Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (15 page)

As they had
watched her leave the station she had lit up a cigarette and
approached the first person she saw asking for money.

Now they were on their way to the next part of their
day,
and he hoped it would be more productive.
They had spent most of the short journey up to
Corstaphine in silence.

"Where do you
want to start?" Jo asked John, hoping the answer would be 'The
Pad'. She wanted to get that enquiry out of the way as soon as she
could. She had not had many dealings with Gang members before but
had dealt with Joseph Kingi Junior once for a speeding offence. She
was on her own when she had stopped his car; she had no idea who he
was then, having only been in the job about six months.

Thinking it
would be just another routine stop she had not bothered to update
the communication centre of her status. As soon as she had
approached the driver's window, she knew she had made a grave error
of judgement. She could feel his menace radiating out of every pore
of his pockmarked skin. The way he had looked at her made her
stomach crawl, and he knew it. She was an easy target and he was
not about to let any girl tell him how he should be driving.

When he
stepped out of the car not even bothering to wait until she moved,
then stood in her face she had nearly wet herself.

He had looked
toward the empty patrol car and realised she was on her own, he did
not even need to say anything, the look on his face told her the
whole story. She had simply turned around and retreated to the
relative safety of the patrol car.

As she drove
away, she watched him in the rear-view mirror making lewd gestures
towards her and laughing. She hated herself for that act of
cowardice and she had never told anyone of the encounter. She just
hoped that he would not remember their brief meeting.

"Let's start
with Tama's house and move from there towards the scene", John
replied "Retrace his steps; someone might have seen someone
following him".

"Tama's friend
Martin McLaren lives next door, doesn't he? Let’s start there then"
Jo said nervously, still apprehensive about the impending visit to
'The Pad'.

John didn't
notice her mood as he parked the car in the street between what
looked like a wreck of a car and one that was in better condition
but had no wheels, supported by two old jacks and a couple of
blocks of wood.

Walking up the
short path that spanned the unkempt grass of the front lawn Jo saw
a curtain twitch in one of the windows facing them. Someone was
home, and had seen them approaching.

The door flew
open before they had a chance to step onto the porch.

"What the fuck
do you's want", the man was flushed and sweaty, his paunch bulging
dangerously over his scruffy sweat pants. "He's not even here, so
you's can fuck off back to the pigsty if you want".

"I'm sorry,
who are you?" John said in a neutral tone.

"I'm the one
that lives here and telling you to get the fuck off my property".
The man spoke with venom but his body language betrayed a
nervousness, which did not escape their attention.

"Well...." Jo said forcefully "You obviously know who we are,
so you know we won't be going now that you have insulted us. I take
it you’re Martin's father?"  

John looked at
Jo wondering where this was going.

"Star... That
loser is only my stepson, mores the pity. He's a waste of space, I
only put up with him so his mother will keep sucking my dick". The
man's black eyes looked Jo up and down and he licked his lips.

"Charming...
is Martin or his mother home?" Jo continued.

"No and No...,
now fuck off". The man stepped back inside and slammed the door in
their faces.

John and Jo
looked at each other. John just shrugged his shoulders, "That
didn't go as well as I would have liked," he said, before he turned
and started to walk back to the car.

Jo watched
John retreat towards the car, wondering why he was not pushing
things a little further. This man clearly had something to hide.
She burned inwardly; she could not stand the way that some people
viewed the Police as the enemy. Looking at the closed door she
couldn't think of any legal reason to  make him open it up
again so she gave in and followed John silently back to the car,
dreading her fast approaching date at 'The Pad'.

Bridger signed
in at the reception counter and waited for his escort to the
interview room where Joseph senior would be waiting for his
audience. The officer behind the desk came around and indicated
that he lift his arms up. The whole process was just a routine for
him. Being a Police Officer afforded him no special privileges;
they searched him just as they did everybody else.

The
Prison Officer at the reception was a big jolly fellow dressed in a
very similar uniform to the Police. He was almost too jovial to
have spent his working life locked in the confines of the concrete
walls with life's less privileged.

His standard
line was 'Don't take the tie off as they might not let you out
again'. Bridger looked down at his crumpled suit and scuffed shoes
he had owned for many years and decided that he might be right; he
looked like he belonged here.

He had
not actually noticed his appearance this morning as he had
struggled out of bed still half dressed. He had only managed a few
hours sleep. Normally Laura would tell him if he looked unkempt and
he could rectify it, not anymore. A wave of loneliness swept
through him and settled in the pit of his stomach.

His escort
arrived a short time later but was less courteous than his jolly
counterpart was. It was as if Bridger had interrupted his daily
routine and it would affect the rest of his day. He did not say a
word as he led him down a corridor and through several locked steel
doors until they came to a suite of functional concrete offices
that Bridger thought looked very similar to the Police interview
rooms back in Dunedin. The Prison Officer indicated the first door
on the right.

Bridger
took a deep breath before entering the room, once he was in there
they would close the door behind him and it would seal him in with
a man who hated the very sight of him.

He stepped
through the door and there behind the polished concrete slab that
served as a desk sat Joseph Kingi senior. 'Big J' in all his
menacing prison issue glory.

A
heavyset man before he had come inside the walls it looked like he
had trimmed down significantly from what Bridger remembered; now
sporting huge bicep muscles and large muscular shoulders. The look
on his face was neutral but that meant nothing as history showed he
was capable of venting violent rages on unsuspecting people who
mistook his mild manner for softness. He would go from sharing a
beer with someone to kicking him unconscious in a second, for no
other reason than he felt like it.

Bridger looked
back at him, trying to hold eye contact for as long as possible, a
futile attempt to gain the upper hand and show who the Alpha
was.

A second
Prison Officer was standing in the room with Joseph; he watched the
slightly comical interaction with amusement, a small twitch of a
smile at the corner of his mouth.

"I will
leave you two to it then shall I?” he said, "Press this button when
you're finished or if you need help and we'll come and get you".
The officer gave Joseph a look, and then indicated a small red
button on the wall by the door, before stepping out of the
room.

Bridger
noticed the look that passed between the officer and Joseph. Was
there a touch of hatred in the officer's eyes? On the other hand,
it could just have been fear.

The steel door
clanged shut behind him, leaving Bridger standing in the corner
breathing in the stale air he was sure would run out before he
finished what he came here for. He could have sworn he heard the
mechanical sound of the lock barrel closing inside the door…

"Aren't you
going to say hello Mike?”

Any
thoughts of the door went when Joseph spoke; he always hated the
way Joseph used his first name, as if they were old friends or
contemporaries. A throw back from the old English gangster films
where the local crime lord would have a love hate relationship with
the lead Detective. They would share a pint of 'Old Peculier' in
the smoky confines of a local pub; the bad guy would reminisce
about past exploits almost foiled by his adversary sat across the
table from him. It did not work like that in real life.

Get on the
front foot right from the start, which is the way Bridger thought
to play it.

"I understand
you have some information you would like to share with me Mr
Kingi," he said, looking at his notes so as not to have to look
into Joseph’s eyes.

"Mr Kingi, I
like that..., it makes me think you actually respect me...” Joseph
responded. "But if that was true I wouldn't be in this fucking
shit-hole would I". His voice hardened.

Bridger looked
up from his notes and saw that the expression on his face had not
changed to match his tone, but the look in his eyes had an edge to
them as he regarded Bridger with a cold unflinching stare.

"I'm a busy
man at the moment Mr Kingi, but I expect you know that already. I
do not have time for games. What do you want?”

"You used to
listen to what I had to say when I was on the outside, well this
time I want to listen to what you have to say, but we'll get to
that in a minute, so first things first... Sit". Joseph indicated
the seat in front of the polished concrete slab.

Bridger
thought about ignoring his request in a show of authority but that
would just delay the proceedings and he would have to stay locked
away from the outside world for longer than he wanted. He sat
opposite Joseph and spread his files out on the table trying to
gain ownership of the space around him. He did not look up until he
was ready.

"Joseph, let's
get one thing straight right from the start, you asked for this
meeting. I am here of my own free will, I will be leaving here of
my own free will at the end of this conversation. It is up to you
what information I leave with and what it relates to. So please...,
get on with it."

"I was hoping
this would be more civil, but then that's never been your forte has
it Mike". Joseph sniffed loudly and then cleared some mucus from
his throat. "You're right about one thing though, you arrived here
of your own free will..., but when you leave will be up to me". A
sadistic smile played out on Joseph’s lips as he produced a small
black cell phone and placed it on the table before them.

"When it
rings..., answer it."

Parking across
the road from 'The Pad', John shut off the engine. They could hear
what sounded like a group of grown men barking like dogs from
beyond the impenetrable fence.

This was
followed by someone shouting 'It's the five ohh’, which only served
to increase the level of barking and swearing.

Faces
popping up over the fence, bloodshot eyes peered out from between
tattoos, yellowing teeth bared, the welcoming committee.

"Not a lot of
mirrors in there I'm guessing", John said, trying for a bit of
levity to hide his discomfort.

They were
taking a risk making inquiries at the place where the gang held all
the power, but they could not afford to treat them any differently.
Giving them special treatment would only reinforce their status
within the community. If the police were afraid then the public
would see that and react accordingly. It was best just to treat
them the same way as everybody else. It still did not stop the very
human reaction of fear whenever John thought about entering the
lion’s den with no way out unless they wanted to let you go. The
best meat was fresh meat and these 'Dogs' would tear you limb from
limb without blinking, a violent sheep mentality.

"Just
treat them like you would anyone else", John said as they walked
over the road towards the entry gate. He was not sure if he
believed it himself. "We will speak with J man first, but we will
speak with anyone that was staying at the pad last night as well,
we don't let J man tell us otherwise."

Jo just nodded
in reply, wondering whether John actually knew what he was
doing.

As they
neared the gate the barking subsided, and then the gate opened. A
big Maori male stepped into view, the gate closing behind him. He
had dark sunglasses on, obscuring his eyes and blending with the
green tinge of the tattoos on his face. Standing on the path, arms
crossed over his massive chest, he was not quite the physique of an
athlete as he had an equally massive stomach hanging over his belt.
A smirk spread across his face as he regarded them with the disdain
of someone who thought too much of himself and his position in
life.

"We've come to
make some enquiries about the shooting last night over in the golf
course." Jo spoke up, trying to get on the front foot and hide her
nervousness.

"Well girly,
you can make your en-quir-ees to me....” the male licked his lips
as he looked her up and down taking in every curve of her slender
frame with his hidden eyes.”I'll be gentle with you....”

John
recognised the person standing in front of them, although they had
never met. Bazz Ropata was the gang's 'Sergeant at Arms', a sort of
in-house sheriff, someone who handled internal disciplinary
problems and outside 'enquiries'.

"Well
Barry...," John said. The sound of sniggering came from up on the
fence line above them at the mention of his name, "You know as well
as I do that if we can't speak with you lot now we will just assume
you have something to hide. Then we come back with a search warrant
and the Armed Offender Squad and turn the pad over hoping to find
something. Who do you want to talk to..., us..., or the boys with
the guns?"