Without You I Have Nothing (50 page)

BOOK: Without You I Have Nothing
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Peter breathed a sigh
of relief that thankfully no one thought of asking why he wasn't included in
the outing to purchase suitable men's clothing.

"The trip and
the clothes are at my expense as a thank you for your support and consideration
since I arrived in Australia. You have all had a lot to put up with but in
spite of that, you remained my friends, so now I say thank you."

With a sly look at
Ted, Peter chuckled. "Besides, I'll make Ted think up all kinds of reasons
why these expenses are to be paid by the taxation department."

Ted almost choked.

Everyone wanted to
say something, all at the same time and the noise was horrific. Objections to
Peter paying, pleasure at being invited, congratulations to the engaged couple
- everyone had something to say.

Peter overrode the
bedlam.

"Stop!  Listen
all of you. Jennifer and I want no arguments. Susie, do you remember your
advice to me?  'Get in there and fight. Jennifer is worth fighting for.'  Well
I fought and won - and I will keep fighting for her until the day I die."

Holding Jennifer very
tightly, he looked at them all.

"Your official
invitations will arrive soon, and I'd like you to note that there'll be no
wedding presents. Absolutely none!  Not one for heaven's sake. Instead, we'll
be very pleased if some of you donate to the Westmead Hospital Children's
Cancer Appeal. Certain companies have agreed to match your donations so that
perhaps children will eventually be free of this dreadful scourge. The
Victorian and New South Wales Branches of the appeal will split all donations.

"Don't look so
surprised, Bob. What can anyone give me when I have Jennifer?”  Peter dipped
his head to brush his lips gently across her cheek.

With a wink and a sly
glance at Jennifer, he turned to Bob and Ted. "By the way, there's the
matter of a small bet you two have lost."

Later, when all the
commotion had ceased and everyone had returned to their jobs, Ted dragged Peter
outside to point at a Chinese sign high up under the eaves where it was visible
to all the passing traffic on the main road.

"That appeared
just after you left for Melbourne, and no matter what we do to paint it over,
the following morning it re-appears.

"Since it first
appeared the shop's been flat out, not to mention the number of BMW's sold, and
Bob's had a field day with his Lexus shop. Susie's motel is constantly booked
out.

"Frankly, it's
strange as the clients - the customers - have been Chinese, Malays and Thais,
not to mention the number of Indians. Moreover, we're all considering taking up
language courses, and boy can they drink. We daren't take them to the pub, as
we're the ones under the table. They have hollow legs. The only one able to
stay with them is the Commander."

Looking even more
serious, he added, "And there's a greater problem - Security. Some goons
bailed Mark up in the office demanding protection money, threatening that if
they weren't paid a monthly commission there would be a lot of damage done. Have
you any suggestions?"

Amused, Peter could
only chortle at Ted's concern.

"You and Bob met
your match in the pub eh?  Moreover, some people want to argue with us - pick a
fight so to speak. Well, we'll just have to start our own security company. I
believe I know how to get the men who'll fit the bill. No need to worry, I'll
look after the problem. And leave that sign there, okay?"

Inside the office,
the women were still talking - almost breathlessly - certainly in a manner than
meant the men weren't to listen - dresses, materials and babies.

Enduring their
chatter for a while and realizing how long he had to wait for the wedding,
Peter changed the topic.

"Now about
racing... I have a few ideas..."

The women laughed.

Within days Peter had
discussed security with the Commander who promptly employed ex-Special Forces
personnel, and Susie had them all fitted out in most stylish of uniforms. Their
new security company was off to a good start.

Nothing further was
heard from the bullyboys and Peter was relaxing in the office when the words,
"Hey you, Scarface!  Where's the Boss?”  He snapped his eyes up from the
accounts.

The bloated ‘toad’
was leaning on the counter, his bushy black eyebrows crawling over his dark
sunglasses and his black hair was greased into place.

Not once since
leaving Sydney and being with Jennifer's family had Peter given the scar a
thought. Fingering his scar, he growled his answer. "You're talking to
him."

Sweeping his glasses
off to poke them into Peter's chest, the ‘toad’ demanded, "You're to fix
my car and fix it good."

"Sorry, we're
too busy to take another car."

Ted's words had
jumped into Peter's brain. 'That's business you don't want.'  Besides, the
‘toad's’ arrogance only made Peter angry as he swept the sunglasses out of his
chest.

"Perhaps you
didn't hear me. I want my car fixed,” the ‘toad’ insisted, poking Peter in the
chest again to emphasize his point, "and fixed good."  He waddled
into the street, his wobbling paunch leading the way, and unfortunately, Peter
followed him. A shiny black Mercedes was in the driveway, its front bumper
crumpled and one headlight smashed.

Peter didn't need the
work and the insurance assessor would have a fit when he called to check the
quote. Across the street in a similar car sat two men, watching Peter as he
wondered if they were friends of the ‘toad’. He shrugged off the thought and
began writing out a quote.

"Forget the
paper work.”  The ‘toad's’ words lashed out at him.

"The insurance
company..."

"This is a cash
job and I want the car finished by tomorrow afternoon.”  The ‘toad’ would
accept no argument as he rained money onto the car bonnet like confetti at a
wedding. The man had become impatient and turned to leave. "Four thousand
dollars - that should cover it."

The green mini
flashing past him into the workshop took his eyes as he continued.

"Don't worry. In
my stable I have plenty of ponies only too happy to earn it back."

Peter tried to put
him off. "I can't..."

The man's face
contorted into a mask of hatred and fury as he whirled on Peter, waving a
clenched fist under Peter's nose.

"That car will
be ready at 4.30 tomorrow or you'll have no workshop."

He turned away just
as Jennifer alighted from her car. Her skirt flew high as it caught in the
breeze and her long legs drew the man's attention. An astonishing look of
unbridled lust flashed across his features - a look he didn't bother to conceal.
He licked his lips.

"Who's the
red-headed tart?” he asked.

He didn't notice
Peter's look of revulsion and didn't recoil from his rage.

"That's my
fiancée."

"She'll make a
good pony,” he remarked. "A very expensive pony to ride once she's broken
in,” he called over his shoulder as he waddled across to the other car. The
passenger door flew open and Peter recognized the driver as Pretty Boy.

"Everything all
right, Boss?"

Pretty Boy's voice
was high pitched and Peter wondered about his sex.

"Oh, yes, as
usual.”  The fat man's braying laugh floated through the open car window as
they drove off.

Waving, Jennifer
rushed off to confer with Susie, leaving Peter to grin happily at how the
women's friendship had flourished.

He wheeled the
Mercedes into the workshop where, much to Joe's horror, Peter demanded that
work start immediately on the vehicle.

Within a few minutes,
Joe was back.

"What's going
on?” he asked. "There's a pistol strapped to the steering column on that
car. I feel bad about this job. There's something wrong about it. Why did you
take it on?  Shouldn't we just refuse to take it?"

Joe seemed angry and
so ill at ease that Peter wondered whether to push the car into the street and
leave it, but the ‘toad's’ threat sat heavily on his mind.

He explained the
confrontation with the ‘toad’ while Joe listened thoughtfully. Suddenly
realizing the significance of the 'ponies' comment, Peter suddenly felt
nauseous and began to heave, particularly as the bastard had mentioned Jennifer
in that guise.

"That bugger's
bad, very bad,” was Joe's opinion and his face told Peter how serious he was. "We'll
work on the car together and get it out of the way."

He gripped Peter's
shoulders with a fierce intensity that matched the repugnance in his voice.

"Men like him
forced my father out of business and made him get out of Sicily, only to kill
him when he established himself here.”  Then his eyes clouded with loathing and
his voice hardened in anger. "If this bastard wants a fight then he's got
one."

Later that day, after
the workshop had closed and they were alone, Joe and Peter examined the car
carefully.

"Look at this
Peter. Don't you think this is rather odd?"

Grunting at the
weight, Joe took the spare wheel from the boot. "There's no way of pumping
up the tire. The nipple hole is filled with putty and the wheel is far too
heavy."

"Strange, but
look at this, too,” Peter answered. Cradled in his hands was the pistol that
had been strapped under the steering column. On one side of the handgrip were
the outspread wings of an eagle and the swastika emblem of Nazi Germany. Along
the blunt barrel was stamped P38. Its gunmetal grey with the black grips gave
it a powerful malevolency.

"I've seen
pictures of those. It was German Army issue - a Walther P38.”  Joe's comments
were terse. "He's not carrying that around for fun. It would blow a tidy
hole in anyone. For God's sake put it back before the damn thing goes
off."

"I wonder if
he'd miss a few little cartridges.”  Musing, Peter released the safety catch
and opened the breech. "You work on the car while I do some adjustments to
his pistol."

"Get rid of the
damn thing.”  Joe was worried. "For God's sake put it back and wipe your
prints off it."

With his mind
elsewhere, Peter didn't reply but wandered across to the workbench where he
became engrossed in working on the gun, gripped tightly in a vice.

The glare of a
welding flame caught Joe's attention but he turned away to return to the car. He
didn't see Peter remove three cartridges from the magazine.

Carefully Peter
pulled the bullets from the cartridges and tossed them into the waste bin. He
poured the gunpowder from the three cartridges into the now cooled barrel. Next,
he deliberately cut the primers from their casings, removed the rims and pushed
them up hard against the gunpowder. He worked with such practiced and
considerate ease that to an onlooker it would have seemed he had been
constructing booby traps all his life.

With the gun in his
hand, Peter wandered back to Joe.

"There, that'll
give Mr. ‘Toad’ a surprise when he pulls the trigger. Dad, take the shocked
look off your face. Anyone who pulls that trigger will blow his own hand off. The
‘toad’ will be laughing for weeks at our little joke."

He returned the P38
to its hiding place under the steering column.

Joe had an idea of
his own. "You've prepared a surprise - well I think I will have to add to
this lucky dip. I'm convinced we're going to have some trouble with this bloke
so I'll add some surprises too."

Without waiting for
Peter's approval, Joe strained to release the tire from the rim. Inside were
small packets of white powder tightly packed to keep the tire in shape.

"Surely, we have
a tube that will fit.”  Joe paused to think. "No, I believe we have a
complete wheel with the same tire in the storeroom.”  Off Joe went, mumbling
quietly to himself then returned, rolling a wheel in front of him. "This
should do."

Not knowing what Joe
planned, Peter was still willing to follow his lead. This criminal had troubled
Peter with his comment about Jennifer. He was angry, determined not to stand
back. The toad would never ride rough shod over Jennifer or over him.

They replaced the
spare wheel with the new one and slammed the boot lid shut before Peter
realized he had only the key to the ignition. "How did you open the boot,
Joe?  The interior switch to open the boot doesn't work and we've only the
ignition key?  Where's the key?"

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