Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (34 page)

Something
bothered him though, he almost felt like someone had used him for
their own gain and he had been unaware. He had spoken to Martin
himself in the hospital; he had asked him about his father in jail.
He had tried to get him to say whether he expected the things that
had happened, and all he got in response was a smile. What was
behind the smile he would never know, but Martin was now safe, so
he guessed David McLaren had what he wanted all along. That was
what bothered him, was this outcome what David wanted all along?
From what he knew about the rest of the messed up gang, it was very
hard for to change the habits of a lifetime. Was there something
more he wanted for Martin…?

He was too
tired to think about it. The events of the last week, his actions,
and the way he felt now, made him question whether he had been
actually ready to return to work at all. As always, the actions of
others determined what he did.

He closed the
folder on the report, deciding to call it a night. He had a meeting
in the morning and he wanted to be fresh. Laura had arranged it…;
they would meet in Jane Little’s office at nine thirty in the
morning. The way she had sounded to him on the phone the other day
had actually given him some hope. All he had to do now was sort out
what he was going to do about her lawyer…

‘
He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby
become a monster’

Martin felt a
slight rush of adrenalin as he walked through the open gate into
the yard, it was not much but it was there, sitting just above the
dull pain in his shoulder, which reminded him of the last couple of
weeks. The doctors had told him he was lucky to be alive, he was
not sure if that is how he felt. The doctors had also told him that
the police had probably saved his life, stopped him from bleeding
to death. The fucking police had shot him in the first place, was
that lucky? He did not know what to think. His mind had been all
over the place since then, somewhat numb, nothing made sense.

People had
come and spoken to him while he was in hospital, they had asked
their questions, drilled him about how his stepfather had died,
what his involvement had been with the robbery. Some had been
Police officers, Detectives or something; he could not remember as
they all looked the same to him. Some had been social workers or
counsellors, and others had been from places he could not recall
the name of, they had even asked him whether he still wanted to
harm himself in any way. He had not really known how to answer that
one. They just continued asking questions.

Telling them
what he knew, that his stepfather had admitted to killing Tama, and
then shot himself, felt a little strange. He had not ever spoken
out of turn against anyone in his life. However, his stepfather was
not just anyone; he was the mould that had spread over his entire
being, suffocating the life out of him, as he had gotten older. He
had been always there. He was always a reminder.

His stepfather
had taken the cowards’ way out instead of facing his demons and
taking penance, but he felt comfortable with that so told them
everything. It cannot be narking on him if he is a dead man. They
had not said anything about whether they believed him or not, they
just wrote things down in their little books, nodding along as he
had spoken. No one had asked him about the robbery and he had not
said anything, he had not gotten away with anything though, he knew
his demons would see to that.

Many people
had come to see him in the last couple of weeks; they were all
different people, some with offers of help, and some with threats.
They all had different agendas; all he knew was that every one of
them had looked at him in exactly the same way, a mix of pity and
indifference. The feeling he got when they looked at him was that
they saw an unlucky piece of shit loser, who had lost his way and
gotten himself shot, and they were just there to tick some boxes on
their stupid little forms. Well if that is what they saw then that
is what he was…, to them. He may be a loser in their minds, but
only he knew what he had actually been through and how it made him
feel. He had survived his stepfather, he had survived his life, was
that a loser? He had no idea.

Seeing his
mother standing in front of him, frail looking and crying, when she
had visited him, that had been the hardest part of all. She wanted
to know everything and he had not been able to tell her. She was
devastated enough to think her husband had done something like he
did and she had not seen it; it would kill her if she knew the
truth…, he knew he would never tell her.

During one of
her visits, when she could make time between shifts at work, he had
asked his mother about what that cop had said to him that day. He
asked her directly whether his real father was in prison and not
dead, like she had told him all his life. At first, she did not say
anything; she had just looked at the floor with a sad faraway look
in her eyes. It took her a few minutes but when she had looked up,
she had told him that it was true.

It had shocked
him at first, to think that his mother, the only one in his life he
could truly trust had lied to him, but she had explained. He
recalled her speaking in those soft tones, with a small amount of
affection in her voice, for a man long since lost to her.

She sat on the
edge of his bed and he had listened as she told him his father was
a man who had taken a wrong turn in his life. He had been strong
once but had succumbed to the temptations offered to him by people
who did not care about anything. Apparently he used to have a
saying that he would repeat, ‘A person was born into a life and he
was destined to live that life but only he could choose what he
would achieve with the life he had’.

The gang was
the top of his father’s life status in the end; it had given him
what he thought he was missing, whatever that was. His mother had
told him that she knew this to be wrong now, but in the beginning
it had given his father something to aspire to. Over the years, it
had eaten him away on the inside and he had become disillusioned
with life. She saw the destruction of the man she knew happen over
a few short years, spurred on by heavy drug use and a corruption
that happened to those in power. She did not want that for her son,
she had known that anyone was capable of anything and that she had
not wanted the legacy of his father to compromise his life because
she loved him too much for that and that was why she had told him
he had died.

She said it
took a strong person to overcome a bad role model and that she had
seen that strength in him in the last few years. Had his mother
really seen the role models he had while growing up?

She had
compared him to the way his father had been before they moved to
Dunedin, when he was younger and had aspirations in life. If only
she knew what he had done, what he was really like, would she love
him as much then?

What would she
think of him if she knew of the strange phone call he received not
less than a few days before the robbery? The voice on the phone had
been deep and raspy, it exuded a confidence he had not heard from
anyone. He had found himself drawn instantly to it but he could not
recall exactly why. At first, he did not know what to make of this
man on the phone claiming to have known his father, but then as he
listened more things started to ring true. He had not said much
himself, he had felt more like an embarrassed schoolboy, but he had
listened. It was only when he was in hospital that he had connected
this man to his father…, this man was his father, his mother had
confirmed that in his mind when she had dropped that bombshell at
the hospital.

His father had
told him on the phone what was going to happen, that he wanted him
to have more from life, and that things would make themselves clear
very quickly, he just had to wait for it to happen.

Well it
had happened, but not the way he would have liked it to be. Things
had certainly tested him over the last couple of weeks and he was
almost lost to it, but he was here now, it was up to him to make
the decision on how it was going to play out. His father had been
adamant about that one thing. He recalled the last words he said to
him on the phone, ‘
With great power comes
great responsibility’.

He had heard
that before, but he could not remember if it was a Spiderman movie
or something else. It sounded like bollocks to him anyway. What
great power was he ever going to have? He had been sure all along
that the plan for him was to move away and make a new life, but now
he was not so sure…

Walking into
the empty yard his mothers words were playing slowly in his head,
‘Just like his father’ she had said. The yard in which he stood had
once been his father’s domain, knowing this now gave it an oddly
familiar feel, completely different from the last few times he was
here. Maybe it had something to do with Joseph not being here as he
was always, Joseph Kingi junior was now locked away; maybe it was
Baz being dead. Or maybe it was just the lack of spaced out losers
that used to cling to the fences like rabid monkeys all itching to
hurt someone, using that hurt to gain some sort of status and
respect from other losers that had been doing the same thing longer
than they had. The adrenaline rush he had felt coming in subsided
and he felt himself relax a little, looking around he started to
feel more and more comfortable. A couple of young males came out of
the house in front of him and raised their chins in greeting, they
were not wearing patches but then he doubted that there were any
patches left. From what he had heard, the police had grabbed them
all from the castle.

“
How’s
it going Star?” One of the males said, with a slight nervous edge
in his voice.

Martin looked
at him, he was probably about eighteen years old, not much younger
than himself, but he was looking back at him with respect in his
eyes. The other one was about the same age and was looking at him
in a similar way.

“
Can we
do anything for you Star?” the other one said.

Tama’s
words came back to him,
‘They are a
family…’
He thought about that for a minute. What
family did he have? His mother was never there, Tama was gone, and
he did not actually know anyone in Auckland, so it was just him… as
it had always been. Maybe his father’s legacy was not such a bad
thing after all. Maybe he could do this, run things his way, choose
his own destiny. One thing was certain; no one was around to tell
him otherwise. Auckland could wait…, at least for now.

He looked at
both the males in turn “Are you with me boys?”

“
Hell
yeah” they both replied.

Martin took a
deep breath of the warm spring air and smiled, he could hear a
lawnmower’s incessant engine noise on the breeze. Somewhere in the
distance, almost out of earshot, a dog started barking…

‘
With great power comes great responsibility’

Francois Marie
Arouet (Voltaire) “Œuvres de Voltaire, Volume 48”

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More books in
the Detective Mike Bridger series:

Human
Frailty

Send in the
Clowns

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For a preview
of the next Detective Mike Bridger novel, 'Send in the Clowns',
turn the page…

Send in the Clowns

A Detective Mike Bridger novel

By Mark Bredenbeck

ῼ

‘
When you give your life to the circus, the
circus can take your life.

130 years of grievance within one travelling carnival comes
to the fore when a member of the troupe dies in suspicious
circumstances. In a world full of captive animals, big
personalities, and silent protesters, Detective Sergeant Mike
Bridger finds himself in the middle of a strange and ancient
existence. An existence where everyone has an agenda and some will
stop at nothing to pursue it.

Sometimes, the Clowns don't laugh...’

Chapter one

The trumpets’
sounded and the noise of the audience died away too an excited
hush. The mixed scent of candyfloss and animals permeated the air.
The canvas, surrounding the crowd, flapped quietly in the breeze.
All around was darkness, broken only by the insensitive glow of the
occasional cellphone, but no one cared. The children were on the
edge of their seats, the adults’ attention drawn between the
darkened ring and the look of exited wonderment on their child’s
face. The sounds of the trumpets’ became urgent, building to a
crescendo, but were then silenced by the stabbing beam of the
spotlight, piercing the darkness and shining down from high above.
The booming voice echoed in the bleachers.

“
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… Welcome… too the Big
Show”

The crowd
erupted into applause as the Ringmaster stepped into the small
circle of light with a swish of his red satin cape. Carnival music,
piped through the speakers placed above the wooden bleachers,
adding to the atmosphere. A child started crying.

“
Tonight, we have a veritable feast of entertainment, brought
to you from far and wide… You will gaze in wonderment at the exotic
creatures…, laugh in merriment along with the Jesters…, and gasp in
awe at the daring exploits of the trapeze artists… So…, for
now…”