by Peter Corris
I picked up my Vegemite glass and drank some wine.
‘A cheap private investigator,’ Riley said. ‘Drinking cheap plonk.’
‘Cask wine and French brandy,’ I said. ‘The effect’s the same. What’s on your mind, Stan?’
‘You are. I’m wondering how to stop you causing me any trouble.’
‘Now how could I cause you trouble? A cheap …’
‘You’ve been phoning around. Trying to set up a meeting with Marinos, poking into my business affairs and talking to the police. I’m worried.’
‘You’ve been listening in. That’s illegal.’
‘Everything’s illegal these days, Hardy. A while ago I could’ve just neutralised you—got your licence cancelled, got you a few months on remand, bored it up you. But with this new mob coming into government … it takes time to make the right contacts.’
‘Psychic, are you? The election’s a week away.’
‘It’s in the bag.’
‘I must get a bet on,’ I said. I had the Vegemite glass and could reach the telephone. Not very potent weapons. The .357 Colt would make a lot of noise but there weren’t many people in the building to hear it, and probably none who would care.
‘You’ve really been poking around, Hardy. You mentioned fingerprints and fibres. I reckon you’ve got the bits of the shotguns.’
I didn’t say anything, tried to keep my face neutral.
‘Gary here got careless,’ Riley said. ‘That’s why I brought him along. He’s itching for a chance to make up for his mistake.’
‘You’ve made a lot of mistakes, Stan.’
‘Well, I’ll just have to set things right, won’t I? Starting with you. The shotguns’re ashes and lumps of metal now, all except for the bits you’ve got.’
‘There’s some photographs too. I don’t know how many copies.’
Riley plucked at the hole in his big chin. He must have found it hard to shave there and a couple of bristles were annoying him. ‘I’m not too worried about photographs. I might do a deal on the negatives if you’ve got them.’
‘Deal?’
‘You don’t think I want to strong-arm you, do you? I’m a businessman. I find all this stuff very distasteful, and I want to put an end to it. That’s why I’m here.’
Gary sniffed. He dropped his butt on the floor and stepped on it. Then he used his free hand to scratch his crotch. Talk evidently bored him. He saw me watching him and turned his head slightly to bring me into his strange field of vision. He was small, but not as small as the man who had followed me and run up against O’Fear. That one had excelled at evasion; this one looked as if he liked to see blood flowing. Riley reached into his pocket and took out a cheque book.
‘What’re you being paid on this job?’
‘Ten thousand dollars.’
He nodded, reached out and picked up a ballpoint pen from my desk. He blew on it to get rid of the dust and made a few trial scratches on the cover of the chequebook. On the fourth scratch the pen worked. ‘I’ll double it.’
‘No sale,’ I said.
He sighed. ‘I thought it might be like that. A man of integrity, eh? Too bad.’
‘And curiosity,’ I said. ‘Tell me a bit about it. We might be able to reach an arrangement.’
Riley examined my face for what seemed like five minutes but was probably thirty seconds. Time frames change when the pressure comes on. I stared back at him and tried to guess his age and background. About fifty, I decided. School of hard knocks, with an overlay of sophistication picked up late. Possibly from a woman. He fiddled with the pen, flexed it between his thick fingers and snapped it like a matchstick. He seemed like a man who had followed his instincts for most of his life but had recently got smarter and learned to use his brains. Under stress, though, it was a struggle between the two approaches. Gary yawned and lit another cigarette.
‘Okay,’ Riley said. ‘I’ll put you in the picture. Todd was doing pretty well, competing with me for hauling and storing. He had better people working for him.’
‘He was a leader of men,’ I said. ‘Were you ever in the army?’
Riley flushed. ‘No. I tried to buy him out and he wouldn’t agree. Then he got shitty about security. Started to look into that end of the business.’
This was quite a lot of talk. I thought if I could keep it going, Gary might nod off. ‘There’s a whole set of photographs,’ I said. ‘They show security fuck-ups—guards asleep, patrols not checking gates, boozing on the job. Like that.’
Riley was sharp-witted and shrewd. ‘You’re guessing.’
I shrugged.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘He got interested in security and he got interested in Eleni. I didn’t like that.’
‘Which?’
‘Both.’
‘How does she fit into all this? Does she know about the hold-ups and all the rest of it?’
‘I think we’re getting off the point.’
‘Why did you kill Barnes?’
‘He was careless. He had something he shouldn’t have had, and he tried to use it against me.’
‘To what end?’
‘He wanted in on the operation.’
I shook my head. ‘That’s bullshit, Riley. Todd passed up a dozen opportunities for dirty money. It was the woman, wasn’t it?’
‘You didn’t know the bastard. He wanted her and the action. He thought I was just a dumb mick. He was wrong.’
‘Are you trying to tell me you protected Eleni Marinos from Todd?’
It was a crucial question but it really didn’t make any difference. Poor Felicia, I thought.
Riley was all bluster now. ‘I’ve said enough, and you’ve said fuck all. It’s time for you to give a bit, Hardy. What’ve you got to sell?’
Gary had disposed of his second butt in the same way and was looking more interested in the proceedings. Riley was an impatient and insecure man. My references to Eleni Marinos had touched him in a vulnerable place and tipped the scales against me. The door was standing half open. I wondered whether I had any chance of getting past Gary and out. Not much, certainly not from where I sat. I opened a drawer in the desk and looked up to see the Colt pointing at my Adam’s apple. I moved slowly and showed Riley the safe key. He nodded and I got up, moved around the desk and squatted in front of the safe. The open door was a metre and a half away, and Gary glided smoothly into place to block it off. Neat.
I opened the safe and lifted out the barrels and stocks, using the rubber gloves like pot-holders. Riley motioned for me to put them on the desk. He gave Gary a look that came from his past. ‘You fuckin’ idiot,’ he said.
‘Where’s the rest of them, cunt?’ Gary said.
I went back behind the desk and didn’t answer. Riley got up from his chair and felt around in the safe. There was only one other thing to find—the photographs. He took out the envelope and slopped them onto the desk. The glossy pictures sat on top of the scratched bits of wood and metal.
Riley looked at them, moved a couple aside for a better appraisal and shook his head slowly. ‘Fuckin’ Todd,’ he said. ‘Why couldn’t he be smart?’ The smoothness was gone from him now. It was almost as if the smell of the wharves or the trucks or the mines had settled back over him, expensive suit and all. He struggled for control, clicked his tongue and settled down in his chair. ‘Hardy, I want it all.’
‘Why don’t we have a drink?’ I reached for the cask. Two litres of rough red against a .357 Colt.
‘Put it down,’ Gary said.
Maybe he didn’t mean to do it, maybe it was the old, instinctive Riley acting, but he took his cheque book from the desk and put it back in his pocket. I felt a chill run through me. Suddenly I was back in Malaya, feeling cold, although the temperature was in the nineties and I was sweating. The two Chinese soldiers were running at me, screaming their lungs out, and I didn’t know how many rounds I had left in the Sten gun …
Riley rubbed the back of his head; the carefully cut grey hair st
ood up at the crown. ‘We’re still talking. You’ve put the rest of the stuff somewhere.’
‘Somewhere,’ I said. ‘But you’ve put your money away, Stan. That wasn’t subtle. If I tell you what you want to know, I’m dead.’
‘You could be persuaded to tell. I didn’t want this to get messy, but I could give you to Gary.’
I shook my head. ‘If you give me to Gary he’d have to use his gun. I know a bit about guns. He’s got a good one there, but I might get to him. If I did, I’d put his eyes out.’
‘Try it,’ Gary said.
‘Wait on.’ Riley looked at me so hard I could feel the force of it on my face. I wanted to put my hand up, to block out his gaze, but I resisted the impulse. His thin, sharklike lips parted. ‘Mrs Todd,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s the key. D’you know anyone who lives in Chalmers Street, Redfern? Apart from Mrs Todd, I mean?’
I didn’t answer.
‘Pity,’ Riley said, ‘if you did, you could call ’em up and ask if there’s one of my trucks in the street and an Athena van by the park.’
‘She doesn’t know a thing,’ I said.
‘I think she does. I think she knows all we need to know. I can see it in your fuckin’ face under that stupid beard.’ He swayed a little to the left, away from where the gunman stood. ‘Gary, we don’t need him anymore.’
Gary’s hand moved and I started to move too, up and to one side, as if he was the conductor and I was a violinist in an orchestra. I knew I’d be way too slow but it was better than just sitting there waiting for the bullets. My eyes were closed: I felt the explosion bounce off the walls and floor and ceiling, and fill the room with echoing sound.
23
The second explosion came only a split second later, but in that time I recorded a few impressions. I wasn’t shot; someone had come into the room from the passage; Gary had been thrown around like a soft toy … My movement in reaction to Gary’s with the Colt had taken me over to the wall by the window. At the second blast the window shattered and I was showered with glass. I dropped to the floor and found Stanley Riley down there. He was writhing and cursing; there was a gaping hole in the floorboards and the worn old carpet square around it was scorched and sticky with blood.
A sharp sound made me look up. O’Fear had worked the pump action and was pointing a shotgun at Riley’s head.
‘O’Fear, don’t!’ I scrambled to my feet and moved towards him. He held the gun very steady as if he was taking aim, although at that range he couldn’t miss. Riley had guts; he looked at me and then at his legs. His grey trousers had turned black and there were puddles of blood around his knees and ankles. Blood was dripping into his shoes.
‘Get an ambulance.’ He ground the words out and clenched his jaw tightly as he struggled to get into a sitting position by the wall. O’Fear tracked him with the gun, but the murderous impulse had passed. He took his finger off the trigger as I grabbed for the phone. I called for an ambulance and also rang Frank Parker. When I put the phone down, I discovered that my recently healed hand was bloody from nicks and scratches caused by the broken glass. So we had the unwounded, the slightly wounded, the seriously wounded and the dead, all in one room.
Gary lay on his back in front of the safe. The charge had, taken him in the left side below the armpit. Splintered rib bones stuck out through the bloody red meat and grey lung tissue. His eyes were open and bulging, and blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
A white, startled face appeared in the door. The iridologist. ‘All under control,’ I croaked. I waved her away with my bloody paw and she went. O’Fear put the shotgun on the desk and looked at the spread of photographs. He glanced at Riley, who was sitting with his back against the wall and his eyes closed. For a moment I thought O’Fear was going to pick up the gun and I got ready to stop him, but he relaxed and pointed to the photographs.
‘See,’ he said. His breath was whisky-laden, and there was a hysterical note in his voice.
‘What?’
O’Fear’s finger pointed to one of the men wearing a silver jacket and carrying a rifle. The face was sharp in every detail—the loose, slack mouth, the guileless eyes and soft jawline. It was the face I knew I’d seen but couldn’t put a name to.
‘That’s Danny,’ O’Fear said. ‘My boy. These bastards have got him into the sort of trouble he’ll never …’ He closed his eyes and struck himself on the chest with his fist. ‘They killed a guard, didn’t they? Danny’ll die in gaol.’
‘Easy,’ I said. ‘He mightn’t have been involved.’
‘He was. You’ve just got a few of the pictures here. I found a lot more in the office. Danny’s in them all. Bastards! He can barely write his own name, y’know. But there’s no real harm in him, if he’s left alone.’
‘So what’ve you been doing?’
‘I went looking for Danny, a’course, but I couldn’t get to him. He’s holed up in that bloody Athena fortress, I suspect. I was coming to see you here when I saw a couple of them in those poncy silver jackets using a scanner outside. Then these two arrived. I got hold of this pump gun the other day. I brought it with me and sneaked up for a listen. I heard enough.’
‘I have to thank you,’ I said. ‘He was going to shoot me. I’ll say that loud and clear to every cop and lawyer I meet. You’ll be all right.’
He nodded. Riley groaned and swore. ‘Where’s that bloody ambulance?’
‘Did you have to shoot him?’ I said.
‘I didn’t shoot him. I wanted to, but I pulled down and fired it into the floor. He’ll live. Y’don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to scarper?’
‘I do not,’ I said.
The ambulance men came, and the cops came, and there was a lot of standing around and photographing and measuring and collecting of trophies. I was treated for my cuts and Riley got some temporary relief for his pain and discomfort. Frank Parker put in an appearance. He was careful not to interfere with the work of the detectives from the Kings Cross station, but I managed to tell him that a few cruising squad cars along Chalmers Street, Redfern, could be useful. Riley refused to make a statement without his lawyer being present. O’Fear and I made statements and the photographs and shotgun parts made a big impression. Still, cops are cops.
Detective Sergeant Blazey looked at his notes. ‘I can’t count the number of bail provisions you’re in violation of, O’Fear.’
The ambulance men spread heavy plastic over a stretcher, lifted Gary’s body aboard and carried him out.
‘He was acting as my operative,’ I said. ‘That should give him some protection.’
Blazey, a dark good-looking man in a good-looking suit, lit a cigarette with a gold lighter. ‘Don’t make me laugh. Christ, this place is a mess.’ He consulted his notes again. ‘Two shots. What happened to the window?’
‘The building’s old,’ I said. ‘It probably just couldn’t stand the pressure. Like me.’
Blazey blew smoke. ‘Now I’m going to cry. You should’ve come to us the minute you got hold of this stuff, Hardy.’
‘I know I could have come to you, sergeant. I know you’re a man of integrity. But we’ve only just met. I think Riley owns a few of your colleagues, if you’ll excuse me saying so. I was working my way towards the police.’
‘Through Parker?’
I nodded.
Blazey gave the all-clear for the ambulance men to put Riley on a stretcher. ‘Parker’s okay,’ he said. He pointed his cigarette at O’Fear. ‘Gary Gilbert’s an escapee and no bloody loss. That’s lucky for you.’
‘Getting a break on that holdup and killing’s going to be very lucky for you, sergeant,’ O’Fear said. ‘What about my boy?’
Blazey turned away. O’Fear reached out and grabbed his well-cut sleeve. ‘What about Danny?’
Blazey’s civilised veneer cracked. ‘Take your fuckin’ hand off me. You’re charged with manslaughter. Like father, like son. Your kid’ll be lucky if he’s not up for murder.’
O’Fear punched him; Bl
azey reeled back with blood spurting from his nose down the front of his immaculate shirt and jacket. One of the uniformed men, a lightly built, fresh-faced youngster, tried to grab O’Fear from behind. He didn’t have a chance; O’Fear fought him off. He bullocked his way to the desk and grabbed the shotgun.
‘Bugger you all!’ he bellowed. ‘Bastards!’ He worked the pump action and swung the gun towards us—Blazey, two uniformed men, a forensic guy and me.
I jumped towards him with my hands outstretched to beat down the gun. I yelled, ‘O’Fear! No!’
I felt the heat of the bullet that missed me by millimetres, hit O’Fear above the right eye and sprayed his brains and blood all over me.
24
Gary Gilbert’s fingerprints were all over the stocks and barrels of the shotguns, but Gary Gilbert was dead. O’Fear was dead, too, and without him to identify where the evidence had come from, the case against Riley and Athena was cloudy. I didn’t know how hard they searched or where, but no trace of the other photographs O’Fear referred to could be found. The few I had, with no negatives, and without Riley in them, didn’t carry much weight. I had no witnesses to support my claim that Riley had threatened my life, and Blazey was adamant that the uniformed man who had shot O’Fear had prevented a massacre.
‘You know, it’s funny,’ I said to Parker several days later, ‘it’s almost as if Gilbert and O’Fear shot each other. A sort of criminal shootout. One of the papers wrote it up like that.’
‘Yeah, I saw it,’ Parker said. ‘The journos are getting younger and dumber every day. Eleni Marinos is out of the country. Did you know that?’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. How does it look for Riley?’
We were in a pub in William Street, surrounded by New Zealanders who were having a celebration—half of them were dark-skinned with crinkly hair and broad noses, so it couldn’t have been for winning the Maori land wars. They whooped and hollered and I had to lean close to hear what Parker said.