Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger Novel

By Mark Bredenbeck

'He who fights with monsters best be careful, lest he thereby become a monster’
While on stress leave, Detective Sergeant Mike Bridger is learning about the complexities of life through a book of ancient philosophy. Life was much simpler when Friedrich Nietzsche wrote his quotes, but he can see the obvious parallels between then and now. He knows in some parts of today’s society, filled with fear and intimidation, live many that have made bad choices.
A late night phone call drags him back into the real world where an armed robbery has gone tragically wrong. Quick work brings an early arrest, but in the process, a chain of events is set in motion that will rock the Dunedin Police to its core.
During a routine enquiry, Bridger comes face to face with an old foe who wants something he can't give. He makes a choice he thought he would never have to make but what he does not realize , is that this time, anyone is fair game...
A fast moving story that races towards a tragic conclusion leaves Bridger with one question. Can a monster really be created...?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Bredenbeck
• Release date: May 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9780473286200

Mark Bredenbeck

Mark Bredenbeck lives in Dunedin, New Zealand, where his Detective Mike Bridger novels are set.

Book preview

Prologue

He could hear the dog's ragged breathing a short distance behind and could almost feel its hot breath on his heels. His own breath was coming in short rasps, the oxygen fighting for space in his tar filled lungs, his body rebelling against years of smoking in one malicious moment. Turning right into the darkness of a service alley he nearly stumbled, tripping over his own feet, the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream along with another shot of adrenalin. He was not far from home, but he was running out of time. The dog, sensing its opportunity, had increased its pace, the scattering of paws on the rough surface got faster and louder, touching every fear receptacle in his brain. He knew there was a tall fence here somewhere, he desperately needed the escape.

A muffled silence invaded his head and his vision blurred. He sensed the dogs’ presence getting closer. There was no noise, the sound of paws on tarmac disappeared as if the dog was floating. Turning his head, he saw a vision of hell as the flash of sharp white teeth came out of the darkness in line with his throat, the dog finding its target.

Panicking, he kicked out blindly and his foot collided with the meaty part of the dog’s chest just below its vicious head. The air rushed out of its lungs through its mouth, so close he could smell the fetid stench of its sour breath. The dog deflated onto the ground below him, an angry growl gurgling in its throat. Watching carefully for any reaction he saw it suck in another breath and start scrabbling on the wet surface trying to regain its footing. It would only be seconds now. Pulling the knife from his belt, he thrust it downwards, putting all his force into the movement. There was a small sucking sound as the blade entered the dog’s skull through its eye socket. The blade lodged itself in the bone and stuck fast. The dog shook violently but then became still, light disappearing from its only good eye. He did not even hear a whimper as the brave life started fading. Pulling the knife from its destruction, he felt only sadness. The sight of this life ending was the same as he had seen less than ten minutes ago. That one too ending on the sharp blade of the same knife.

That life had been traded over a difference of ‘colours’, a rival patch of allegiance. A fight over a woman, possessed by another but lusted after by him. She had seen that lust in him and taken him from the bar with promises of heaven. He had seen glimpses of it as well, with gentle hands and welcoming wetness. He was well on the way before the ‘Patch’ had shown up. He could not remember any anger in him, although he knew there had been some. She had been trying to calm things between them, trying her best but failing.

She was the alchemist that had put them together, his foe and him. Her boyfriend’s death was the outcome of her unfaithful desire. He would have left it, normally, but for the different ‘Patch’ on each of their backs. A gang's strength only came in its ability to subdue the rest of the pretenders. When he saw the man’s allegiance displayed openly on his back, he could not just let it lie, not now that this man had found him using his treasure so openly. He could not show any weakness.

He had been surprised how easy it was. The ‘patch’ just stood their staring with his mouth open, so he had moved fast, taking him by surprise. The idiot had just stood there and taken it. There was no struggle, no begging for mercy. Once the knife had entered his sternum, punctured his lungs and then pierced his heart, he had fallen to his knees, a look of surprised indignation on his face.

Standing in the darkness of the alleyway he found himself in now with the dog dying at his feet he could see the dying face clearly in his mind. The face was looking at him, but his patch was hidden. His life had cheated him so cruelly, and then his death had found him because of nothing but a difference of affiliation. The face had tried to say something with his last breath, his words struggling with the lack of air, but it didn’t come. The light in his eyes had gone, taking something from his soul he could not explain. It was the eyes he remembered most, staring into them as he died, they had been vacant and lost, a bit like his own. Had he seen an acceptance in them before he had passed? It certainly looked like he had found a certain sort of peace.

He looked down in the dim light at the dog quietly panting. The dog knew it was dying, he knew the patch was already dead… he knew his own run was over.

He thought back to the woman, her hands had been so gentle, but she had turned on him as soon as her ‘Patch’ had arrived. Words of hatred spewing from within in an angry torrent. He remembered her naked breasts flapping about as she had clawed and kicked at his bare skin, tears and snot staining her once pretty face. Once she had seen her ‘patch’ was dead her anger had disappeared, replaced with something far worse. Her lustful eyes had returned. He touched at the drying scratches on his cheek. She had been so sultry, sensuous even, he was a fool to himself, and he had wanted it all. It was something he could not control. Looking around at the darkened alleyway, the brave animal bleeding out below his feet, he knew it was his weakness to blame. The darkness that surrounded him echoed his life.

The sound of heavy boots bouncing off the walls of the alleyway suddenly presented another danger; this one was more urgent. The Police Officer in those boots had been quick off the mark; he had hardly left the woman's house when he heard him release the dog. He must have been in the neighbourhood when she had called for help. Now his dog was dead, and he would be here to witness it very soon. Looking around at the fence behind him, he knew home was so close, but his body was too tired to run anymore.

He looked at the bloodied knife in his hand, then back towards the approaching Police Officer, a shadow growing larger. He thought about his infant son, safe at home in the innocent arms of his mother, no knowledge of the world he inhabited. He thought of the star he had placed above his cot, telling him quietly that it was there to guide and to protect him. Do not live my life, he thought sadly, you are daddy's little Star. He held the bloodied knife to his chest, sat back against the wire of the fence behind him, and waited.

Chapter One

It's nice up here don't you think...? He left the question hanging, unsure of what his friends answer would be. It was just on dark; he was sitting idle on the wooden seat of the swing, slowly moving back and forth, letting his body weight do the work. Unity Park in Mornington sat high above Dunedin and had a panoramic view of the city and harbour; it was empty except for the two of them. The view from his vantage point down and across the harbour kept changing as he swung up and down.

It's nice up here don't you think..., what are you a faggot? His friend replied mockingly. Don't be letting him hear you say things like that, you'll get the bash for sure.

The use of the word faggot made him squirm; he hated that word. Not able to look at his friend, he stared at the darkening harbour, it almost seemed like he could touch it from where they were, sitting so high up on the hill. He could see it flowing out towards MacAndrew Bay in the distance where it would turn and flow seamlessly through twenty kilometres of Otago Peninsular countryside, past Portobello, before colliding with the open sea at Aramoana. Ships had come and gone through this channel for over one hundred and fifty years, bringing settlers and supplies for an emerging city. He could imagine the hopes and dreams of the early settlers, starting out pure but diluting down over the years by disease, poverty and hardship. Men would find new ways to survive, the sickness creeping in, falling back into old habits. Predators taking what they wanted again, infecting each new generation. He knew his situation was not new, it was as old as the ages, but it did not make his life any easier to live.

During the day the harbour took on many different forms and colours, a dirty windswept grey, a choppy green, or perfectly still graphite. In the evening it darkened to a black empty mass, interspersed with the occasional navigation light, guiding you into the darkness. Tonight, it would be no different. He could just about make out the silhouette of a ship in the fading light, tied up against the fertiliser works in the distance, the lights on board the ship blending with those on the wharf giving it an almost magical feel. It was the same feeling he got when he went to the travelling carnivals he had visited as a child, a place of strange loud music and fun. His mind pictured the people who would be on board the ship, exotic people, people with stories, and people with freedom. He envied those people, able to go and do as they please.

It's just different from the hood, that's all I meant. These places around here are made of money, not like the shitholes we live in.

Look at you, getting all uppity. Thinking you are better than the rest of us. Fuck you, Martin; your stepfather is as drunk as the rest of them.

Martin looked at his friend; they had been neighbours for as long as he could remember. Tama's father was in jail. He had been in jail for so long that neither he nor Tama could remember what he looked like. He had never met his own father, which, he guessed, gave them something in common. That would be about the only thing though, he thought. They were friends but it was a friendship based on indifference with nothing better to do. He was only here tonight because of the phone call, he needed money to get the new life he craved and the man on the phone had told him that an opportunity would arise and to grab hold of it with both hands and see where it took him. That was why he was here with his friend this evening. There was no other reason.

He had not particularly wanted to be friends in the beginning but that had not stopped Tama Wilson. He had sort of turned up one day and never left. He had gotten used to having him around now. Tama was the only person who called him Martin, everybody else called him Star. When do you think he will be here? He asked.

He said when it got dark. Tama replied. But you know what he's like; he'll just turn up when he's ready.

Tama passed Martin the can of strong cider and he took a mouthful of the warm slightly bitter liquid. They had already finished five cans each and were sharing the last one they had. The others were empty and discarded around their feet. Tama stood up and lit a cigarette, drawing in a lungful of smoke. He shuffled from side to side as he held it in his lungs. Looking at his friend standing there in his ripped t-shirt, he almost looked happy, or it may have just been the cider. As long as we get enough money tonight to buy better shit than this. He tossed the half-empty can as far down the steep bank as he could.

Fucks sake Martin, I was drinking that. Tama said, looking for a way down through the undergrowth, smoke escaping from his lungs.

The monotonous thumping sound of a bass drum invaded the quiet, turning both their heads. They could hear it getting louder and closer, the sound of a badly tuned engine screaming against its gearing underpinning the music. Looking over towards the road, a silver BMW swung into the access road to the park. The car accelerated and sped towards them on the badly potholed surface. The suspension was so low that the chassis scrapped on the ground creating sparks in the twilight as it bounced out of each small hole. The car slid to a stop about three feet in front of them and sat idling with its headlights obscuring any view of the driver. Smoke billowed from a crack in the driver’s side window; the acrid sweet smell of cannabis permeated the air.

Get in. It was more of an order than a request, the voice betraying a quiet menace. He did not trust Joseph at all; he used people for what they could give him. However, he was a big name in his world and whatever Joseph Kingi told you to do, you did without question. Looking at the car, Joseph was not visible through the dark tinted windows, but his menace was everywhere. Taking a deep breath Martin opened the rear door and slumped into the torn leather seat. The smell of cannabis was overwhelming; smoke stung his eyes making him blink. Tama had taken the front passenger seat, eager to please.

Still drinking that cheap shit, I see boys. Joseph said, indicating the mess of cans around the swings. Do your jobs right tonight and you could afford the good stuff..., Now, don't tell me I don't look after my boys. Joseph smiled a wicked smile through the smoke and shook his dreadlocked hair as he laughed at something only known to him.

What's the job then J man? Tama asked.

Where gonna do that corner shop up the north end, there's only that little chink girl behind the counter so it should be a doddle. Plus, it's chock full of K2. Joseph was grinning as he spoke. It's a fucking crime the amount of money they make off of that synthetic cannabis, its only right that we help ourselves to some of that.

Nice one J man, we're up for that, aren't we Star? Tama sat nodding his head in the front seat, excited at the prospect of easy money.

Martin worried about Tama, he was always too eager to please, too easily led, it was going to be his downfall one day. He saw Joseph observing him coolly through the rear-view mirror, his eyes not giving anything away. Is that right Star, are you up for it?

Yeah, J man..., yeah, I'm up for it, let’s do it He replied, not at all certain he meant it.

To fucking right, I'm putting my faith in you two meatheads. I don't expect any shit from you now. His look was as cold as ice as he said it and Martin shivered involuntarily.

Joseph was six years older than he was, so they had rarely had anything to do with each other growing up, even though they had lived in the same small neighbourhood all their lives. Joseph had always been a ‘player’, even from a young age. His father, who was a big shot in the ‘Gang’, had handed him his status in the neighbourhood. Nobody messed with the gang, so nobody messed with Joseph. Joseph had grown up believing he was untouchable. No one even blinked when Joseph stepped into his father’s shoes after jail finally caught up with him.

Joseph Senior or ‘Big J’ was widely known to be still pulling the strings from the inside and his influence was far reaching, but it was still Joseph Junior who was on the outside. Joseph senior had the respect, but Joseph junior only commanded fear. His influence was that of intimidation and fear, something he seemed to revel in. He wondered what he would be like if Big J was still around to keep him in line. Not much he could do about that now, he needed some money and Joseph was offering, although he had the impression he could not say no.

How is it going to play out? He queried from the back.

Same as it always does, we go in, make the little bitch cry for her mummy, get the gear and get out. Joseph took another long pull on his cannabis cigarette But first we need to get us some wheels. he said, while holding the smoke in his lungs.

He saw Tama tense up in the front seat, if there was one thing Tama loved to do it was steal cars.

They had been driving around for a few hours now and he was beginning to get bored. Martin had been listening to the conversation in the front seat that seemed to consist of Joseph belittling Tama at every opportunity, although Tama had failed to notice or was just ignoring it. Joseph had passed around a Cannabis joint a few times and he had begun to feel the mellow lethargic feeling he always got when smoking weed. He had refused the lines of Speed offered, but Tama had inhaled them as if his life depended on it. As a result, Tama was practically bouncing off the roof of the car. The music had been pounding the whole time.

What about that one J man? It’s an easy score. Tama was pointing at a ten-year-old Subaru parked in the darkness of the street.

What is it with you and Subaru’s T? That’s all I've ever seen you steal. Joseph's mood had improved as the night wore on.

Stick with what you know J man, that's my motto.

I don't see you bumming little boys T, so you can't live by that motto.

Martin burned inwardly at the comment, he wanted to reach over the seat and stick a knife in the back of Joseph’s neck, twist it sharply and snap his spine. Thoughts like this were nothing new to him; he took a breath and stared out into the passing darkness letting the feeling wash through him. Tama just shrugged his shoulders and carried on as if he had not heard a word. Come on J man, there is no one about, let’s just get it done.

Joseph pulled his car over in the shadows further up the street Okay big man, go and get it, but take Star with you. We will meet back at the park in ten minutes.

Martin climbed out of the stuffy smoked filled car, happy to be in the fresh air again. Tama followed him unsteadily. Joseph looked Martin in the eye and held his gaze for a short time. Martin stared back but said nothing. Joseph broke off the eye contact and drove away, the sound of the music died down to nothing as the car accelerated up the street. They both turned and walked back towards the Subaru parked conveniently in the shadows.

What's up with you Martin? You've hardly said anything all night. Tama punched him good-naturedly on the arm.

I don't like him Tama, you know that. He treats people like shit.

Yeah, well what are you going to do about it, Martin? You're just as scared of him as everyone else, besides he's a means to an end. We need money and he's got a plan.

A long as that plan doesn't turn to shit, you know he'll leave us in it don't you?

We'll just have to make sure it doesn't then. Tama had reached the car. Looking around to check that they were alone he reached down and expertly sprung the lock on the car door using the slightly modified slide hammer he always had with him. It was something Martin knew Tama would not be without when he would be 'Shopping' for cars. Opening the door, Tama lay down into the foot well, popping the cover off below the dashboard. He had the car started a few seconds later. Martin had only just managed to get to the passenger side and climb in before Tama had accelerated away from the curb. Stoned or not Tama was good at what he did. One thing Tama did not do well though, was drive sensibly, he had to remind him a few times that they were in a stolen car, and he did not need to draw attention to that fact.

Take it easy tonight Tama, don't try and show off, it's not worth it. Joseph won't thank you.

Fuck you Martin, I can handle myself.

Martin knew it was the Cannabis speedball mix talking, giving Tama a false sense of bravado. He liked Tama, but he knew he was not very bright, and he tended to do silly things when he was out of it. He did not say anything for the rest of the journey back to Unity Park at the top of Eglington Road. An uneasy feeling about tonight had settled in his stomach, but he did not want to share it with Tama. He knew his friend would pass it on to Joseph and he could not be bothered with the drama.

Tama steered the stolen car into the park access road and towards the lookout. He could see Joseph had parked his own vehicle in the shadows near the trees, out of the glare of the streetlights. Tama parked next to Joseph's now silent car.

You two bitches took your time. Joseph said as he climbed into the rear seat. I was beginning to think you had shat your pants and gone home.

Martin could not help but notice the shotgun Joseph threw on the seat beside him. It was an evil looking thing with a shortened barrel, two black holes for eyes sitting side by side, eyes that would kill you as soon as blink. Joseph was absently stroking the polished but mottled wooden stock, fingers flicking in and out of the trigger guard. He was looking directly at Martin, his eyes hidden in the darkness of the car, making it hard for him to work out his expression. You ready to do some work?

Let’s do it. Tama chimed in from the driver's seat. He planted his foot on the accelerator and then dropped the clutch sending the car into a sideways spin, tyres squealing on the rough surface, an acrid smell of burnt rubber entering the car’s interior. Joseph sat silently in the rear as Tama sped out onto the road and started downhill past the darkness of the cemetery.

They were sitting in the stolen car a little way down the road from the store, the streetlights were intermittent if working at all, giving some cover in the darkness. Joseph had lit up another Joint and was passing it around. The lights were on in the store and the signs were still out. Martin could tell Joseph and Tama were amped up about the prospect of the impending violence, they were fidgety and on edge. The waiting was making him sick; he hated the thought of the chaos and horror they were about to bring to the unsuspecting girl inside. The sight of Joseph wielding a sawn-off shotgun in your face was bound to be terrifying for anyone. He just hoped that they would both be able to keep a level head and get the job done. The sooner this was over the better.

Are you ready to fuck some shit up? Joseph said, throwing each of them a black synthetic ski mask.

Fuck yeah, let’s do this. Tama enthused.

Joseph flicked the remains of the joint out of the car window, the embers flaring then dying out on the road. Picking up the shotgun with one hand, he pulled his mask over his face with the other and got out of the car. Tama followed like a puppy dog, eager to please his master. Martin fell into step behind them as they approached the welcoming lights of the store. They went through the door one by one and then things got noisy.

Get your fucking hands in the air you slope bitch. Joseph yelled. Fucking do it, or I'll send you back to your maker. He was waving the shotgun in her face menacingly. The girl was staring back at them, straight into the barrel, not moving. Joseph turned the stock of the gun towards her and slammed it into her face. I said get your lazy gook arms in the air bitch. The force of the blow knocked her against the wall behind her and she stayed leaning against it, blood slowly leaking from one nostril.

Martin could tell it was pure terror making it impossible for her to move or say anything. He tried to make her put her arms up by motioning to her, but she was beyond help. The colour had gone