Loot

By
D.G. Mattichak jr.

E
Eloquent Books
Copyright 2010
All rights reserved - D.G. Mattichak jr.

No part of this book 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 retrieval system, without
the permission, in writing, from the publisher.

Eloquent Books
An imprint of Strategic Book Group
P.O. Box 333
Durham, Ct. 06422
www.StrategicBookGroup.com

ISBN: 978-1-60911-723-8

Printed in the United States of America

Book Design: Prepress-Solutions.com

 Table of Contents

Chapter 1. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Chapter 2. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Chapter 3. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Chapter 4. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Chapter 5. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Chapter 6. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Chapter 7. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Chapter 8. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Chapter 9. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Chapter 10. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Chapter 11. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
Chapter 12. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85

iii
 Chapter 1

The deep thump-thump of a car’s sound system stopped

suddenly as the sleek blue sedan slid out of the sparse evening
traffic. The car had come to a crisp halt outside of a glassed-in
block of apartments that reflected the overgrown city cemetery
in the orange glare on its windows, and a moment later two
young men stepped self consciously out of its front doors. After
a blip from the car’s security alarm the two young men walked
quickly across to the heavily frosted glass security entrance,
chose the appropriate button and then stood patiently waiting
for a response as an empty orange tram rattled past on its way
back to the suburbs, mimicking the spreading glow of the warm
night’s dusk.
The pair were both young men, in their early twenties,
and wore oversized, loud sports clothes bearing brand names,
baseball caps pulled down over their brows and large white
runners on their feet. Both had warm olive skin with dark eyes
and hair and one of them wore a thick gold chain around his
neck with a heavy pendant shaped as a dollar sign that hung in
the middle of his chest and bounced as he walked. The other
one carried a dark grey briefcase that looked out of place in the
hands of the two youths.
As they waited the two men continued a conversation that
had been going on in the car on the way there. “Mate,” said the
one with the chain, “Bruce Lee would kick the shit out of Jet
1
2 Loot

Li., He was real, fuckin’ great man! He didn’t need no wires to

do his kung fu shit!” he added with a flourish of karate chops in
the air in front of him. His partner, the smaller of the two, who
carried the briefcase looked at him and smiled thinking of how
easy it was to wind up his friend and was just about to bait him
again when the intercom came to life and a laconic voice erupted
from the speaker with a disinterested “Yeah?” The man with the
briefcase stood next to the speaker and said more loudly than
necessary “It’s Ali and Mamoud man, let us in.” He had tried
not to sound cryptic and so only increased the suspiciousness
of his tone, making him shuffle nervously as he waited. The
door unlocked with an audible buzz in answer, admitting the
two young men into the apartment block and Ali felt relieved
as he pushed the door open and let big Mamoud go in past him
before following his bodyguard up the narrow stairs with the
case clutched tightly in his hand.
As they reached the door of the first floor apartment Ali
turned to his friend and said seriously, “No more of your Bruce
Lee shit okay Mam?” and mumbled “dickhead” under his breath
as he tapped on the door. After a moment the door opened to
the limit of its brass safety chain and a scrawny young Asian
guy with bad acne peered out through the crack. “It’s just us
mate.” assured Ali upon seeing the familiar eye at the door and
the voice inside answered familiarly “Yeah, it’s cool, come in.”
The door closed briefly and the two heard the sound of a chain
being slid back before the door opened more widely to admit
the two visitors into the darkened interior. Behind them the
door snapped shut again with a click of its lock. As they walked
across the living room of the small apartment the sound of the
chain being slid back into place preceded the return of their host
who gestured to a stained velveteen couch and a couple of old
vinyl kitchen chairs indicating that they should sit.
On the plush couch was seated another young Asian guy
almost indistinguishable in appearance from his cautious friend.
He was watching a large television that occupied most of the
 Mattichak 3

wall opposite to the lounge and the sound of screams issued from
it in surround sound as the cheap and unexceptional slash flick
played darkly on its screen. “Hi Kevin.” said Ali as he sat on the
couch next to the viewer. “G’day Ali, I suppose you’re here for
the gear?” replied Kevin eyeing the briefcase that Ali had placed
carefully on the floor next to his feet. Ali nodded and Kevin
rose and wandered across the room to a door that led to a small
bedroom and disappeared inside. After a few minutes the sounds
of drawers sliding and cupboard doors banging went silent and
Kevin yelled “Fuck Xi! Where did you hide the shit this time?”
Xi glanced embarrassed at the two visitors and said “Hang on a
sec’ dudes.” and followed Kevin into the room.
Ali and Mamoud sat waiting nervously on the couch together
scanning the dingy apartment’s bare walls and inspecting the
small piles of empty take-away containers that belied the transient
nature of the flat’s tenants. After a few minutes of muffled
arguments in a staccato Asian dialect Kevin and Xi reappeared
and placed five large zip lock bags of white powder onto the
coffee table in front of the two Lebanese. “This shit is the best
shit anywhere.” announced Xi with a broad businessman’s smile,
as Ali slipped one of the bags open and poked his pinky fingertip
into the contents to extract a taste. Making a face as he pulled the
finger out of his mouth he said “That tastes terrible man, it must
be good shit.” grinning widely and glancing towards Mamoud
to indicate that he was pleased with the merchandise. Ali pulled
the briefcase onto the coffee table next to the bags and opened
it to reveal several bundles of neatly bound bank notes which he
started taking out of the case and stacking on the table in front of
Kevin. “I’ll take all five kilos at the price we said on the phone,
okay Kev.” said Ali flatly, suddenly all business. “Cool!” replied
both Asians almost simultaneously as Ali slid over the cash and
started placing the bags of white powder where the cash had been
in the case. Meanwhile Kevin had undone one of the bundles
and was busily counting twenties and fifties, keeping track as
he went by whispering a running total to himself. Ali smiled at
4 Loot

him and said “Don’t worry Kev, it’s all there.” To which Kevin
replied that the weight of the powder was certainly correct too,
but he was “gonna check anyway.” Xi and Mamoud had settled
together on the end of the couch and were staring at the television
screen with identical vacant looks on their faces, mindlessly
absorbing the over-indulgent violence on the screen.
Just as Kevin had re-wrapped the first bundle of bills and
was reaching for another bundle of notes a loud crash from the
front door of the apartment caused all four heads to snap around
in unison. Before any of them could move two dark figures burst
into the small flat, towering over them, and brandishing viciously
sawn off shotguns. The intruders were dressed identically in
long black-blue woolen overcoats worn over khaki colored
boiler-suits. Both were disguised by novelty rubber masks, one
of John Howard and the other of Saddam Hussein. ‘John’ waved
his gun menacingly over the four young men while ‘Saddam’
quietly pushed the front door closed after a quick glance up
and down the hallway outside. “You cunts don’t move!” barked
John Howard as Saddam came in and gathered up the bundles of
money and put them into the case with the drugs. Behind them
the front door of the flat had blown open as the security door
downstairs had been opened and Ali, seeing a route for escape,
jumped up in a blind panic and headed for the door.
The flash of John Howard’s sawn-off shot gun briefly lit the
darkened room as he blasted Ali in the back, knocking him off his
feet into the now blood-spattered wall next to the door. Kevin had
been crouching beside the table and as Ali made his dash he had
done a similar bolt and in a remarkable display of agility from such
an apparently sedentary fellow, he threw himself headlong through
a sliding glass door at the end of the room. Seeing Kevin’s lunge
for freedom Saddam wheeled around and fired both barrels at once
blowing the glass out of the doors. Kevin landed among the shards
of glass on the balcony outside with a crash of plastic furniture and
rolling onto his feet, jumped up and over the edge, and disappeared
into the long shadows of the warm evening twilight.