PRESENT
LP remembered the last time he had given the Bora Ring some serious thought It had been on a plane returning from Sydney after dropping in on Bear for a couple of days.
His senses pricked up at a foreign voice. “This is your captain speaking. We have a short newsreel of Brisbane thirty years ago. As we are coming in to land, you’ll see how the Brisbane skyline has changed from a country town to what they now call the River City.”
After the plane had landed, LP walked into Brisbane’s airport terminal and greeted his wife, Ingrid. He gave her a huge hug as she asked, “How was your flight?”
“Uneventful, except I was having visions again of what happened back at the Bora Ring.” Hanging out with Bear brought back memories he could still not rationalise. “What about you? How's your day been?”
“Just the usual, mundane stuff – waiting in an airport lounge for a couple of hours for you. I could think of better things to do,” answered Ingrid.
As they walked out of the terminal, they were oblivious to what was happening overseas. On the overhead TV screen, two planes were crashing into the Twin Towers in New York.
They entered the airport car park to find their vehicle amongst thousands that were parked there every day. Ingrid reached into her handbag for her keys and pressed the button. In the distance, she could see her vehicle lights flashing. They walked over to her car, and drove to the exit to pay for the parking. As the boom gate rose up, approaching police sirens could be heard as tactical response vans turned into the airport terminal.
LP said to Ingrid, “We got out of there just in time. They must be conducting a security exercise. That could have held us up for hours.”
“Turn on the radio. We might find out what’s happened.”
The news had just started, and it described the collapse of the Twin Towers.
The next report was about the Bad Meadows Motorcycle Club. They were on the move back to Queensland from Victoria, for the first time in nearly thirty years.
Police helicopters were keeping surveillance on the two hundred bikies heading north.
The police commissioner said, “If they cross the border, my officers will be waiting for em!”
“That’s not good news. I’d better contact Bear and the old gang,” said LP.
After a nerve racking drive through heavy traffic, LP crossed the Riverside Expressway and took Highway 31 to The Gap. The suburb was a greenie’s paradise, wedged between two small mountain peaks. The trip took forty minutes because of all the road works. Five hundred metres from home, they were stopped by a traffic controller. In the distance, they saw heavy machinery removing storm damage debris and loading it into trucks.
Families stood in front of their destroyed homes, expressionless, just like the traffic controller. Ingrid’s heart went out to them, and tears welled in her eyes. How lucky they were that their home had not been destroyed by the tornado that had ripped through the mountain gorge the previous week.
LP turned off the road and parked his car. They walked up the drive to their modest three-bedroom home.
LP had been having flashbacks, and was not in a talkative mood. Ingrid responded to his attitude by saying, “Don’t give me the silent treatment. Sort out what’s going on. Ring Bear and your old mates in Queensland. Find out what that Bad Meadows gang is up to. I don’t want them turning up on my doorstep.”
LP reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. It needed to be charged, but should have enough power for a quick chat to Bear about the situation unfolding on the Queensland border.
Bear answered after three rings.
“LP here. Have you seen the latest news about what’s happening up on the border?”
“Who gives a rat’s ass about what happens in Queensland?” Bear replied.
“Well, you’d better take notice. Nutter and his bikie mates are back in town.”
“So what? Those idiot bikies would have forgotten about us long ago. Talk to ‘Have-A-Chat’ Brownie and Red, then ring me back if you still think it’s a problem. I reckon you’re reading too much into it. You’re not in one of those psychotic moods again, are you?”
“No. I don’t think so,” said LP. “I’ve just got this feeling that things are going to turn ugly.”
“Well, your hunches are usually right. I’ll keep an eye on the news; let me know if you want me to fly up to sort out any trouble.”
LP rang Brownie and Red, and explained the situation. Both agreed with Bear that it was all well in the past and LP was just being paranoid.
“Everything will be fine,” said Red.
The next morning, LP was up early, and watched the 6 a.m. news on TV.
“The Bad Meadows bikie gang are now within an hour of the Queensland border,” the reporter said.
News and police surveillance helicopters and highway patrol had been following their movement through New South Wales. They all wanted to get them out of their state as quickly as possible. Queensland was welcome to em.
The camera then moved to Queensland police commissioner, Jack Herbertsin, standing one foot inside the Queensland border, flanked by some of his high-ranking officers. He made a big show for the camera with his warning to those who thought that they were above the law. “It’s not like the old days when protection could be paid for. Now there is the CMC watching over corruption.”
Jack had fond memories of the old days, when Queensland had been known as a police state – where corruption had flourished and the police had wielded total power. He had worked his way up the ranks since then to top dog, and still liked to think that the police controlled everything.
The news report showed Nutter getting off his gleaming Fat Boy Harley onto Queensland soil. He walked over to the commissioner, and they had a brief conversation out of earshot of the cameras.
The commissioner had brought every motorcycle cop within a thousand kilometres as a show of force, and took great pleasure in delivering a blunt message to his old mate. “We’re the biggest gang in town.”
“How’s it goin’, you old bastard? I didn’t expect to get such a big welcome,” said Nutter.
“Cut the bullshit,” said Jack. “What are you doing back here?”
“We’ve unfinished business in this city. There’s some gold coin here that belongs to us.”
“Well, talking about collecting, you still owe me fifty red ones from when you left town without paying up. I’d say that, with inflation and interest, you now owe me a thousand red ones. Or I’ll be dusting off those old arrest warrants, and you and your mates won’t see daylight in this state again for a long time.”
“Ahh, you’re stuck in the old days, Jack. You might have got away with an attitude like that back then, but we both know you can’t touch us now, so cut the crap. We’ll be on our way, and you’ll have your brown paper bag of money within forty-eight hours.”
“Nutter, welcome to Queensland.”
Jack raised his hand and waved forward his officers to follow out his instructions. They searched every bikie for drugs and weapons, and issued each and every one of them with an infringement notice for excessive noise.
This is good press, thought Jack.
Minutes later, a senior officer came back and reported that they were all clean, no drugs or weapons.
“Okay, let ‘em pass,” said Jack. “We’ll be watching your every move, Nutter.”
* * *
Meanwhile, LP watched the events unfolding on his TV screen, wondering what was being said between the Queensland police commissioner and the leader of the Bad Meadows bikie gang. As Nutter and his gang started up their bikes again, the journalist reported on his attempts at eavesdropping. “A heated exchange about red paper bags, collecting gold coins, and arrest warrants.”
The words ‘collecting coins’ triggered thoughts of muddy coins stamped ‘South Africa’.
LP realised that his worst fears had come true. He grabbed his mobile and keyed in Bear’s number in Sydney. “I know what Nutter is after. It’s those coins. They weren’t just foreign coins; they’re pure gold.”
“Yeah, I remember; they looked like old pennies covered in mud.”
“That’s right, but the fact is that someone’s got a bag of gold, and that person is George. He was the last one I saw with the coins.”
“Okay, I’ll get on the 3 p.m. flight from here. Pick me up at Brisbane airport,” Bear said.
LP was trying to remember what had happened to the coins. George had had them in his backpack going through security at Melbourne airport. They had been painted silver, and had attracted no attention, because he had said that they were medallions to be sold at flea markets. They had all been pretty naïve back then, but LP now realised how valuable the coins would be in today’s dollars.
Bear had figured out the same thing, and that’s why he was so quick to get on a flight to Brisbane. He was more interested in finding the gold than helping his mates. Bear was struggling to find enough cash to pay the contractors working on his latest high-rise apartment project in inner city Sydney. His company, Bear Towers, was about to collapse into a financial black hole unless he came up with something fast.
LP found Brownie and Red, and filled them in on the unfolding saga. Cassa, however, was off the radar. When last seen, he had been trekking through the jungle in Indonesia, looking for an elusive surf break. So, as usual, he would be no help.