He closed his eyes while he waited for them behind the curtains. The smell of stale cigarette smoke was strongest here. He held his hand up to his face and tried to block it out. The wall freezers behind the bar buzzed and cracked as if the ice was shifting around inside them. He could still hear the men moving around downstairs. The smell was masked a little by the smell of the soap and sweat and dried blood on his palm. Somebody was probably trying to turn off the alarm, wondering why it was already switched off. They would be upstairs soon enough.

 

That's why he'd picked this spot when he first heard their voices. From his hiding place next to the window, he could see the main door from the top of the stairs. If they were downstairs now, that's the way they'd come. He could hear them pretty well. He could hear plenty in that corner. He could pick out the low rumble of trucks on the motorway. The wind must be an Easterly pushing the sound this way. Closer, he could hear waves breaking on the beach, thinning out on the shells, dragging back into the deep. It was very still outside. He needed to be still too.

 

'I said I'll carry it all in my bag.' That's what one of the voices was saying now, a man's whisper. They were making even more noise as they came up the steps. He wondered if they realized just how noisy.

 

He squeezed the handle of the steak knife in his hip pocket with his free hand. It was still cold. He stopped and listened. They were pushing open the door, coming into the clubhouse lounge. Now was as good as any time. He stepped out from behind the curtain next to the TV and spoke.

When he came out of the police station, his natural instinct was to run. But he knew that if they were really letting him go it was a colossal stuff-up in the paperwork somewhere. That meant he needed to act as if he expected it. So from the door of the holding cells to the duty desk and then to the front door, he walked like someone who knew he was being released. He walked next to the duty officer and he tried not to laugh as the big man passed him his wallet from lock-up and let him out through the security door. He walked quietly without laughing through the Police Station foyer and down the newly built steps onto the circular driveway. When he stopped, he didn't act like a fool, running and jumping even though he felt like it. He didn't shout or give the guy in the passing patrol car the finger like he wanted. He just walked across the asphalt and down the narrow steps to the public footpath looking like any other citizen with a life sentence for murder and the straightest face he could muster. He only smiled once he was a mile away and as free as a bird.

'You know what, Steve. You really are an idiot sometimes.'

The two men were standing in the shadows next to the garage. The power box on the nearby berm made a noise like a jumbo jet.

'I didn't mean to forget it.'

'Yeah? Really? Sometimes I wonder.'

Dale McNeal started to move across the gravel towards the clubrooms. Steve, his next-to-useless cousin, followed behind carrying the tool bag.

 

'Are you sure the guy won't be back?' Steve asked him once they'd reached the door.

How many times had they been out on a job together? Five, six, seven times? Steve the idiot, always worried about things going wrong, challenging his ability to pick a place, to sort out the security. Hadn't he already spent two weeks freezing his butt off in those same bushes figuring out just exactly how this guy made his call? Hadn't he waited every night, seeing the guard had the same routine? His routine was always the same. He drove up, checked the windows and doors, smoked a cigarette in his car while listening to talk back radio, and then went on his own merry way. He wouldn't be back. He didn't break the pattern. They were safe now for at least four hours until dawn when people would start getting up.

 

'He's gone, Steve. Now where's the jimmy bar since you've forgotten the drill?'

 

Steve put it in his hand. Up close to the building, Dale could smell the stench of stale beer and cigarettes everywhere. Even the flat leaves of the bushes in the bark garden that ran along the wall couldn't mask it.

'You'd think they'd keep this place a bit cleaner,' he said to no one in particular.

 

He slid the short piece of heavy steel into place next to the back door and put some weight behind it. The bar slipped in slightly and then the wood started to bend. The bar started to twist inside further and with a little splintering followed by a soft cracking, the lightweight lock popped out and the door swung open.

'You're lucky we didn't need the drill,' he told his cousin, rubbing it in. Steve nodded like he understood.

 

The toilets on the ground floor were just as they had left them. The fresh paint glowed in the light from their torches. Blue for the men. Lime for the ladies. They had done a good job. It had a clean, sharp finish. At least Steve was useful in that department. He could paint and he didn't complain about the work like the other apprentices.

 

'I've gotta take a leak,' Steve said, breaking the spell.

'Didn't I tell you to go before?'

'I did. It's all that standing around outside. It's cold.'

'Alright, alright. But don't take forever.'

He waited in the corridor, trying to will his heart to slow down. Everything would be ok if they just did things in order. There was plenty of time. He'd planned it all out with time hadn't he? Steve could go to the toilet. He could go to the toilet. He could have a shower and make a cup of tea. It didn't matter as long as they did things in order and didn't draw attention to themselves.

 

So he waited by the alarm box. That was one thing that had gone their way already. It was switched off. After all those times he'd watched the club secretary tap in the code before they started their painting for the day and now the old codger had forgotten to switch it on.

 

Steve came back.

'I left a tin in there this morning. Alarm alright?'

'It's fine. We've got to come back tomorrow for our cheques remember so we'll pick up the paint then.'

'Oh, yeah, that's right', Steve said as a big smile cracked across his face. It was something he liked best about this job. They robbed the place and then they got paid for their painting.

 

They started moving up the stairs to the lounge but it was almost impossible on those wooden boards to do it quietly. Every so often, one would move and it seemed like the building was shouting out that they were there. It didn't really matter though, did it? The security guy wouldn't be back.

'What about the stuff, Dale? Should I take it in my bag?'

'I said I'll carry it all in my bag.'

If only Steve would shut up so he could concentrate. He held his finger up to his lips and shone his torch up to where the alarm sat on the wall. The little light wasn't flashing. The alarm was definitely off. They could go in. He nodded to his cousin and pushed on the smooth bronze handles of the swing doors. They swung slowly inwards and they went into the darkness of the lounge bar.

 

***

 

The obvious choice once he'd left the police station was to get out of sight as quickly as possible. But here, on the North Shore, he was a fish out of water. People would look twice at a guy with tats like his. He needed to keep his hat on and keep a low profile. But where was there he could go? He didn't know anyone local; he didn't know these streets; he barely knew how he could get back across the Auckland harbor bridge.

 

That meant he'd have to find somewhere he could hide out that wasn't in use. He turned right and started walking up the hill away from the obvious choices, the park-and-ride bus station and the nearby motorway. He knew the coast was this way. If he could get down to the beach he could walk around the shoreline until he got to Takapuna. From Takapuna, he could find something to eat and figure out where to go next.

 

***

'You boys make a lot of noise.'

The voice came from somewhere in the room. Dale tightened his grip on the torch and tried to work out how quick he and Steve could get to the car park.

'Don't worry, I'm not the police. I won't be calling for help.'

Dale started to turn back to the door, pushing behind him to make Steve move back.

'Don't run though. I could set off the alarm.'

He stopped moving. So this guy had switched off the alarm. What was he doing here?

'Who are you? Are you from the club?'

Seagulls shifted from their perches on the roof. Looking up towards the high ceiling of the lounge bar it sounded to Dale like they were dancing up there.

'A friend.'

It was a man's voice. It was coming from the trophy cabinet.

'Come out then, if you're a friend,' Dale told him. If this guy was alone they could grab him and tie him up.

 

A form came towards them from the shadows next to the curtains. Dale shone his torch towards it.

'Careful. Not too bright. I'll come closer.'

The guy was about six foot but no rugby player. He was thin, dressed in a pair of jeans, sports shoes and a blue hooded sweat shirt. His hands were black with tattoos. The tail of a dragon or a snake curved up around the pale skin of his neck into his beard.

'If you're not from the club,' Dale said, 'Who are you?'

'Who? Just some guy who thought he'd spend the night here, down by the seaside. It's more like I should be asking who are you?'

Dale shrugged. They were all fish out of water here.

'What do you think? We're here for some late night takeaways.'

He reckoned he could get the guy onto the ground with a rugby tackle but he wasn't sure Steve would move fast enough to hold his arms back. If the guy had a knife though, it could get bloody.

'You armed?' he said.

The man smiled and inclined his head. He had to have something to walk out from the shadows like that.

''I need some help,' he said. 'I thought I'd never find someone who would understand my position with the law. Then you two showed up.'

'You a crook?'

Steve was always playing catch up when it came to thinking.

'It's a long story.'

'We've got work to do,' Dale told him. 'Why not have a seat until we're finished and we can talk about what you want.'

He shone his torch towards the bar. The black painted legs of the barstools shone dully in the beam.

'Maybe you could make us a drink?'

The guy nodded. 'I've been thinking about that myself,' he said.

 

***

The walk to the beach had been shorter than he expected. Going along Sunset Road, it hadn't taken long to get to East Coast Bays Road and from the top of Matipo he could see the wide and sparkling waters of the Waitemata Harbor, part of the even larger Pacific Ocean.

 

At the Mairangi Bay Surf Life Saving Club changing rooms, he picked ten dollars from a man's wallet and at Campbell's Bay Dairy he spent it on a meat pie, a drink and chips. The food tasted better than he could have believed. He was free. It was the first time he'd eaten something out of custody in the two years since the trial.

 

Two years. That and three months. It was good that so much time had passed since his fifteen minutes of fame in the New Zealand press. He hoped people had forgotten his face. He was just another statistic by now. Other killers were in the news. They could have all the attention, he didn't mind. He was sure the spotlight would swing back his way as soon as someone discovered he was out. He would be famous again and then he'd have to hide his face where ever he went.

 

But for the moment it was ok to walk the streets, so he ate his food and kept walking. After another couple of hills he came to a little marina at the beginning of an estuary leading into the sea. He was tired. He needed somewhere he could hide out and rest. That's when he saw the flags over the Milford Outboard Boating Club.

 

***

 

The big wall clock ticked. Dale glanced up and checked they were still well ahead of time. There was still plenty of time for the acid to work away the seal on the safe.

'Here's a Bourbon and Coke.'

The stranger brought the drinks on a tray, just like a professional.

'I couldn't find any ice.'

'Put it on the table,' Dale told him. He wanted to get the door off its hinges before he thought about anything else. Having this guy here unsettled him. He could have made a break for it if he wanted to get away. Steve was standing as a lookout by the door the guy could still make it onto the balcony and jump down to the grass below. So he really did want their help? What would that involve?

 

He tried to concentrate on getting the safe open. An idea might come to him on how they could convince the stranger to keep his mouth shut while he was doing something else.

'So, how long have you been in this line of work?'

The guy was speaking now, sitting near him and breaking his concentration. All he needed.

'A year or two,' Steve answered before he could tell him where to put it.

'I did a safe once. Used a blow torch. But it took too long. I prefer the simple cash and carry jobs.'

'You did hold ups?'

'Some.'

Dale tried to focus on the door in front of him but this was interesting.

'I used to do liquor stores,' the guy continued. 'A bit more direct than this.'

'Hold ups,' Dale said. 'That takes guts.'

'Or stupidity. I got put away for it.'

'What sort of gun did you have?' Steve asked, from over by the door.

'Just a shotgun. And a pistol sometimes. But that was just trouble. They aways get caught in your jacket or burn your leg through the pocket.

'Was the shooter a Mossburgh? Our uncle had a Mossburgh.'

Steve's voice was too loud.

'Keep it down would you?' Dale said for everyone's benefit.

 

'It was a Nikko. A Japanese make,' the man said, more subdued. 'You two look a little bit like brothers, am I right?'

Dale put more acid on the lowest hinge.

'Cousins,' he said, 'And you got caught doing a liquor store?'

'Yeah. The boy with me got trigger happy.'

'He shot someone?'

'The first one. I finished off the others. You might have heard about it?'

Dale glanced up to the table where the guy sat. He was smiling and sipping his drink like it was just any other day at the clubhouse. He couldn't remember a story like that but if the guy was out of prison then it must be at least ten maybe twelve years ago.

'You serious?'

'First two died straight off there at the shop. The final guy lasted three days in hospital. Time enough to identify me.'

'And the boy?'

'Nah. He was on the other side of the aisle. The guy I wasted said he wasn't really sure about him so he's still out giving the pigs grief.'

'So, you got back on the game once you were released. Aren't you worried?'

The guy clicked his tongue.

'Would I have read about it? The liquor store? It sounds a movie,' Steve asked, his voice quieter but the questions just as stupid.

'You ever been inside, mate?' the guy said. 'It's not a nice place to be.'

 

***

 

The first week in prison had been the hardest. He'd heard the stories of course. He lay in his cell waiting for one or other of the gangs to introduce themselves. He sat on the edge of the sports field watching the brutal games of smash, waiting for an invitation to play. An invitation he wouldn't be allowed to say no too.

 

Instead, nobody spoke to him. An old man, a guy who looked not all there, asked him for cigarettes a couple of times but that was all. He was being ignored, he didn't know why. It wasn't until the second week that somebody tapped him on the shoulder and spoke. It was a Maori guy with a cross and guitar. Mark Roberts. He was friendly enough, inviting him to join them for the Christian Fellowship meeting. And he'd gone along because he didn't know what else to do. They spoke to him there. Mark taught him how to play a few chords. They were friends to him. No body beat him or raped him. The guards didn't hit him. He even got to play the one game he loved, snooker, every day for an hour. He had a place in the system even though he knew he didn't deserve the treatment he was getting. And then after two years and three months, they said he was being relocated south due to overcrowding. That's when he felt scared again. He'd had it too easy. He couldn't ride his luck that long, could he?

 

***

 

Dale pushed on the top of the safe door and felt it shift under his palms. He stopped for a moment and listened as his heart beat steadily in his chest. So what, the guy had done some people in a hold up. He was a killer, so what? Their uncle had been in prison for murder hadn't he? There were probably killers in his circle of friends. People who wouldn't admit it but it was still true enough.

 

The door eased out and he slid it to the side.

'Have you got it?' Steve's voice squeaked from behind him. 'What's in there?'

'What we wanted.'

He slid out the grubby canvas bag with the week's bar takings and the two solid gold regatta medals sitting in cases underneath.'

'Just a simple cash job then?'

The guy was standing up again, standing close behind him, getting a good look at the take.

'It's enough,' Dale said as he stood up with it. 'So what exactly do you want help with?'

The guy grinned.

'What do you know about boats?'

'Some. I've got a runabout. We take it fishing when the weather's good.'

'I need you to help take one of the boats out of the marina.'

'One of those boats? You're kidding me right?'

There were plenty of big motorboats and expensive yachts in the Milford Marina but they were all locked up. He had already done the maths on what they'd need to do to break into them. It just wasn't worth it.

'I've got a key and I know the boat I want. I just need someone to help me get it out of there without starting the engine and waking up the neighbors.'

'You know one of the owners?'

'I convinced someone to loan me his boat. He told me it starts first time, every time.'

'You're full of it.'

The guy was mental. That was his problem. Dale wondered if they'd even need to worry about keeping him quiet. He was just plain nuts so no one would believe a thing he said.

'Come on then. He's just behind the bar. I'll introduce you.'

 

***

It was a pity about the old bloke. When he'd seen the flags across the marina, he walked around the access road over the little bridge to the clubhouse and found the door was still propped open. He walked in and continued up the stairs to the members' lounge. The clock on the wall said it was 5.50pm. The guy was there, packing up the bar before locking up. No one else around, perfect timing.

 

The old fella seemed to get a bit of surprise having a visitor so late in the day, but when he had the idea to say he was thinking about joining the club he seemed to relax. The guy started to ask him all sorts of questions about the boat he owned. He didn't know anything about them so he said he was mid way through a purchase and couldn't talk about it. Then the old guy started to tell him about his own launch, pointing it out in the marina from the balcony. It was big. Thirty foot he said. Big enough to get him to the Coromandel on the other side of the Waitemata or beyond. Out of Auckland anyway. He asked the guy if he had the key to it.

 

The old fella had pulled it out of his pocket just like that. It had one of those yellow floating key rings attached to it. He had suggested going out on it that night but the old man said it was too late for a tour. He offered to take him out the following week. That was good. The guy was a real gent. But when he said he needed to get home soon to feed his dogs, the only thing he could think of was that his best chance to escape was about to walk out the door. So he grabbed one of the knives sitting in a plastic bucket by the bar and stuck it into him. The old guy stumbled but didn't fall down so he stabbed him again. That's all. Then he picked him up and dragged him behind the bar.

 

***

 

The bloke looked surprised when it happened, still did.

'You stabbed Maurice?'

Dale spoke in a whisper. He couldn't believe it. This guy had killed somebody. Somebody he knew. Stabbed him right here, in the club they had just broken into and robbed.

'Maurice. Was that his name? Nice bloke, pity about that.'

'He's the club secretary. Someone will be looking for him.'

'Nobody's called him on his mobile.' He held up a cell phone. 'I've been waiting.'

 

Dale looked down at the body. Maurice was folded up on on the lino. His head rested against the beer fridge, blood stains on his knit shirt. The guy probably still had the knife on him someplace.

'What are you two talking about?'

Steve had come over from the main doors. Dale knew if he saw Maurice he'd freak out.

'Nothing. Take the bags and go. I'll meet you at home tomorrow.'

'What?'

Steve was almost next to them. If he took another few steps he'd see the body. Dale turned and pointed at the bags next to the safe.

'Steve. Are you an idiot? How many times have I got to say it. Take our stuff and I'll meet you tomorrow. I'm going to help our new friend to get a boat out of the marina.'

Steve stopped. He looked a little hurt. 'Ok, sure. I'll see you then.'

 

***

They both waited without saying anything more while the other guy left and then he said, 'So now you know my little secret.'

'It's not exactly the same, is it?'

'Burglary, murder. Both theft of a kind, aren't they? And now you know if you don't help me with the boat, you'll have this body to worry about. All by your lonesome too.'

He paused. '...And maybe they'll give you the rap for the murder?'

 

He waited for the thought to settle, and then said 'Of course, if we both work together, we can carry Maurice down to his boat, and take it out into the harbor somewhere to sink it.'

'You seem to have it all worked out.'

The guy seemed pretty pissed with him but he would know he had no other options.

 

***

 

The water in the marina smelt of stale salt and oil but was still a refreshing change from smell of beer and stale cigarettes inside the club. Maurice didn't smell so good either.

'You want to leave him on the bow?'

Dale spoke in a whisper. He wanted to get away from here.

'In the cockpit with a tarp over him.'

They shifted the body over the railing from the wharf and put it down on the floor of the boat next to the wheel.

 

'He's heavier than he looks,' the guy said. 'Hang on, I'll just get the rope.'

Dale watched as he clambered up to the bow and started to untie a long length of rope attached to the anchor. The plan was simple, his new best friend would use the rope to pull the boat out into the channel from the other bank and then between them they would guide it out the mouth of the estuary into the tide. The water in the marina was outgoing but still high enough to get the boat out safely. They would be far enough away by the time they reached the little incoming waves at the beach to start the engine and motor off into the night.

'Are you ready?'

He nodded. He felt like he was in a slow motion dream that was going to end badly.

'I'll give you a signal.'

Dale sat down to finish putting a plastic sheet over Maurice's body. The guy was standing next to him in the cockpit now, stripping off to his gruds for the swim across the marina. Dale could see the rest of the tattoo on his chest. The tail ran down from his throat to a dragon that stretched, twisted and turned over the muscles of his chest and left arm. He had plenty of scars too. Dale knew that if he tried to fight this guy, he would lose.

 

***

He'd left the knife in the pocket of his trousers on the boat, that was a mistake. But he was sure the guy was going to help him. The little boat-club burglar was in a corner and he knew it. He could help and they'd both get rid of the body, or he could not help, and get left behind to figure out what to do. Telling him he would have to wear the murder charge was genius. The thought had come from nowhere but it had still worked.

 

The guy was helping whether he liked it or not and that was down to his own quick thinking. He liked it that twice today he'd managed to get people to do things he wanted from something that just came to mind. That was spontaneity. It was smarts he thought he had lost in prison. But now he knew he still had it, and luck was still going his way. He didn't care that he was swimming in the murky waters of this creek with who knows what brushing against his legs and arms. He was going to get away and this guy was going to help him. No plodding policeman would ever think to look for him here.

 

***

His eyes were pretty good in darkness even though he needed glasses for driving. Dale could easily see the guy's head in the water taking the rope over to the bank on the other side. He'd thought of a way to get himself out of this situation. He would wait till the engine was running out by the beach and then he'd dive over the side and swim to the shore. If the guy wanted to come after him he'd have to leave the boat and swim. It wouldn't happen. Dale knew he could get onto the beach and hide somewhere in the darkness. The killer wouldn't waste his time. He'd motor off with the body. It would be his problem.

 

Then he heard a sound of movement under the tarpaulin. He stooped down and lifted it back. Maurice's eyes opened a little. He was alive but only just.

'Dale? Dale? Is that you? Thank goodness. Have they called the ambulance?' Maurice asked. 'I thought no one would come. A man tried to kill me.'

 

***

He'd signaled twice but the guy wasn't doing anything. The boat was floating in the middle of the channel just like they'd planned but the burglar was stooped down inside the cockpit, not paying attention. He waved again to try to get the guy to see him and started going back down into the water to swim out. He already knew he'd have to do something about him. Maybe he'd just have to kill him sooner than later.

 

***

When Maurice spoke to him, Dale knew he couldn't go through with it. He hadn't put the knife in to start it but he knew anything he did to help from now on would be as good as murder. And that's when he remembered that the guy had Maurice's cellphone. He could call the ambulance from the boat. He could get the boat out into the harbor away from the guy and make a call to the ambulance from there. They could meet it at the Takapuna boat ramp. And if it came to explaining how and why he was at the club in the middle of the night, he'd have to admit the burglary. He would have to wear it. He could do that but he knew he was no killer.

 

His mistake was that he started looking for the cell phone when he should have got the boat going. He was searching through the guy's clothes for it when he saw the hands grab onto the railing. He'd found something in the pocket. It wasn't the phone but he stood up with it just as the guy hauled himself over the side onto the deck. Water dripped from every limb. The dragon seemed to be alive in the moonlight.

'So you want to try your luck with that?' the guy said.

 

Dale gripped the handle of the knife tightly in his fingers, thinking about where to put his first blow. He had to decide quickly.

 

'No,' he said, throwing it down towards the fuel tanks beyond the other man's feet. The guy bent over to pick it up and that's when Dale hit him with the shoulder barge. In rugby he would have been penalized. On the boat, there were no referees. Dale hit him with his shoulder, smack in the middle of the dragon's body, and sent him backwards over the railing into the dirty water of the marina. The guy was still flapping about in there when he turned on the engine and pointed the boat towards the mouth of the estuary.

 

'Alright, Maurice?' he said.

 

There was a grunt from the deck by his feet.

 

'I'll call the ambulance, and then the police as soon as I find your phone.'

 

He thought about the guy trying to hide from the police dogs in nothing but his underwear and smiled.