he’d knock on her door and say he’d received a text from Nate.
But so far — nothing.
She closed her eyes, thoughts turning to her mother and father. In her mind, she saw them dealing with the police investigation, besieged with media attention, overrun with calls from concerned friends and business associates. Cancelling plans for the extravagant party she’d never wanted.
While she hated protracting her parents’ grief, even by a few hours, she’d made up her mind prior to midnight. If Dickson came in at 4:00 a.m. to take her to the city, he’d have to arrest her. She wasn’t leaving until daybreak. Surely it couldn’t hurt to wait until six, just to give Nate that extra time to get back.
After all, anything could have happened.
Dickson had spoken out of turn by telling her Nate had been on probation when he’d worked for Luke. But she couldn’t be angry with him. He’d only been letting her know about the woman and child, warning her there was someone else.
She’d kind of suspected it, at least around the time of the engagement party.
And now?
Josie closed her eyes and relived that kiss for the umpteenth time, relived Nate’s body hardening against hers, his groan of pleasure as his arms tightened around her in a crushing embrace. Nate had wanted her last night. There was no way she’d imagined his desire, though she was surprised he’d acted on it, considering the earlier reprimand, and their history.