‘Not exactly, no. You said you knew he was dying. Someone could’ve told you. How’d you find out?’
‘Well, if you really need to know, we spoke on the phone recently. Is there a problem with that?’
Shaun put his hands up.‘Hey. No offence, Brent. I’ve been out of circulation a long time. Just trying to get a handle on some things, that’s all.’
‘Like, what things?’
Shaun drew some breath. ‘Oh, you know, who’s up who, who hasn’t paid rent. Who wants a piece of me, and why.’ He looked sharply at Wollansky and added,‘Mainly, what the fuck’s going down, Brent? You’re here because you’re here? Don’t give me that shit.’
‘All right. I won’t,’ Wollansky said. ‘I won’t give you any shit.’ He glanced at his watch.
‘Brent, listen to me. Don’t spit it. And don’t worry about the fucking time. I’ve been in the dark so long now I can see like a cat. But I’m no wiser.’
‘Who among us is?’ Wollansky said.
‘When you phoned Leon Turner recently, was my name mentioned in dispatches at any point? Give us a straight answer on that.’
Their eyes met and held fast. It was a testing moment, and they both knew it. A door would either open or remain shut forever. Wollansky, Shaun saw, was weighing up his chances of lying convincingly to someone who, like him, was a trained lie detector. But he also had to take into account the fact that Shaun had survived for years among pathological liars and psychopaths, so his skills in that area would be honed to razor sharpness.
Wollansky was astute enough to see that the chances were shit.
‘I believe you were mentioned once or twice,’ he finally conceded. ‘Is that all right?’
‘Maybe. What was said? That I was on the loose?’
‘Yeah, that’s about the size of it. It was a news flash, that’s all.’ He gave a half-hearted shrug.
‘Sure, I understand.’ He lit up a cigarette to give himself some time. Wollansky had to be played with great care, or he would be gone. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I can’t get over the fact that the three of us are here together right now—three ex-cops, with a shared slice of history. What a coincidence.’
‘It’s not that big a one,’ Wollansky said.
Shaun drained his can and ordered another round. Wollansky did not object, so they were set for a stretch yet.
‘When you were a cop,’ Shaun said, ‘you didn’t believe in coincidences, did you, Brent?’
‘That was then,’ Wollansky said. ‘Your problem, Shaun, if you’ll forgive me, is that you’ve spent too much time inside your own head. You’re seeing things.’
‘Can’t argue with that,’ Shaun said. ‘I see things all the time. But, come on—the three of us intersected at a pretty special time, wouldn’t you say? Throw in Simmonds, who is here in spirit, and that makes four of us, all connected by that same inglorious series of events. See what I mean?’
‘Your point,’ Wollansky said, ‘appears to be valid. When you express it so colourfully.’
Shaun swallowed some beer and said, ‘Ever go to the Spread Eagle these days?’
‘The Spread Eagle? In Richmond?’
‘That’s the only one I know of.’
‘No, not really. It’s not part of my zone any more.’
‘Oh? Where is your zone?’
‘The head office is in Clayton.’
‘That’s many a mile from here.’
Wollansky had a slug of his can. ‘It certainly is. But I’m meeting some people for lunch over at South Melbourne anyway. Is that all right by you?’
Ignoring the jibe Shaun said,‘Do you remember one time at the Spread Eagle—’ ‘So we’re back at the Spread Eagle now.’
‘Yeah. This was 1992, June or July. You’d left the job and started up—’
‘Jesus Christ, Shaun, ace it up. 1992? I have trouble remembering what I did last week.’ He laughed, and even Burns’ surly face showed signs of a smile.
‘Yeah, well, that’s how it is with everyone, Brent, as you know. But most people can remember what happened years ago, even trivial stuff. I’m sure you remember the occasion I’m talking about. Bill Simmonds and Brick Turner were there, and you told them that Mitch Alvarez had approached you to see if you could help him with the Petrakos job. Now that isn’t something you’d report every day, is it?’
Wollansky nodded slowly as he revisited that afternoon. ‘I do have a hazy recollection of that day,’ he said.
‘Mitch wanted you to get some blueprints. You told him no.’
‘I sure did. Mitch Alvarez . . . I loved Mitch, he was a top guy and a top cop, too. None better. But . . .’ He shook his head.
‘But what?’
‘It was a crazy idea. He was on the road to self-destruction.’
‘Yeah, but he didn’t destroy himself, did he? Someone did it for him.’
‘That’s true,’ Wollansky said, nodding. ‘I didn’t mean that literally.’
‘Someone shot him in his driveway,’ Shaun said.‘Same deal as the Winchester killing, remember?’
‘Yeah,’ Wollansky said with a sadness that seemed genuine. ‘I thought at the time it was similar to Winchester. What a tragic waste.’
‘It was more than similar, Brent. Try identical. It was a cold-blooded execution modelled on the Winchester murder. And as you know, the executioner in Mitch’s case was never caught.’
Wollansky stared at his can, nodding imperceptibly as if locked into his own memories, before sneaking a glance at his watch. Shaun could sense time was running out— Wollansky had his lunch excuse to leave anytime.
‘I don’t blame you, Brent,’ he said quietly.
‘What?’ Wollansky was visibly taken aback—why would he be blamed?
‘Brent, listen. I know all about it. Turner told me. He’s dying, he doesn’t give a stuff anymore. You didn’t realise that day at the Spread Eagle—’
‘Oh, we’re back there again!’
‘Yes! Simmonds and Turner already had a job planned on the Petrakos place, didn’t they? The scumbag son Stan tipped them into it. There was a big heroin shipment they were gonna lift. Morris Salisbury was gonna move it. Am I right?’
‘Why don’t you shut your trap?’ Burns said.
‘Oh, welcome to the conversation, Mr Burns,’ Shaun said. ‘Feel free to jump in anytime.’
Wollansky wasn’t saying anything.
‘Here’s a reconstruction,’ Shaun said. ‘Indulge me, please. At the Spread Eagle you told Simmonds and Turner about Mitch’s proposal, which you rejected. Then, later on, you had a surprise visit from Simmonds, who had hatched a neat double-play. You know how Turner described it? An inside-out job: one scam unwittingly covering for another. Bill Simmonds invited you in, didn’t he? Get those blueprints— being in the security business you’d be in a position to break into an architect’s office, maybe even under cover of patrolling the premises—and give them to Simmonds. Maybe you arranged to supply the guns, too. Just nod if any of this hits the spot, Brent. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did use your . . . resources to steal those weapons from a gun shop.’
‘You don’t—’ Wollansky started.
‘Wait on. You get your chance in a minute. So you give all this shit to Simmonds in exchange for a share of the proceeds. Simmonds takes it all to Mitch, sells him the idea that he can help him pull off the Petrakos job, which he knows Mitch is burning inside to do. So, the pact is made. Except: Mitch doesn’t tell Andy or me about it. But that’s part of the pact, isn’t it? We do the heist, leave the drugs for Stan to rip off, and there’s the inside part of the job. Without realising, we covered for Stan.’
He drank some beer and lit a cigarette. The one he’d been smoking had burnt itself out in the ashtray.
‘You should write novels, Shaun,’ Wollansky said. ‘You’d be good at it.’
‘It all fits, Brent. Why would Turner lie?’
‘I can’t account for Turner.’
Shaun made a bold move, putting a hand on W
ollansky’s arm and turning him around so he had to look Shaun directly in the eye. Wollansky didn’t like it, but didn’t try to shake the unwelcome hand off his fine threads.
‘Tell me, Brent. You were prepared to work with Simmonds and his bunch, but not with Mitch. Why? You two had been through a lot together. You were a team. You knew you could’ve trusted him with your goddamn life, for Christ’s sake. I did. Come on, Brent, talk to me, will you? It was years ago—I don’t hold any grudges now. Used to, but not any more. Please. Help me out. I need to know.’
It was a turning point, an all-or-nothing roll of the dice. Shaun maintained intense eye contact, not even daring to blink. In his peripheral vision he was aware of Burns fidgeting and shifting—was he going for a weapon? Chances were he had more than a phony gun on the premises of a dive like this.
Slowly, with great care, Wollansky detached Shaun’s fingers from his jacket—one by one.
‘Take it easy, man. You’re creasing the fabric. Cost me a fortune.’
‘Sorry.’ Still his eyes did not deviate from the other man’s.
‘Mr Burns,’ Wollansky said. ‘Can we have another round, please?’
Two cans were popped and placed on the bar towel.
When he’d had a sip Wollansky said, ‘Mitch was twisting in the wind. He was . . . out there. You’re right. Under normal circumstances I would’ve trusted him with my life. But these were not normal circumstances. Mitch was driven at that time. He had the fire in his belly but not much else. He was . . . a rogue cop. You don’t need to be told that when a cop crosses and tries to work the other side of the street, he puts himself in no-man’s land. Neither side respects him. Mitch Alvarez had no protection, no back-up . . . just you two guys, who were also twisting.’ He swallowed some more beer. ‘A job on that scale, you’re gonna go down for it unless you have the official seal of approval, Shaun. Mitch didn’t have it. Simmonds did.’
‘That’s why you went with him?’
‘I had no personal involvement,and the potential payoff was huge.It was a no-brainer.I thought about it for maybe a minute.’
‘Watch what you’re saying,’ Burns said.
‘No, Shaun’s right. It’s all history now.’
‘You supplied the blueprints, and the guns?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ Burns said.
‘Cool down, Burnsy,’ Wollansky said. ‘What’s he gonna do—arrest us?’
‘Did you supply the van too?’ Shaun said.
‘No, no—that was Bill, through one of his connections in the hot car biz.’
‘Brent, what did Mitch say? About the pact.’
‘I don’t know. I never saw or spoke to him again after that first approach. Simmonds handled it all, with his redoubtable powers of persuasion. You don’t believe Mitch would’ve sold you two guys out?’
Shaun nodded.
‘Yeah, we always want to believe we can trust those closest to us, don’t we? But we never know. Not really. Mitch? He was loyal, sure. But his overriding need, as I saw it, was to get back at the Petrakos clan and the police department, and this was his big chance to do both at the same time. According to Simmonds . . . I don’t know, Shaun. He agreed to the pact, and that’s all there is to it now.’
‘According to Simmonds—what?’
‘He said, “Alvarez is ours”. Those were his exact words.’
‘Mitch might have said that without meaning it. Putting it over him.’
‘Possibly. Pretty tough to fool Bill Simmonds, though. Graveyard’s full of mug punters who’ve tried.’
Shaun said nothing as he processed what Wollansky had given him. It sounded as if it came from the heart. Wollansky raised his can to his lips, held it there in a contemplative pose, then put it on the bar towel again before turning to Shaun.
‘Simmonds is not coming, is he? You know that. That’s why you’re here.’
‘I can’t honestly say, Brent. But I hope to Christ not.’
Wollansky thought about it.
Shaun said,‘Wherever he is, I hope he’s suffering mightily.’ A thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘You know he killed Mitch, don’t you?’
Wollansky spun around. ‘What?’
Christ. He really didn’t know.
‘Turner told me, Brent. After I was arrested, Simmonds was concerned that I’d give up the others and that Mitch would subsequently name names. So he had to go.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘No, it’s right.’
Wollansky stared ahead with his hand on his barber-smooth jaw. He appeared to be trying to come to grips with it—with something.
‘What about you, Mr say-nothing Burns?’ Shaun said. ‘Were you aware of that?’
Burns’ eyes flicked from Shaun’s to Wollansky’s, but he didn’t respond.
Wollansky said, ‘I just assumed it was an underworld hit. A rip-off merchant, or . . . someone Mitch had crossed somewhere along the line.’
‘Big, brave Bill Simmonds hid in the bushes and waited for him to come home. He shot him in the head before he got out of the car and then vanished into the night. It was a replica of the Colin Winchester hit, except Simmonds didn’t use a .22 rifle. And he was never caught. Was he, Mr say-nothing Burns? Because he had influential allies in the system,didn’t he? People who’d go down with him if they didn’t cover his big, ugly butt.’
A heavy silence descended into the room. Burns looked to be on the verge of saying something, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Shaun knew he’d come around eventually. Powerful men like Bill Simmonds and Brick Turner—and the third wheel, Burns—were given to boasting about their exploits, because they lived off it, they believed in their own invincibility. And anyway, what was the point of possessing secrets if you didn’t reveal them to anyone? The buzz was power, the power to tell. It was the unmaking of many a felon.
Shaun decided to try and draw in the ex-goon. He leaned over the bar and said in a confidential tone,‘Come on, Burns. No-one’s going to hurt you. We’re just shooting the breeze here. Get with it, can’t you? Shit, even if it was given a red-hot chance, I don’t think the present administration would want to dig up these old bones. They’ve got enough problems with the drug squad to worry about.’
Wollansky gave a snort. It had been an inglorious time for the now-disbanded squad. Major prosecutions were on hold pending investigations into the detectives involved. All kinds of rorts had been uncovered, and some ex-members were going down for forgetting which side they were on.
After a long moment’s deliberation Burns said, in a surprisingly small voice, ‘Mitch Alvarez was a fallen angel. He burned himself.’
‘Spoken like a true prophet, Burns,’ Shaun said, equally restrained. ‘You ought to be full bottle on that. But tell me: did you hesitate for any longer than a minute before accepting that first pay envelope from Simmonds? Way back when?’
‘I didn’t hesitate at all,’ Burns said with surprising candour. ‘It was a bonus simply for doing the job I was paid to do anyway. I often prioritised cases, put ’em on hold, or filed ’em in the WPB. A blizzard of paper hit my desk every day, so I was in an ideal position to run interference. I just had to be discriminating about it, once I was on the team.’
‘The fixer,’ Shaun said. ‘The insider.’
‘Yeah, the fixer,’ Burns said with some puffed-up pride, which came across as rather comical given his present situation. ‘Bill Simmonds was the man. He had power. He had respect. He ran the streets and put the thugs in their proper place when no-one else had the balls to. It was the Wild West in those days. Nobody fucked with Bill—or if they did, they paid the price.’
‘That’s what it was all about,’ Wollansky said. ‘Being on the right team, I mean. Everyone understood the system, including Mitch. As you may recall he used to be a big-time gambler, so when he switched sides he was simply exercising his better judgement, like a jockey going with the form horse, the one with the black-type pedigree. It was a liv
ing certainty. Should’ve been, anyway. All he had to do was stay in the saddle and steer it. Instead it was a royal fuck-up, from go to whoa.’
Ignoring all that, Shaun said, ‘Remember a guy named Johnny Wu?’
‘Johnny Wu? Chinese gangster?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I remember him. He crashed and burned too, didn’t he?’
Shaun studied Wollansky. His puzzled brown eyes were not lying. He didn’t know.
‘Yeah. In a big way.’
It was becoming clear to Shaun now that Brent Wollansky had been a peripheral player all along: a provider of plans, weapons and other services, such as suggesting a useful container depot for which his company had the account—but what else?
He didn’t know Simmonds had shot Mitch.
He didn’t seem to know that Johnny Wu had wasted Andy, and that in turn Bill Simmonds had put Wu to the torch.
He was apparently removed from the hot centre of action.
Shaun returned his attention to Burns.
‘Burns, you knew Simmonds and Turner were robbing the evidence storage facility, didn’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘You shared in the profits?’
Burns laughed.‘Who are you, the chief prosecutor? Yeah, I took a cut.’
‘An equal third share?’
‘No, I got less than that. Just some walk-around money, basically.’
‘And you knew Simmonds and Turner planted that evidence to crucify Mitch, Andy Corcoran and me?’
Burns shrugged. ‘It was a case of you or me, buddy boy. A no-brainer, as the man said.’
‘So, the bottom line is, you aided and abetted a conspiracy to pervert the course of justice.’
‘Well, if you wanna put it that way, Mr Clean Hands prosecutor.’
‘How would you put it?’
Burns drew a deep breath.‘It was survival, McCreadie. That’s all. You bastards didn’t realise what you were letting yourselves in for. Your fatal mistake was that you got in Bill Simmonds’ face. That was the start of all your troubles, sunshine. Once you did that, there was no way back. You were fucked and far away.’
Shaun lit another cigarette. Again, the one he’d been smoking had been forgotten, and burnt itself out.
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