by Berry, Tony
‘Let’s wait and see,’ she said.
She jiggled the bottles.
‘So which is to be?
He moved his glass towards the Lagavulin.
`Let’s go for peaty and smoky. And perhaps make it a double.’
She smiled and tilted a bottle to release a generous flow of scotch into his glass.
‘When was it ever anything else?’
He returned the smile, looked down at his drink and swirled the pale golden liquid around the glass, releasing the aromas and raising it to sniff and savour.
‘It’s not all about drinking,’ he said. ‘It’s the whole bizzo – the bouquet, the complex mix of tastes. So many subtle differences; every malt is distinct, unique. One of life’s great pleasures.’
He sank back down into the comfort of the settee. Liz placed the bottles of Scotch on a low table, picked up her own drink and settled herself beside him.
‘And what do you consider to be life’s other great pleasures?’
There it was again; that hint of a tease in her voice – the playfulness, the suggestiveness. Or was it all down to his imagination, to wishful thinking? He had never quite worked her out. So many times they had played these word games, batting innuendoes to and fro, going to the brink and then pulling back. Maybe this could this be the evening when they stepped over the edge. He took a slow sip of his drink, held the tangy malt on his tongue then let it swirl from side to side before slowly swallowing. His body was weary, his mind spongy after a day of debriefing with Delia and her team. Maybe he should let the verbal ping-pong rest for a while and play it straight. He made a pretence of giving deep consideration to her question. Considered a flippant response about being a simple soul, hoping for little more than an uncomplicated life behind his travel agent façade plus an occasional burst of wine, women and song. Or was that the truth of it? Too much self-analysis, he decided. Best to leave the jousting for later.
‘Big questions, Liz. Big questions.’ He ran a hand back through his hair, scratching at his scalp. ‘The brain’s run out of answers after today’s debrief. Bloody cops and their paperwork.’
She rested a hand on his knee and gave it a gentle pat.
‘Understood. No more tricky questions. But you’ve still not told me what happened to Duptha and the rest of them. How could they simply disappear like that.’
Bromo slowly sat up and leaned forward, arms on knees, glass gently clasped between his hands. He was pleased she had asked. He still had a need to talk but not to anyone connected to officialdom or the bureaucracy, to sort everything out away from the ceaseless probing he had been subjected to by Delia and Maloney. They had their job to do. And they could damned well do it without him. He was no longer part of their world. He had other allegiances, other agendas, reasons and motives that were personal rather than operational. The scene back at Global Service was replaying in his head as he began answering Liz’s questions.
‘Put it all down to Fokisi,’ he said. ‘The big fella didn’t put a foot wrong.’
Bromo chuckled as he recalled the Tongan’s account of Duptha’s escape.
‘The way he told it, this little guy came tearing down the corridor, straight at him, flat out, like a winger going for a try.’
Bromo mimicked the Tongan’s deep slow voice: ‘I thought he must’ve been one of your mates, so I gave him space. Let him go. Next thing there’s this tall skinny guy coming right at me and a whole mob of people behind him. Wasn’t much I could do, was there?’
Liz frowned, puzzled.
‘So he did nothing. How could that help?’
Bromo sipped his drink.
‘On the contrary. Fokisi reckoned it was like doing Saturday night door duty at the club. You stand your ground and block all-comers. One bloody big mass of muscle and bone plus one narrow corridor equals total chaos.’
He chuckled.
‘Worked like a charm. By the time Maloney and his crew had sorted themselves out, Duptha was well away.’
She looked aghast.
‘What! You planned it?’
‘Who? Me?
Eyebrows raised; a pretence at being shocked by such an allegation. He feigned innocence but offered no denial.
‘Yes, you, Bromo. Always thumbing your nose at authority, treading a fine line between what’s lawful and what’s not. Playing one side off against another; never completely joining forces with either of them. Secretive little allegiances. Duptha shot that man in cold blood yet you connived at letting him get away.’
‘Justice.’
The word hung between them, each considering its validity. There was conviction in the quiet, firm tone in which he had pronounced it. It was a judgment about which he had no doubts. He could have waffled on, muttering something about the greater good. But there was nothing to justify. An evil had been excised, a gangrenous limb amputated. No explanations were necessary.
‘But—’
Liz cut off her response before it had begun. She had no heart for a dispute that would ruin the calm between them. There was something about this crumpled enigma of a man sitting alongside her that she wanted to hold on to. Perhaps he even needed her. She had to accept he came from a world she wanted nothing to do with; a world that she could neither understand nor fully condone yet regrettably was somehow essential if the villains were not to triumph. She heaved a sigh and gave his thigh another couple of pats.
‘Okay, but I still don’t see how Duptha got right away.’
Bromo gently moved her hand to one side, placed his tumbler on the table and slowly stood. He stretched his arms up high and wide and back down to his side, feeling aching joints click back into place. He took a couple of steps to ease the stiffness in his hips, talking as he paced slowly to and fro.
‘Surely you heard that helicopter hovering overhead and saw it land on the sports field.’
‘Yes, but wasn’t that the police?’
He laughed.
‘That’s what everyone thought. So much confusion. People running all over the place, no one really in control. Except for my dear friend, Mr Blood. He lands his chopper, picks up Duptha, whisks him away to Essendon airfield where Dayani and Co are waiting and into an executive jet that had lodged a flight plan which probably wasn’t as accurate as it should be.’
‘I thought you’d worked a deal with the lovely Delia to arrange for the Sri Lankans to have a smooth departure on a scheduled flight from Tullamarine.’
Again he summoned up his look of innocence and mild confusion.
‘Did I really say that? Someone must have misunderstood.’ He shrugged. ‘Ah well, too late now. And the lovely Delia, as you call her, has all those fluffy dogs stuffed with blood diamonds to play with. She can also close down La Cordoza’s evil trade, get the woman locked away for several years and do much the same for most of her customers.’
He spread his arms wide, palms up.
‘Game over. Everyone’s happy.’
‘Everyone, Bromo? Are you sure about that?’
He watched as she sat up straight, her body taut and erect, fixing him with that teasing, taunting look. It was unsettling and he suspected she knew it. He held her gaze as she raised her arms to the back of her neck and ran wide-spread fingers up through the tangle of golden curls tumbling around her shoulders. Slowly she eased her upper body backwards, raised her legs from the floor and stretched out along the full length of the settee.
‘Not everyone’s happy, Bromo. Not yet.’
She smiled.
‘But they could be.’
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