Incy Wincy Spider Page 11

  Chapter 10

  Sydney - Friday: September 25.

  As our plane climbed rapidly into Sydney's blue sky, and then banked in a southerly direction for Melbourne, Steve looked at me.

  "Henry got away OK?" he asked.

  "No worries." I reassured him. "Did Mike tell you about the anonymous phone call he got a couple of hours ago?" I asked.

  "He sure did. He was very excited. He is organizing a full SWAT team and all that. You didn't let the grass grow under your feet," he remarked.

  "No, I didn't. I wanted it resolved quickly, so that we can focus on this Tarasoff arsehole," I said.

  "What's your plan?" he asked.

  "I don't have a plan, except for causing lots of pain and destruction. I am going to squash him like a spider. I think it'll be a fitting end for a Redback," I said, smiling at Steve.

  "Great plan, Master!" He congratulated me with mock sarcasm. "I thought that might be your MO ? So, I came up with my own plan," he said proudly.

  "Yeah? You did grasshopper?" I acted surprised. He smiled and took a typed sheet of paper out of his inside coat pocket and with a flourish passed it to me.

  "What is this?" I asked, turning it over in my hands.

  "Take a look," he said, smiling.

  "An extradition order! And it's signed by an actual judge. You are genius ? The Grasshopper finally betters the Master!" I exclaimed and clapped him on the back, laughing with delight. Then I clapped him on his thigh, which he quickly moved away, which made me laugh even more. "You are a sneak, you know that, Steve? I guess that explains the one-way tickets. We are going to be driving him back right?"

  "You bet," he said.

  "Lots can happen on the long drive back, right?" I said.

  "You bet," he said.

  "If a few of his goons follow us ? Well, interfering with the transport of a prisoner is not only illegal, but can also be very dangerous, right?" I said.

  "Ironic isn't it?" I commented.

  "What is?" he asked.

  "A grasshopper is going to get a red-back spider." I said wryly.

  "You bet," he murmured and then he passed out, asleep. He had got even less sleep than I had.

  Melbourne Airport, also known as Tullamarine, is situated Twenty-three kilometres from the CBD. It was opened in 1970 to replace the nearby Essendon Airport and has become the second busiest in Australia with more than Twenty-four million passengers in and out per year. The Melbourne to Sydney air route is the third most-travelled passenger air route in the world. Friday afternoons are probably its busiest time and I was fully expecting to stuff around for a considerable time getting a car rental.

  I should have known better - Steve being Steve. He had arranged it all in advance and when I hit the Hertz counter, the pretty girl there only wanted a signature and then handed me the keys to a nice new Ford XR6, fitted with a sat nav. We found that a car in the Hertz parking area easily and I drove us down the Tullamarine freeway while Steve slept all the way into the city. The pleasant female voice of the on-board GPS brought us right to the front door of Tarasoff's building in the CBD. It had an underground parking area manned by a guard, who let us through once Steve, still half-asleep, showed him his badge.

  Tarasoff's receptionist told us that, she was real sorry, but that we were too late, and that 'Elvis' had left the building. As soon as Steve flashed his Badge and in a very annoyed tone proceeded to threaten her with 'obstruction of justice' or some similar bit of TV bull, she paled and called Tarasoff on the intercom.

  We could hear his high-pitched voice shout at her through the phone from where we were standing, on the other side of the reception desk. He did not sound happy, he kept shouting at her for about a minute or so. All she could say was, "Yes, sir," a number of times. When she disconnected and started packing-up all her things with tears in her eyes, I figured she must have got fired. I felt a little bad, but not too much, her job was always going to be temporary now that her boss was running toward his own dire straits.

  Between sobs and throwing stuff in her ample bag, she pointed us in the right direction. We caught the lift to the top floor and then we proceeded right past Tarasoff's secretary, toward a large door. The young lady followed us all the way there warning that Mr. Tarasoff saw no one without an appointment. We ignored her and entered without knocking.

  Tarasoff was sitting behind an enormous desk. He was about sixty, short and fat like a big soccer ball. A few strategically placed grey hairs on his scalp were contrasted by bushy dark eyebrows and enough hair coming out of his shirt collar to knit two pairs of socks.

  He was flanked on either side by four goons. I wondered if they had a mould somewhere in the basement where they punched out a Standard T-model Goon, because they all looked the same to me. I brightened at the thought that the Sydney goons were looking quite different now.

  "Come in gentlemen, come in," Tarasoff welcomed us, as if we were here by his express invitation. He ignored the fact that Steve was already halfway to his desk. I hung back and a little to the side, keeping an eye on all of them and making sure Steve would not become the meat in the sandwich.

  "What can I do for you?" he added with smile as false as a pair of silicone tits.

  "Please stand up Mr. Tarasoff and turn around, I have an order for your arrest and extradition to New South Wales," Steve said in a tone that was colder than dry ice.

  "What is this? You must be joking," Tarasoff said, all his bon-ami gone.

  "I have an extradition order, to take you back to NSW and face these charges, Mr. Tarasoff," Steve repeated, presenting him with a copy of the order.

  Tarasoff snatched it from Steve's hand, gave it a quick once over. He then extended his short little arm and used a pudgy finger to press an intercom button. I noticed that on his desk he had a paperweight of cast plastic with a large Redback spider embedded in it. I figured that he must like, and promote, his nickname.

  "Get in here! Now!" he shouted into the intercom. Three milliseconds after that, a smooth looking guy in a business suit appeared as if by magic - enter the shyster.

  "What's this crap?" Tarasoff asked the shyster in a manner that would be used on a slave. Tarasoff threw the extradition order at him. It went into a complex trajectory and ended up at Steve's feet.

  For a moment it looked like the lawyer was going to tell Tarasoff to shove it up his arse, but then he saw reason ? more likely, he saw the magic dollar sign. He bent at the waist right in front of Steve, picked up the order and quickly read it. He looked up at Tarasoff and said, "It's an extradition order, with your name on it."

  "Fuck me! Is that why I pay you fucking fortune every year? To give me fucking reading lessons? I know it's a fucking extradition order, what the fuck are you gonna do about it?" Tarasoff shouted at him, banging his pudgy fist on the desk, the paperweight bouncing along to fall off the desk - it must have been an omen, I figured. I now knew who he reminded me of: Nikita Krushev banging his shoe at the United Nations.

  "I'll have you out in 30 minutes, Mr. Tarasoff, but right now there is little I can do. It's a legal order and you need to go along with it," said the lawyer, keeping his tone in check. "Unless, of course, these officers would like to be reasonable and accept my assurances that I will deliver you in Sydney, personally." He smiled a snake's smile. I was sure I could see his forked tongue tasting the air.

  "Reasonable my arse!" Tarasoff said to him, he then turned to Steve. "How much to make all this go away? Ten thousand do it for you guys? Each?"

  Steve hesitated for just a moment, as if he was actually considering the offer. What an actor that boy is! If he wasn't such a good cop, I would have to say that he missed his true calling. He then turned to me. "You heard the accused offer me a bribe? Did you not?" he asked, very seriously.

  "I did," I confirmed.

  "Was it, in anyway, solicited by my behaviour?" he asked, still speaking to me.

  "It wasn't," I confirmed, once more.

  Steve turned back
to Tarasoff and looked at him with a slight smile on his lips. "Attempting to bribe an officer is a felony and will be added to the list of charges that are waiting for you in Sydney. Now, unless you would like me to add 'resisting arrest' to that list, Mr. Tarasoff, you will turn around and place your hands behind your back. I am going to have to handcuff you," he said, extracting a set of cuffs from his belt holder. While everyone's attention was focused on Steve's little speech, I took the opportunity to slip my gun out and hold it next to my leg.

  "Surely that's not necessary, officer, Mr. Tarasoff is a respected member of the community ?" The lawyer started with his lawyer's sweet-speak.

  "I am a detective, not an officer. And I know exactly what Mr. Tarasoff is," Steve corrected the lawyer in a way that you might use in describing a cockroach. Turning to Tarasoff once more, he added, "Now, turn around and place your hands behind your back. You fellows move away and let me through." He said to the goon quartet.

  "Do something!" Tarasoff said to them in desperation. And as one, like Pavlov's dogs, they reacted to his stimulus and started to going for their guns.

  I interrupted them from where I stood. " Ah, ah, aahh," I said, shaking my head and showing them my Glock, safety off, ready to go, and pointed straight at Tarasoff's sweating moon-face. "One more move and your boss gets it ? Who wants to be second and third? I can let off three shots in half a second." I warned and paused for a moment, eying them so that they would know that I would not hesitate to do as I promised. "OK you lot, very slowly, put your guns on the desk and move away to that corner over there." I pointed with my chin. "Sit down on the floor, hands under your asses. Do it now!"

  Meanwhile, Steve did his job and handcuffed Tarasoff by first lifting him up, clear out of his chair by his collar, and spinning him around like a basketball.

  "All of you remain very still, I get nervous real easily. You don't want me nervous. The slightest touch and bang, bang, bang," I warned them, saying the last three words very rapidly for effect.

  "Let's go," Steve said to Tarasoff and helped him along with a shove to his back, toward the door.

  "You'll never get to Sydney," Tarasoff shouted in a tone that left no doubt what he wanted his goons to do, once we'd left.

  "Move it!" Steve said, ignoring the threat and shoving him along once more. I backed toward the door in their wake.

  "Don't follow us; the first head out of that door gets one right in the eye." I warned them. They must have believed me, as not one of them followed us out. As we were passing through the reception area, the receptionist was still getting her stuff together. She looked up startled. "See?" I told her, "It wasn't a job worth crying over. He is leaving even before you." Then I smiled, and she smiled too.

  We made it, unmolested, to the elevator and down to the basement where our rented car was parked. We placed Tarasoff in the back, I drove while Steve watched him, gun in hand.

  We left Melbourne, right away, heading up the Hume Highway toward the twin cities known as Albury-Wodonga, which are separated by a bridge over the 'mighty' Murray River - Australia's largest river.

  The Murray is not a big river by world standards, after all Australia is an arid continent. It is, however very important to Indigenous Australians. They believed that the Murray was created by the tracks of the Great Ancestor, Ngurunderi, as he pursued Pondi, the delicious Murray Cod fish. The indigenous Wiradjuri people occupied the area for many thousands of years and little has been documented about their relationship with the European settlers. Judging from the fact that there are very few Wiradjuri left, they did not seem to benefit from them.

  "We have company," I said to Steve about half way to Wodonga. "Two cars full of men and driving erratically, behind us."

  "Thought we might," Steve said.

  "Yeah, what a bunch of morons, they are likely to be stopped by the highway patrol if they keep driving like that ? I better slow down," I said smiling. "You employ some real inept idiots, you know that, Tarasoff?" I said looking at him through the rear view mirror.

  "You know, you are not going to make anything stick, I won't spend one night in your lousy jail" Tarasoff said from the back of the car. "If you even make it to Sydney," he added with snide attitude.

  "Jail? Who said anything about jail? Did you mention jail, Louie?" Steve asked me, in mock surprise.

  "Not me, mate. I think lard ball at the back is under a false impression," I said smiling and turning around to wink at Tarasoff.

  "You must be right," Steve said to me. Turning to Tarasoff, he added, "We are going to Sydney ? You, well, you may not make it."

  "What do you mean? That's what the extradition order says, I have to be in a Sydney Court by 9 am tomorrow," Tarasoff exclaimed, not wanting to understand our words.

  "Tarasoff, old mate, didn't Vasiliev pass on our message?" I asked him.

  "Message? Vasiliev? " Tarasoff said, becoming less confident.

  "Well, we told him that we wanted all the crap with Maria to stop. But either he did not pass that message to you or you chose to ignore it ? Either way, it's now your very serious problem," Steve said.

  "So! It's you two," he said, surprised.

  "None other," I confirmed. "Wrecking my car, that was stupid and a waste of a beautiful machine. A sin in my mind, but I could have forgiven that. But continuing to threaten Maria, that's worse than a sin, Old Man ? It's your ticket to hell."

  "But you must take me ? You are the police ?" he pleaded.

  "The law has never been important to you before, Tarasoff, why start now?" I said.

  "But ? but you can't ? you, you are ?" he mumbled, comprehension of his predicament finally reaching his subconscious where all his fears and worries were ready for it, to embellish, augment and magnify the effect of our words and tone.

  "I am not a policeman," I informed him. "Does that makes you feel any better?" I added, but I don't think it helped.

  "You don't understand ? that girl has something that belongs to me ? I just want it back ... then everything will be OK," he said, reassuringly.

  "What you don't seem to understand, Old Man, is that we don't give a rat's arse about what you want," Steve said.

  "I killed her sister, and soon my men will kill you too. Then I will get this Maria cunt and I will give her to my men for some fun times, then I will kill her too." He suddenly changed tacks, hoping to frighten us into compliance. I guess that sort of thing worked with his goons. It did nothing for me and it resulted in Steve smashing his head with the butt of his gun. Tarasoff passed out cold.

  "Mate, we need to fix the goons behind us pretty soon," I said to Steve as he turned toward to face the front, and then I added, "Feel better?"

  "A lot better, thanks. As soon as you find a good place, stop and I'll fix the road. Make sure no other car is in the vicinity, OK?" Steve said.

  We were looking for a spot on the road where Steve could place our police-issue tire-slasher that he had carried in his luggage. We would make sure we could take out both cars following us, without taking out some poor innocent fellow traveller. Half an hour later, I had a good spot with an extended 'S' bend in the road. I stopped soon after the first part of the 'S' and Steve quickly jumped out and deployed the slasher. He jumped back in and I continued driving as if nothing had happened. It was important that our tails see us turn the second corner, as they reached the first, this would keep their attention focused on us and not on the road, or so we hoped.

  As I watched in the rear view mirror, I saw the first car hit the slasher and its front tires blow. It lost its grip on the road and crashed straight into the fence. On its rebound, it was hit hard by the second car, which had been following at high speed, much too close behind it. They waltzed together for a few feet and stopped. Soon after the impact, a thin line of smoke arose from the first car and then there was a huge woommf that shook the windows in our car, and all we could see was a huge ball of flame enveloping both vehicles.

  "Oopss ? Well, that wasn't supposed t
o happen," I said, grimacing. I u-turned the car and drove back to see if anyone needed help. But no one had got out in time.

  Through the flames, we could just see that both cars had been carrying large containers of petrol, probably with the intention of using it to dispose of our car, with our bodies in it, once they caught up with us.

  We both watched the huge fire in a sort of macabre fascination. "Stupid is as stupid does," I quoted.

  "Sure is," Steve said. "I better retrieve the slasher."

  I called emergency services and told them where to come. I got out of the car as Steve returned and we looked at each other.

  "You know what this means, now, don't you?" I said.

  "We are going to have to give him up, and there is going to be hell to pay," he said.

  I nodded, in acceptance. We returned to our car to wait for the authorities to arrive and found that Tarasoff was still out of it. He did not look good, matter of fact, he had that glassy and waxy look that spells bad news. I felt for his pulse, but there was none.

  "He is fucking dead, "I said. "Shit! Remind me not to piss you off."

  "Must have had a thin skull, I didn't hit him that hard," he said, surprised.

  "Well, he might as well join his buddies ? a lot less paperwork that way," I suggested.

  "Good thinking, paper work sucks," Steve said.

  We quickly carried his body to the pyre and threw it in through one of the exploded windows, soon there would be nothing left of him but ashes. He would burn very well judging from his fat content.

  While we waited for the emergency crew of firemen, ambulances and police to arrive, Steve went south to warn approaching traffic of the accident and I went a little ways north to warn traffic from the other direction.

  Finally, the fire department trucks and the ambulance arrived just after the first of the highway patrol cars. Traffic was being diverted from the area as this was a scene of multiple road fatalities. We watched as they put out the flames and then eventually removed the two wrecks. We had explained to numerous officials how it had all gone down.

  Well not exactly how it had gone down, but close enough: Tarasoff had needed to relieve himself and we had stopped by the way side. In a moment of inattention on our part, Tarasoff had started to run toward the first of the two vehicles, which had stopped a little ways back for him. We described that we had seen him dive in through the open door, still handcuffed, and dragged in by his men. Soon after, the second vehicle had impacted on it with a tremendous crash and an explosion had resulted. See? Close to the truth, right?

  The fire chief on location commented that an explosion had been inevitable considering the amount of gasoline in both vehicles, all stored in unsafe containers. The police took our names and all the details and finally we were free to continue to Sydney.

  We left them to clean up our mess. It had taken a very long time; none of it was very pleasant. We were beat and we did not drive for much longer. I stopped at the next little town. We got two rooms in a roadside motel and went right to sleep. It was well into the night when Steve knocked on my door and came in as I was coming out of the shower. We were back on the road soon after.

  Half an hour into our journey back to Sydney I got a call on my mobile.

  "It's me," Robyn's voice said.

  "I know, I was expecting you," I said.

  "Good job," she said, with sick admiration in her tone. "Remind me not to piss you guys off."

  "Right," I said. I saw no point in explaining that it had been entirely unplanned. She would not have believed me.

  "Don't worry about the rest of them, we'll clean up the rest now that you have removed the main obstacle," she said

  "Is Maria safe now?" I asked.

  "Should be," she said.

  "What do you mean: 'should be'?" I asked.

  "Well, my boy, I have learned that in life nothing is ever certain," and with that she hung up.

  "Robyn?" Steve asked.

  "Yep," I said.

  "Is she pissed off?" he asked, as if he cared.

  "Nope, she congratulated us on a job well done," I said, grimacing

  "Spooks! I don't like them," Steve said.

  "Me neither," I said.

  "Maria, she's going to be OK?" he asked.

  "Should be ? Robyn said," I said

  "What the fuck does that mean?" he asked.

  "Fucked if I know," I said.

  We drove on in silence.

  "That Vasiliev guy is not going to give up; you know that, don't you? It's personal for him now," Steve said after a couple of hours.

  "Yeah, I know that," I said.

  "What are we going to do about it?" he asked.

  "Nothing much we can do at the moment, another trip in the country might look a lil' suspicious," I said, attempting at a little humour that went up like a lead balloon.

  "I guess," he said, unhappily.

  "It's up to him now. If chooses to go on with it, we will have to accommodate him. Till then we'll have to wait and see," I said.

  "I guess," he said.

  "Maybe he will become a Born Again Christian, and our worries will be over?" I suggested.

  "Maybe," he said.

  "Maybe ? my arse," I said.

  "Maybe ? your arse," he said.