Raucous (28 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO

They stepped out of the car and opened the gate.  Raucous drove up the rough pathway toward the barn.  The building was as Raucous remembered with added green over the walls where Ivy had crawled up to add camouflage.  The door was two thick metal panels on hinges embedded in concrete.  The two doors overlapped where they met, the right side had a six-inch metal flange running down its entire height, welded to its edge.  The padlock was large and rusted, but not entirely.  It was the size of a large man’s open hand.  Simple and solid, requiring a key.  They circled the barn.  There were no windows or other entrances.  Raucous stepped back and looked up at the roof.  It was damaged by weather and gravity.  But the wood beams were holding the half-moon tiles in place well.  Raucous pulled on the double doors and there was no give at all.  No space to be found.

“Do you have the key?”  Raucous asked.

“Right here,” Roach said.

Raucous made a double take at the key Roach held.

“I was joking," Raucous said.

"From Christian's belongings.  I imagine the other key is to the van's ignition."

"Think it’ll still work?”

“Let’s find out.”

It took a while to wriggle the key home, but the lock was of the highest quality and the mechanism worked after Roach liberally sprayed WD-40.  Roach pulled the lock free and the doors stayed shut.  Raucous slid his fingers behind the flange and pulled.  The hinges were of worse quality than the lock.  The years had rusted them tight.  Raucous heaved and heard cracks as rusted metal broke and buckled.  The ground had risen over the years and the door could only be opened a metre. 

“It’s not like we are planning on driving the van out,” Roach said.

Roach produced three large torches from his bag and they stepped inside.  The musty damp smell hit hard, but they stepped forward through the gap in turn.  Raucous, Charlotte and Roach.  The van was as they had left it.  The back doors were closed but unlocked.  Raucous grabbed the handle and twisted as he pressed the button in its centre.  He opened both doors wide and they all shone the light inside.  Raucous stepped up and in, and the suspension on the transit van creaked.

“You still think it’s real gold?” Roach asked.

“If it isn’t, they won’t come.”

They looked at the bars of gold stacked like a rich child's oversized lego house.  Raucous touched one of the bars, wiping a mark through the dust that covered it.

“Sure looks like gold.”

They stood and stared at the stack.  A lot of money if it were real, a lot of money if it were fake. 

Roach spoke, “We know the plan.  Let’s call them in.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE

Mitch had been dead.  Rollin wanted to kill him back then, not one hour ago.  The phone call saved him, or added more minutes to his existence.  He hoped he could last long enough for the pain to dissolve.  Rollin hit hard.  He started heavy and just kept going.  The snarl, the anger, the frustration.  Mitch had watched when his eyes were open.  A man in need of blaming another for misfortune.  A man in need of release.  But most of all in need of information.  Rollin had latched to the idea, convincing himself that obtaining information was at any cost.  Rollin needed Mitch to speak.  Parker hadn’t drawn his knife.  He was a man who saw no benefit.  He was the only one not panicking.  Parker had accepted, he would keep playing, fighting, but Mitch was sure he was operating under the concept of death.  Parker was calm but Mitch would not say it was from confidence.

Chamberlain sat beside Mitch in the back of their SUV.  Chamberlain had his gun pressed up against Mitch’s ribs.  It wasn’t necessary, Mitch was going nowhere, there was nowhere to go.  This was Chamberlain’s comfort blanket, he was taking credit for stopping an outcome that was never going to happen.  He needed to prove his worth.  He was failing.

Rollin drove, Parker in the passenger seat, and Mitch and Chamberlain in back.  The night had started to settle.  The sky was black but a half-moon shone.  Street lights and house lights caused a yellow haze to hang on the humid air.

Mitch sat back in the comfortable leather upholstery.  He remembered now, clearer than before, clearer than he had ever been.  Raucous as a boy, just becoming a man, probably wanting to make that step more than anything else in the world.  But Raucous thought that step was to being one of the criminal fathers, the big men who bluffed through bar talk with tales of aggression and theft.  He remembered driving the van, he remembered the man called Hatcher who told him where.  He remembered the words, “Only me and you know.”  Raucous was in the back - he must know where - smoking weed, all twitchy and nervous, holding himself in place by pushing his feet and arms against the van’s panels.  He remembered feeling scared, terrified.  He didn’t want to drive, didn’t want to be involved.  But maybe that was a trick, maybe that’s what he thought now.  In the moment maybe he was like Raucous, a boy wanting to be one of the men, one of the grizzled few who played cards in groups of four and followed a bastardized version of Adam Smith’s invisible hand, which at night entered houses and left with stolen goods.

Mitch remembered an explosion, a bang and a cloud of blue.  Raucous grinning, white teeth on a blue-meanie face.  The inside of the van immediately blue.  Paper, money gold bars all covered in blue.  Raucous shaking his hand like he’d burnt it on a grill.

“Slow down,” Parker said and Mitch snapped alert. “On the corner there, real slow but do not stop.  Hit as many bumps and divots as you can, send these beams bouncing all over.  Let’s get ready.  It starts now.”

Rollin slowed and zig-zagged the car theatrically like Sean Connery as James Bond in a cut out Aston Martin on a film set.  Left and right in quick movements.  The corner came, Parker opened the door, looked down at the ground as it slid past.  He looked around quickly, staring at Mitch and Chamberlain in turn.  He nodded to Rollin, placed a foot on the ground, stood up, holding his weight on the roof of the car with his fingers and stepped off.  He jogged the first few steps and slowed.  Mitch arched his back and craned his neck, looking at where Parker jumped.  Parker stood, head bowed but eyes up, looking at the car drive away.  His body faded quickly into the blackness of the night.  Chamberlain poked the barrel of his gun into Mitch’s ribs.  Mitch looked forward and caught Rollin watching him in the rear-view mirror.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

The large white Nissan SUV pulled in, stones popped and span away under the weight and torque of the tyres.  The Car bounced, full beams chopping up and down, slicing through the heavy and darkening night.  Raucous listened as the engine died away and a creak of a handbrake being pulled.  Raucous listened for another engine, another sound.  There should be a second car, a back-up.  They could not have come in one.  They were smart people and that was a dumb move.  But Raucous couldn’t see lights from a passing car; he couldn’t hear high pressure tyres rumbling along a dirt road.  He heard squeaks and squawks, rustling leaves, and the heavy breathing coming from Roach.  They were standing alone.  Charlotte had followed orders and gone.

The limited time they had didn’t leave them options.  If they had time, they could plan and test, and contemplate variations to the narrative thread they would create based on intelligence, knowledge and experience.  But Rollin arrived, if it were indeed Rollin in the white Nissan.  They were here, they had come straight.  They could have arrived later, the window of opportunity the idea of organizing travel and a way of slowing down the inevitable meeting had not been taken.  They were rushed too.  They needed a quick resolution.  But quick how?  A few more deaths and then run away, or an amicable agreement and the same speedy escape?  Raucous knew Rollin, knew the option the man back then would have taken, and this was why he was sure there was a second car. 

But the second car couldn’t come around, there was no road out back.  It could have crawled around in the dark, lights switched off, following the lead in, driving past the gate and circling.  If that was so, they would be driving away in a large loop to come back on foot through the woods.  If they followed the road around and loop back, they would need to cross fields.  But the fields were cut, flat and low.  The moon-lit sky would force silhouettes to stick out like a flame on the horizon.   Crawling along bellies would take a day.  Roach had listened to Raucous speak as Charlotte had.  They followed his instruction because they had none of their own.  Roach was scanning the break between land and sky in a 270 degree arc.  He left Raucous the 90 degrees in which the car sat. 

Three figures stepped from the car in turn.  The first stumbled for his initial two steps as he exited fast from the rear-left passenger door.  He moved his shoulders quickly from right to left to keep his balance and stay upright because his wrists were joined together behind him by white plastic ties.  An older, slower body exited the same door immediately after the first.  His movement was stiffer, as if he wanted to maintain a modicum of decorum.  Raucous couldn’t see, but he imagined the man was wearing Hand-made leather loafers with tassels.  He understood the man was Chamberlain.  This worried him.  Chamberlain in charge of keeping Christian in check meant there was no possibility of a car with everyone inside.  Chamberlain looked confident in his movements, but he was a politician, faking confidence came easy. 

Christian looked in pain, he was not moving freely.  He bent forward, trying to hug his stomach with his chest.  The driver’s door opened, and a large muscled man stepped out.  He shut the door behind him, and through habit or confidence he pressed the button on his key and the low thump of locks sliding into place as his headlights flashed and filled the air.

Raucous knew the man was Rollin, and either Parker was dead, in the car, or coming in from a different direction.

Rollin checked the position of Chamberlain.  Raucous knew what he was thinking.  Rollin wanted to shout as Chamberlain had left too much space between himself and Christian.  If Christian were smart enough to run, Chamberlain would be too slow to catch him and someone would have to shoot.  But Christian didn’t look in the running mood, nor alert enough to see the opportunity. 

Rollin looked up toward where Raucous stood.  A straight dirt road, large hedge to the right of him, a flat field to the left.  Raucous a hundred meters ahead.     

“So what’s going to happen, Raucous?” Rollin shouted.

Raucous looked to his right.  Roach, constantly scanning the horizon, understood what Raucous was asking.  Roach shook his head, nothing seen.

“Where’s Parker?”  Raucous shouted.

Rollins looked down at his feet.  He paused and looked up.  He stepped forward as if the extra metre would make his voice carry quicker.  “Setting up our departure plans.”

Roach exchanged a glance with Raucous.  Raucous nodded. 

“And what would they be?” Raucous asked.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE

Charlotte waited.  Her instructions were clear; Raucous had been crisp and concise.  He said there was a real danger as Parker was not the half-wit drunk many assumed.  Raucous was sure, but Charlotte could not be.  How long did she wait before giving up and turning back to where the meeting was taking place?  She heard the car pull in; she saw the glow of full beams bouncing along the dirt track and the slow decline in speed until standstill.  The hum of an idling engine was only in her imagination.  The distance she had run, too long to let such light sounds arrive.

              Wait for Parker, Raucous said.  He'll come in on foot.  There is no other way round in a car. He will come on foot.  The only way in is through the wood.  He'll be quick and smooth, but too urgent to be hiding well.  He has to take a certain risk because their time is restricted.  Raucous sounded convinced and confident, as if he had written the plan for them.  But Charlotte was now having doubts.  Maybe Raucous wanted her out of the way, maybe he was trying to make up for all those years ago and protect her from danger.  She didn't know, but the passion in his sharp bursts of speech as they drove onto the site convinced her and him of their truth.  But now here she was, crouching down, wearing black despite the moon being strong and reflecting from all surfaces.  She was wearing the camouflage of a child.  Her face was bare, white and visible, a floating head easy to target.

              She waited and heard nothing.  No shouting or shooting from the meeting point.  No running, no screeches of quickly accelerated cars, only a calm silence.  A peaceful resolution?  She smiled.  Raucous didn't want peace; that was obvious to everyone.  He wanted an end to something.  A revenge of sorts, a cleansing of his dirty past.  He was looking to balance out past wrongs with a present, perceived right. 

The thought hit her quick and unexpected.  She was divided from Roach, Christian in their hands, the key in ours.  Had Raucous made a deal?  Had he   designed and created a way out, a way to a distant land and beach with a share of something monumental.  She looked at her watch.  She had been squatting like a western cowboy in need of a restroom for ten minutes.  She heard nothing.  Not Parker or anyone had used the path.  She was alone in a wood while the action, the decisions, were taking place far away and beyond her control.  She thought of Roach and his need to fight but inability to be that man.  She had trusted Raucous, taken his word as truth when there was no evidence to indicate this was the right move.  She listened again and heard nothing but the sound of a thousand trees rustling in a cool night's breeze. 

              The car had arrived minutes ago, Charlotte thought.  If Raucous were right and Parker was flanking, he wasn't using this path.  He was late, not coming, or already gone.  The idea required Parker to pass through quickly, for Rollins and Chamberlain to care enough for his safety and to trust him enough to be their saviour.  Neither idea truly convinced.

              Charlotte, still crouching, a pistol hanging loose, down from her trigger finger, looked across the horizon.  She could see a flicker of trees in random distances sparsely broken by dark light.  She saw no movement.  She had made a mistake, been duped by a conniving performance of a man who wanted her away from the problem.  Charlotte said, "Bloody hell, Raucous."  And she stood.

"Hello, Charlotte," a voice from behind her said.

Charlotte froze but caught herself and started to turn as she raised her gun.

"Drop the gun," the voice ordered.  "My own is aimed at your back."

Charlotte followed instruction. 

"Turn around," the voice said.

Charlotte turned and faced him.  She had failed.

"I thought you were going to be crouching there for hours," Parker said.