by Berry, Tony
‘They’re under surveillance.’
‘Bullshit, not unless your stooges have X-ray eyes.’
‘There’s a trace on their car. It’s still parked out the back.’
‘And in the meantime they’ve put on wigs and glasses, called a cab and strolled out through the shop door.’
He heard a faint gasp.
‘What shop?’
‘The one in the next street that Cordoza uses to give a front of respectability.’
He realised she hadn’t taken into account the typical Richmond layout of back-to-back homes that linked one property with another through the garden gate; mirror images that were a hangover from the days of workers’ cottages crammed into minimum space. Not much had changed; today’s developers had just gone upwards, squeezing apartments floor upon floor in the same rapacious rush for profits as their predecessors. Cordoza’s two thugs could have taken their time, disturbing no one and been on their way through the shop door before Delia’s minions had reported back.
‘And did they leave?’
‘No idea. Could have. That’s your mob’s job to find out. I’m letting you know the possibilities. My guess, however, is that they’re still inside. Seems she likes having a bit of muscle close at hand.’
He winked at Liz, still standing close by, guessing the other half of the conversation and weighing the delicate balance between Bromo and Delia. She gave a dismissive sniff at his innuendo and walked away towards the kitchen area. Let him get on with it.
‘I’ll get the guys to check,’ said Delia.
‘Too late.’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘Hold off, Bromo!’ She was in command mode, spitting out the words. ‘Stay right where you are!’
He smiled, a silent chuckle, and made a finger at the phone.
‘Sorry Delia, I’m not yours to boss about. But I do love it when you get angry. Don’t forget, you’re the one who treats me as a free agent.’
‘I’m ordering you—’
He cut her off. ‘Yes, I know you are. And it’s not working. We have too many scores to settle with Madame Cordoza and Co. I’ll leave you to clear up the mess.’
He ended the call, pressed to switch to text messaging, rapidly thumbed in a few symbols and slipped the phone into his pocket.
‘Grab your coat Liz. We’re on our way.’
He was already heading for the door.
FORTY-THREE
LIZ nosed her grey BMW slowly out through the double gates and stopped halfway. The front of the car blocked the narrow footpath. Its rear remained in the cobbled courtyard that served her as parking space, barbecue area and garden. The short, narrow street rarely saw pedestrians and she knew at this time of night there was even less chance of some petulant passer-by being there to hurl abuse for blocking their way.
Bromo sat in the passenger seat. He bent his arm and looked at the illuminated face of his watch.
‘Not long now,’ he said. ‘One minute max.’
‘That’s confidence for you,’ murmured Liz.
Bromo made a slight movement of his right hand, indicating the mobile phone he was clutching.
‘A text message from Dayani. She says they’re on their way.’ A few moments earlier there had been another, from Fokisi, that simply read “Okay”’.
His phone pinged again. He smiled briefly as he read the terse words on his screen: “Waiting for news.”
It was as he expected: Delia was showing signs of impatience. Yet her words were as cautiously guarded as ever; nicely vague and meaningless to any eavesdroppers.
‘And you can wait a bit longer,’ muttered Bromo by way of an unsent response.
He decided against a reply – even a negative one. Experience told him there was every chance Delia would be doing her best to get her team to pinpoint his location. They may have agreed to a deal but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t look for ways of worming her way around it. Delia and her crew had their uses; but not just yet. He had his own agenda to settle first.
Car headlights lit up the street, bouncing back off the slabs of high, whitewashed concrete walls that turned suburban homes into mini fortresses.
‘Here they come,’ said Bromo.
The Sri Lankans’ battered old saloon slowed almost to a halt and the passenger door opened. Duptha quickly emerged, clad from head to toe in black and looking less lean than before probably due to the backpack slung across one shoulder. He scampered awkwardly across to Liz’s car, opened the rear door and slumped heavily down on the back seat. He grunted a salutation. The other car kept moving, picked up speed and turned left at the end of the street. Bromo checked his watch.
‘Smooth. All on time. Well done.’
He twisted around to lean over towards Duptha who had spread out low along the length of the seat.
‘Everything ready?’
Duptha lifted a clenched fist with thumb raised but said nothing. No risk he would ever suffer exhaustion from excessive speech. Bromo turned back and glanced sideways at Liz. He rubbed at his ear and took a deep breath.
‘Okay, let’s go.’
For a moment, she hesitated.
‘Are you really sure about this?’
She sensed Bromo’s reaction; felt him turning in his seat, his eyes briefly fixed on her, assessing, deciding.
‘Never surer,’ he said.
For a few more seconds she remained motionless, staring straight ahead at the fence across the street where fading graffiti declared “WE’VE BEEN JEFFED”. It remained as testimony to a former Premier’s unpopularity with a section of the electorate. Briefly she closed her eyes, focused inwards, willing herself to remain calm. The tension in the car was palpable; neither Duptha nor Bromo seemed to be breathing, both coiled tight like 100-metre sprinters awaiting the crack of the starter’s gun.
Liz let out a long, slow breath and turned the car’s wheels to the left as she eased it out into the road. She knew Richmond’s maze of streets and lanes better than most but was content to let Bromo be her navigator. He said nothing but indicated with a pointed finger every left or right turn and where to keep going straight ahead. It was his show and she made no comment on the tortuous route he was asking her to take. It was free of obstacles and hold-ups. There was little traffic away from the main streets at this time of night; mostly drinkers and diners seeking free parking spaces on roads already filled with residents’ vehicles. She knew it should have been an easy drive but the closer they got to their destination the more edgy she became. She felt herself tensing, her shoulder and neck muscles taut, the doubts rising.
‘You don’t have to do this.’
‘Yes I do.’
She heard the resolve in his voice. She wanted to argue, to dissuade him.
‘It’s not too late to change your mind.’
‘Yes it is.’
‘You’ve done enough. Leave it to the professionals. Let them deal with it.’
‘They’ll only fuck it up. Please, Liz, for me. I have to do this. For Dayani. I really owe her one.’
She detected a weariness in his voice. Almost as if he was losing the heart to argue. But there were stubborn overtones. She sensed an internal battle in which, even at this late stage, he could well admit defeat if she pressed that little bit harder.
For a moment her attention wandered. The traffic lights caught her by surprise with a change to red as the car drew level with the junction at Bridge Road. Liz flicked a guarded look to left and right and applied brief extra pressure on the accelerator, easing back as soon as soon as they reached the short stretch of dual carriageway that lay ahead. There was no way she was going to attract attention tonight.
She flexed her fingers, trying to ease the tension, realising how tightly she was gripping the wheel. The anxiety remained. She felt a spasm of pain in her abdomen. Was this what it meant to have knots in your stomach?
Bromo raised a pointed finger.
‘Next left.’
His voice was little more than a whisper.
‘Not far now.’
He twisted around to look at the dark figure hunched low on the back seat.
‘Almost there, Duptha.’
Liz could never recall whether it was the raised finger or the calm voice that set her off. In her fragile mood, almost anything would have been enough to ignite the explosion of emotions that she could no longer contain. She swung the car suddenly to the left, slipped the gear into park and brought them to a jolting halt in a lay-by darkened by the thick branches of two flowering gums. The engine continued ticking over. She slapped her hands down hard on the steering wheel.
‘For God’s sake, Bromo, I repeat: you don’t have to do anything. It’s all in the past. This is too bloody dangerous.’
The pitch of her voice was rising; she knew she was close to screaming, losing control. All the tension and fears of the past days were coming together in an outburst of fury that was fast soaring out of control.
‘How many more times am I going to have to dress your wounds and pick up the pieces? Stop living in this 007 fantasy world you seem to inhabit. Those days are over.’
She fixed her gaze straight ahead, eyes staring out into the gloom beyond the windscreen but seeing nothing, not giving Bromo the slightest glance, aware that her rant would probably deflate if she took even a brief look in his direction.
‘You’ve been bashed up, stood over and threatened – and that’s only the things you’ve let me know about. God only knows what else is going on in that weird world you choose to inhabit.’
Again she thumped the steering wheel. Took a sharp intake of breath. She was in full flow, commanding and demanding.
‘Stop right now, Bromo. Before you suffer any more damage. Get killed even. I just can’t stand any more of this.’
Suddenly the flood of words stopped. Her head slumped forward on to her hands, still grasping the steering wheel. Her voice faded away.
‘Believe it or not, I happen to care about you,’ she murmured. Shook her head slowly from side to side as if in disbelief. ‘A lot. Too bloody much, in fact.’
A claustrophobic silence filled the car, daring anyone to speak or even to move. Seconds ticked away before Bromo slowly extended an arm and rested his hand high up on Liz’s back. He gave a tentative pat and felt her tense her shoulders, shrugging off his touch. He withdrew his arm and sat back in his seat. Briefly, he half turned towards Duptha in the back seat and raised his eyebrows. The gesture spoke of helplessness and frustration. Slowly Liz raised her head and sat upright. Her hand reached down to push the gear control into reverse.
‘We’re going home,’ she said, her voice low yet unmistakably resolute.
Duptha suddenly sprung into life. Liz felt the cold hard metal of whatever weapon he was gripping press into the nape of her neck. Her whole body convulsed in spasms of fear. Bromo twisted sideways in his seat, wide-spread hands reaching out towards Duptha. He stopped mid-movement, as quickly as he had begun. The Sri Lankan had eased a short-barrelled gun away from Liz and was directing it straight at him. The pair locked eyes. Bromo tensed at what he saw only inches away, unflinching behind the gun sights. It was no longer the resolute look of a rational man, in control as he made step-by-step decisions towards the completion of a mission, prepared at any time to adapt or even abort the original plan. Facing him was the glazed, almost unseeing, stare of a fanatic. It was a look he had seen far too often in the past and one that he hoped he would never see again. It belonged to the crazies of this world; to those who had lost all reason beyond the pursuit of a single demented goal regardless of the eventual outcome or its toll on other human beings. They lacked feeling or logic, could not be distracted or deterred. He continued to hold Duptha’s stare and hoped he could stifle any giveaway tremors in his voice.
‘I think, Liz, we’d better drive on,’ he said, relieved to hear his words coming out level and seemingly calm. ‘Duptha would prefer it that way, wouldn’t you mate?’
Bromo tried a gentle smile and thought he detected a minuscule lessening of tension on the Sri Lankan’s part. He nodded slightly towards the gun.
‘Maybe you could put that thing down now. Don’t want to distract the driver.’
The two men held their stares for a few more seconds before Duptha slowly swung the weapon to one side and sat back away out of arm’s reach. Bromo laid a hand gently on Liz’s, still gripped tight on to the gear selector.
‘Deep breath and take it slowly,’ he said. ‘Panic’s over. We can handle this.’
Liz sucked in a big gulp of air and let it slowly out. She gave her head a clearing shake, the clusters of golden ringlets spreading out over her shoulders. Bromo felt her hand relax under his as she pushed the selector into reverse and they backed out into the road. As Liz shifted into forward gear Bromo glanced at his watch; it confirmed what he already knew – their schedule was shot to pieces. Yet he had received no panic calls from Dayani. There was silence from Fokisi. Not even a chivvying message from Delia. It was all too quiet. Frighteningly so.
‘Left at the next junction and we’re as good as there. Stop and park as soon as you turn the corner.’
‘And hurry up,’ hissed Duptha. He gave an upward twitch of his gun and wriggled uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting his clothing and settling the backpack on to his shoulders.
Liz turned the corner and pulled into the side of what was a short but wide road with squat weatherboard homes and lockup garages down one side and the flat vacant space of a sports field on the other. The houses had small front gardens and driveways down their side and some showed signs of doubling as commercial premises; the garages fronted right on to the footpath. Bromo noted two vans parked alongside the parkland. Too bloody obvious, he thought, but presumably they had no choice. He felt his phone vibrate.
‘Yes?’
‘About bloody time. What kept you?’
‘A minor irritation.’
He sensed her analysing his words.
‘Is it fixed?’
‘Far from it.’
He made a play of scratching an itch on the side of his face.
‘Could be infectious.’
He hoped she understood the meaning behind his words. He waited for a response but all he got was silence. She had rung off as headlights from a vehicle entering the street from the other end suddenly lit up the scene. The driver gave no signal as the van swung quickly to its right and in towards one of the garages. The roller door was already being raised. At least Fokisi was in place and on the ball, noted Bromo; he just hoped the Tongan could be relied on to stick around for his next task.
Suddenly there was movement behind him. Almost too late he saw Duptha bring the barrel of his gun fast and hard towards his head. He had time only to raise an arm that took the full force of the crushing blow. He crumpled down into the seat, spasms of pain shooting up from elbow to shoulder. Duptha pushed open the rear door.
‘You stay where you are. Follow and you die,’ he yelled and began running awkwardly, almost hobbling, up the street.
Bromo twisted around in his seat, horrified to see Liz opening the driver’s door.
‘No, Liz, no.’
Words meant to be a shout came out muffled through gritted teeth.
‘Listen to what he says. The man’s a maniac.’
It was too late. She had already bent down low and was scampering around the rear of the car to the passenger side. Bromo levered himself up with his good arm and began to open his door.
Still only 30 metres up the road, Duptha turned and saw what was happening.
‘I said no!’ he shouted. ‘Do as I say.’
He raised his gun. Liz stumbled forward through the open door. She heard the gun’s explosive crack, thought she saw a flash of fire and certainly heard an almighty thump and hiss, all ending with a screech of pain as the force of her arrival knocked Bromo back down into his seat, Liz spread-eagled on top of him. Bromo’s severely battered arm was wedged firmly b
etween them.
He used his good arm to gently push her upwards.
‘Up close and comfortable is all very nice but now’s not the moment,’ he grimaced. ‘I’ve gotta go.’
Liz wriggled her way up and out of the car and crouched by the door shaking with fear. She looked down the road and was relieved to see Duptha running away, seemingly no longer interested in them.
Bromo sat up, fumbling for his phone, fingering the screen, then holding it to his ear as the connection to Delia was made. He cut her short.
‘Yes, both okay. Bruised and shaken but nothing serious.’
He wasted no more time on niceties.
‘That was Duptha’s doing. Check him out. The way he’s running. That backpack … there’s wires trailing from it. He’s a walking bomb. This isn’t what we planned.’
He ended the call and leaned back against the car, exhausted, eyes briefly shut.
‘You’re going nowhere,’ said Liz.
He felt her hand on his brow. Her soft, soothing touch tempted him to slump back into the car and doze off. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and lifted her hand away.
‘That’s lovely, Liz, but not now. There’s a maniac on the loose down there. He’s got to be stopped.’
She grabbed at his uninjured arm.
‘But you’re not the one to do it.’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps not. But people have got to be warned or he’ll cause more havoc than any of this justifies. Too many innocent people will die.’
He lifted her arm firmly off his.
‘Sorry Liz, but it’s got to be. This is the last time.’
Before she could respond he had shrugged off his jacket and was loping off down the street on Duptha’s trail. As he passed the two parked vans she saw him raise a hand and wave urgently in the direction of the garage where the van had earlier turned in.
At last the tears of trauma welled up. She leaned back against the car’s bonnet and let them flow.
FORTY-FOUR
FOKISI picked at his nose and flicked the gatherings out on to the footpath. With any luck, it would soon all be over. The bitch would be off his back and out of his life forever. He scratched at his crotch and noted the two vans parked at the side of the footy field. It was good to see some support. And further along, with lights still showing, that must be Bromo who had pulled in a few moments ago. Everything was in place, precisely as he was told it would be. He sensed an air of expectation, of people waiting and watching, yet none of them to be seen. But messages had been sent and received, confirming, calming his anxiety.