“ You were here yesterday. You left without paying.”
“ If you think I came to settle my bill, you’re mistaken. I want to know who you called.”
“ I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The left eye started flapping, but only for a few seconds, because before he could say anything else Mohi’s left hand shot forward like a striking cobra, grabbing the taller man by the hair. He pulled down in a swift jerking motion, bouncing Phil’s head off the counter with a thud that sounded like a handball coming off the wall. Phil started to scream, but before sound could escape his lips, Mohi, with his left fist still balled firmly in Phil’s hair, held his head up and slapped him in the face, causing Phil to flush red. That out of control left eye stopped flapping.
Jim was stunned at the smaller man’s speed, but there was more to come. Mohi’s hand shot into his jacket pocket and came out holding a scaling knife. He slammed Phil’s head back onto the counter and held it there. He flashed the sharp steel in front of the frightened man’s eyes.
“ I will end forever your nervous little tick if you don’t answer, my friend.” He held the knife a mere centimeter from the left eye, which was flapping again, “Then I’ll give you a second chance. If you still don’t answer, I’ll put out your right eye. Then I’ll pop your eardrums and leave you blind and deaf.”
“ They’ll kill me,” Phil squeaked.
“ I’d rather be dead than the way I’m going to leave you, but then I’m Maori.”
“ I have the number taped to the cash register,” he said. Jim saw it and pulled it off. “It’s a mobile phone, on a boat somewhere. I don’t know where. That’s all I know, I swear.”
“ I think you lie.” Mohi lowered the knife from Phil’s eye and ran it lightly along his cheek. Phil shivered, and Mohi continued playing with him, running the knife along Phil’s jaw, bringing it to rest under his chin for an instant, then moving it down his neck, over his Adam’s apple and down to his throat, where with an easy flick, he pricked the neck, causing a droplet of blood and a quivering gasp from Phil. “What else do you know?” Mohi asked.
“ They have a place ten minutes out the Tutikaka Road. Big house, secluded, lot of land, several acres.”
“ How will I know it?”
“ The entry is right before a sharp bend in the road. There’s a red mail box on a post by the entry. You can’t miss it if you know what you’re looking for.”
“ How can I believe you? How can you know this?”
“ My brother delivered parts there. He recognized them from the description I gave him.”
“ What description? What parts?
“ German, they’re German. Boat parts.”
“ That’s quite enough, Phil.” A man entered, pointing a gun at Mohi. One of the men Jim had seen through the window from his hiding place in the bushes. He was still wearing the black seaman’s cap and wool sweater “You can drop the knife, little man.”
Instead Mohi did the opposite. He thrust the knife through the soft flesh under the chin up into Phil’s brain. Then he whirled toward the man with the gun, lunging toward him, screaming like a man charging into battle.
The man in black fired and Mohi spun backwards, but before he could fire a second time, Jim kicked him in the groin. He screamed and doubled over. Jim smashed his fist into his face, sending the man sprawling to the floor. He wanted to stop, but he had been hounded and terrorized beyond his limits. He was filled with anger and hate and he finally had somebody he could vent his rage on. As the man struggled to get up, Jim kicked him savagely in the head, killing him. Only then did he turn to see if Mohi was still alive.
Jim feared the worst and his thoughts were racing ahead. How could he tell Linda Tuhiwai her husband was dead? She trusted him and he repaid her trust with more grief, as if she hadn’t already suffered enough.
“ We have to get out of here,” Mohi groaned from the floor. “Help me up.” Jim obeyed, bending to help the man to his feet.
“ How bad is it?” Jim asked, thankful the man was still alive, but cringing at the sight of so much blood covering Mohi’s left shoulder. He had seen worse, Mohi would live.
“ Get the gun and let’s go,” Mohi said, ignoring Jim’s question. Jim scooped up the gun and helped Mohi hobble to the car. They were a full kilometer away when they heard the sirens. Jim Monday was still one jump ahead of the law.
“ Hospital?” Jim questioned.
“ No, I have someone I can call,” Mohi said. The words were an effort. He was losing a lot of blood.
“ But-”
“ No, it’s better this way. No report, no questions.”
“ Can you trust this someone?”
“ Yes, he’s Maori. Some of us still stick together.”
“ Can you drive?” Jim asked.
“ Sure.”
“ Can you direct me to Tutikaka Road? Would you be able to drive back after you dropped me off?”
“ Yes, but I don’t want you going after them alone.”
“ You can come back with reinforcements as soon as they patch you up, but I want to go now. Time’s running out.
Jim was cool and damp as he moved through the trees. Moving through the bush at night reminded him of night patrol in Vietnam. He didn’t like it then. He didn’t like it now. He rubbed his arms against the cold as he started up a small hill. On the top he looked to the heavens. He was directly under the Southern Cross. Its five stars had guided sailors for centuries and he hoped they would bring him luck and guide him tonight.
He started down the tree-covered hill, moving silently, every lesson he’d learned in Vietnam guiding his footsteps. Halfway down the hill he saw the house. It was built into the side of the next hill. A three story wooden home that ran along the side of the hill, each floor surrounded by a balcony that ran the length of the house. A river ran through the small valley between the two hills, sending up pleasant sounds of running water.
The house was nestled in its own little world.
He continued down the hill and was relieved to see that the river was nothing more than a shallow stream he could jump across. A twig snapped behind him and he forgot about the stream, throwing himself to the ground and hugging the damp earth. He lay quiet as something moved by in the bush to his right. He strained his eyes, but saw nothing. Whatever it was, it didn’t appear interested in him as it moved on.
He started to rise when he heard the sound of voices approaching the stream from the other side. He moved away from the stream to the cover of the bush. An insect crawled along his arm, but he let it be. The men were too close for him to risk even the slightest movement.
The arm under the cast begged to be scratched and another insect crawled on his neck and moved under his shirt, inching its way down his back, but he remained still. The voices were speaking German and were coming closer, making no effort to hide their presence. Jim willed himself to blend with the bush as they came into view on the opposite side of the stream. He held his breath as they both bent over and set their beer cans on the ground, before undoing their flies and urinating into the water. They were talking and laughing, not like they were drunk, more like they were having a good time.
He coughed and the laughter stopped. The sound of their twin streams of urine, splashing in the stream, cut through the night. Jim clenched his stomach muscles, fighting to control the spasm, while the two men finished and zipped up. They stood at the edge of the stream, ears tuned to the night, listening for a sound that didn’t belong. After thirty seconds that seemed like forever, one of them laughed and bent down to pick up his beer can. The other returned the laugh, said something in German that made his companion laugh louder and stooped to pick up his beer. Jim held his breath as they turned and headed back into the bush, glad the two Germans were not outdoorsmen.
He allowed himself a series of muffled coughs after he was sure they were gone. He started to rise when the spasm finished, but checked himself. He heard something. He remained flat, face on the ground, senses aware and he felt sick as the familiar smell of the Gecko’s putrid breath danced along on the breeze.