Honorable Assassin Read online

  When he stepped out of his vehicle, Barlow got his second unpleasant surprise. Standing on the unpainted, sagging side porch was a man in overalls and rubber boots holding a double-barreled shotgun. The man had no shirt on but his chest was covered with a huge red beard. A cigar protruded from the beard like the tail of a squirrel from its nest.

  “What business do ye find here?” asked the man.

  “Ginger Kingston, I presume. Inspector Barlow here. I’m conducting an investigation into the disappearance of your brother George.”

  “He’s missing, eh? What does that have to do with me?”

  “I assume it has nothing to do with you, but as his only relative outside the home I thought there may be something to be learned.”

  “Let me see yer badge.”

  Barlow produced his badge and edged sideways slowly to move away from the business end of the shotgun. Kingston squinted at the badge and shrugged. The shotgun pointed toward the ceiling and its wielder grunted and motioned with his shaggy head. The top was bald but the sides were in desperate need of a trim.

  Inside the house was the same sort of shambles as the rest of the farm. The side porch led to the kitchen where newspapers were piled up all over the place. The dishes in the sink had gone past the point of unwashed and would soon qualify as genuine archeological finds. The kitchen table held a pile of unopened bills, newspapers, dirty glasses and coffee cups, a liter bottle of Bundaberg and a can of Coopers Ale.

  “Shot of Bundy, Inspector?”

  “Oh, I don’t imbibe in the stronger spirits, I…”

  “Crack a Cooper, then?”

  “Yes, a Coopers would help cut the dust.”

  Ginger Kinston moved to the refrigerator and opened the door. Inside were what appeared to be examples of genetic experiments along with a dozen cans of ale. He tossed one across the room and Inspector Barlow caught it. When he cracked the top it blew beer all over the unopened bills on the kitchen table.

  “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry. I didn’t think it would fly so.”

  “Cripes. I never intended to pay them anyway.” To Barlow’s surprise, Kingston swept the bills and newspapers off the table and onto the floor. “Grab a chair. If you want a shot of rum, take one.”

  “No, no rum. The Coopers is good.” The correct protocol for drinking an Australian ale is to guzzle the first half of it immediately and Barlow did just that. His immediate reasoning was that to gain the confidence of an alcoholic, nothing works better than drinking with him.

  Ginger poured himself about four ounces of Bundaberg Rum and knocked it back, draining what remained in his can as a chaser.

  “So, Inspector, what’s this about my brother?”

  “Well, Mr. Kingston…”

  “Call me Ginger.”

  “Very well, Ginger, it seems, excuse me,” Barlow belched voluminously. “It seems your brother has gone missing about two weeks now. His son was found floating in the water off Cunjurong Point on October 24th. We have just located the wreck of his yacht off Tuross Head.”

  “October 24? That’s almost two weeks ago. You mean to tell me you’re just getting around to telling me now?”

  “The boy just woke up. He was in a coma all this time and we didn’t know who he was until he woke up. We never would have found the yacht if the fuel tank hadn’t developed a leak after it hit the bottom.” It was a small lie but effective.

  “Oh. The boy is still alive?”

  “Yes, Terry is awake and seems none the worse for the experience. He misses his parents, of course, but we may still find them.”

  “Two weeks later?”

  “Stranger things have happened.” Barlow took another huge drink from his can.

  “Better to keep your feet on the earth, anyway.”

  “That’s always been my thought as well. Tell me, Terry says you visited George’s house from time to time, what was your business with him?”

  “He’s my brother. I don’t need business to visit my brother.”

  “No, certainly not, but people don’t do things for no reason. I assume you’ve had reasons for visiting him.”

  “I need money from time to time. The farm is not as profitable as might be expected and he has plenty of money. Sometimes I stop by for a loan. Just until I can get wool to market, or get paid for eggs and chickens. I pay him back when I can.”

  “But there is no problem between you? Money problems or the like?”

  “If you think I killed him and sank his boat, you’re out of your mind. He’s the only brother I’ve got. We don’t see each other often enough. Don’t get me wrong, we fought when we were kids, all boys do, but we never hated each other. We grew up on this farm. If there was ever a problem we settled it the old-fashioned way, but we never shot each other. We started hunting together when we were six and seven, or seven and eight, or so… We never shot at each other. If I was going to kill him I would have done it when we was teeners. I always been a better shot. When I’m sober enough.”

  “You were never a suspect. Do you know of anyone who would wish to harm them?”

  “Nobody I know of. He don’t talk of his business. He sells insurance. Sold me insurance on the farm, cheap. He’s a good man.” Ginger poured himself another glass of rum and held it in salute. “To George. May he live long and… well, may he be alive.”

  “So you can’t think of anyone?”

  “I told you, I don’ talk business wit’ George. Hey, what happens to the boy?”

  “That is not my department. Health and Human Services or Orphan Services will determine what to do with him once the doctors say he can leave the infirmary.”

  “Drop him off. I’ll take care of him till his father shows up.”

  “As I said, sir, Orphan Services will handle that.”

  “No worries. Say, did you talk with his representative, Mr… uh… Shwartz or Shvance… uh… Stein… cripes. Streng, that’s it, Streng.

  “Is this his legal representative, Mr. Streng, and is his office in Orange?”

  “So far as I know. He may have something for you.”

  “We’ll contact him. Thank you for the information.”

  “You think I’m a slosher, don’t you?” Ginger went to the refrigerator and got himself another can of Coopers.

  “The evidence points in that direction.”

  “I can stop drinking any time I want.”

  “It may be a good idea to consider wanting to.”

  The man with the huge red beard picked up the half burned cigar from the ash tray and fished in his pocket for his Zippo. He lit the stub without setting his beard on fire and spat out a bit of tobacco. “I’ll need to if I want to help George’s son, won’t I?”

  “It will make a large difference with Services.”

  Ginger took a deep breath and shook his head. “The bastards never let a man be a man, do they?”

  “They take a dim view of drunkenness.”

  “Right, then. It’s time.” Ginger surprised his visitor more than he had when he had greeted him with a shotgun. He picked up the half full bottle of rum and walked to the sink. He uncapped the bottle and poured it into the drain.

  “Well, that’s the way the old bugger is. It happens at odd times. He lost his wife 10 years ago, to cancer, and got drunk for about two years. Then he sobered up for a while. Look, when he’s not drinking he works like a Tasmanian devil and when he is, nothing gets done about the place. It’s been six months, right about on time, I’d say. If he poured his bottle down the sink then he’ll be alright for a while. Would you like one of us to check up on him?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Constable. Orphan Services and the Health and Welfare people will be popping in to see him. Thank you for your concern. If Mr. Kingston has any incidents in the next few days, give us a ring, will you? His record shows he thrashes people from time to time.”

  “Certainly, Inspector. He hasn’t been drinking in the taverns for a while but we’ll call if there’s a problem.”
r />   “Thank you, we’ll be in touch.” Inspector Barlow hung up the phone and thought about all the men he had known who had said they could stop drinking anytime they wanted to. He could not count on one hand the heavy drinkers he knew who really could.

  Ten o’clock came around and Theodore Barlow went back to Saint Vincent Hospital to see Terry Kingston again. Doctor Cherry was still busy with another patient so the inspector leafed through the Sydney Morning Herald looking for anything relevant that came from a different direction. He had found nothing when Sherry Cherry sauntered down the hall. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a tight bun and secured with ornamented black hair sticks. The style accented her creamy skin, long neck line and smiling cheeks. Inspector Barlow had been married for many years and loved his wife but Doctor Cherry could have brought out the worst in him.

  The inspection room seemed close and exceedingly warm, even though the air conditioning kept it at a comfortable level. Barlow and Cherry spoke alone for a while and agreed to let the doctor ask the questions this morning.

  “So, Terry, we’ll need to be letting you off, soon enough. You seem to be quite healthy despite your ordeal.”

  “Have you found Mummy?”

  “No, dear, I’m afraid we haven’t”

  “Where am I to go then?”

  “That will be determined by Doctor Curlew. He works with Heath and Welfare.”

  “I don’t like him. He’s mean.”

  “Doctor Curlew can be brusque, but he has your best interests at heart. Tell me, do you remember any more of what happened?”

  “I had another dream. Daddy was running and yelling, then we were on the boat. The monster was chasing him.”

  “Was the monster swimming after you?”

  “No, it had a boat. It was in one of those little, fast ones and it was chasing us. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t help. I didn’t see it, but I knew it was there.”

  “Did the boat have a name?”

  “Daddy’s boat was Ag-a-mem-non,” he said carefully.

  “Not your daddy’s boat, dear, the one that was chasing you.”

  “I didn’t see it, the name. It was sparkly. Blue with sparkles.”

  “Dark blue or light blue?”

  “It was dark blue with twin Evinrude engines.”

  Inspector Barlow was not paying much attention until this point but he began writing notes now. He found it interesting that a child could remember the color of a dream and the kind of engines it had. It was as if he had been listening to an orchestra but only a few of the instruments were playing. The composer had just added music for a new instrument. While he knew dreams were unreliable bits of evidence, details of this kind were not to be overlooked.

  “Was there anything else, Terry?”

  “No. Maybe I’ll remember more tomorrow.”

  “I think you’re doing just fine. I shouldn’t be surprised if you remember the whole affair tomorrow.”

  “Ok.”

  “Terry, when you visited your Uncle Ginger, was he drinking a lot of beer?”

  “No. He didn’t drink any brandy either. Daddy says he drinks a lot but I never saw him drink anything but water. He made me work every day and he doesn’t even have a telly, just lots of chickens and sheep.”

  “I’m sorry that you don’t like him, but he may be your last living relative. If we can’t place you with him you may need to go to the orphanage instead.”

  “I’ve never seen the orphanage.”

  “I don’t think you would like it. Thank God they don’t have the old system. You’d be sent to the Fairbridge Farm School in Molong instead of going to live with family. You should be glad they shut that one down in the early seventies.”

  “Uncle Ginger has the farm without the school, so it doesn’t matter where I want to go. I have no choices that I like.”

  “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.” Doctor Cherry opened her arms and gave him a long hug. Terry was not crying.

  The representatives of the Health and Welfare Department were skeptical as to the efficacy of placing a child with Ginger Kingston. He had a record of drinking and fighting in bars. They headed out to the farm to take stock of the area.

  When the social workers pulled in the driveway they were surprised to find that Ginger was not only sober but painting the house. He was on a 15-meter ladder, painting the outside of the attic. He greeted them with a huge smile and asked if they were there to help him paint.

  His beard was trimmed and his hair had been cut. His clothes were clean except for some paint spatter and his demeanor was friendly and open. He invited the workers into the house where everything was in relative order, though musty and old. The furniture was threadbare but still serviceable, if no longer comfortable. There were no animals in the home.

  The two social workers asked Mr. Kingston a few questions about Terry and whether he was willing to take over his custody. Ginger replied in an affable and affirmative way explaining that he had no children of his own and that his wife had passed away from lymphoma 10 years earlier. He explained that Terry was a likeable child and a good worker and he would be happy to adopt him.

  The older of the two workers explained that he could not adopt the boy until it was confirmed that George and Marcia were dead. Their bodies had never been found. It made no difference to Ginger.

  The government employees left quite satisfied that the stories they had heard about Ginger Kingston were either exaggerations or complete fabrications.

  ~~~

  Chapter Two: Bradley and Cooter

  “Sure, she’s a fine looking sheila, but you can’t keep her chained up down there forever.” The speaker was tall and well groomed. He had good teeth and was wearing contact lenses. His suit was worth a week’s pay for some people, a month’s for others.

  “Why not? It’s got nobody looking for it. Husband and son are dead. I say we just use it for what she’s worth. You have the contacts; what do you say we make a snuff film out of it? We can make quite a bit off that.” The other man was shorter and needed a hair cut. Dressed in a tee-shirt and blue jeans that looked like they could use a wash, he did not look like a professional man. A scar ran down the left side of his face, making his mouth droop on that side. Somebody had slashed him with a broken bottle, blinded his left eye and scarred him horribly.

  “Bloody cracker, what happens when they trace it back to us? There’s a lot more here than just some woman. She’s not a runaway teenager, that’s the Viper’s wife. What do you think his friends will do if they find out we got his wife, let alone what happens if they find out we killed him. They don’t know now and I don’t want them to know.”

  “Bollux, they’ll never know.”

  “How can you be so sure? You’re getting stupid now. If you remember, I wanted to take her out when we did her man. It was you, thinking with the wrong head again, that put us in this situation.”

  “What situation? We got it secure. It’s locked up tight. That sweet little round bottom is mine and I intend to do whatever I want with it.”

  “You’re a dripping idiot. We should have fed her to the sharks and walked away clean.”

  “The sharks can have that fish, but not ‘til I’m done with it.” The man rubbed the scar on his face and chuckled.

  The tall man grimaced and looked out the window at the fields of wheat. “Why do you live out here anyway? There’s no company, no stores, no neighbors except the farmer that owns the land, and I don’t suspect he drops by for a game of gin rummy.”

  “That’s it precisely. Nobody comes here. They think I’m some crazy hermit. I cooked up a story about having been left some money and wanting no part of people. So they leave me alone and that’s just right by me.”

  “I couldn’t live this way. Away from people an’ all.”

  “Oh, I’m not exactly away from people. I got me a nice fresh one in the basement.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Well, make sure you dispose of her proper when you’re do
ne with her.”

  “Like I said the sharks can have that fish.” The shorter man grabbed his crotch pointedly. “I’ll take care of it. Eh, you ever find out why they wanted the Viper done in?”

  “No, nobody’s talking. I think he must have done the wrong guy or something. Maybe he turned on his contacts and started talking to the bobbies.”

  “I doubt it. This man was in the business two or three years before I was. I heard of his jobs while I was still in the Academy. That makes it about five years before you. How long you been doing this?”

  “About five.” The man picked at some imaginary lint on his suit.

  “Five years, don’t time fly? That means he been at it maybe 10 years. I heard he was responsible for those jobs the papers called the Porno Killer. You know, the lads that were doing the flicks with little boys? I also heard he done a man once in a provincial station. Leastways, that’s what they say. Right in the station, in handcuffs, right in front of the Assistant Commissioner. They didn’t even know the bugger was dead for an hour.”

  “That may be stretching the point. I will admit to his being skilled, however.”

  “Well, thanks for the delivery. I look forward to working with you again some time, Bradley.”

  The taller man cocked one eye at him and said, “I have told you I would prefer we did not use our proper names.”

  “What? Afraid the field mice might hear? Like I said, nobody comes out here and if they did they might just find a home in the fields out there.”

  “I do see your point. I just can’t do it. Too dead out here. I need some excitement from time to time. The kind you don’t need to tie up to keep around.”