Australis Incognito, Book 1: Bus Bait Blues Read online

The Question Mark in:

  BUS BAIT BLUES

  An AUSTRALIS INCOGNITO adventure

  by Brad Mengel

  Published by Pro Se Press

  Part of the SINGLE SHOTS SIGNATURE line

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2015 Brad Mengel

  All rights reserved

  The girl had to be fifteen at the oldest. I had spotted her walking into McCafferty’s Bar fresh from the bus and so had the local predators. The pimps were quick to sniff out the young ones, perhaps it was the teen hormones. This one had hair dyed Violent Violet, a piercing through her lip, and an aura of hostility against the world. I remember what it was like when I was her age. My hair was Shocking Pink and the chip on my shoulder was only slightly larger.

  The girl was quick to take the free drink offered by the tall thin man at the bar. My eyes widened as I recognised the sleezeball. Varan Eadnic. What was he doing slumming here in an Irish bar picking up bus bait? His normal operation involved smuggling desperate girls from The Iron Curtain into a life as sex slaves in his Mafiya run brothels.

  I had been on my way home for a shower and catnap before I started my nocturnal activities but, truth be told, my curiosity had gotten the better of me and I can sleep when I’m dead. My nightwear was at the small apartment that I called home but I had a feeling that the bouncer at the bar wouldn’t be too keen on a masked vigilante type skulking around, even without a big shot like Eadnic in the bar. Costumed types are bad for business for some strange reason.

  I walked into the bar. Several pairs of eyes glared at me. Perhaps I wasn’t quite the type of woman they would have liked. My jeans were a looser fit than was considered sexy and perhaps my shirt didn’t display enough of my limited cleavage for some of their tastes. I’m sure that my brunette hair was definitely the wrong colour.

  There were some eyes that saw I was female and that was enough for them. I walked past a pair of bouncers whom I quickly dubbed the Octopus Brothers as they looked like they really wanted to pat me down. I soon felt a tentacle grabbing my ass. He suddenly found my elbow smashing into his mouth. I’d just gotten through the door, I suck at undercover.

  As the other brother took the opportunity to grope my breasts as he threw me out, I saw Eadnic’s muscle hustle him and the girl out the back door. By the time I managed to extract myself from the mass of tentacles, Eadnic was long gone. I really suck at undercover.

  I swore a few times and headed for home. It took a lot of willpower not to break into a run. When I got home, I should have called one of the others but I was pissed off. Pissed at myself for messing up undercover, pissed that Eadnic had gotten away with the girl, and just angry in general.

  I was always angry as a teenager and when I moved out of home I was lucky enough to find a safe haven down the hallway with our neighbour Mark Weise. He’d moved in about a year before I was born and I was certain that he was my father. He was a nice and kind man often giving my half siblings packets of lollies. He had even come looking for me whenever I’d run away after fights with Mum.

  Even though I would stay with Mark, there was much I didn’t know about the man. He would mysteriously disappear for days on end. It was only after his disappearance that I found the secret panel in his apartment. It explained so much. As a child Mark would tell me about the newspaper articles he would write. His most frequent subject was The Question Mark and how the vigilante would help people.

  I lived in a ‘dog eat dog’ household, where nobody helped anybody unless there was something in it for them. But Mark made me realise that I mattered and that I could more than my family.

  When I found that mask I realised that Mark Weise was The Question Mark, fighting in both identities to make the world a better place. I couldn’t let that work stop now. The mask was a perfect fit like a sign to continue work of The Question Mark.

  As soon I got in the door of my apartment, I headed straight to the hidden compartment where I stored my costume. I pulled on the white mask. It covered my whole face showing only my eyes. The curve of a question mark framed my left eye and went down my face ending in a dot right where I might wear a beauty spot. The black bob wig was next, followed by the old punk rock t shirt for an obscure punk rock band -“Question Authority” -bought for a dollar at the local op shop. A pair of cargo pants and Doc Martin boots finished my outfit. I stuffed my business cards and several weapons of choice into my satchel.

  My first point of call was McCafferty’s where I interrogated the Octopus brothers. Getting the boys' attention was easy. As I mentioned earlier vigilantes are bad for business. They hustled me into the nearby alleyway. Any noises heard in the pub were assumed to be the bouncers giving me a work over. To be fair, when the Octopus Brothers took someone into the alleyway, out of sight of the various surveillance cameras, they usually administered a good beating to them. The problem with assumptions is they can be wrong. The boys assumed that beating up “drunk as a skunk” idiots made them tough guys.

  Gropey may have started questioning that assumption as he saw the wall rushing toward him. Grabby froze in surprise since their victims never fought back. I grabbed Grabby's right index finger. I slowly twisted his digit as I leant in and whispered, "Where's Eadnic?"

  I find that the barely controlled whisper is far more effective than yelling, but while Grabby looked suitably freaked out he claimed he knew nothing. As I snapped his partner's finger, Gropey had recovered from his meeting with the wall to try and jump me. It did not end well for him.

  It took nine broken fingers before I convinced myself that my first impression that these jokers knew nothing was right. At that point, I may have kicked Grabby in the ribs and Gropey in balls. I dropped one of my business cards, a plain white card with a single black question mark on Grabby's chest. It pays to advertise.

  I had some other leads to work through. I knew that Eadnic normally operated out of his main brothel The Honey Trap. Like McCafferty’s, it was on the wrong side of the tracks, just in a better neighbourhood than the bar. Young studs from so called good families felt themselves brave and tough as they skipped over the train line to pay for some nookie in the brothel.

  Eadnic had created enough fear in the local communities that his clients’ luxury cars parked in front of the Honey Trap remained untouched. Rumour had it that a couple of years back, some bogans had flouted the embargo and taken a Porsche for a joy ride. Eadnic and his men found the punks that night and cut off their thumbs. The owner had been reimbursed with a new car. Which once again begged the question why Eadnic was in McCafferty’s picking up bus bait. I was determined to find out and rescue the purple haired girl.

  The Honey Trap looked like any other house on the street. No red light out the front or any sign to indicate the business that went on inside. Only the number of higher end cars parked outside and the goons patrolling suggested something out of the ordinary.

  I was fairly sure that the goons would be as welcoming as the Octopus brothers at McCafferty’s. Brothels are another operation where a masked vigilante snooping around was bad for business. So I’d have to be sneaky. And sneaky I can do.

  I circled around the block and then cut through the yard behind and hopped the back fence. I pulled th
e wireless receiver out of my satchel and hid it in a nearby tree. The audio from any bugs I planted and any photos I took would automatically download to an anonymous cloud storage. It cost me a lot of money, but it proved its value last month when I was captured by Brock The Glock. The bastard shot my last camera but the photos were still able to be emailed anonymously to a police contact once I escaped.

  A few minutes later my lock picks had opened the back door. I was hoping that Eadnic’s office was on this floor at the back. I didn’t fancy making my way through the house risking running into the girls or their clients.

  The back door led into the laundry. I did not want to know what was on those sheets. I quickly found a linen storage room and kitchen. I moved down the hallway, the plush carpets good at muffling my footsteps. The next door I opened was the office. After I placed a bug, I started looking through the piles of stuff on top of the desk.

  There were some letters from Eadnic’s attorney, William Dawton. It appeared that the prosecutors had indicted Eadnic for a number of charges including money laundering and drug trafficking but Dawton was hopeful that the charges would be permanently stayed after the next court date. Dawton was a good lawyer but not that good. The