Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (20 page)

"You have rose
coloured glasses on Gill, crime is a growth business in this town,"
Steve replied. "And a lot of people have actually been killed in
Dunedin; it isn't as innocent as you make out. How about those 13
people killed at Aramoana back in 1990 that was bad. Then there was
that whole family killed by one of their own and a fair few since
then as well. Robbery is becoming more commonplace now though, I
agree with you there. We should invest some of our superannuation
fund into that business; it would provide a better return than the
stock market at the moment." Steve grinned.

Gillian did
not reply.

"We didn't get
our usual greeting from the boys as went past the pad today" Steve
continued obliviously "They must be keeping their heads down after
all that's happened. I'd bet anything they are involved in the
killings somehow, nothing goes on in this neck of the woods without
J man knowing about it".

Gillian drew
in a sharp breath and glared at her partner.

"It's
Joseph Kingi, Steve, calling him J man just adds to his mystique,
it sounds like you’re buying into his sick culture, just call these
thugs by their proper names, take some power back." The look on
Gillian's face stopped Steve from making any reply, instead he
pushed a little harder on the accelerator, keen to get to the scene
and out of the car to escape his partner's foul mood.

As they
approached the bend in the road just before the quarry, they saw
there was a gravel car park off to the left. The entrance to which
was blocked by a large red fire appliance, lit up with blinking
headlights and flashing red lights. Behind its hulking mass was a
burning wreck that three fire fighters were attacking with a hose
spewing water and foam. The fire and dark smoke dying down to be
replaced by a white steam that hissed and cracked as the water
found its way into the interior of the car.

Steve parked
the car in the middle of the road and left the red and blue lights
on. He and Gillian got out of the car and walked over to the senior
fire officer on scene.

"How's it
going Gill, I haven't seen you in a while. You're still in uniform
I see," he said, only nodding in Steve's direction as a
greeting.

The fire
officer was a friendly character in his late 40's with an open and
ready smile.

"Hi Jack,"
Gillian replied. "How are the little ones?"

Steve noticed
Gillian's shoulders relax a little and her mood lighten.

"Still with
their mother I'm afraid, I don't get to see them much these days,
but that's another story".

"That's a
bummer, we should get together for a drink one day, catch up on old
times," Gillian said, hope evident in her tone.

"I'd like
that" he replied.

Steve could
not believe what he had just witnessed; Gillian Holler had just
asked someone out for a drink. He was just about to make a smart
comment but the fire officer had turned to him with his hand held
out.

"I'm Jack.
Jack Perry" he said.

Steve shook
his offered hand and introduced himself.

"Now that the
formalities are out of the way, maybe you could explain why a
Police car would be on fire in a remote spot like this,” Jack said.
“I knew things were difficult and you have to tighten your belts to
make budget, but resorting to insurance claims is a bit over the
top.” Jack grinned as he spoke “And don't try and blame us poor
Fire-fighters for not getting here quick enough to save it
either..." His voice trailed off as he saw the confused look on
Steve and Gillian's face.

Jack turned
around and indicated they follow him over to the smouldering
carcass.

Back in the
office, Grant and Becky looked as if they were sharing a joke in
hushed tones while placing something in John's top drawer. When
Brian walked in they both looked up quickly with guilty looks on
their faces.

"What are you
two up to then?" Brian asked.

"You gave us
bit of a fright Bri, I thought you were John" Grant said, his
cheeks getting a slight flush.

Becky just
looked embarrassed.

Brian's eyes
were on the drawer.

"It's just a
little thing for John, just a wee joke..." Grant said.

"We'll as long
as you remember the new catch phrase 'Banter can be bullying' I'm
sure it will be a great laugh", Brian said as he opened the drawer
to have a look. A small book titled 'Better Chat up Lines' was
lying face up. A post-it note attached said, 'No chance, love Jo
X'.

"Don't let Jo
see this will you, it's bad enough she has to put up with John's
lady killer ways as it is," he said.

"John wouldn't
have a chance with a girl like Jo anyway, he's nowhere near her
bottom line even", Becky said, as she went over to her own desk to
answer a ringing phone. The conversation was short and to the
point.

Placing the
receiver back on the cradle she looked up as the colour drained
from her face.

"Are John and
Jo back in the station yet?" She said quietly.

Both Brian and
Grant shrugged their shoulders.

"Why?" Grant
asked the obvious question.

"A police
vehicle has just been found burnt out near Blackhead Quarry;
Gillian Holler says it’s not a marked patrol vehicle so it must be
one of ours".

"Shit" Grant
and Brian said together.

Grant had his
cellphone out and he was frantically punching numbers into the
keypad; he flicked on the speakerphone as it rang through.

The three of
them held their breath as the phone continued to ring.

"Try Jo's
cellphone will you Becky, I don't have her number," Grant said.

Becky rang
through on her phone and they had two speakerphones sounding out
the empty ring of a phone not answered.

John Mouller
did not know how long he had been slipping in and out of
consciousness, but this time he did not return to the dark
nothingness. The room was silent but he felt a presence nearby. He
tried to move but his arms held tight, restrained behind him with
some sort of binding. A metallic coppery taste of blood filled his
mouth. One of his eyes would not open and his face felt like it was
made of rubber. There was a sharp pain in his chest and his lungs
felt like they were on fire.

He tried to
remember what happened but could not make his mind work clearly.
Had he been in an accident? He could not recall.

His one good
eye kept filling with something warm and sticky and he had to keep
blinking it clear. He tried to focus but it was a struggle and
nothing came into view. He tried to call out but the words would
not leave his throat.

Fear started
to prickle into his consciousness, he felt himself craving the
darkness of before. At least he would not be in so much pain.

A face flashed
in his mind, a pretty face, a face he knew. He had to stretch his
mind to recall the name. Jill...? No, Jo... Jo Williamson. Another
memory surfaced, the sight of Jo struggling with her captors as
they dragged her into a building, ugly dangerous faces around her.
More pain shot through his body and he convulsed, coughing even
more blood into his mouth. Then it all came flooding back, the ugly
pleasure on the faces that had been above him, the pain in his body
as they lashed out. Taking whatever issue they had with whatever
demon plagued their life and transferring it into their vicious
assault.

He opened his
good eye wide and looked around the room. This time things came
into focus, it was then he saw her; she was lying on her back with
her head rocking back and forth and her eyes closed. Her pale face
was showing black stained tears running down her cheeks. The
wretched sight made John’s stomach turn.

Jo's hands
were running all over her own body, sometimes it was as if she was
trying desperately to sweep something off her and then it would be
more slowly, erotically, as if she was enjoying it. He could hear a
small whimper coming from her lips.

He tried to
call out to her but could not think of anything to say. She was
lying there not wearing anything but her black lace bra and panties
and he felt embarrassed, for her, for looking at her, and for
himself.

He noticed
another presence in the room; someone was standing near the door
with his back to him, displaying a black leather vest with full
regalia on the rear. He was watching Jo intently, in one hand, he
held a camera phone towards her and the other hand had pushed
itself inside his filthy jeans rubbing himself back and forth.

Anger rose in
his throat and he struggled against his bonds in a futile attempt
to stop the patched pervert from degrading Jo any further. He had
not protected her when he should have and she had ended up as a
prop in a sick fantasy, no better than a piece of meat. Anger and
sadness invaded his head in equal proportions. He spat the blood
from his mouth “Over here dick head”, he managed.

The Patch
stopped rubbing himself and turned towards John, confused eyes, as
if he had not noticed him in the room before now. Then anger
flashed through them “What the fuck are you looking at faggot? Do
you get hard looking at guys? Am I making you excited, is that it?”
he grabbed his penis through his jeans and thrust his hips towards
him. "Well you're gonna get a show shortly Mr Piggy. We're all
gonna have a go on Miss Piggy and you're gonna enjoy that. We may
even have a spit roast... Mmm-mm... I do like roast pork" The Patch
licked his lips and looked back towards Jo.

John spat
blood towards him “Fuck you, you're not going to get away with
this. It’s time you let us go; it can only get worse for you”.

“
It’s
time you went back to sleep little piggy”

The Patch
reached over towards the wall and picked up a wooden bat, holding
it at waist level he walked closer to him.

John watched
the Patches' leather vest move stiffly as his shoulders tensed up.
Then the bat started moving in slow motion, he could almost hear it
coming through the air towards him. It seemed to take ages to move
towards his head, like a meteor on a deadly trajectory. He looked
directly into the Patches eyes in the split second before the
inevitable impact. John’s acceptance of probable death passed
through them into the empty void behind the ugly facade that the
Patch portrayed to the world.

A white light
exploded in his head, followed by a sharp pain that registered just
before he fell into a dark void of his own.

Bridger
watched as the screen on the phone in front of him lit up with the
blocked number, the vibrations moving it closer to him across the
surface as if inviting him to answer. Taking another deep breath,
he picked up the phone and pressed answer not bothering to say
anything in greeting.

"Have you
listened to what my old friend has to say...?” David McLaren’s
voice was smooth and deep, no trace of the anger that Joseph had
displayed.

"Where are my
colleagues being held?" Bridger butted in.

"What are you
talking about?"

"You know
bloody well what I'm talking about, the two police officers you and
Kingi have kidnapped as insurance."

There was a
deep throaty chuckle on the other end of the phone. "Well now, it
seems Joseph is as impulsive as ever, still pulling the same
amateur moves."

Bridger
remained silent unsure if McLaren knew anything about it.

After a
short silence he continued. "Is he keeping well? Joseph I mean. I
have not seen him since incarceration in this shithole was put upon
me. From what you have just told me I see that he has delivered you
his ultimatum. Have probably signed your life away?"

"I didn't have
much of a choice, did I?"

"Well that’s
all good and well but you see I can't let it happen. He needs to
stay where he is, it doesn't suit my purposes for him to be
released".

Bridger could
not believe what he was hearing. He had just spent the best part of
ten minutes fabricating the letter that Joseph was sure would lead
to his release and now McLaren was telling him he didn't want that
to happen.

"If Joseph
gets out then my son would be in danger of falling into the same
life I have led and I can't have that. Joseph and his son need to
be taken care of for good and you’re going to see to it."

There was no
winning with these two, Bridger thought to himself.

"What do you
want then?" He said in reply.

"All in good
time, but I need to give you reasons first, I'm not an unreasonable
man and Joseph and I do have a history".

"Well get on
with it" Bridger said angrily.

"Temper
tempers Mr Bridger, it was that which put me where I am now, and
you would be wise to remember that." David took a deep breath the
sound audible over the phone. Then he continued

"We were as
thick as thieves back in the day. We grew up together back in
Pukekohe did you know that? Then we both joined the 'Gang'
together, that was before he moved south to Dunedin. I followed a
few years later with my wife; the leaders decreed a new chapter
needed to be set up in the deep south. There were opportunities
abound, untapped markets, and things to be explored. It was a brave
new world and I was the trusted one, the new leader of a new
chapter, we could write our own destiny and that is what we did.
Neither of us saw this as an ending to that story though. My ending
came at the end of a knife, his for drugs, robbery and rape. You
tell me what is worse....

Bridger did
not say anything.

Anyway it was
me who recruited him back into the life", David went on, "But he
had changed since our childhood days, his ideals never quite
matched my own, he always had a different agenda it was if he no
longer cared. Maybe he felt isolated in Dunedin before the chapter
was set up, lost his way a bit. His only recourse was to lash out;
and he liked to lash out. Violence was always his first port of
call. I am not saying I was a saint but then I always had a reason
for my aggression, he used it as a form of self-advancement. The
gang was always a place for people like me to belong, to find
purpose in our lives. He just used it for his own personal
entertainment and gain; I did what I did to survive.