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“You guys in then?” Shaun asked quietly, taking a swig.
Ari nodded.
“Straight up?”
“Yeah.”
“Shaun, mate, you can’t handle the jandal without me around. Yeah, man. I’m in. You say when, you say how and I’m there.”
“And yer stickin’ around? No bullshit?”
It was Claire’s father talking now.
Shaun met him in the eye.
“Yeah. No bullshit. Like I said, I want a quiet life here... with Claire.”
Tane Matene stood up, huge, towering above him.
Sensing the challenge, Shaun lifted himself onto his feet too and faced him, fearless.
At six foot, his shoulders still came to the big guy’s chest. But still, he stood holding the stare. Two warriors. Face to face. Eyeball to eyeball.
“So, Sir?” Shaun said, his blue eyes fixed, refusing to blink.
“Do I have permission to marry your daughter?”
Tane froze. His ink-lined face set hard against the Pom.
But in their stare, Shaun could see something else behind those dark impenetrable eyes that were so similar to Claire’s.
Moving his head forward, Tane leaned and carefully placed his nose onto Shaun’s.
He took that as a yes.
The big guy turned silently from him and sat back down.
Taking his cue, Shaun grabbed more beers from the chilly bin behind them and handed them to the brothers.
Ari gave him a friendly wink.
“You know,” Tane broke the silence. “Things aren’t what they used to be up here, for those of us in the horticultural trade. They’re using drones and all sorts of sneaky shit, these days. Taking pictures. Spraying the forest. Raiding units.”
“Nowhere’s safe anymore,” Ari agreed. “P’raps it’s time to stop, bro. Before you push yer luck too far.”
Tane sat reflectively, watching the lake, drinking his beer.
“So, what do we do about this chancer, eh? I reckon my boys set up a rota. Keep you fullas safe.”
Shaun swept back his sandy hair with his free hand. “Ah, I don’t want to put you guys out. Irish hasn’t shown up yet. He’s probably seen the bikes and high-tailed it back to the airport before the cops get him for attempted murder.”
“Two of my men will stay,” Tane decided, “Keep watch on the house.”
“You sure?”
He nodded and gave Shaun the ghost of a smile.
“It’s my little girl in there.”
“I’ll stay the night too, if that’s alright?” Ari added. “Give you a hand if there’s any bother.”
“You’re just after a full night’s kip,” Shaun joked and got up to get them a bowl of crisps.
“You’re gonna come home, eh?” Ari asked his brother when Shaun had disappeared into the house, “Meet Michelle and Kauri. Mum and Dad’ll be stoked.”
Tane nodded.
“Yeah?”.
“Yeah.”
He put his hand on his brother’s arm.
“It’ll be sweet as, I promise, bro.”
Tane Matene, Cobra King, watched his future son in law handing out the stubbies and potato chips.
He called one of the guys and signalled for a gun.
“And ammo.”
Another tough dude passed him a box of cartridges.
“Keep her safe, son.”
He handed the 0.22 semi-auto to Shaun.
Shaun swallowed a lump in his throat.
“I will.”
???
Irish racked his brains as he studied what was going on at the lake house.
What was happening? He didn’t understand.
They were the Cobras, alright. One biker had a huge snake inked across his bare back.
He’d paid them good money. What were they playing at? They should have caught the pair and got them ready for him, as per the deal.
Instead, they were all hanging out together. Kicking back on the porch. Hanging around the kitchen. Like happy feckin’ families.
Behind the large flax bush, he watched them closely. Claire was inside the house. Then, it was him. Sion Edwards appeared flanked by two huge Maori men, one in cargo shorts and one dressed like the toughest biker he’d ever seen. He was massive.
And what the…? Was he right in thinking that this guy’s face was tattooed over? That was one mean son of a bitch.
And they were sitting on the deck now, shooting the breeze and drinking bloody beer like they were three best buddies. This was insane.
He got one of the shotguns out of the bag and loaded it with the cartridges.
Edwards and his two new buddies were talking about something big. He watched then as the big hardcase stood up and squared up at Edwards.
Was he about to smack him one?
No. Something had been settled between them.
The hackles on the back of his neck rose. Someone walked over his grave, as his nan would say. Why did he get the feeling that his fate had just been sealed?
Pointing the barrels, Irish took aim. Fitting the shotgun snuggly into the crook of his shoulder, trying to find Edwards’ head.
It was a proper farmer gun, alright. Fine for rabbits, vermin. Rats.
One shot.
That was all he needed. One shot to hit the spot.
Argh!
The rat’s head was obscured by the giant’s shoulder and he didn’t have a clear shot. And with the guns they’d got, if he did have a pop the noise would give his location away immediately. With those serious semi-automatics he’d be plastered in gunshot in seconds.
He pushed his way back into the flax bush and put the gun away.
He had no other option but to wait it out.
And if the gang stayed?
He scanned the buildings. There was a big old barn over to the side of the house with the door left wide open. If the bikers were still at the house by dusk, he’d hide in the barn.
Then, first thing, he’d break into the lodge. And shoot them in their beds.
Chapter 25
---------?---------
Irish got to the barn no bother.
Most of the bikers had cleared out from the house. The ones left were sitting outside on the porch drinking beer, playing a game of poker. They were tooled up but not battle-ready.
The big bugger with the mask face was still there too. Was that King? If it was, he’d be getting one in the head too. For goods and services not received.
The barn was big. He wandered through to the second room, where he couldn’t resist the temptation of climbing the ladder, propped up against a ceiling beam.
It was a lucky strike.
A hideout with a mattress. A blanket lay bunched up on the bed. And pillows. Had somebody or bodies been there recently? Hiding ou
t?
Irish sat down. His shoulders slumped as he tried to relax. It’d been one hell of a day. And it wasn’t over yet.
It was strange to think that his little brother would be waking up around about now. He’d be in his cell, opening the contents of the breakfast tray that they’d been given the evening before, getting ready for another day of pushing a mop and bucket around the wings.
He felt the anger rising within him as he thought about his brother. What age would Tony’s kid be by the time his dad could put him to bed? He did the maths. Christ! Who wants a bedtime story when they’re nine?
He pulled up the ladder for added security, then sat back down on the makeshift bed. He sniffed. Was it him or did it smell like sex up here?
It’d been far too long, if he was starting to imagine the smells. For the second time, he did a mental calculation. Realising that it had indeed been far too long since he’d had his leg over, he reached for his phone to distract himself.
There was a text message from Whitey,
‘Got the bird in yesterday and it’s been singing.’
Below it was a number.
Yes!
With Whitey’s knowledge of the prison layout, they’d been able to drop the dead pigeon from a drone when the groundwork boys were on duty. The bird’s leg was ringed with Tony’s cell number and inside the dead pigeon there was a mobile phone and charger.
Hastily, Irish called the number, listening to it click and then finally start ringing.
“What?”
His brother sounded groggy. Like he’d woken him up.
“Tony?”
He spoke quietly into the phone.
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Tony, it’s me. Connor.”
“Where you been? You missed the visit.”
He smirked. Tony was probably needing more magazines.
“I’m in New Zealand.”
“New Zealand? What the fook you doin’ there?”
“I found him, Tony. Sion Edwards. The Welsh grass who got you put away. I’m gonna get him back for yer.”
“Irish…”
There was silence at the other end. He could hear his brother breathing.
“Don’t say that,” his little brother mumbled.
“What, Tony?”
