The Stalk Club (5 page)

“Watch
where ya goin will ya,” roared the homeless guy.

Craig
ignored him and felt certain that his mark must have heard the noise but he
showed no sign of it and continued to walk briskly through the park toward its
eastern edge without so much as a look back.  He then veered off the main path
and across the grass toward the trees. 

“Now
where the fuck are you going you shit crazy bastard?”

Several
rows of gum trees marked the eastern boundary of the park.  The mark slowed
down and Craig placed his body behind a trunk to observe, certain the inky
blackness of the shadow concealed his position.  A worn track threaded itself through
the trees.  Recent rains had muddied it and the mark carefully picked his way through,
alongside the path, displaying admirable athleticism as he leapt from rock to
tree root to patch of grass.

“Pansy
doesn’t want to get his shoes dirty.  What are kids coming to these days?”

Craig
cautiously followed, wanting to ensure the mark had actually passed through the
fringe of trees and wasn’t just waiting for him on the other side.  When he reached
the place in the trees where the mark had passed through, he could faintly see
him about thirty-five metres ahead in the shadows, moving slowly into what
appeared to be an industrial area.  He followed along the worn path, ignoring
the mud that his hiking boots made short work of. 

Despite
the coolness of the evening Craig noted that he was now sweating and a damp
patch was beginning to form at the base of his spine.  He felt his heart pounding
and his nerve ends tingled with anticipatory excitement.  Instead of trying to
calm himself he savoured the feeling and took in deep breaths of the cool night
air that touched him deep inside his lungs.  He was enjoying the hunt, perhaps
more so than any other stalk he had undertaken even though he still knew
nothing about his mark.  Initially he and Bryce had started surveilling and stalking
people to field test the equipment they were selling at their employer Carmichael’s
Security.  They would plant GPS trackers on cars and follow them, testing the
range of the signal.  They put listening devices in locations where they could
overhear people’s conversations, in cafes, phone booths and under park
benches.  Over time however, the surveillance took a back seat to the heady
rush of adrenalin they experienced when they stalked someone, seeing how close
they could get to them and how much they could learn about them without them
knowing.  It was exciting and exhilarating to tiptoe along the line that
separates right from wrong and occasionally cross it.  It made Craig feel alive
for just a moment when the rest of his life often seemed dead and without
meaning.

Craig
remained in the shadows in the trees as he observed the vague outline of his
mark ahead who had stopped at the rear corner of a small warehouse.  There was
a loading dock at the rear of the building and parking for cars, but due to the
lateness of the hour it appeared devoid of workers and activity.  To Craig’s
fascination the mark got down on his hands and knees and slowly crawled along
the ground to the other rear corner of the warehouse, further away from where Craig
was observing him. 

“What
the hell are you up to now?” 

He
wondered if his mark was about to try and break into the warehouse and gave a
momentary thought to giving up the chase, but quickly cast it aside like the
impure thought of a Mormon.  This was what the stalk was all about.  This was
living.  The mark ducked around the corner of the warehouse, out of Craig’s
sight.  Craig moved quickly to the rear of the warehouse and thought about his
next move.  He feared his mark could be waiting for him just around the next corner,
but he was confident of his own abilities in a fight or flight situation.

“In
for a penny, in for a pound.”

Craig
silently walked around the corner of the building.   

The streets were full of eyes and Craig felt
all of them were looking in his direction.  He tried to calm his thoughts and
movements but it was to no avail, he was way beyond that.  When he saw people heading
in his direction he avoided them by going back the way he’d came or turning off
into a side street before they reached him.

He found a darkened alley that offered
solitude and sat on his haunches and tried to calm himself.  In time, his
breathing grew less ragged although his mind still raced with unwanted
thoughts.  He decided to head back to Nero’s because he wanted to sit and drink
in a familiar and safe place and think calmly about what had just happened.  Instead
of going back to the St Peters station he made his way circuitously back up
the line toward Erskineville.  On several occasions he double backed the way he
had come to ensure he wasn’t being followed and although he didn’t see anyone following
it brought little relief to his conscience.  

He
arrived back at Nero’s just on nine-twenty p.m..  Natalie should have
been at their table, waiting for the group to return, but she wasn’t and instead
a group of leather jacketed, pimple faced Generation Y-ers were sitting there
talking about their latest i-phone app.  Craig glared at them briefly.  Standing
on tiptoes he scanned the crowd searching for Natalie but didn’t spot her.  It
was still happy hour so he decided to save time and energy, muscled his way to
the bar and ordered three scotch and cokes to help calm his nerves.  He found one
of the few spare tables toward the rear of the bar and sat down.

Natalie
appeared behind him a few minutes later.  “Boo,” she said in his ear, playfully
poking him in the ribs and sitting down beside him.  Craig had been lost in his
thoughts and was momentarily surprised by her sudden appearance.

“Where
were you?” he growled, casting a quick glance at her before returning his eyes to
his drink.

“I
was just in the toilet.  Did someone steal our table?” she said, frowning
towards the group occupying their table.  “Why are you back so soon?  Did you
lose your mark?”

Craig
stared at his second drink, swirling the ice around.  “I wish I did.”

Before
he could elaborate Bryce joined them.

“Honey,
you’re back.  How’d you go?” Natalie asked, jumping up and kissing him.

“Not
too well.  I followed my guys for a while but they were just on a shopping
trip.  I gave up after one of them tried on his fourth pair of tight leather
pants and modeled them for his partner.”

“How’d
you go Craig?” asked Bryce.

“I
ran into a bit of trouble.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,
I think I just witnessed a murder,” Craig said with a deadpan expression on his
face.  Natalie and Bryce looked at each other.  Craig finished off his second
drink and appreciated the way the alcohol seeped its way into every part in his
body and gently massaged and soothed his taut nerves.

“What
did you say?  You witnessed a murder?” Natalie said with a confused expression
on her face, not knowing if he was joking or serious.

“Could
you speak a little louder next time?  I don’t think the people across the road quite
heard you.”

“What
happened?” asked Bryce in a barely audible whisper, overcompensating for
Natalie’s loudness.

Craig
looked around and waited for a couple of young women to move past them on their
way to the bar.  He took a deep breath and gathered himself.

“Well
I was last out.  My guy was acting kinda strange, kinda nervous.  I knew he was
up to something.  He kept stopping and checking himself.  His collar was pulled
up high and he was wearing a baseball cap.  Anyway, he took the train to St Peters, walked through Sydney Park and then out the other side into a factory area.  I
kept following him.  And then he went up to a car that was parked there and
pulled out a gun.  Bang, bang, bang, he shot some guy, as simple as that.”

Natalie
and Bryce stared blankly at each other lost for words.  Craig just stared into
his third drink. 

Jen
and Grant returned to the bar together and pulled chairs to the table.  Jen
noticed the blank faces around the table.

“What’s
going on?” she said.

Craig
was in no mood to repeat his story so Natalie quickly filled them in on what
had happened.  Jen was near to hysterics by the end of Natalie’s retelling and
looked around nervously as if the police would burst through the door and
arrest them all at any moment.  Grant smiled and stared blankly at Craig,
wondering where the punch line was, but it never came.

“You
have to go to the police to report it,” said Jen anxiously.

“No
way!” Craig retorted sharply.  “Do you know what happens when guys with records
report murders?  I’m not that stupid.  I didn’t do anything and I’m not going
to report anything.  It’s got nothing to do with me and I’d like to keep it
that way.”

“I
didn’t know you had a record.  What’ve you done?” Natalie said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“It
was nothing.  Just a couple of DUIs and an assault charge when I was a kid.”

“But
what if the guy isn’t dead?” asked Bryce.

“Trust
me, he’s dead.  You don’t get shot three times from close range and live to
tell the tale.”

“What
happened then?  What happened after he got shot?” asked Natalie.

Craig
stared at his drink trying to remember.

“I....I
don’t really know.  I panicked and just ran.  I know it sounds stupid, but I
can barely remember the next few minutes.  My adrenalin was pumping so hard my
brain kind of shut down and I just ran like a sissy ten year old schoolgirl.  After
a while I managed to calm myself down and then I just came back here.”

“Well
I still think we need to report it to the police,” said Jen, shaking her head
in disbelief.  “I mean you’re a witness, you saw the guy.  You can give a
description or something.”

“And
what do I tell the cops?” he sneered derisively.  “Maybe I should just tell
them that me and my friends were out stalking some people and one of them just
happened to murder a guy.  Yeah, I’m sure that will go down real well.”

“He’s
right,” Bryce conceded.  “We don’t need to draw any attention to what we do.  There
are laws against stalking you know.  We could all lose our jobs.  Carmichael
would definitely sack me on the spot if he found out.”

“Did
you get any photos or video of this guy?” asked Natalie. 

Craig
looked at her as if he didn’t understand the question.  “No.  No, I didn’t
really get a chance,” he replied in an exasperated tone.  “I should have, I could
have shown you guys, but I just wasn’t thinking straight at the time.  And he
was always on the move, moving away from me, and after he shot the guy he moved
so fast….it was over so quickly.

Grant
had been quiet until now.  He was still stunned by the news but was trying his
very best not to panic and to think his way through it. 

“Did
you get a good look at him Nat?” The question seemed to surprise her.  She
tilted her head and recalled the moment from her memory.

“I
guess, but it was just a quick look.  But as Craig said, he was kinda covered
up, kinda mysterious and secretive looking.  That was the reason I chose him.”

Nero’s
was starting to reach capacity and before long a queue would start to form at
the door and the bouncers would begin to earn their money by keeping the
numbers inside in line with the prescribed limit.  A four piece R&B band
had set up their gear on a small stage at the rear of the bar and were doing
sound checks on their instruments and double checking connections. 

“So
what are we going to do?”  Natalie asked.

Craig
glowered at her under a heavy brow.  “We’re all in this together and we’ve all
got something to lose if we get dragged into this.  We do nothing.”

It was seven minutes past two in the morning.  All was
quiet, apart from a noise that kept repeating, nagging, distracting dreams.  A
phone ringing.  As his consciousness struggled to the surface to breath he
became aware that the phone was not part of his dream.  An eye finally opened, registered
the time on the old clock radio beside his bed.  He was of medium build, yet
strongly put together but not in a pretty, waxed, gym junkie way.  He was thirty-five. 
He sat up and turned the bedside table lamp on, causing momentary blindness
which he shielded his eyes from.  He turned the lamp on because he guessed what
was coming.  He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn’t be going back
to bed and also knew from past experience that remaining in a prone position
after finishing a call often resulted in him falling back asleep.  He had never
quite got used to working nights.

The phone waited patiently for him while he rubbed his
eyes.  There was no voicemail to offer respite after ten rings or so, you
either answered it or you accepted the consequences of missing the call.  Earlier
in the night he had partaken in a few celebratory beers, give or take several, and
now he was beginning to regret it, a little.  It had been a slow and tedious
week, mostly spent at the Central Local court in the city waiting to give
evidence at the long winded trial of a case that had been laboriously dragged
through the courts for several years.  The guilty verdict of murder, that had
been returned by the jurors within two hours of the case being wrapped up had
been a relief to all involved except the accused and his lawyer and had been
the trigger for the celebration.  The case had been particularly traumatic on
the Homicide detectives involved.  Two young children had been abducted on
their way home from primary school and found murdered a week later.  The accused
murderer was a sixty-five year old neighbour of the children who had used his
relationship with the family to lure the children away.  All of the detectives
involved in the case had been sickened to the core by the abuse of trust and calculated
deception of the old man and were hopeful that when sentencing was handed down
it would be sufficiently lengthy to ensure the offender would end his days on
Earth in a small prison cell.