Traveller Inceptio
46

The last ambulance pulled away with a flash of red strobes and the usual crowd of gawkers shuffled into the pre-dawn drizzle. Senior Constable Preston’s shift ended soon and he wanted to get this all sorted before he headed off for some badly needed sleep. Like most of his colleagues, he hated the K Road weekend-midnight shift. It was the time he experienced activities that, he was sure, made most city-based police officers cynical as to the goodness of humanity. Once, when a friend had commented that people were essentially good, his immediate response had been, “No, they are not!” This was a view shared by many of his colleagues on the force. Not only on K Road, but in any club area where weekend violence was the norm, fuelled by the usual mix of drugs, alcohol and good, old-fashioned stupidity.

He wiped his hand over his face to dispel his weariness and began his interview with an attractive Maori girl. She looked at the evening as the best entertainment she and her friend had experienced in ages.

“So what happened, miss? You were in the line for the club, were you?” “Yeah, we were out for a big one, eh!” She and her girlfriend both giggled.

Preston smiled. The girl was cute and looked to be a real character. He wasn’t sure if she was flirting or if she was just being a hard case. “So tell me what you saw.”

“Oh man, well, these pakeha guys came out of the club and they were just looking like they were leaving, you know? Anyway, this girl was knocked on her arse by one of the bouncers and one of the guys helped her up. You know, like he was a nice guy and helpful and stuff.”

“What did they look like, these white guys?” Preston asked.

She smiled and tilted her head slightly. He noticed the peep of a tattoo at the nape of her neck and he found it to be most alluring on her smooth, latte skin. With her hoop earrings and fashionably cut hair, she was certainly attractive. She noticed his eyes on her neck and an eyebrow was raised as she smiled knowingly. “Well, they looked kind of different, you know? Like they were movie extras or something. They all had big moustaches and they all looked very fit. One guy was a big fella, eh, and he laughed a lot. We just watched them as they were right there by the line.”

“Were they making trouble?”

“No, they looked like they just wanted to go home or something.”

“Were they drunk?”

“No way; those boys looked like they were never drunk.”

Her friend chimed in. “Nup, nup, no way.”

“Why is that?” he asked with interest.

“Well, they looked just fit, you know? Like they were elite sportsmen or something. My brother is in the New Zealand Olympic Hockey Team and they have that look, like super-fit buggers, eh.”

Preston took brief notes of the witnesses’ statements in his notebook. He had already heard the story a number of times, but he searched for more detail to add to his report.

“Then what happened?”

“A bit of fuckin’ biff is what happened,” said the girl’s friend and they both giggled.

“I’ll say!” continued the cute girl. “These bad fellas were watching them from the shadows by the emergency exit. I saw them, and we know the guys, you know; they’re some of the baddest fellas from ’round here. Some of my friends had a run-in with these guys and you don’t want that. These are big Maori footballer fellas with attitude. I thought, hello! What’s happening here?”

“Then what happened?” asked Preston.

“Well, this fella—he is a local fuck-head named Thomas—well, he runs out and throws a king hit at the smallest of the guys, like he was going to kill him or something.”

Her friend offered the essential “Yep! Yep!” as she vigorously nodded to support the story.

“The skinny guy like turns and lifts his arm like this,” she motioned how the victim moved, “and he went down.”

“Was he hurt?” Preston asked.

“Dunno, hard to say. He was on the ground, but moving, I think.”

“Then what?” he asked.

“Fuck me, then everything happened, man,” her friend chimed in and they laughed.

“Shut up, you bitch, the nice policeman asked for my story, not yours.” The cute girl shoved her friend playfully and they laughed together some more.

“What did you see?” asked Preston with a smile. He was certain the girl was flirting.

“The guys, you know, the ones with the moustaches, well, they went, like, ape-shit. Like they just cleaned those pricks up. One minute there were these gnarly football bullies out to get them and then, smash; it was like Jet Lee or Chuck Norris or something.”

“Fuck, yeah. Fuckin’ Kung Fu fighting everywhere,” added her friend.

“Can you describe what happened?” Preston leaned forward in interest.

“No, it was all over in something like,” she paused to think, “ten seconds. One of the guys I saw took out two of the biggest guys with his feet. It was just frigging awesome.”

“What happened to the others in the group? Those who attacked, I mean?” asked Preston.

“Oh man, I dunno. One minute there are a bunch of guys and the next they were down or gone. I saw some run off down the road when their mates were just smashed.”

“Yeah! Those cunts had it coming to them,” added her friend helpfully.

“Ok. Thanks. Anything more you can tell me? Like where were these moustache guys from?”

“I heard two of them talk; they sounded American or something,” said her friend.

“Yeah, and one was a Pom: you know, English. Not sure, but the other might have been an Aussie,” added the cute girl.

Preston took the girls’ names and phone numbers. In parting, the pretty one simply motioned with her thumb and little finger like a phone and mouthed call me. Her white teeth flashed as the girls laughed and walked into the morning twilight.

The venue security had been unhelpful, either not recollecting what happened or stating the pedestrians had inflamed the situation by insulting the footballers, who had simply reacted. The CCTV files showed otherwise. Constable Preston suspected the perpetrators were known to security and were regulars at the club.

Even though the CCTV images were grainy, it was obvious what had happened. The perpetrator appeared to be a young man who they learned was a promising front-rower for the local rugby club. Though known to police for alleged violence against patrons and pedestrians, there had never been sufficient evidence to charge him, as most victims were either too afraid to testify or were in hospital. That thugs like this could be on the streets deeply frustrated Constable Preston and it made events like this one even more satisfying.

The CCTV told it all.

Four men left the club and assisted the young woman from the footpath after she had been shoved by a bouncer. After she staggered away, at the edge of the CCTV screen someone big, and of Maori or Islander descent, ran forward to king-hit one of the men. If that hit had connected, they would now be involved in a murder investigation. The victim had barely turned to raise a defence. Though the massive blow was partially deflected, the victim, the slimmest of the men, had been floored.

What followed was unexpected, and in Constable Preston’s years in the force, never before witnessed. The three remaining men didn’t even pause, but instantly attacked their attackers. The big Maori man who had led the assault was kicked in a martial arts blow to his knee, and even on the CCTV footage, you could see his knee bend in the opposite direction. As he fell forward, he was punched in the face. Preston and his partner had seen the evidence; his teeth were scattered over the footpath like popcorn.

One grasped the arm powerfully built attacker and neatly threw him, face-first, against the grimy brick wall. The third respondent used hands and feet in a dazzling martial arts display that floored two other attackers.

Four of the other gutless muggers wisely fled down the road. Preston’s partner had their IDs and his colleagues would no doubt collect them soon.

The victims gathered up their felled colleague, who remarkably seemed to be semi-conscious, and fled into the night.

As the young woman had estimated, it was all over in less than a minute.

Preston seized the CCTV footage as evidence. He knew most of the force would love to view that tape. A copy would probably end up on YouTube before the day was done. While he didn’t condone violence, Constable Preston couldn’t help but think that some of the area’s most aggressive thugs appeared to have received their come-uppance that evening. Yep, he thought, karma could be a bitch.

He knew they had to search for the victors. They didn’t look like military. Their hair was too long and they all sported moustaches. What the heck were Americans, a Brit and an Aussie doing grouped together? As far as he knew, there were no international sporting events in town.

Preston completed his report and yawned. He’d let the day boys sort that out. His shift was over and he was exhausted.

He would try that phone number later.

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