I think $2,000 Singapore dollars should be enough.
With the value of the Singapore dollar very close to the Australian dollar, I assumed the amount enough to hold me over for a few weeks. Dayne suggested using cash as much as possible, keeping the credit card for emergencies.
My request produced an unexpected response. The young girl covered her mouth with both hands, lowered her face and giggled uncontrollably.
Is there something wrong?
I’m sorry. But you make a small joke.
How do you mean?
I felt my face begin to flush. Had I asked for too much?
You said, ‘fairly large.’
Yes?
What you asked for is such a meagre amount against your balance.
She turned her terminal in my direction and the colour creeping along my neck and into my cheeks quickly headed south. I’d only reluctantly agreed to take enough from Eric’s account to fund my disappearance for a month. Rationalising the theft as compensation for being on the lam. Apparently, Dayne, and his associates around the world harboured other ideas. I signed for and collected my withdrawal in a daze.
The United Overseas Bank building opened onto a promenade facing the Singapore River. I crossed the stone pavement and sat on the steps leading down to the water. A construction crane on the opposite bank turned lazily under the glare of the morning sun.
The account balance for D&C Investments was a little under $2 million. Dayne had swept away every last dollar he could find.
***
A freshening sea breeze blew in off the Strait and dropped the temperature several degrees. We moved inside and sat on opposite ends of an overstuffed leather couch. Steve propped his feet on the coffee table, pushed aside a couple of magazines and aimed the remote at the television.
The Saturday night football game was well underway; heavily favoured Sydney taking on Richmond under the lights at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. The small home crowd in attendance reflected Richmond’s chances.
So, what’s next for you?
An excellent question, and one I’d been avoiding.
I’m not sure.
You know, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. I’ve no wife, never married. No kids. The job… well, you try not to let it become your life but before you know it 40 years have passed and the best-laid plans become just distant memories.
Thanks. I may stay a while, just until I get some things sorted out in my head.
Besides, your uncle Bert was a good friend to me when I was young. Returning the favour would be a pleasure.
Richmond held a five-point lead as the siren sounded for half-time. I grabbed a fresh Boag’s Premium from the fridge as they replayed results and highlights from the day’s earlier games.
Steve, I was wondering, do you have any idea what happened to my car?
That old piece of shit! We towed it from Abbotsford to the police impound yard. I’d drop down there once a week just to turn over the engine. My way, I guess, of not giving up on finding out what happened to you.
He laughed before continuing.
Though, the bloody thing, once you got it started, it wouldn’t stop. Coughed and sputtered and farted for a full minute after you’d switched off the ignition. It acted just like an old asthmatic pensioner. Needs a nurse more than a mechanic.
Poor beast.
One more question. What, or who is a Plutus?
Yeah, I needed to look that up myself. Plutus was the Greek God of wealth. Anyway, legend has it Plutus was blinded by Zeus, therefore better able to dispense his gifts without prejudice. Such a grand and noble concept. And apropos for what your friend’s group did, eh!
Steve held my gaze for a moment longer than felt comfortable. With his words still ringing in my ears, he slapped his palms on his thighs and rose from the couch.
Well, I’m off to bed. Goodnight, Craig.
’Night, Steve. And thanks again for the hospitality.
No worries, mate. Oh, but if you would do me a favour?
Sure.
Could you clean up around the place a bit? I’ve invited a friend down for the weekend. Should be here anytime. I’d hate for them to think the place a pigsty.
Sure thing.
He paused in the hallway leading to the larger of the two bedrooms and looked pensively over his shoulder towards the veranda and the darkened beach beyond.
Yeah, the damnedest thing. Plutus, being totally blind. Tough to keep your wits about you if you can’t see. Mind you, I have found it convenient to turn a blind eye on occasion.
Then he turned and ambled down the hall, his cryptic message left to float out into the night.
After learning of Dayne’s death, I hadn’t given my future, or the money, a moment’s consideration. Dayne’s impetuous lark; his triumphant blow for the downtrodden, became a stark reminder of a horrible tragedy. For now, all I wished was to resurrect a life which lay in ruin. No amount of money could bring back my parents, nor remove the stain from my hands for my best friend’s death.
For now, a small unit in Alphington awaited. Its contents: A music collection full of sad memories. A few pieces of rickety furniture whose best days were in the last century. And a lumpy bed with a cheap metal frame, but which held fond memories of the nights lying there next to Judy.
Judy.
Dayne thought it best to keep her in the dark. To keep her safe. We still haven’t spoken. How to explain? How to apologise? How to even take that first step?
I was elbow deep in soapy water when a vehicle’s headlights sliced through the living room illuminating the dunes beyond the back veranda. Farther out, the sea, black as ink, churned and fizzed relentlessly upon the shore. Drying my hands on a tea-towel, I looked over both rooms to make sure all was in order.
Tyres crunched over the rocky driveway strewn with crushed sea shells and pulled to a stop. I reached the front door just as the headlights dimmed, allowing the shadows to reclaim lost ground. I unlocked the door just as the driver switched off the ignition.
As the stubborn engine, coughed and spluttered and refused to die, my face broke into a knowing smile. The engine expired with one final sigh; only the metallic ticking of the cooling engine broke the silence. From the veranda, I waited for the familiar squeak and whine of the driver’s side door as it swung open.
And tears clouded my eyes when the interior light illuminated the driver within tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
With arms spread wide, I stood at the edge of the wooden steps, ready to embrace a new beginning.
Author’s Note
Turn a Blind Eye is a work of fiction; however, many of the characters and events described herein are, in fact, real.
Denis Donaldson was indeed an informant for Britain’s MI5 while working within the IRA, and subsequently executed as described in the novel; however, the fictional Eamonn Mahoney, was (obviously) not involved in the operation’s planning.
The Belfast bank heist of £26.5 million in 2004 by members of the IRA, and their somewhat farcical attempts at hiding the money did occur as described.
The Vatican, and its Institute for the Works of Religion (IOR) have a long and tawdry history of numerous money laundering scandals. Those described herein are accurate. As is the (described) murder of the Milanese banker, Roberto Calvi. And the failed smuggling attempt in 2013 of €20 million by Monsignor Scareno and associates.
Midway through my writing of Turn a Blind Eye the Panama Papers scandal broke. It blended in so neatly to the storyline I was already pursuing, I found it just too enticing to avoid. And although the current Prime Minister of Australia, Malcolm Turnbull, was, in fact, named within the report, no question of any illegal acts should be read into my interpretation. The group of whistle-blowers, known as Plutus 7, is purely fictitious.
The political situation in Ireland surrounding the February 2016 election, the number of seats won by the Sinn Fein party and the subsequent scramble to form a government was also
as it occurred. A subsequent run-off election held in May installed Fine Gael’s Enda Kenny as prime minister after forming a coalition with the Fianna Fáil party.
Although the Southern Cross Bank & Trust, the Sisters of Mercy Hospice, and a handful of other locations are figments of my imagination, I’ve tried my best to maintain as much realism with the locales, streets, churches, pubs and restaurants visited throughout – Including the line-up of musical acts playing at the Yarra Hotel in Abbotsford.
Any errors and/or omissions are solely mine.
Neil – May 2018
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