Open Wounds (Harbour Bay #2)(26)
“But the question is…” Darryl began as he climbed into the driver’s seat of his police issued Commodore, “Did we learn anything at all? We pretty much already knew he was guilty.”
“He’s narcissistic enough to believe himself to be a king, and like any king, when his kingdom is being threatened he will do everything in his power to do something about it.”
Kellie leaned against the back seat. “I only hope Michael Lambert comes to his senses quick enough to see Dick’s true nature. He is not his saviour but will be his executioner. I guarantee it.”
Chapter 12
Michael’s heart raced when he caught sight of the green Commodore following him. He’d seen it on and off all morning as he drove around completing transactions for Coleani. Was Coleani checking up on him? He doubted it. Coleani would be less subtle. It had to be the police. Neither option was reassuring. Were they trying to trap him?
Of course they are, he screamed at himself. They know you killed Benedict and Butler…two men you called your friends until the chance to be one of Coleani’s treasured lieutenants came knocking at your door.
He tried to act brave and distant, liked to think their deaths meant nothing to him, but he couldn’t. He had lived a hard life but nothing had prepared him for squeezing that trigger and ending two lives.
He no longer believed Coleani would protect him. He'd screwed up. He knew what happened to those that did. He'd killed them. Men he'd considered friends. Now he didn't think Coleani ever had his back.
He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. How long had they been following him, and what had they seen? Did they know about the deliveries he’d been making? They must, which meant it was only a matter of time before they arrested him.
Coleani must never know.
But how could he continue with the police after him? He couldn’t go to prison. That’s where his father was, serving twenty years after a drunken brawl led to manslaughter.
His mother was no better, having packed up and moved to greener pastures with the first bloke who’d so much as paid an ounce of attention to her. No, he knew he would never survive inside. He was weak, easy prey but he couldn’t betray Coleani, not after all the man had done for him. Clothed him, fed him, given him a place to live and a job. He’d been set for life after proving he had the right stuff.
But what if he asks you to kill again? Can you do it? An inner voice taunted him.
“Oh, God,” he whispered.
If they interrogated him again, it would only a matter of time before he gave in and started spilling the truth about Coleani’s drug operation. Then he’d be a dead man. Coleani’s power spread wide. He doubted he’d ever live to see his testifying day.
He had to get away, away from Coleani and away from Harbour Bay—hell, away from New South Wales. He’d never been anywhere else but he had always thought he’d like to see Queensland one day. He had been mesmerised by the pictures he’d seen of the Great Barrier Reef.
Now was the time to do it. He’d been tucking away money for years. Every penny he earned, he’d kept, even skimming a little off Coleani’s clients. While the rest of Coleani’s sons were drinking, snorting, or f*cking away their hard-earned cash, he’d been expecting a rainy day. The only good thing his whore of a mother had taught him before she left was how to save money, and her advice had stuck over the years, even after the memory of her face had disappeared.
He spared another glance in the rear-view mirror. Shit, the Commodore was still there. He couldn’t exactly skip town with the cops on his arse. How would he lose them? A horn blasted beside him and he realised he’d been too busy looking back at the cop car to watch the road. He jerked the wheel, bringing his car back into his lane.
Whatever you plan to do, Mikey, you’d better do it quick.
Up ahead, the amber light turned red and like a man going to his slaughter he prayed for forgiveness should his next stop be meeting his maker. He stamped down hard on the accelerator and shot through the intersection unscathed, then heard the sound of two cars colliding and glanced back to see his shadow stuck behind the crash.
Michael deliberately slowed, not wanting to call attention to himself. He was a nervous wreck by the time he turned off the ignition outside his apartment building.
He knew he didn’t have much time, only a small window of opportunity to get lost. He ran up the inner staircase two at a time, the lift having been broken for years, then opened the door to his small one-bedroom apartment and pried up a floorboard where he kept his money. He grabbed his old backpack and stuffed the loose notes into the large section, zipping it up once he cleared out every last fiver.
He didn’t bother packing clothes. All that shit could be easily replaced. Looking around, he didn’t believe he’d ever miss this place. When Coleani had first offered it to him, he’d thought it a palace—a place of his own. But now he saw it for the dump that it was.
He chastised himself for wasting time and made his feet move. He reached the door and yanked it open, his heart pounding as all rational thought exited his head. He forced himself to smile as he looked over at seventeen-year-old Toby McLinden, another of Coleani’s boys, a fellow ex-foster home child.
“Hey, Toby, I was just heading out. Got to make some drops for Coleani,” he told the boy.