Honorable Assassin (40 page)

When Ginger heard that the three men who had
survived the assault on his farm had been kidnapped from the
Pettigrew farm, and were locked in the back of a panel truck behind
the Dark Knight’s clubhouse, he was all for eliminating them. Terry
thought they might be more useful alive. Ginger agreed that one
might be useful, left alive, but three were unnecessary. Terry
argued that there was no percentage in killing them without some
sort of return on investment. Ginger accused Terry of becoming
greedy and Terry said he was just being practical. It turned out to
be a dead issue since a couple of days in the back of the truck
without water had killed all three of them from dehydration. The
bodies disappeared without fanfare or funeral.

Evan was taking care of Linda in a house
outside the city. She shared the house with another woman and there
were assigned guards all night and all day. They were not
professional, walk-the-perimeter kind of guards but they would not
allow any harm to come to their charge.

Ginger Kingston and Gordon MacMaster got
along in fine order after a few minutes of uneasiness. They
recognized a kindred spirit in each other and neither of them were
supposed to be there. They spent a day smoking cigars and drinking
rum while Terry was coordinating with the Dark Knights. Neither
Evan McCormick nor Gordon MacMaster wanted to meet the other and
this made for a difficult arrangement. Evan spared no breath in
reminding Terry that he already owed him a favor. The corpses of
the wise guys served as a strong marker against Terry’s credit.
Terry was quick to point out that he was working toward handing
control of the city’s underworld over to the club’s president. Evan
was chosen as successor to the Troy brothers. He would be the next
ruler of the underground empire.

Evan was not convinced. He had not seen
enough positive progress against the main target. The targets
chosen had been fringe targets or competition. It was true that the
Dark Knights now had control of both the Russian and Chinatown
areas, but Evan was also realistic about his ability to hold said
control. The Asians were already trying to work around their new
suppliers and creating new pathways for their products. Too proud,
individual and independent, they would be good for some short-term
customers, but to try to control them for the long run would result
in a great deal of blood shed.

Terry had not been on the inside for a
couple of days and would never be in again. This meant that he was
not privy to the information he needed to plan further coups
against the criminal network. It was all or nothing now. There was
no more standing on the sidelines and sniping easy targets. The
spigot was closed and to access the flow, it needed to be chopped
off.

Jimmy Cognac was the first target needing a
fast decommission. Most of the men under him needed direction from
a superior. They were not leaders; they were very dangerous men,
but they needed direction. The one problem with killing Jimmy was
finding him. Jimmy had lived in the world of corruption and
betrayal his whole life and was nobody’s fool. He had no long
lasting habits, no pattern of associates or locations that he
favored. He did visit the Kings Cross section about once a week but
changed houses almost every time, preferring the anonymity of
prostitutes. He had no permanent position, no legitimate business
that was a running concern and required monitoring. He showed up at
warehouses when and where he felt like and kept a low profile as
far as clubs and pubs were concerned.

Terry could send Jimmy Cognac a message to
meet him somewhere but Jimmy would show up with an army of wise
guys and might not even be there in person. Jimmy would never
consent to a meeting with any of the motorcycle gangs, either,
unless he picked the location and secured it. Gordon was supposed
to be gone from Australia and he intended to maintain this
subterfuge until the end. And Ginger was dead.

Terry finally admitted that he did not know
where to proceed from there. If he had done it earlier, when he was
an unknown quantity, when he was an unrecognizable hick farmer, he
might have gotten away with it. He had been around too long now.
His face was too well known by too many people.

Gordon and Ginger were half in the bag and
Gordon was talking about things he did not usually discuss, things
he had done in the past. It had been a long time since he had
consorted with men that had done what he did for a living, even if
it had been a long time ago. They were so engaged with their own
conversation that they actually alienated Terry. They were too
drunk to conceive of a good plan anyway.

The next day over breakfast they looked at
the situation again.

“Why do we need to eliminate Jimmy Cognac,
anyway?” MacMaster wanted to know.

“Well, he’s next in line for the uh…
position,” Terry said.

“No, not really. The way the thing is set
up, no one is in line for the position. Whoever is listed on the
wills of these two men, the Troys, that is who is in line.
Remember, as despicable as they are, most of their business is
legitimate. They have reinvested the dirty money over the years and
built themselves a clean organization.”

“It’s not that part of the business that
we’re attacking. I mean we haven't attacked it. Cognac represents
the other side of the road. You bring up an interesting point,
though. I wonder who is actually going to benefit from this.
Neither of the brothers has a wife or any children. Blast! If I
hadn’t sold the agency I could probably figure it out.”

“It’s not public record, is it?” Ginger
asked.

“No,” said Terry. “Not till after the will
has been executed.”

“Who executes the will?” Ginger asked.

“The lawyers do that. Why?

“If we know who their heir is, it gives us
leverage.”

“What sort of leverage? What? Are we going
to kidnap whoever is on the document? That makes the whole thing
much more complicated than it needs to be, Uncle. It was that sort
of complication that almost cost you your life. I was ready to
shoot the bastards through the window of the limo.”

“Yes, but think of all you would not have
learned, had you done that.” Ginger was examining his half-burned,
unlit cigar as he spoke.

“But you would still have a home and I would
not be on the run.”

“I told you this life is not for those
seeking stability. You must be ready to make the move in a
heartbeat. No ties.”

“My father managed a family and a business
while living this life.”

“Your father tried to have both sides and it
killed him.” Ginger’s voice was harsh and his visage became very
cold. “Now, let’s figure out how we finish this up and get out of
here.”

Terry’s nostrils flared at his uncle’s
coarse treatment of what was still a tender subject but he kept his
tongue. He knew Ginger was right, recent events had proven it. The
life of an assassin was an anathema to stability and the thought
that the two could coexist was the height of self-delusion. The
young man had not known how much he was going to miss having a home
to go back to from time to time.

Gordon MacMaster watched this interaction
very closely as he was making a show of eating his eggs and toast.
The slightest friction can cause hesitation or heat that cannot be
justified in a combat situation. He saw that Terry’s father had
become a sore point but also wondered who the father had been. His
name would have meant nothing to him, since he had never worked the
Australian continent before, but it was becoming clear that there
was more to this family than he knew and that there were secrets
that they were very good at keeping. In all the time they had been
together, and all the drinking they had done, Terry had never told
him about his father having been in the business. That sort of
self-control was an admirable trait. It increased the respect
Gordon felt for his potential protégé. He knew it was not important
in the short run, but his curiosity was piqued. Gordon MacMaster
simply had to know who the father had been and what he had
done.

One thing Gordon had discovered, and was to
remain relatively certain of, was that drug addicts, gangsters,
wise guys and bikies were seldom found in the library. He had used
libraries as meeting places on a number of occasions in the past
and was, in fact, a very well read individual. The internet was
becoming a huge source of information on current events, but much
of the older news was never scanned in and was only available on
microfilm.

Leaving Terry and Ginger in the hotel room
under the guise of “reconnoitering,” Gordon visited one of the
larger local branches of the library. He researched the Kingston
name and found out about the murder of Marcia, the disappearance of
George and the shooting of Ginger Kingston in the hospital in
Goulburn. There was no link between the family and any
assassinations that may or may not have been perpetrated. If George
Kingston had been a killer for hire he covered it very well. The
reason for Terry’s personal vendetta was uncovered, however.

Gordon MacMaster ruminated on the methods
and patience that Terry Kingston had displayed. He had not gone hog
wild and started blasting away at everything, even before the
Scotsman had begun to coach him. He had displayed some style,
though not much, and some skill, certainly. More than that, he had
displayed the commitment to the long-term objective necessary of a
professional, and he had been able to swallow his feelings and act
as one of the men he was trying to destroy. MacMaster decided then
that there was sufficient justification for his long-term
association, rather than just a fast pile of cash. To this point he
could not decide if he should disappear at the end of the job or
not. He had never wanted an apprentice because of the inherent
risks involved. He had known many competent men in his life but did
not know of one he would have consorted with after the job was
done. Until this point, regardless of what he said, Gordon had been
unsure of whether or not he was going to eliminate the young
Australian at some point in the future. Now he knew.

“Do you mean to tell us that four men could
do nothing about a farm boy and his sheila? That all four men just
disappeared?” Abel Troy was not his usual erudite self. It seemed
as though he was becoming slightly unraveled.

“Mr. Troy, sir, as far as I can determine,
the three men who survived the encounter at the Kingston Farm were
kidnapped by bikies at the Pettigrew Farm.”

“Preposterous.”

“It may seem so, sir, but nevertheless,
true. When they went into the house looking for this Terry
Kingston, they opened fire on a man and caused an explosion. That
explosion took one of them down and burned the house and anyone in
it. They called to tell me about that. Then they went to the
Pettigrew farm, thinking he would go there if they manipulated the
woman. That blew up in their faces as well, so to speak and nobody
has heard from them since.”

“What gang?”

“Valkieries.”

“Do we know where they are?”

“Yes.”

“Hit them. Hit them hard and fast. Kill
everyone there and if this son-of-a-bitch is there with them, bring
me his head.”

“Are you sure you want to commit the
manpower necessary to…”

“You stupid little worm! Did I ask your
feedback on this? Did I tell you to question my judgment? Did I
give you a fucking order? I’m not giving you permission to hide
under a rock. Get onto the fucking job and bring me this little
cock suckers head on a fucking plate.” Abel Troy was becoming
unhinged at this point. Spittle was flying from his mouth as he
screamed. A dispassionate observer might have labeled him as having
gone over the edge.

Jimmy Cognac headed for the door with a
stream of invective pouring after him. He thought it was a bad idea
to go to war, especially now, but he had been given no choice. He
began gathering the troops oblivious to the fact that he was being
observed as he did so. He knew he was making a mistake, he could
feel it, but he dared not go against orders. He had worked for the
Troys for a long time and had never seen either of them lose their
composure before.

“Mr. Troy, Adam, I need to talk to you.”

“Jimmy, what is it now?”

“Adam, I’ve worked for you for a long time
and in all that time I have never refused to do anything for you.
Sir, do you trust my judgment?”

“It has proven to be sound on some
occasions.”

“Then, please, do not allow this action to
go on.”

“What action?”

“The assault on the Valkierie clubhouse in
hopes of finding Terry Kingston there.”

“What are you talking about? Who authorized
that?”

“Your brother, Abel.”

“Oh, no. Stand down. I repeat, stand down. I
need to examine this in depth before we go expending manpower on
what could be nothing more than a snipe hunt.”

“Thank you, sir. You have no idea how
relieved I am. If they had the slightest hint we were coming, we
would never have left.”

“Why?”

“The Valkieries’ clubhouse is the old Airie
Hotel set into the end wall of a box canyon. One way in, covered on
both sides from above. Passage is narrow enough to block with a car
and we’re ducks in a barrel. We’d never see the far side of that
scrap.”

“Where are you?”

“Warehouse on Irving. I didn’t want to bring
this to you, but it’s the very worst thing we could do. I know the
two of you back each other up on all things but this was so far
over the edge that I…”

“Don’t be alarmed. I will talk with Abel
about it and determine if his motivation was sufficient for the
risk involved.”

“Thank you again, sir. If we are to do this
it will require planning and coordination of a sort I do not have
the capacity for without maps and photos. We cannot go into that
canyon without a way out.” As Jimmy Cognac hung up he heard the
first of the sirens approaching. He stepped out on the floor of the
warehouse and addressed the crowd, telling them to stay where they
were, that they were not going on an excursion after all and to
remain calm. The sirens stopped right outside the personnel
door.