Spike (21 page)

Cops or not, any minute now will be the confrontation I need to have.
Alone
. This chapter of my life is about to be nailed shut for good. It’s been a fucking long time coming.

Mesmerised by the trees swaying in the chilling wind, my head is riddled with thoughts that have haunted me since some of my earliest memories. Things I had forgotten about, the nightmares, the grief of not having a father like the other kids. The questions in school about what my father did for a living, which soon stopped when I said I didn’t have one. And I don’t have one. I never did.

He never saw me take my first step, helped me tie my shoelace, or taught me to ride a motorbike.

He was never there.

But one person was. Every step of the way.

Mum.

Dear old Mum. If she knew what was happening today, she would kill me … even if I am her only son. I’ve gotten the cold shoulder before, but knowing what I’m walking into … hell, if she knew, she’d be here with a baseball bat ready to bash his skull in to protect me from him. As a teenager, when I’d first asked her about him, she froze up on me so bad that it took weeks before she got back to her usual self. She hid it from me for over a decade, protected me from experiencing the heartache of a man who didn’t care for me, or for her.

I had every right to ask questions. To know my blood, and what became of him. When I got my answers, I wished I could have taken all those incessant questions back. I must have put Mum through so much pain with the mere uttering of the word “Dad”, rehashing the years of her life which should have been her happiest. I wish I had no father at all, rather than the one I have.

Could I ever tell Mum about any of this? Would it just be reopening a lifetime of wounds, or could it close it for her for good?

From the corner of the football field, he approaches. Tall and slim-built, his longish dark-brown hair is taunted by the breeze, and a dark, rough beard masks his face. He stamps out a cigarette into the ground, walking through a veil of smoke in front of him. Blue jeans and boots, shirtsleeves rolled up, a maze of tattoos weaves up one arm like ivy.

This is him.

My father.

A complete stranger.

The thumping of my heart pounds loudly in my ears, blocking out the sound of everything around me. He walks straight towards me, his dark, intense gaze focused on me.

I stand up, balling my hands into tight fists beside me. Even though it goes against every zinging cell in my body, I will not hit him. I will resist the rising urge to pummel him into the ground for all those times I cried for him as a child. This might just be my biggest challenge yet. I won’t let him in. I won’t let him hurt me.

“Look at you,” he says, stopping a metre away. He extends his hand to me, his pale-blue eyes, carbon copies of mine, examine me closely. I blatantly put my hands in my pockets. There is no conceivable way I’m shaking his fucking hand. No way in hell. I look him up and down. Doesn’t look like he’s carrying a weapon, so I should be okay if shit gets heavy. The flick-knife in my back pocket comforts me simply by being there.

He looks behind me, and towards my car. “You didn’t bring your girlfriend?”

“No.” I resist the urge to point out they’ve already met, but he doesn’t know I know. And my game face is on. “She thought a bit of father-son time was more important. She said she’d catch up with us later.” But unfortunately for you, your arse will be locked up.

“Fair enough. Things serious with you two?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

I know you’ve seen the tape, you fucking arsehole. Should I confront him about the blackmail now? It might be my only chance. The acid in my gut gurgles, burning up into my throat. I swallow it down as I summon any remaining self-control not to give away that I know his game.

“What do you want from me?” I say slowly, trying to keep
him
calm, but beneath my skin, thumbtacks might as well be running through my blood.

“I wanna get to know my son.” He looks me up and down. “My little Maverick is all grown up.”

I cringe inwardly from his words. He did not just call me that. He did not just say “my”. I have not been
his
since he walked out that door. And like I said to myself, anyone who calls me Maverick doesn’t know me … and won’t.

“My
name
is Aidan,” I say, my jaw tight. I cross my arms under my chest. “And I haven’t been your little anything for a long time.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, good to see you’ve made somethin’ of yourself. I read about you in the paper. Looks like the sponsors are fightin’ over ya.” I ignore his comments. I just want this done, but I have to keep him talking. Fuck it.

“After all this time, why
now
do you wanna know me?”

“Is it a fucking crime that I wanna get to know my son?”
No, but extortion is, and the long list of other things you’re wanted for
. “I wanna get to know ya. Times are tough, and I thought you could help out ya Dad.”

“Is
that
what you want? Money?”
Is he serious? What a fucking parasite!
He couldn’t even stand there and pretend for more than a couple of fat fucking minutes that he wanted to see me for anything more. Fire rages through my veins, waiting for the next flow of bullshit from his mouth.

“I’m just tryin’ to get ahead, son. I’m your blood, Aidan. I’m a part of you. That should mean somethin’.”

“Yeah, it
should
, but don’t you dare try and give me a fuckin’ lesson on blood. You abandoned us without so much as a word. Blood means nothing to you … and you mean
nothing
to me.”

His dark eyebrows knit together, his mouth forming a hard line.

“Police! Don’t move …. Get on the ground … Get on the ground!”

They appear out of nowhere. Suddenly, he is surrounded by at least half a dozen guys in plain clothes wearing vests with shiny, black handguns pointed right at his head. Before he can move his hands they take him to the ground in a loud thud. His face slams into the gravel. That noise in itself sounds like victory.
Grind that motherfucker into the dirt.

“Cover him!” someone yells out. Skipper jumps on top of him as he scuffles wildly while they secure handcuffs behind his back.

Skipper takes a handgun from the back of my father’s jeans.
Well, fuck me running. He had a gun.
They frisk up and down his arms and legs. He snarls as the guys nearly rip his arm out of the socket when they bring him to his feet in front of me.

“You did this?” he growls, shooting me an accusatory glare. The lines around his eyes and across his brow deepen. All the years of pent-up aggression, disappointment and hurt ignite the fire in my gut.

When my right fist slams into his face like a sledgehammer, blood sprays from his nose, taking that look clean off his face.

“You did this to yourself. No one messes with the people I love. NO ONE,” my voice thunders.

He opens his mouth, showing the blood staining his teeth. Then he smiles. Fire crawls up my throat. I wanna rip his head clean off, and remove that smile. Permanently.

“You’ve got fucking balls, son,” he says, and chuckles.
Son. Son!
How can I be related to such a desperate fuck?

Before I blink, my fist pounds him again, and he groans out loud as blood gushes from his nose down over his chin.

“And that … is for fuckin’ breaking my mother’s heart.”

One of the guys nods at me in understanding. They didn’t have to hold him there, but I’m grateful I got my chance. I’ll buy the whole damn taskforce a beer for the opportunity. Odds are he’ll be locked up for life, and I’ll never have to deal with him again. Now he really is dead to me. The final nail is in.
Boom
.

“Mitchell Stone, you are under arrest for extortion, importation and distribution of a prohibited drug, and recruiting a child to assist in illegal activity. Anything you say may be used in evidence against you. You are not obliged to say anything but if you do it will be taken in evidence. Do you understand your rights as I have read them to you?” A smile almost breaks through on Skipper’s face as his words taunt my father.

I turn and walk away before I hit him again. If I don’t walk now, I might not be able to stop.

“Yeah … I fuckin’ understand, alright,” he says, and I hear him spit.

I walk over to the car park, flicking out my aching hand that’s splattered with
his
blood. The millions of times I thought about hitting him, and finally, I got my chance. I’ve got closure.

A black four-wheel drive pulls up quickly, and Eevie gets out and runs frantically towards me. She falls heavy into my arms, taking the air from my lungs on impact.

“Oh my God, are you bleeding? What happened?” she asks, her voice trembling just as much as her body. Eevie runs her fingers over my jaw. I must’ve wiped my hand on my face.

“It’s not my blood … I’m fine. It’s over, baby girl. Over.”

“Thank God,” she whimpers. She sniffs back her runny nose as tears create silvery trails down her pale face. They dissolve in a salty wash on my lips as I kiss her cheeks. I hold her tight, trying to comfort her, comfort myself. Of all the intense shit I’ve dealt with,
we’ve
dealt with, this takes the motherfucking prize-winning cake.

The goddamn fucker was armed
. This could’ve been so much worse. Was he gonna shoot me? Did he have that gun on him when he met Eevie?
Fuck!
Sometimes that girl is too brave for her own damn good. If anything had of happened to her when I promised it would be fine, it would end me. Breathing would no longer be required.

Eevie’s blue-green eyes shine up at me, and like a pussy I wanna cry. But I hold that shit in. Now’s not the time to fall to pieces. The smile that meets her eyes has my heart pounding for another reason. Many reasons.

Her. Our love. Our friendship, and the strength we found to fight for all of it.

We kiss hard, and it’s as tingling and exciting as our first kiss. When we pull away, breathless, I hold her close, and bury my head in her neck. I take in her sweet smell as she clings to me, her mouth to my ear.

“We did it,” she whispers softly.

I can’t even reply for fear of choking on the tears that wanna piss down my face.

Big risk equals big reward. This time I protected her. And I’ll never stop.

“Come on, lovebirds. We need to debrief you. Plenty of time for that later.” I look up, and Ryan pats me on the back like a brother. Maybe, after all this, we could be mates. He’s definitely played a major part in this coming off the way it did.

****

In a room at the local police station, the coppers are in a more than a jovial mood.

“Did you check out the tatts? Intel was right about his links,” someone says as Eevie and I walk towards some empty chairs. What about the tatts?

Skipper stands front and centre of the room. He adjusts his belt around his stomach, and smooths down his hair. He nods in our direction, and shushes the group for attention. Everyone takes a seat.

“Aidan … Eevie … between the two of you, the information and the assistance you have provided in the takedown of a player of this magnitude …” Skipper shakes his head and chuckles. “With a trail that had otherwise gone cold, it just goes to show how assistance and involvement with the community is a vital piece to solving puzzles.”

The small room fills with cheers and claps. I hook my arm around Eevie’s shoulders, and pull her close. My girl looks as exhausted as I am, but she still manages a heart-warming smile.

“After our POI left the café, we followed him back to a block of flats, and had eyes on him until the meet. While you were at the oval we had a team execute a search warrant at his place of residence. We were able to secure further evidence against him, with the help of a sniffer dog. We located cocaine, scales, and other materials that suggest he’s still involved in supply. He probably had his own operation going on here. We’ve confiscated several pre-paid phones and two computers, which our techies will take a look at. I’d say with the outstanding charges, and with the new evidence that’s come to light, he’ll be locked up for a long time.”

More cheers and whistles echo around us. I breathe out heavily, the weight on my shoulders slowly slipping away.

“Alright, settle down,” Skipper says and chuckles. “This operation has been a long and burdensome one, and there are so many people involved who brought this to fruition. Thanks to the Griffith squad for accommodating us on short notice and bringing the local intel to keeping things running smoothly. I’d like to give a special mention to Detective Special Constable Ryan Clark, whose fast thinking and dedication brought this operation to a pivotal point. Anytime you wanna change of locale, I’m happy to take your call.”

“Thanks, Skip, appreciate it,” Ryan says proudly from across the room, nodding his head.

“Aidan and Eevie, as for what happens next, this is gonna be splashed all over the media. There’ll be a lot of focus on it, because we need to let these people know we mean business. It’s a great win for the community to get a guy like this off the streets. There’s still the matter of the trial, and we’ll be there with you every step of the way. Until then, I’m sure you’re ready for your lives to get back to normal. We’ve got a bit to discuss here, so why don’t you head back to the hotel and enjoy another night before you go home.”

I squeeze Eevie’s hand, and we stand up and walk towards the door. The group disassembles, the buzz of chatter and chuckles filling the room. Ryan comes over, all smiles.

“Hey guys,” Ryan says, hands in his pockets.

I extend my hand to him, and we shake. “Thanks for everything, mate,” I say, truly grateful for his help.

“No worries, just doin’ my job.” No, he did more than that. He went above and beyond
.
“Give us a ring. I’d love to have a beer sometime.”

“No dramas. Will do.” I will ring him. I’m not just saying it for shits and giggles.