Old Friends Page 14

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shortly before darkness fell, Dan and Mike moved into position on foot.

  Dan made his way up the alleyway opposite Hooch’s pad, sticking to the shadows and treading lightly. He was dressed down in a scruffy black jacket, tiger stripe pants and battered sneakers, with a hood pulled up over his head. With any luck he blended into the background as just another random wandering at night, although he was painfully aware of his colour in an area 99% Polynesian and Maori.

  He stopped when he had a good view of the front gate, and scanned it with his mini binos. The floodlights were off and nothing was moving. He could see light creeping above the fence line from somewhere within the compound.

  He thumbed the pressel switch on his chest, whispering softly into the mic attached to the lapel of his jacket. The mic was hooked to the walkie talkie on his belt, hidden beneath the jacket along with various other tools.

  ‘Have visual, floodlights out, lights on inside, no movement. Copy?’

  Mike paused in the gully behind the pad, crouching in the undergrowth.

  ‘Roger that, one minute to target, over.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Mike continued making his way up the slope towards the rear fence, carefully parting the undergrowth to avoid leaving a trail. Broken branches and crushed leaves told a tale, and Mike was experienced enough at close target reconnaissance that avoiding leaving any sign was second nature to him.

  Like Dan he was dressed down, with a distributive pattern material jacket over olive drab pants, combat boots, and a black beanie covering his fair hair. He’d smudged dirt and camo cream onto the exposed parts of his skin. This wasn’t quite a Taliban stronghold in southern Afghanistan, but they were both well aware of the risks of being caught at a gang pad in south Auckland.

  He kept his breathing under control as he climbed the final few meters to the narrow ledge that ran along the top of the bank beneath the fence, dropping flat when he got there and scanning in all directions, his mouth partly open to assist his hearing. A stereo thumped somewhere and he could hear a loud argument going on in a house across the gully. Dogs barked and a car did a burnout a couple of blocks away.

  No movement. Just a normal night in Mangere.

  Music blasted from within the pad and he could hear laughter. Men’s voices, and a shriek from a woman. The clink of glass.

  He whispered into the mic.

  ‘On target. Nil seen. Voices and music inside. Stand by for further.’

  He got a single click in reply, then raised himself into a crouch and darted along to one end of the fence then back to the other. Both sides there were houses, lights on in both and people moving about. Family homes by the looks. A Rotty chained up at one, sleeping on the back step.

  Must suck to live next to these clowns, he figured, you’d want a killer dog.

  There were no cameras at the back and no gates, and he crouched near the corner furthest from the Rotty to open his day pack. He removed a length of titanium pipe, fitted a second one to the top and locked them together, then added a third. The fourth one had two hooks at the top and robber coated hand/footholds jutted from each side of the pole.

  Mike put the daypack back on, hooked the top end of the ladder over the fence, and jammed the bottom end into the ground, the ladder sticking out from the fence at an angle.

  He carefully made his way up the ladder until he could see over the top, beneath the barbed wire. The pad consisted of a house near the front of the property, with a driveway coming down to a double garage in the left corner, which was just below him. Along the back of the property ran a workshop of some sort, nearly the length of the back fence, with an iron roof. The whole backyard was concreted, and a couple of cars were parked near the workshop. The flamed Fairlane was in the driveway, facing out.

  A picnic table was there near a large concrete block barbeque, and a couple of oil drums were nearby, presumably for fires. The sickly sweet smell of cannabis hung in the air.

  The house itself wasn’t barricaded, had lights on inside and looked well worn. He heard booted feet stamp inside then a toilet light came on and he saw a bearded thug go about his business. As the thug left the toilet Mike could see a patch on his back.

  Mongrel Mob Rogue.

  Nice one.

  He lowered himself again and pressed the pressel.

  ‘Have visual. Three vehicles on site. One male seen, patched up. More inside from the sound. No dogs. Unknown X-Rays, over.’

  ‘Roger. Coming to you.’

  ‘Go to your right, dog on the left.’

  One click back. He waited in the darkness, and Dan was soon jumping the side fence and approaching him.

  ‘Let’s do it.’

  Mike climbed the ladder again, and Dan handed him a rubber mat. Mike placed it silently over the top of the corrugated iron, lifted the bottom strand of barbed wire, and rolled onto the top lengthwise before dropping out of sight. He lowered himself onto the roof of the workshop and crouched there, scanning and listening.

  No sign.

  He clicked his pressel and Dan followed him, less adeptly and managing to tear his jacket on the wire. They crouched together again.

  Still no sign.

  Mike indicated his intentions with hand gestures. Dan nodded and waited.

  Mike edged over to the side, slowly and silently, then dropped from sight again. He clicked the pressel once and waited. He heard Dan move and a muffled curse, then Dan dropped to the ground beside him. He rubbed his knee gingerly and scowled.

  Mike rose to his feet and moved to the side of the garage.

  He edged around to the front of it and peered in through the open doors. A pair of young thugs were spotting cannabis on an element against the far side, while a third lounged on a mangy sofa with his eyes closed. The garage was fitted out with a Coca-Cola fridge, a bar and a stereo system, the walls decorated with various framed posters and gang regalia, and looked like a hangout room.

  He drew back and held up three fingers to Dan, who nodded.

  Dan moved forward now to the edge of the workshop and peeked around. There were a couple of roller doors further down, and a side door nearest to him. All of them were closed. No lights inside.

  He shook his head to Mike, who moved closer to peer over his shoulder.

  Dan slipped around the corner, fully exposed now to anybody within the house, and gently tried the door knob. It turned and opened. Dan stepped inside and scanned around. No movement. Piles of boxes and crates.

  He waved Mike in, and the door closed behind them.

  Mike guarded the door while Dan switched on a mini Maglite. It had the lens covered in tape with just a small hole allowing a thin beam of light out. He checked the closest boxes and gradually moved down towards the other end, checking the markings and labels on each box as he went.

  When he was done he removed a small Handycam from his belt bag and turned it on. In the absence of an infrared lens he used the Maglite to illuminate the markings of each box while he recorded it. He was nearly done when Mike heard approaching footsteps.

  He made a clicking noise with his tongue to alert his mate, who quickly killed the torch and stashed the Handycam away again.

  They stayed absolutely still, not daring to breathe.

  The footsteps stopped nearby and a gruff voice sounded.

  ‘Whaddaya doin’, ya morons?’

  Neither of them caught the reply, then the newcomer spoke again.

  ‘Well we got a buyer, so get me some a da stuff. Move it!’

  The footsteps moved away again and a moment later they heard a door bang.

  It was pretty obvious that at least one of the boys in the garage was about to enter the workshop to follow their orders. No sooner had they started to move when they heard more footsteps shuffling to the door.

  Mike seized the handle with both hands and gripped tightly. The guy on the other side tried to open it but couldn’t.

  ‘Ow, it�
��s stuck bro.’

  ‘Didju lock it ow?’ A second guy joined him from the garage.

  ‘Na, not even. It’s just stuck.’

  ‘Maybe Lefty locked it.’

  ‘I don’ know, bro. It’s stuck aye.’

  ‘Well use the other door bro, the big one.’

  They both shuffled off down to the roller doors, and the two men heard the scrape of the roller door lifting further down the workshop. As it lifted Mike cracked the door open, and sneaked a peek. He watched both boys step inside the darkened workshop and quickly ducked outside, Dan hard on his heels.

  They rounded the corner to get to the fence again, as a light came on inside the workshop.

  Mike bent and cupped his hands, giving Dan a foot up to the roof. Dan pulled himself up quietly then reached down for his mate.

  It was at that moment that the third boy came out of the garage to join his mates, glancing to his right as he did so. He saw Mike and his jaw dropped open.

  He was the leader of the gang that Mike had tangled with the day before, and the look of recognition was instant for both of them, despite the camo covering Mike’s face.

  Mike leaped forward and grabbed for him, as the boy started to shout a warning. He got the first syllable out before Mike cracked him across the jaw and dropped him.

  Even before the boy hit the deck Mike had turned and took a flying leap at the wall, hands outstretched. Dan caught his hands and dragged him up, the movement making a racket on the tin roof, loud enough to wake the neighbours.

  The other two boys ran from the workshop, saw their fallen mate then saw the two intruders on the roof.

  Both began shouting to the occupants of the house, and Dan lifted the lower strand of barbed wire. Mike rolled under and dropped over the side, and Dan was about to follow suit when he saw the men from inside rush out the back door.

  He didn’t recognise two of the three, but the third he certainly did.

  Hooch.

  Patched up and as staunch as you like, yelling at the young lads to get up there after them.

  Dan lifted the wire and rolled under, dropping to the ground like a sack of spuds, with the rubber mat in one hand. Mike was already dismantling the ladder and shoving it into his bag, and together they vaulted the fence beside them into someone’s back yard. All hell was breaking loose inside the pad behind them.

  ‘At least there’s no monster Rotty in this yard,’ Mike grinned, swinging his bag onto his back as they ran across the yard towards the next fence.

  A low growl sounded from the darkness ahead of them and they both skidded to a halt.

  A large Rhodesian Ridgeback burst from the side of the house and made a beeline for them with long loping strides.

  Mike braced and lowered himself to take the impact, eyeing the dog as it got closer, its teeth bared. It would probably knock him over, but if he could get its front paws...

  A metre from them now, the dog suddenly skidded to a halt itself, its back legs sliding under it as it tried desperately to stop. Its ears went flat against its head, its tail went down, and it scrambled to its feet, sprinting away with a whimper.

  Mike shot a glance at Dan, who stood there with what looked like an aerosol can in his hand and a grin on his face.

  Mike gave him a quizzical look and he shrugged.

  ‘Dog alarm. Only the dogs hear it and they hate it.’

  Dan tucked it back into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Let’s go.’