‘You’re just full of theories.’
‘And you’re not stupid. You can see when an entire town is getting fucked over.'
‘At the moment I can’t see anything.’
‘They’re horrible people, man.’
'I’ve got no evidence.'
'Ask anyone around here. That’s your evidence.’
A pause. King weighed up what he had heard. It was time to make a decision.
'I’m not promising anything,’ he said.
‘I don’t want you to promise me shit,’ Billy said. ‘Just go ask around. You’ll see something needs to be done.'
King waited a few moments. 'You going to give me that Kate girl’s address?'
'You going to help me out?'
He could feel the stress leaching out of Billy’s bones. The man was gaunt, plagued by exhaustion. There were deep rings under his eyes.
Someone had to do something about this.
And who else was going to?
He made up his mind to act a second before he decided he wasn’t going to go about it in a half-assed way.
'Stay here,' he said. 'Tell me exactly where these Iron Rangers are. Keep Kate’s address until I get back. I’ll have a look around.'
Billy’s eyes lit up. The despair dissipated into excitement. 'Thank you!'
'Don’t thank me yet. Like I said, no promises.'
'Fine by me.'
King looked at his watch. 'I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Around lunchtime. If I’m not, call the cops.’
‘Don’t talk like that, mate, you’ll make me nervous,’ Billy said. ’What are the odds of something bad happening to you?’
‘To be honest,’ King said, wrenching open the door, ‘very slim.’
CHAPTER 8
The battered old sedan drifted to the left unless he battled to control it.
At least it was better than walking.
King kept one hand on the top of the faded steering wheel. The other clutched a rudimentary map Billy had drawn on a scrap of paper. It led him out of Jameson and down a winding road to the bottom of a gully. He was halfway there. The thick forest flashed past on either side, stirring eerie memories of the previous night. It was approaching high noon. The sun battered down on his forearms, glaring in through the open windows.
He knew Billy was desperate. A man had been driven to his wits end if he decided to lend a total stranger his car. Billy had zero reassurance that he would get the vehicle back.
But he would.
The gesture made King trust him. For better or worse.
Up ahead the forest cleared on one side of the road, making way for a small inlet packed full of buildings. The main clubhouse stood out amongst the group. A long low shack, positioned in the centre of the inlet. An enormous garage sat adjacent to it. The roller door had been raised, revealing several gleaming motorcycles propped up undercover. On either side of the main complex there were a scattering of small houses, each no bigger than an apartment flat. The whole place looked rundown and dirty.
Just from assessing the exterior of their complex, he knew there would be no reasoning with these men. He’d seen their type before. Sheltered thugs, blissfully unaware of the outside world. Wrapped up in the fantasy that they were the toughest sons-of-bitches around. He pulled the sedan softly into the lot. The tyres crunched under the gravel, but even from this distance away he could hear heavy metal music blasting inside the clubhouse. They wouldn’t hear him.
Good.
He got out of the sedan and looked around. No sign of life. Two pairs of motorcycles in the garage, meaning everyone was home. Four-on-one. Not the worst odds he’d ever faced.
As he stood completely still, inhaling deep lungfuls of air, an inkling of his past began to surface. The adrenalin. The shivers. The unsettled stomach.
Signs of approaching conflict.
He had no evidence that these bikies were involved in any kind of wrongdoing. Therefore, massive overwhelming force was not justified. Not yet. After pondering for a few seconds, King realised he looked like a fool loitering in front of the building. He decided to simply knock.
He walked up onto the wooden deck. Faded planks creaked under his feet, but the din from inside only increased in volume as he got closer. A mixture of pounding drums and heavy guitar riffs pounded out of what sounded like an expensive sound system. One of the windows facing the front of the clubhouse lay ajar. The smell of weed and booze and tobacco seeped out. All the curtains were closed. He couldn’t see in. There was no knowing what he was up against.
He knocked. Three sharp raps, loud and firm. Then he waited. The seconds ticked by. There came a grunt of exertion from somewhere inside. But no response.
He knocked again. This time louder. Hard enough to rattle the doorframe. Still no answer. The music was deafening, drowning out all other sounds. They wouldn’t be able to hear him.
Screw it, he thought. He didn’t have to be here.
And he didn’t have to be polite.
The door was made of flimsy wood panelling, with hinges that had rusted in their brackets long ago. Paint flaked off the frame. It was an old, rickety thing. Weak. King took a single step back, pinpointed the exact spot where the most force would be applied liberally to each support, and rammed a boot into the door.
It was weaker than he had anticipated. With a snap like breaking bone the entire door ripped from its hinges and fell inward. It hit the dusty floor of the clubhouse and came to rest, surrounded by a halo of splinters.
King stepped back again and waited patiently for a response.
It didn’t take long. The music stopped instantly. At the same time, a cacophony of swearing echoed out onto the patio.
‘What the fuck…’
‘Fucking—!’
‘Bloody hell.’
But surprisingly, still no response. No-one barrelling out onto the deck, pumped full of aggression.
They were hesitating.
King had a strange feeling. Something wasn’t right here. He leant forward and stuck his head round the now empty doorframe.
Bare skin. A flash of movement. A slight figure running into an adjacent room. Four beefy men scrambling for clothes. The musk of testosterone.
He took one glimpse at the situation and saw blistering, flaming red.
Someone was about to get hurt, and no-one was going to stop it.
First, he had to confirm his suspicions. He strode fast and hard into the clubhouse. At six-foot-three he was an imposing figure to most, and right now there was unmistakable fury plastered across his face. It made all four men freeze up. He was in their midst before one of them could react. He made to move past them, to check the room he had seen someone enter.
Suddenly a barrage of reactions, all at once.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are, mate?’
‘What are you doing?’
King wondered who would make the first mistake. Then the man closest to him got in his way. Blocking his path to the room.
Without breaking stride, King reached out and seized him by the throat before the poor guy even had time to assess the situation. With the other arm he wound up and thundered a fist straight and fast, like a whip being released. It slammed directly into the man’s forehead, a crushing blow that rattled his brain around inside his skull and knocked him instantly unconscious. King released him and he fell back, hitting the ground like a limp sack of shit. This wasn’t the movies. The guy’s head would not stop throbbing for the next week.
He made it across the length of the clubhouse without any further confrontation. Shocked by a stranger interrupting their private matters and effortlessly incapacitating their friend, the other three stayed frozen to the spot. He took one look around the doorframe of the adjoining room and saw all he needed to see.