Jake's Long Shadow Read Online Free Page A

Illegal without a doubt. (On my tribal land.) Bodies crashed through scrub and trees. Charlie felt an instant protective anger and hurried down to the scrubby flats, his overweight body protesting at the extra requirement of energy. (I must do something about my weight. I must. That same old promise again, not acted on.)
    It was a jeep, with a dead pig roped to the bonnet. These hunters betterhave a permit. He waited, hearing the fury of dogs at a wild pig. Some of his friends were hunters and he’d tried it a few times but found no liking for killing an animal, even a worthy prey that a wild pig was. As for eating wild pork, now that was another matter.
    Grinning at the thought of roasted wild pork, he stepped up to the dead pig and touched its coarse bristles, ran a finger over a smooth ivory tusk. It would take a strong man to lug this out of the thick scrub and uneven ground. He’d wait around and see if these hunters had a permit.
    After some time, three dogs emerged and trotted up to smell him out. Then three men broke from the manukas, accompanied by swarming flies drawn to the dead pig on the last man’s back, so big it bent his head down. If he hadn’t been so obviously strong he could have been doing damage to his back.
    Three big Maoris, middle-aged. Sure of themselves they were, but in an unthreatening way. One greeted him with a standard, Kia ora. Charlie replied in kind and praised their hunting prowess. Two good-size porkers, boys. I didn’t hear a shot.
    One grinned and said they preferred to stick their pigs, which Charlie knew meant ramming a knife down its throat to hit the heart. The carrier’s two mates teased that he cut its ear near off with the first attempt, and they bantered until the pig-carrier grumbled at having to lug the kill, and his mates laughed again and said his name. Which made Charlie Bennett’s hair stand on end.
    Jake.
    Agitated in the instant, Charlie shuffled on the pumicy ground and managed to look the man in the eye, now that he’d let the pig drop to the ground and his face became visible.
    One of the other two asked if Charlie would like a leg of pork. Charlie was embarrassed but greatly distracted. He tried to shift his thoughts back to enquiring if they had a hunting permit, but just then the one who made the offer stepped forward and shook Charlie’s hand — a powerful grip it was, too, but with a smile oozing amiability.
    Gary Douglas, he introduced himself. And this here is my brother, Kohi. And this is Jake.
    Charlie took Kohi’s handshake, but looked Jake in the eye and stared. Then he turned away and headed off for his vehicle, walking faster than he’d done in years. Shaken to his very core.
    The voice was saying again:
This is my land
. But this time with anger close to fury. He was in turmoil. Jake Heke, the man known as Jake the Muss. What a ridiculous, childish nickname. Muss for muscles, for God’s sake. Fuming Charlie Bennett was.
    Yet the concept he had of Jake clashed with the actual physical image in Charlie’s head, of just another friendly, smiling face, another Maori of powerful build, out here in the wilderness. He could be any hunter, including a legitimate one, likely a fairly decent man if of a limited outlook. But hardly any kind of ogre.
    Oh, Charlie Bennett was in turmoil all right, experiencing a feeling he couldn’t remember ever having, of near blind hatred. He wanted to go back and confront the animal who had once beaten his wife —
my
wife. The man who’d caused such suffering, including two of his children’s tragic deaths. (I blame you, Jake Heke. I lay the blame squarely on your shoulders. This is not a hunting kill you carry, Jake the bullying Muss. It’s responsibility, it’s culpability, it’s bloody guilt on your ugly head, coward.) Yet, Jake wasn’t for a moment ugly; in calmer moments Charlie would admit the man was quite strikingly handsome and had a