The Robbers

by Paul Anderson

  Gucciardo pulled a wire from inside his shirt.

  ‘Make me a copy. We’ll get it to Malone.’

  Malone met O’Shea at a St Kilda Road coffee shop. O’Shea handed him an envelope.

  ‘Here’s the disk. We heard what McFarlane said about this not being a personal crusade. Listen to what Farley told us. He completely contradicts that. Shepherd said to tell you that if we’re going down, we’re taking Farley with us—with your help … We’ll all be at the Royal this arvo and well into the night.’

  Malone accepted the disk. Asked a question. ‘Hey Dick, apart from the obvious, why does Shepherd seem to hate Farley so much?’

  ‘’Cos he was banging Shepherd’s missus. Farley and Shep were squad mates at the Majors at the time. Now they hate each other with a passion.’

  ‘That’d do it.’

  Malone turned his focus back to the disk. ‘I’ll bring a copy of the story so you can see what’s going in tomorrow.’

  ‘Good as gold, pal.’

  CHAPTER 70

  Malone arrived at the Police Union press conference as White was holding court. White shot him a stink eye as he began.

  ‘Let me say from the outset, the Police Union condemns the chief commissioner’s announcement regarding the disbanding of the Armed Robbery Squad. It is blatant persecution based on unproven allegations. It is a move that puts at risk the safety of every law-abiding Victorian. The union believes today’s announcement is an effort by the chief commissioner to distance himself from any PEC investigations currently underway—investigations that we believe he has been party to.’

  At the Royal Hotel that evening, every member of The Robbers stood watching the press conference on the nightly news.

  ‘The Police Union executive believes Trevor McFarlane is out of his depth in his role as the chief commissioner, and we allege he has forged a strong behind-closed-doors relationship with the PEC.’

  In a highrise hotel room, Pascoe lay on the bed in a bathrobe necking a bottle of champagne. The trappings were all care of the PEC. The one-time bandit turned underworld killer had made a scorching return to form. Like a vexatious ex-girlfriend, he was the cunt that would not go away. He raised his bottle as he watched the news report. ‘See you later, fuckers.’

  At the Royal, The Robbers watched on.

  ‘The Police Union will not be taking today’s announcement lying down.’

  Malone arrived, placing down a proof print of his story for the next day.

  ‘Farley could be heading to a Siberian outpost after McFarlane reads this,’ the journo announced.

  Shepherd eyed Malone. Could he possibly be the one feeding the Rat Squad and the PEC information? If he was, he was one ballsy mother-fucking journo to continue keeping up relations. While circumstantial evidence did point to Malone as a suspect, Shepherd’s gut was still telling him that White’s suspicions were wrong.

  ‘McFarlane’s going to be pissed,’ Malone suggested on the back of his story. ‘Farley’s gunna be fucked over this.’

  Shepherd pulled in his charges. Let Malone remain, for the time being.

  ‘Gather round.’ The Robbers crowded their boss.

  ‘Here’s to us, and those like us—damn few left.’

  The group drank as one.

  ‘The Robbers.’

  Shepherd made another toast. ‘And to the Athena Taskforce for the arrest of Pat Barrett. Roy. Kell. Well done.’

  Again the group drank in unison.

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ Kelso muttered into his pot glass.

  Later in the night, by the TAB pinboards, Kelso confided in Shepherd.

  ‘So, boss, where does all this leave me and Roy? We can’t afford to get pulled off the taskforce right now.’

  Rogers joined them.

  ‘I thought you had your man,’ Shepherd said, his attention drawn from the greyhound form.

  ‘It’s a bullshit pinch. Convenient and quick. Barrett’s not the shooter. It’s Arnie and Rambo one million per cent.’

  Rogers brought his boss up to speed. ‘We’ve gone back to the start with fresh eyes. We’ve got a few avenues—that’s why we can’t afford to be moved to new postings at the moment.’

  Shepherd looked a touch perplexed. ‘Jesus, what the fuck are Homicide up to? Keep your heads down and your bums up.’

  Rogers continued, ‘We haven’t received a tap on the shoulder—yet.’

  ‘We just want to be left alone so we can nominate some heads and work on them,’ added Kelso.

  Shepherd admired these blokes; bloody well admired all of his men—and woman.

  ‘My advice?’ he said. ‘Don’t let the squad’s death sway you. Keep pushing for names the way you always do. This Mickey Mouse force might be changing, but good old-fashioned methods of policing never will.’

  Kelso provided the benediction. ‘Amen to that.’

  Shepherd looked his two surviving Robbers in the eyes. He probably didn’t have to say anything, but he did.

  ‘Make sure you get these bastards. You’re the only two left now.’

  Despite the wake this time being held in honour of the squad itself, Rogers decided to call it quits before he got too messy. His mind was firmly focused on his and Kelso’s task at hand. Just like his partner, he had to remain frosty. With a silent salute to Kelso, Roy slipped from the Royal. Kelso decided to play the same trick. He had some inquiries to make in Chinatown. Standing at the urinal next to Malone, he explained he was leaving on the quiet.

  ‘I’ve gotta go see Kim. You wanna come?’

  Malone continued to piss, his water steaming off the cold metal.

  ‘I’ve gotta tell you something,’ he said in sombre tone, half-pissed.

  ‘What is it, pal?’

  ‘I haven’t been totally honest with you …’

  At the basin, Kelso eyed his friend in the mirror.

  ‘There’s something else going on,’ Malone confirmed.

  Malone watched his water spiral down the hole. He exhaled, cheeks puffing. Kelso turned to face him. ‘What’s up?’

  Malone could not look his mate in the face. ‘I feel like a dirty cunt for not telling you this before … I haven’t told you the whole truth.’

  Malone thought about his position: the real reason he had initially wormed himself into The Robbers’ core. He was doing what was required, but he had found acceptance where he never expected to. He had to hit Kelso with the truth, but was the squad wake the right time to do it? He decided against it, for now.

  ‘I’ve been back to that Chinese club,’ he said instead. ‘Fucked one of the girls stupid.’

  Kelso smiled. ‘Good on ya, pal … Which one? Maybe you stirred my porridge.’

  ‘Her name’s Destiny.’

  ‘Haven’t had the pleasure. My favourites are Faith and Chastity, although they’re all fuckin’ beautiful. Come on, roll that python up and we’ll sneak out the side door.’

  Kelso and Malone waited to hail a cab along the main stretch leading towards Crown Casino—and into the heart of the CBD. There was a distinct chill in the air. Both men stood on the kerb huddled in overcoats.

  ‘I thought you’d have pinned your ears back tonight after banging up Barrett,’ Malone said. ‘What’s on in Chinatown?’

  ‘It relates to Athena.’

  ‘Hey? You’ve got your man haven’t you? Pat Barrett’s the shooter.’

  ‘The Homicide blokes are the ones who charged Barrett. Me and Roy are working a different angle … and the clock’s against us now.’

  Athena was a subject Malone hadn’t often tried to discuss with Kelso, due to the sensitivities. He didn’t want to put his mate in that unenviable position of having to say, ‘Pal
, you know I can’t talk about it’. Kelso had been drip-feeding him with general off-the-record updates, but surely now the taskforce was an open topic. Athena had identified its chief suspect, built a case against him and charged him with the murders. Hadn’t it?

  ‘What’s going on, Kell?’

  Kelso sparked up a dart. Lit one that Malone had hanging from his mouth. The men conversed, smoke carpeting their words.

  ‘I know I don’t have to say this—but this stays between you and me. Barrett’s not the shooter. He doesn’t fit.’

  Malone was struggling to fully comprehend what Kelso had just divulged, to get his head around his own next question.

  ‘There’s gotta be something there, otherwise he wouldn’t be charged and on remand now. Right?’

  ‘There is circumstantial evidence …’

  ‘Circumstantial … So, no ballistic match to a gun or anything like that?’

  ‘The projectiles that were recovered are no good for comparison … Look, Barrett was there on the night—but he’s not the shooter. He works in the area. Was extorting the restaurant owner. He was just in the wrong place on the wrong night.’

  ‘Fucking hell.’

  ‘That’s what he thought when Happy and Mitch confronted him—and then our Paradox bandits drove by. Before he died, Happy told Whiskers that he’d seen Barrett. Then he mentioned two guns.’

  A chill jolted up Malone’s spine, as if the Reaper himself had jammed his sickle up his arse.

  ‘If you know all this, then why has Barrett been charged?’

  ‘’Cos the Homicide dickheads have their blinkers on. They’re convinced it has to be Barrett ’cos he was there—too much of a coincidence otherwise.’

  ‘What happened to keeping an open mind?’

  ‘They’ve got their heads shoved up their own arses. Ignoring specific information Barrett gave them about the masks; they reckon he could have heard about that on the criminal grapevine. They want it all tied up in a nice little bow … But no way. The Barrett scenario’s too neat. It’s a massive coincidence that he was there, I’ll grant you that, but there’s crossovers in every investigation. He’s not our guy. We’re after the Paradox bandits.’

  ‘So, what’s your friend Kim got to do with all this?’

  ‘I want her to reach out for me and confirm some information.’

  Kelso struck it lucky with a taxi. The two men flicked their butts into the gutter.

  Kelso politely declined the offer of a drink at the Chinese club. He was in work mode now. Bowie’s ‘Under Pressure’ was playing again, tormenting both the detective and the journalist. Was Bowie all they ever played in this joint? Malone had a bourbon and dry delivered, his eyes scouting for his favourite girl. Kim walked from the bar to the booth. Sat. Noticed Malone’s lascivious gaze.

  ‘If looks could kill,’ she suggested.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘I’m looking for someone.’

  ‘All men come here looking for something—not someone. They’re either searching for their Princess, or their Candy, or their Angel.’

  ‘I’m looking for Destiny.’

  ‘That’s a noun, not a name.’

  Kim waited a beat.

  ‘Your destiny’s by the bar.’

  Malone excused himself, drink in hand. Kim turned to Kelso. ‘You look like you’re on official business, my friend.’

  ‘I am. I’m after some information about a restaurant owner named Henry Wu. Runs the Lucky Dragon in Chirnside Park. Word on the street is he also runs Asian women at illegal brothels. Now, I don’t give a shit whether he’s running crows or not—I’m not looking to bust him. But I’m keen to know if this information about him is true.’

  Kim started writing on a napkin. Henry Wu. Lucky Dragon, Chirnside Park. Brothels?

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Okay, leave it with me.’

  ‘Thanks, Kimmy. You’re a diamond.’

  CHAPTER 71

  Press conferences had a habit of being friendly if they weren’t forced affairs. But for the second day in a row Chief Commissioner McFarlane found himself fronting the cameras in an unfriendly environment, being grilled for a response about a controversial—and this time highly embarrassing—topic. According to the front page of the Herald Sun, McFarlane’s chief of detectives had unloaded with an unprofessional tirade when informing the Armed Robbery Squad of their demise. During his resentful rant—published in its entirety in the newspaper—Farley had directly contradicted his boss. McFarlane had been forced to call this presser to hose down any controversy. Farley had shot himself in the foot.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ an agitated McFarlane said in the glare of the fresnels, ‘I want to publicly say that I am terribly disappointed in Commander Farley’s comments that appeared in the Herald Sun newspaper this morning. It is very disappointing that he was secretly recorded telling the Armed Robbery Squad that they were being disbanded, as is the fact that a copy of that recording was leaked to a newspaper. I want to stress that the commander’s words in no way reflect my own personal view. As I said yesterday, the decision to disband the squad was in no way driven by a personal agenda.’

  Malone pushed in his corkscrew and started to wind. ‘Why would Farley say what he did then?’

  McFarlane looked to Malone, the cause of the morning’s angst. ‘You’d have to ask him that question.’

  ‘I doubt he’d be willing to elaborate …’

  ‘Hmm, yes. Just as you’d be reluctant to reveal who leaked that recording to you.’

  Channel Nine’s crime man wanted a piece of the action. ‘Will Commander Farley face any disciplinary action?’

  ‘No. Even before this misunderstanding, Commander Farley was set to be moved to a spot at the revenue and resources unit. We believe this new role will offer him new and exciting challenges.’

  Striding with an air of supreme authority, Whitney and Sidwell approached the Lucky Dragon entrance. It was lunchtime—but they weren’t there for yum cha. Whitney removed his aviator-style sunglasses.

  ‘Let’s keep it short and sharp with this guy,’ he said to his offsider, whose aviators were still on. ‘Odds on he doesn’t say anything.’

  Cut from the same cloth, the men from Homicide entered.

  ‘Table for two?’ a young waitress asked.

  ‘No thank you. I’m Detective Whitney from the Homicide Squad. This is Detective Sidwell. We’re looking for Henry Wu.’

  ‘I get him for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The detectives scanned the place, a quaint local Chinese joint with a mirrored wall to give the illusion of size. The tables offered a view of the pond. Paper fans and calligraphy adorned the aqua walls. A large water tank teeming with lobsters added to an aquatic feel. Wu sprang from the kitchen’s swivelling doors: an excitable catherine wheel of a man with shaved head.

  ‘Detectives! Good afternoon.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Wu. Sorry to have to come back and ask you some more questions, but we’re following up some recent information.’

  Wu appeared to smile through a lack of understanding. ‘What is this information?’

  Sidwell opened his daybook and clicked his pen. Whitney tried to keep it informal.

  ‘The man we’ve charged with the police murders claims he was in the vicinity of this restaurant on the night of the shootings to collect money from you.’

  Sidwell chipped in, more formal. ‘He claims he was extorting you for money. Do you care to comment on such a claim?’

  ‘This man. Who is he?’

  Whitney took over. ‘His name is Pat Barrett. He’s been in the newspapers.’

  ‘Oh sorry, I only read the trashy magazines … Brad Pitt’s on th
e cover of Who this week. Oh my God, isn’t that man a dish—’

  ‘Aaah, we’re not here to talk about Brad Pitt, Mr Wu.’

  ‘Sorry, I digress. Rugged men always get me hot under the collar …’

  Wu turned to his waitress near the counter. ‘Rosie, could you turn on the air conditioner—it’s getting a bit steamy in here.’

  Wu fanned his face with his hand. Whitney moved on, producing a mug shot of Barrett from his daybook.

  ‘Ah yes, I know this man. He must work near here because he sometimes comes in for lunch in paint-stained overalls and boots … you know—the urban industrial fashion. Weathered face. Moisturiser needed.’

  Whitney tried to keep his momentum. ‘Has he been standing over you for money?’

  ‘Like a dominatrix you mean? My safe word’s “cumquat” by the way …’

  ‘Has he been demanding money from you while threatening to harm you?’

  ‘Why would he do that? Is that what he is saying?’

  Sidwell, always the echo. ‘That’s what he is saying.’

  ‘I serve the man food,’ Wu said, inspecting a fingernail. ‘I not see him any other time than when he comes in here to purchase his lunch. He is not extorting me. This restaurant does okay, but it’s not making a million.’

  ‘So you deny his claims that he has extorted or attempted to extort money from you in the past.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Whitney closed the mug shot back in his daybook.

  ‘Right. Well … Once again, we’re sorry for taking up your time.’

  ‘Is that it? Is that the extent of your interrogation … ? I was hoping for handcuffs.’

  ‘We can’t very well beat it out of you, Mr Wu. Sorry to disappoint.’

  ‘No, no. I am sorry to have disappointed you. Let me make your journey here worthwhile … Rosie, some dim sum and spring rolls, please.’

  The detectives declined the offer of a free lunch.

  ‘Oh come on. A gesture of hospitality. Save you from a hamburger on the way back to town.’

  Sidwell walked towards the door. Whitney bid Wu farewell.

  ‘A meal could be construed as a bribe,’ Sidwell advised.

  Wu watched the detectives leave.