Without You I Have Nothing (75 page)

BOOK: Without You I Have Nothing
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"Peter,” she
stepped down off the catwalk and walked to him. Holding his hands in hers she
spoke with sincerity, "We'll be praying that your lovely wife who
supported us while she was part of the misery will be returned to you. We also
pray that death does not come quickly to the monsters who captured us, who sold
us and who tortured us."

She turned to Susie
and Maria. "We thank you. Now we know we have two Australian mothers. We
are especially thankful for your advice in our purchases today and we know that
although we're leaving tonight we'll be back another time."

Andrew parked the
coach at the entrance then supervised the loading of expensive luggage.

Peter gave a wry
smile as he noted the number of iPods and laptops that girls carried as they
clambered aboard. The girls did not miss a single man as they gave everyone a
kiss.

The Gurkhas were most
embarrassed at the public display of affection, breaking into Nepali and
teasing one another, threatening to tell each other's wives about their girl
friends. Those staying behind gave much good-humored advice to the four who
were to act as escorts for the girls and when the RSM also swung aboard, the
few left outside the coach swamped him with more instructions that were
supposedly helpful.

"Take the direct
route, Andrew, don't go back through Bathurst. You'll have to tell your parents
about what's happening. Don't go far from a phone. God willing, I'll be
bringing a load of cattle down on perhaps Wednesday or Thursday. Drive
safely."

Andrew was too busy
with the traffic to spot the two cars manned by Gurkhas following him. Peter
was leaving nothing to chance.

Joe and Peter made
their way to the workshop and began their work. By sunrise, a false floor in
the livestock trailer was complete.

As Peter straightened
his aching back, he chuckled, "Wonder how our guests will enjoy their
transport to Victoria?"

 

W
EEK   2

Monday

The newspapers openly
reported that two police officers were attending a court hearing into police
corruption. Realizing that the two named featured prominently in Dingo's
journals, Peter grimly smiled as he made his lethal preparations.

At midday, a man in
an expensive, immaculate, business suit and carrying an attaché case with a
camera slung around his neck made his way to the foyer of the Law Courts in
Phillip Street where he sat waiting. No one even noticed when this well-dressed
grey haired businessman stood. An elevator opened and the two police officers
stepped out.

What was so unusual
when the man dropped to one knee to tie his shoelace?

One police officer
seemed to trip, then the second collapsed face down in the foyer. Why would
anyone report that the grey haired man had disappeared - camera, attaché case
and all?

The evening news
officially disclosed the fact that two senior police officers who had appeared
at the Investigation into Police Corruption were dead. A highly skilled
assassin had been busy in the Law Courts in broad daylight. Again, police could
find no clues except that the weapon used was the favorite choice of hit men.

On the second page
was a report that a prominent church leader suspected of being involved in the
crime world had committed suicide.

When a member of the
Chinese contingent overheard Peter, trying to book a flight to Hong Kong the
Chinese forced him to cut short his call. Two Tamils stood at the door while
two Chinese urged Peter to the conference table.

"Now tell us
what's going on. We've been very patient but we flew here to help and you
really haven't used our various talents very well. Our boss isn't happy that he
can't repay a little of what he owes. You've been locked up in that room,
brooding, so now explain."

Silently, Peter
returned to his room and picked up the ledgers before returning to present the
books to them. He didn't need to read the data aloud to his Chinese friends.

As they read
silently, they were not impressed. One Chinese pointed at the politician's name.
The records showed the repairs the doctor had made after he used Jennifer for
his sexual gratification.

A burst of wild laughter
from the Chinese shocked Peter, but the icy cold intonation of Cantonese
echoing from the ceiling made him shiver. The Chinese contingent was making
plans.

Then the words
changed to English. "Susie, could we have a scrambled phone line please?” 
Peter heard the leader shout down the hallway.

The Chinese leader
took the phone and, after dialing an international number, barked into the
mouthpiece.

Peter needed no
translator. His Cantonese was excellent and he listened attentively.

"Hmm!  He's
attending a State Reception, eh?  Well he isn't to leave the building alive. Yes
that's right,” patiently Peter's Chinese guest repeated himself, "he isn't
to leave the building alive. Who cares?  Poisoned, shot, stabbed – whatever! 
I'm sure he won't care and if you can make his premature death a lingering one
so much the better. He's annoyed our friend."

"Next?"

Peter knew The Little
One was a cold-hearted killer but their callous attitude shocked even him as
they took the ledgers and began to mark a green tick against those who had died.
When a name had no tick, one of the group, either a Tamil or a Chinese, copied
the particulars and left. Some of those who left were away a long time and
others were quick to return, but Peter noted that every time anyone returned a
green tick appeared against a name.

It was late and time
to sleep when Peter noted that the only names without ticks were the father and
son duo of Pretty Boy and Dingo. He grinned knowing that they were his - his to
teach the pleasure of The Little One's vengeance.

 

WEEK   2

Tuesday

A breathless and
flushed Joe interrupted breakfast. "The telephonist at Dingo's hotel is
the daughter of one of the drivers and the sister of one of the lads Dingo
killed. She just called to tell me that Dingo rang the doctor ordering him to
be 'there' tomorrow to prepare Red for the trip of her lifetime. Red is to be
unconscious for 24 hours but when she wakes she'll be a pony among all the
camels. She said the laughter of both of them was horrible."

The news impressed nobody.

Peter, aware that the
last throw of the dice had fallen his way, asked Joe to ring Bathurst and to
inform the yard manager of the urgency of having the Blake Pastoral Company
prime mover at the workshop on Wednesday morning.

"No need to
worry,” the yard manager informed Joe. "Tell Peter it's less than half an
hour away from you in a storage yard where no one would ever look. Just give
the word and it'll be there. Now when do you want it?"

Peter could hear the
conversation but didn’t understand a single word. Smiling, he noted the yard
boss of the trucking company spoke in the same dialect as Joe. He just shrugged
as Joe translated the casual discussion before returning to the conversation.

Peter interrupted,
"Ask the Boss to organize a load of frisky, well fed steers for me to pick
up on the way through please. Say Wednesday evening.”  He turned away and
allowed Joe to continue his talk.

Laughing, Joe ended
the dialogue but Peter had another request. "Tonight we camouflage the van
in the yard as a carpet salesman's unit. We'll need some carpet rolls in it. Can
we do it?"

Joe's eyes twinkled. "Maria's
family and I came from the same village. Now we stick together. Her family is
the carpet seller of Sydney and I understand a van of theirs needs some repairs.
Hang on"

Not twenty minutes
later a carpet van rolled into the workshop. Stepping out of the van, the
driver waved at Joe as, his job complete, he rushed to another waiting vehicle.

They inspected the
van and noted that in the back were many carpet off-cuts and a note had been
left on the front seat. 'Just as well you are good a good husband to my niece,
Maria. We don't need the off-cuts and they can't be traced to us.'  Joe did the
translation. 'Ring us, Joe, when the van is re-sprayed and repaired although
you couldn't repair a hole in a sieve.'

That night the plan
to rescue Jennifer was finalized and Peter was confident that Dingo's rule was
ending. The turmoil in his mind while retracing the details of the rescue
seeking flaws in the plan, plus the excitement that Jennifer would soon be back
in his life was too much to allow him to rest.

 

WEEK   2

Wednesday

Sitting in their
carpet van at a Service Station only one block from the brothel, Peter watched
the Chinese leader speaking on the phone inside the shop. The Chinese,
returning to Peter, spoke to the cashier with a pure Australian accent,
"Thanks mate, see ya.”  No one would suspect that this Chinese was
anything but born and bred in Australia.

"Let's go. The
black Mercedes is just turning into the street outside the brothel. There are
two cars accompanying it. Our quarry includes six bullyboys, Dingo, Pretty Boy,
Jennifer and one other. The driver assumes it's another bodyguard. The full
party is one woman and nine men. Now they have parked in the street outside and
have all gone into the building."

Peter parked the van
behind the last car of Dingo's group . A taxi pulled up and four well-dressed
Asian men alighted. They followed the two workers who alighted from the carpet
van and who were carrying their bags of tools.

Dressed as a workman,
Peter seemed to have a cigarette dangling from his lips. He used the raging
bull key to open the door ignoring the second, the third and the fourth taxis
that had stopped to unload equally well-dressed Asian men.

Leading the way into
the main room of the brothel, Peter came face to face with Pretty Boy and four
of the bullyboys.

"You bastard,
what have you fuckin' done?”  Pretty Boy snarled. The 'cigarette' in Peter's
mouth spewed its little dart into his neck injecting its paralyzing drug. He
tumbled to the floor. The bullyboys dropped like stunned mullets as Chinese
hands savagely chopped into each throat sending them unconscious to the floor.

It was quick, it was
noiseless and the Chinese seemed to melt away leaving Peter standing over the
body of Pretty Boy.

Behind him, Peter
felt the door open. Hearing a sharp intake of breath, he knew Dingo had
arrived.

"Well, well!  So
Scarface supposed he could rescue his harlot wife eh?”  Sneering, Dingo felt
safe behind the Walter P38 from his car. "Pity you won't be making the
trip with her. We sold her for a pretty penny, believe me, but you'll never see
her."

In his foolishness
Dingo continued, "You know you shouldn't be smoking, it's bad for your
health - not that you'll be living much longer."

Dingo never knew what
hit him as he crashed to the floor, paralyzed, with a dart in his throat.

Peter led the way to
the kitchen where two more bullyboys stood against the wall, white faced and
trembling.

Standing ready to garrote
their prisoners, the Tamils guarding them were fingering long silken strands
looped over the prisoner's heads and around their necks. The cupboard
concealing the steps was hanging haphazardly from the wall.

Peter leapt to the
bottom of the short staircase with his Uzi in his hand.

The doctor and the
nurse both raised their hands as two of the Chinese joined Peter.

"Take them!”
growled Peter, without hesitation.

Completely
disregarding the fact that the nurse was a woman the Chinese beside him treated
them both in exactly the same way - a single blow to their throats to drop them
like two stones into a pond.

"Bring the bolt
cutters!”  Peter bellowed up the steps. Then turning again into the room, he
faced his worst fears.

Taking a step
forward, he could feel the bile rising in his throat as he confronted the
unconscious naked woman on the operating table. As if the end of his world had
come, he struggled to recognize the person who now looked so little like his
Jennifer.

The gang had cut her
long red tresses short and her face was a mask of pain. The drugs that the
doctor had injected had made her into a zombie. She had no pubic hair and her
sex was bloody. Even her thighs were blood stained. Fine silver chains joined
the nipple rings to the clit ring inserted into her body and Peter started to
weep.

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