by Peter Corris
‘She’ll cut your heart out,’ he said. I took that as confirmation—but who was the middleman he’d tried to double cross?
I pulled O’Malley upright and shoved him across to where I could dump him in a plastic chair. I twisted about a dozen turns of the twine around him so he was anchored to the chair and only able to move his arms from the elbows. He could just get to the beer can he was clutching to his mouth.
I went into the house and cut the phone cord. With great difficulty I fitted Ronny into some clothes and shoes. He had deep purple and yellow bruises on his ribs on both sides and movement hurt him, even though the drugs had dulled him down. Eve had left the cap and the scarf; I jammed the cap on his head and wound the scarf around his neck. He groaned as I put him in a fireman’s lift and carried him out to the Nissan. I arranged him in the back seat and strapped him in with my bundled-up anorak as a pillow. He muttered and then he snored. He smelled terrible. I turned the engine on and left it running.
‘I’m off, Des,’ I said, ‘me and Ronny.’
He showed fear for the first time. ‘You goin’ to leave me here to fuckin’ die?’
‘No.’
I gave him a very blunt kitchen knife I’d found in a drawer. ‘You can cut yourself loose with this. It’ll take a while, but you can do it. Don’t drop the knife, mind.’
‘You say the chick took the car?’
‘That’s right. Looked like she could handle it, too.’
‘How am I going to get out of here?’
I handed him the knife. ‘Walk. But look at it this way—it’s mostly downhill.’
On the way out I picked up Des’s shottie, checked that it wasn’t loaded and hurled it as far as I could into the bush.
23
I took it quietly down the track, stopping from time to time to make sure Ronny was okay. The driving was easier now that the rain had stopped. The guy in the hire place was surprised to see me back so soon but not surprised at the state of the vehicle.
‘You’re up for the petrol and the wash, mate. It’ll come out of your deposit.’
I told him that was fine and while he went off to do the paperwork I shifted Ronny and my gear to the Falcon, I put him on the back seat with his head cushioned as before and a blanket over him. He was twitching a bit but still fast asleep. I settled up and drove back to the main street and stopped at the first telephone box I found to ring Bronwen.
‘Bron, it’s Cliff.’
Coolly, ‘Nice to hear from you.’
‘I’ve got Ronny.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve got him. Can you be at my place in an hour and a half? I need some help.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘Not really.’
‘I’ll be there. Is there anything else?’
‘No, I’ll explain everything when I see you.’
‘You better.’
She hung up and I got on my way. I mulled over her response as I drove. It was reasonable that she’d be annoyed at my absence and silence but not that she should adopt that high moral tone. Or maybe it was. In the strange relationship we had forming, anything was possible. I drove with great care, not only out of consideration for my passenger but because I had two bottles of prescription medicine, a vial of an analgesic drug and a half-loaded plastic syringe in my pocket.
I saw Bron’s Audi as soon as I turned into my street. She got out and came quickly towards me. She was wearing her business gear and looking efficient. Ronny was stirring and she helped me get him from the car, into the house and up the stairs to the spare room. We stripped him off and washed him down, paying particular attention to places where he’d vomited on himself and being gentle with the bruises. He protested mildly and incoherently but didn’t resist.
‘At least he didn’t shit himself,’ Bron said.
‘Probably the reverse problem. The sorts of drugs he’s had pumped into him cause constipation.’
‘Know a bit about it, do you?’
‘At second hand.’
Bron held his head while I helped him to sip some water. After that he went back to sleep.
‘Aren’t you supposed to walk them up and down?’ Bron said.
But I was already on the phone to my doctor, Ian Sangster. I described the symptoms and named the two drugs I knew he’d taken.
‘That’s a pretty heavy load. Can someone keep an eye on him until I get there in an hour or so? I take it you don’t want to take him to a hospital.’
‘Not unless I have to, but I’ll let that be your decision.’
‘Thanks a lot, I love compromising my medical ethics for you.’
‘Thanks, Ian. You know your life would be duller without me.’
I finished the call. Bron was sitting beside Ronny’s pale, bewhiskered head at the top of the bed and I was in the hallway checking my answering machine for messages. There weren’t any. Suddenly, she was standing beside me and pulling me to my feet.
‘Life certainly isn’t dull around you,’ she said.
She kissed me and pulled me close. She touched my bruised cheekbone and looked at my eye that by then would have been showing some damage.
‘Bad fight?’
‘Not when you win.’
‘I was angry when you took off without telling me anything.’
I held on to her, enjoying the softness, the hardness and the warmth. ‘Love, it was a matter of a drive up a muddy track, a shotgun and a bare-knuckle stoush. You . . .’
Ever the professional, she eased back. ‘A shotgun? That’s what killed Sir Keith Mountjoy.’
I shook my head. ‘That was a shortened shottie, this was the full monty.’
‘You’re infuriating.’
‘I know. Look, what I need is a strong coffee with a decent belt of whisky in it and something to eat. Then we can sit down until Ian comes and I can tell you all about it.’
‘All? Knowing you, I doubt it.’
She was right. There were quite a few things to sort out between us before I could tell her everything.
Ian arrived and gave Ronny a thorough examination. I showed him the drugs and told him there’d been a lot of alcohol as well.
‘Over how long?’ he asked.
‘Not long, about four days.’
‘Long enough. His life’s not in danger. Those bruises are bad but his ribs aren’t broken, though they might be cracked. Whoever did that knew what he was doing. Your guy’s young and very fit, but he’s going to need some R and R. There’s a place in Erskineville I could get him into. Very expensive.’
‘Not a problem. Barry Bartlett’ll pay.’
This conversation went on outside the spare room. Ronny was drowsily awake through the examination but not taking any interest in what was happening to him. Bron was in with him and I could hear encouraging murmurs from her. Ian made a couple of calls. I phoned the hospital, asked for Barry and was told he was attending a session on diet and nutrition. Had to smile at that. I left a message that Ronny was safe and that I would be calling on him that evening.
Bron and I drove Ronny to the Darnley Rest and Rehabilitation Centre near the Erskineville Oval park. Ian had provided the technical data and we checked him in, leaving my details and Barry’s. Ronny still showed almost no interest in the proceedings but offered us a smile and a nod before he was wheelchaired away.
‘Who was she?’ Bron asked when we got back to her car.
‘Who was who?’
‘The woman who was with him. Think I don’t know what a love bite looks like? And those scratches, Jesus!’
‘A hooker, name of Eve, but probably not.’
‘And how did you deal with her? Charm?’
‘Money. Barry’s going to have to pay her two thousand. I have to tell him what’s happened and to save me doing it twice you’d better come along.’
‘And on the way you’ll work out how much to tell us.’
I nodded. ‘You’ve got it.’
‘How will you explain me?’
‘I’m working on it.’
Barry was looking a lot better when we got to him. He’d shaved or been shaved and was scrubbed up. He wore white silk pyjamas and had lost some of the haggard look. I introduced Bron as my assistant who’d helped me to find Ronny.
‘You look years younger,’ I said.
‘I feel okay, might make a play for Ms Marr here. Tell me about the boy.’
I told him how the Helensburgh suggestion had worked out and how O’Malley and the prostitute had kept him under control. I touched the black eye.
‘I went one-on-one with Des and got lucky. I had to buy off the girl. You owe her two grand.’
Barry waved that away. ‘He’s all right, then?’
I explained how my doctor had examined Ronny and how Bron and I had taken him to the rest home. ‘More money, I’m afraid, Barry.’
‘That’s all right. It’s my fault he got into this shit.’ He nodded at Bron. ‘Thanks.’
Bron knew most of this but controlled her impatience. She sat quietly, appraising the man who was one of her main targets.
‘Okay,’ Barry said. ‘Why and who?’
‘To get some sort of hold on you, obviously. Who’s behind it I still don’t know, but I’ve got a lead.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bron react negatively to my first statement and more positively to the second. I told them that I’d left Eve in charge of the 4WD that had taken the three of them to the farm.
‘My guess is she’ll hang on to it. I’ve got the licence number and I want to take a look at it for the sort of stuff that accumulates in cars. It’s not Des’s kind of vehicle. With luck, I should be able to trace it to whoever . . . financed him.’
Barry nodded enthusiastically and Bron did the same a little less happily.
‘Cherchez la femme,’ Bron said. ‘That’s you all over, Cliff.’
Barry looked puzzled.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a contact number for the girl. I’m going to need the two thousand, though.’
‘I’ll get on it,’ Barry said, pointing to his phone. ‘Should be able to have it couriered to you by tomorrow morning. That do?’
‘Yeah, then we can . . .’
I’d turned to Bron to include her in this and she looked worried.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Cliff, I need a private word. Sorry, Mr Bartlett.’
‘Barry.’
‘Barry. Sorry. Cliff?’
I gave Barry a you-know-what-they’re-like shrug and followed Bron out of the room. She was rigid with anger and would have bailed me up against the wall if she’d had the height and weight.
‘You’re a bastard. You’re hiding something to protect that fucking crook.’
‘What d’you mean? You can come with me when I go to see Eve and—’
‘Fuck that. I can read you. You’ve got something more solid you’re not telling me. Let me talk to him.’
‘No. It’s not the right time. He won’t talk to you now.’
‘Okay, that’s it! Partnership dissolved.’ She walked away, heels clicking, skirt flicking with the roll of her angry hips.
I went back into the room. Barry made a face. ‘I heard a bit. Cliff, tell me I’m wrong, but I thought I smelled cop.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ I said. ‘I’m in a tough spot, Barry. She’s Federal Police, part of a task force working on your fuel scam.’
‘Shit, what’re you doing teaming up with her for then?’
‘She helped a lot.’
‘Are you fucking her?’
‘I was, but probably not anymore. She knows I’m holding out on her and she’ll be firmly on your case now. She might try to milk Ronny for more information but I don’t think he has any. That’s about all she can do.’
‘You’re holding out how?’
‘I think I know who hired Des.’
‘Who?’
I shook my head. ‘This is what I mean by being in a tough spot. You’re my client and I want to protect you. How deeply are you into this thing?’
‘Too fucking deep. I told you, I was looking to get out of it.’
‘How hard have you been along the way?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Had anyone killed?’
‘Shit, no.’
‘Would you rat on the others in return for immunity?’
‘What others?’
‘Whoever.’
‘You are playing it close to the fucking chest.’
He stared at me. As far as I knew, and his attitude now seemed to confirm it, Barry had never been a phiz-gig although he would’ve had plenty of opportunities. But in the era of Neddy Smith and others, the old code of silence was breaking down.
Barry suddenly lost the glow he’d had when I arrived. He heaved a deep sigh. ‘I’d die in gaol, Cliff, if I was sent up for my part in it. Don’t want that, and there’s Ronny to think of. Yeah, I’d talk to save my hide if you could swing it. So, who tried to grab Ronny? The Mountjoys?’
I got up from my chair, my joints cracking, my muscles aching. ‘At this stage, Barry, it’s better you don’t know. Make it three thousand in the morning, okay?’
‘Mate, I’ll make it four.’
I went home to an empty house. No word from Bron, as I’d expected. I knew I’d have to negotiate with her and her colleagues at some point, but I’d need some better cards in my hand before that. I was dog-tired, went to bed early and had a deep, dreamless sleep. If there was a hair of Bronwen’s dark head on the pillow or a whiff of her body in the bed I didn’t notice.
At 10.30 the next morning a courier brought a package—four thousand dollars in hundreds and fifties. I put two thousand in an envelope, a couple of hundred in my wallet and the rest into a drawer and locked it. The .38 went back into its hiding place; the muddy boots stood outside the back door waiting for a clean and the muddy trousers went into the wash. Then I rang the number Eve had given me.
‘Hullo.’ A male voice.
‘I’d like to speak to Eve.’
‘Who would?’
‘Tell her I’ve got her money.’
I heard a series of noises—voices, a slap, footsteps . . .
‘Hello, this is Eve.’
‘I’ve got your two thousand. Do you want it?’
‘Bet your life I want it. Fuck me, you kept your word.’
‘Life’s full of surprises, isn’t it? Who answered the phone?’
‘Nobody. How do I get the money?’
‘I’ll bring it to you. I’m hoping you’ve still got the Land Rover.’
‘Yeah, you going to take it away?’
‘No, I just want to look it over. Where are you?’
She said she still had the car and gave me an address in Petersham.
‘Any trouble likely from Nobody?’
She laughed. ‘Not when I tell him what you done to Des O’Malley.’
‘How do you know what I did to O’Malley?’
‘I hear things. Word is he got back last night and was very knocked about. He’s in hospital with a cracked skull.’
‘Must have tripped and fallen. By the way, does Des have a sawn-off shottie?’
‘Sure he does, loves waving it about. Gave me the shits.’
I’d used the idea of learning something from the Land Rover to fob Bronwen off but I was serious about it. I knew Betty Lee Mountjoy was involved but it wouldn’t hurt to get another name or two—personal or corporate. I topped up the Falcon’s tank, reflecting how twenty bucks would’ve overflowed it a few years ago and now it fell well short of full. I supposed the stuff was dearer to get out of the ground, and there were tricky politics involved, but the oil companies and the government had seized the chance to get in for their whack on the basis of the uncertainty.
The address was for a terrace house close to the railway station. A grey, soulless street, but not too far from the attractions of the Portuguese quarter with its restaurants and take-aways. I promised myself a lunch o
f sardines and salad on Barry.
Eve, cigarette in hand, opened the door. She was wearing what she’d worn when she drove off yesterday. I had the envelope in my hand and she reached for it.
‘Keys first,’ I said, ‘and where is it?’
‘In the fuckin’ station carpark. Will you bring the keys back?’
Had to hand it to her, she was still negotiating. ‘You can do what you like with it as far as I’m concerned.’
She reached into her back pocket and handed me the keys. I gave her the envelope and she flicked through the notes with greedy fingers. ‘Is it hot, the 4WD?’
‘Not now,’ I said. ‘Could be later.’
‘I fancy the Gold Coast. Plenty of action and a long way from Des.’
‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘I’ll drop the keys back through the letter slot.’
The Land Rover, sitting among rows of commuter cars, was as dirty as the Nissan had been, or even dirtier. It also sported two parking infringement notices and its radio aerial had been snapped off. Leave a vehicle in a car space overnight in the inner west and that’s what you get.
I unlocked it. It smelled of cigarette smoke and the ashtray had overflowed. Eve must’ve smoked a whole packet on her way down Jackson’s Track. I climbed in, opened the glove-box and scooped the contents out—chewing gum, an empty cigarette packet, used tissues, a dead lighter, an ATM transaction slip for a hundred dollars and a registration certificate. The vehicle was registered to Botany Security Systems. I pocketed the certificate and the ATM slip. I opened the bonnet and removed the distributor cap. If Eve had been hoping to drive it to Surfers she was going to be disappointed. It’d either sit there suffering more vandalism or be towed to the RTA holding yard. Either way suited me. I wanted to create worry about it. I kept the keys.
I rang Harry Tickener, assuming he’d be in his office on a Sunday, and asked him what he knew about Botany Security Systems. I waited while he consulted his files.
‘It’s a security firm which, rumour has it, lists some pretty big concerns among its clients,’ Harry said.
‘Such as?’
He ran off a list of names that included Ratan Mining and Mogul Resources. ‘Sounds as if you’re making progress. Anything for me?’