Cavalier, more uneasy than ever, nodded. Haut took a red sports bag from the back. It contained a shotgun, bolt cutters, a knife and petrol. Two rottweilers bounded to the gate, snarling and barking. Haut removed the bolt cutters from the bag and snapped the chain lock around the gate. He pushed it open. Mac rushed in and took on the rottweilers. He went straight for the throat of one and choked it within seconds. The second rottweiler circled as Mac turned to face him, his jaws dripping blood from the first encounter. Mac charged, again going for the jugular and dragging the second dog down. Within seconds, it too was dead.

‘Goodonya, mate,’ Haut said to Mac as he patted him.

The massive animal’s hair was up on his back but this praise had him wagging his tail. Mac sniffed his two victims as Haut leashed him. A light went on in the factory. A bulky, bandy-legged bikie, wearing a black, studded jacket and ragged underpants, was silhouetted in the light at the door. He was rubbing his eyes.

‘What the fuck are you doin’?’ he roared.

Haut lifted his gun and fired above the bikie’s head.

‘Jesus!’ the bikie cried. Haut strode towards him, holding back an angry Mac. Haut was twenty-five metres from the door when the bikie reappeared with an AR-15 rifle.

Cavalier jumped from the car and drew his handgun. The bikie aimed the rifle and fired at Haut, who went to ground, still gripping the lead that restrained Mac. Cavalier propped at the gate, aimed and fired, knocking the weapon from the hands of the bikie, who yelped as if struck. Haut scrambled to his feet and held on to Mac, who was barking fiercely. They approached the bikie, who was on his knees.

Cavalier walked towards them, his movements alert to anyone else in the compound.

‘You’re going to vamoose,’ Haut said to the bikie, ‘or I’ll let my dog rip your throat out too!’

‘Okay, okay,’ the bikie said, trembling and looking at Cavalier, ‘you can have any stuff you want …’

‘Fuck off!’ Haut growled. ‘Don’t bring your mates back, understand?’

The bikie reached for his pants and boots, which were in a pile of clothes next to a mattress on the floor.

‘Leave them. Got a bike?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Take the keys. You have ten seconds.’

The bikie scrambled for keys in his pants pocket. Mac lunged at him, snarling and snapping. The bikie took out the keys and bustled out the door. Haut followed him into the yard and fired one more shot above the bikie’s head. He stumbled, fell, got to his feet and jumped on his motorbike. He rode to the gate and drove off down the hill at high speed.