Hard Yards

by J. R. Carroll

  Several minutes later they were in the heart of Kings Cross – along with half of Sydney. It was no challenge to follow a man in this crowd. Nor, he reflected, to assassinate one and safely disappear in the confusion. Bunny, hands in pockets, strolled along, stopping to look in windows and observing the locals going about their nightly antics. What a-fucking-zoo. Bunny wouldn’t see anything like this in the Colorado back blocks. Hookers, ranging in age from twelve to indeterminate, lined the shop fronts; raw-faced, bottle-clutching piss-heads staggered along. A junkie was sprawled on the ground, staring into space open-mouthed, half-eaten burger in one hand. He was so pale he looked as if he had put on white face. Geoff, like everyone else, simply stepped over his legs. Up ahead, outside a pharmacy, there were flashing red and blue lights – an ambulance parked with two wheels on the sidewalk. A newspaper seller, with a dwarf’s oversized head and no legs below the knees, was sitting in his cart being treated by an ambulance officer. He had a deep gash on his forehead, and his face was awash with blood. Coins from his cash tin were scattered about, and someone was picking them up for him. Bunny picked his way through the knot of onlookers with a sideways look of curious distaste as a police car hit the scene. A drunk screamed, and waved his fist at the cops and everyone else who passed him. Sleazeville on parade.

  A little further on Bunny crossed the street, weaving a passage through the glacier of stopped cars. At a Korean eat-in and takeaway he hesitated, then went inside and sat at the counter. Geoff walked past, hovered a couple of shops along. If Bunny intended to eat there, Geoff was going to have to find a way of loitering without attracting attention. There was a newsagency, but he couldn’t take the chance of browsing along the magazine rack in case Bunny came out and went back the way he’d come. Which he might do if he thought someone was on his tail. Geoff stood in the doorway of the newsagency, pulled out his paper and pretended to read it, feeling a bit like Gene Hackman in The French Connection. Was Bunny playing him the way Frog One played Popeye Doyle? He remembered the scene in which Frog One dined on rare roast beef and fine wine in a swanky restaurant while Popeye drank shit-awful coffee and ate a slice of pizza in the freezing street. It was a rather strained comparison. Geoff stood and read the newspaper, keeping one eye peeled on the Korean joint. He walked past it, and sure enough Bunny was forking food into his mouth. Fuck – now Geoff was hungry too. Why couldn’t he go in and have something, since Bunny didn’t know him from the Prince of Wales? Problem was, he might have to wait for his food, and Bunny could fuck off at anytime. So – no supper for Geoff.

  He only had to wait ten minutes. Bunny came out and walked straight by without noticing him, and Geoff counted to ten before picking up the trail again. Bunny turned left into a side street, heading towards Victoria Street. Once he got there he turned right, entering a precinct that catered for backpackers. He seemed to know where he was going. It was much darker here, and there were fewer people around – mostly young tourists sitting outside their lodgings, smoking and talking. Geoff passed a coin laundry, and as he did so a blue neon light from the laundry washed over him. At the same time, Bunny flicked a glance over his shoulder, perhaps sensing something, and Geoff instinctively ducked into darkness and stood still. It seemed so idiotic – hiding from the guy whose life you were trying to save. Bunny hesitated for a second, then continued on. It would have looked to him as if someone had simply gone into the laundry.

  Further along, quite close to the steep set of steps going down to Woolloomooloo, Bunny stopped under a streetlight and studied a piece of paper. Then he looked at the house next to him, apparently searching for a number. It was a two-storey terrace with an overflowing front garden and a steel gate. Bunny tried the gate, which opened with a creak, and he went in. Geoff merged into shadows and waited. Jesus Christ – what if he was going to stay there for half the freaking night? But it didn’t strike him as the sort of place where you go to get laid, and anyhow if Bunny wanted to get his rocks off, he’d be more likely to have a woman sent to his room rather than go meandering through Potts Point looking for an address. That was the key thing: this was a specific address he’d been hunting. And it wasn’t a red-light area. It was a solid, well-to-do end of the street. The rides parked in this select neck of the woods included a new Benz Kompressor, a Cadillac and a gleaming ivory Bentley with a plate that said: FUNDS.

  Geoff waited – ten, fifteen minutes. A couple walked past him, heading towards the steps. If they noticed him they gave no sign. A guy hanging around like this might be considered to be loitering, and indeed Geoff felt suspicious. Some more people went by, breaking their conversation until they were clear of him. Come on, big shot. Twenty minutes elapsed. Then Geoff heard the gate creak, and out came Bunny. He jogged across the street and headed back towards the Cross, and Geoff quickly fell into step a reasonable distance behind. But then something came from left field – something he knew instantly was terribly wrong.

  Thirty metres down the road, ahead of Bunny, another man crossed the road to Bunny’s side. Geoff noticed him come from between parked cars and stride across with a clear purpose. Geoff could see him silhouetted against the pool of blue neon from the coin laundry, which was directly behind him: he was facing Bunny, who didn’t seem to have noticed there was someone there. Bunny closed on him unawares. Geoff quickened his step and unshipped his pistol. The man had something in his hand; he was facing Bunny with his legs slightly apart. Jesus, he’s going to shoot. The three of them were now in a straight line, with Bunny in the middle – right in the crossfire.

  ‘Bunny!’ Geoff shouted. ‘Get down! Get down now! Get down now!’

  Naturally, Bunny turned around to see who was yelling at him. Geoff repeated the order, and even in the dark Bunny could discern that the man yelling was holding a gun. But if he was going to shoot him, why give a warning? Rattled, he hit the deck, and as he did so a bullet whistled past Geoff’s ear – he actually heard the snap of the round passing within an inch or so of his head. Bending his knees and using the two-handed grip, Geoff squeezed off two rounds, aiming low enough for the bullets to hit the pavement if they missed their intended target. He advanced a few steps, obtaining a clearer view of the hit man and firing a third shot at his abdomen/crotch as the gunman suddenly turned and disappeared into the night. Bunny remained prostrate on the ground, his hands covering the back of his head. Breathing hard, heart thumping, Geoff reached him, put a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘It’s okay now, Bunny. He’s gone.’

  Bunny looked up, mouth open and eyes wide. ‘You … you with Barrett Pike?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m with Barrett. You in one piece?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess. Man, who was that fucker? I didn’t even see him. I thought you was the shooter.’

  ‘He’s your nemesis,’ Geoff said, still crouching as Bunny started to lever himself up. Looked familiar, somehow. Where have I seen that head before? He took out his phone and speed-dialled Barrett’s number as the first flashing blue light swerved into view.

  17

  MYSTERY SURROUNDS ROBBERY ATTEMPT

  By Walt Gaines

  Police were last night trying to piece together the details of an apparent armed robbery gone wrong at an automatic teller machine in the city.

  According to Detective Harvey Keene, two offenders armed with a knife, who were attempting to rob a man at the Hunter Street machine, may have been attacked by another man who stumbled onto the scene.

  ‘What we have so far is a sketchy outline of events,’ Detective Keene said.

  ‘It seems a young man and his female companion were in the process of bailing up a person at the teller machine when another man appeared.

  ‘Security camera footage shows him producing a handgun, which he then uses to threaten, then assault the would-be bandits in an extremely vicious manner. Then he disappeared.

  ‘The man and woman claimed they were the ones being robbed, but when asked to produce a plastic card to use in the machine, neither could do so.

&n
bsp; ‘It is all a bit of a puzzle at present, until we can locate the mystery man.’

  Police have appealed to the original victim of the attempted robbery, who fled in the confusion, to come forward. A 21-year-old woman, who is believed to be pregnant, was taken to hospital under police guard with serious injuries. A man, 22, who was treated by ambulance officers at the scene, was assisting police with their inquiries. The gun-wielding attacker was described as Caucasian, aged in his mid-forties, of medium height and stocky build, with a fair complexion and possibly an American accent. He was wearing a casual light blue shirt, light brown pants and a black cap.

  Barrett, Geoff and Bunny were sitting in Bunny’s room at the Sebel Town House. It was well after midnight. Geoff and Bunny had given their statements to the police, who had conducted a so far unsuccessful search for the man who had tried to kill Bunny. At first the cops had thought Geoff was their man, since he was carrying, but that misunderstanding was quickly cleared up when Geoff produced ID and explained that he was doing some bodyguarding.

  ‘You’re Geoff O’Mara?’ the young cop had said, shining a flashlight in Geoff’s face.

  ‘I am,’ Geoff had replied. ‘What about it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ the cop said. ‘You’re pretty famous, that’s all.’

  ‘Not as famous as this man,’ Geoff said, and told him who Bunny was.

  ‘Fastest man in the world?’ the cop said. ‘Who would want to shoot you?’

  ‘One of his rivals, maybe,’ Geoff said, and the cop didn’t know if he was being serious or not. Barrett had joined them at the Kings Cross police station, and afterwards the three of them had been driven the short distance to the Sebel in a patrol car.

  Right now they were engaged in a de-briefing, the most encouraging feature of which was the fact that Bunny no longer regarded the threat to his life as a fairy story. Geoff was sitting in an armchair with a glass of Smirnoff vodka in his hand, having already polished off the Black Douglas scotch and the Gordon’s gin from the mini-fridge. His stated intention was to work his way through all the spirit miniatures, then start on the beer. Then send for more.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he was saying, ‘I very nearly sold out back there. That fucking bullet gave me windburn.’

  ‘You’re lucky you don’t have a bigger head,’ Barrett said, and Geoff laughed uproariously. Bunny wore a perplexed expression, as if he couldn’t understand why they were cracking jokes about someone nearly getting killed. Like him, for instance. ‘What was going through your mind?’

  Geoff said: ‘Soon as I realised what was going down, I thought, Christ on a bike, I’m going to blow my seventy-five thou on day one.’ They both erupted into more laughter, while Bunny looked from one to the other uncomprehendingly. Clearly he had no handle whatsoever on the Down Under sense of humour.

  ‘It’s as close as I want to come, anyway,’ Geoff said in a more reflective vein, and pushed a hand through his crop of white hair. ‘Nearly filled the old rompers, I don’t mind admitting.’ He held out his free hand, the one not holding the vodka, and spread the fingers. ‘Look at that. Steady as a rock,’ he said.

  ‘Hasn’t sunk in yet,’ Barrett told him. ‘You’ll probably crack up all over the ship tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’ He swigged the vodka. ‘Nope. Absolutely no chance. I’m too fucking old and bitter at heart to have a nervous breakdown. What’s a bullet or two between friends.’ He swirled the vodka. ‘What about you, Bunny?’ he said. ‘Bit shook up, I guess.’

  Bunny lifted his shoulders and let them fall. ‘I’m okay. I just can’t believe it happened.’

  ‘Get used to it,’ Geoff said. ‘Something tells me that guy is not going away in a hurry.’ He finished the Smirnoff, cracked a miniature of Martell cognac and emptied it in the glass. To Barrett he said, ‘He was in the cocktail lounge downstairs.’

  ‘You’re fucking joking,’ Barrett said. So far Geoff had not owned up to seeing the shooter prior to the incident.

  ‘I’m not fucking joking,’ Geoff said. ‘In fact he spoke to me. Asked me for an ashtray. The fucking bastard was staking out the same place we were. I left to follow Bunny, and he followed me. Well, I suppose he didn’t know I was following Bunny until it became obvious, when Bunny went into the Korean restaurant. So then he saw me prop, he hid someplace and waited for his chance.’

  ‘I’ll be totally fucked,’ Barrett said, and lit a cigarette without bothering to ask Bunny if he minded. ‘So you got a good look at him, in the lounge.’ He opened the fridge, selected a can of Carlsberg, and popped it.

  ‘Good enough. I dismissed him. He was nothing. Paid-up package tourist from the ’burbs of the good old US of A.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell this to the cops?’

  ‘I only twigged where I’d seen him on the way back here, and I needed to think about it. Also, I didn’t feel like spending anymore time at the fucking cop shop. If I’d opened that up, I’d still be there now instead of knocking off Bunny’s liquor supply.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Barrett said. ‘You can always tell them later on – if you want to.’

  ‘I don’t know if I do want to,’ Geoff said, and Barrett could see how his mind was working.

  ‘He was an American?’ Bunny said, as if this made the situation infinitely worse – being hunted down by your own countryman.

  ‘He was, Bunny. He is. He’s American, armed and bloody dangerous.’ Studying Bunny’s bowling-ball dome he said, ‘Just as well you dropped when you did. Otherwise you’d be in a bodybag right now, minus a head.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Bunny said. ‘No, I mean it sincerely – thanks for warning me in time.’

  ‘That’s all right. That’s what I get paid for. I don’t mind getting shot at, as long as it’s for a good cause. Christ, did I say that? A man’s out of what’s left of his mind. Why can’t I get a job running a fucking supermarket, instead of this Lethal Weapon shit?’

  Ignoring him, Barrett said, ‘So, Bunny, why didn’t you call me as we arranged?’

  Bunny shifted, slid a stick of gum into his mouth and got to work on it, making all the bones in his head shift into gear. Then he began tapping his foot on the floor. ‘I didn’t believe it was necessary. I was only going out for a minute.’

  ‘Pretty long minute,’ Geoff said. ‘That was a basketball minute – goes for an hour.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Bunny said. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  Geoff said, ‘Who’d you go and see? Do you mind telling us that?’

  ‘Just an acquaintance,’ Bunny said, moving his eyes from Geoff to Barrett, then back to Geoff again. ‘No-one I want to involve in this.’

  ‘They are involved in this,’ Geoff told him. ‘Sydney’s a wild-west town, but shooting at people in the streets in the off-season is frowned upon by the law enforcement authorities – unless they’re the ones doing the shooting. There will be a full police investigation.’

  ‘In any case,’ Barrett said, ‘We’d sure appreciate not being kept in the mushroom club, if it’s all the same with you.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Bunny said, right foot tattooing on the carpet.

  ‘You’re not going to tell us, are you?’ Geoff said. ‘Oh, well, don’t worry – we’ll find out. The cops will find out. Your acquaintance will be dragged into it. He – or she – is a material witness to an attempted murder.’

  Bunny was looking a little apprehensive as he slotted more gum between his lips, but he didn’t say anything.

  ‘I doubt if he’ll come back tonight for another try,’ Barrett said, ‘but we can’t be sure. In the circumstances, I think one of us should camp here, or maybe you ought to come back to my place, Bunny. It isn’t far, and it’s secure, watertight. The hotel is not.’

  Bunny thought about it, shrugged and said, ‘You’re welcome to stay here if you want.’

  ‘Be better if you came to my apartment. You move into the village tomorrow anyway.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Good. If you wa
nt to get some stuff together, we’ll go now. Just an overnight bag will do.’

  Morning saw Geoff O’Mara running down information from his main police contact. This took the form of a grizzled plainclothes inspector from Criminal Intelligence named Ray Ward, for whom Geoff occasionally bought lunch in return for the info. But this was too early for lunch – ten-thirty – and Ray was happy to settle for coffee and some toasted sandwiches at a cafe in Glebe Point Road. Geoff summed up the situation in a few minutes, including the attempt on Bunny’s life the night before, then asked if anything was going down among the criminal fraternity that might be helpful.

  Ray Ward knew a lot of criminals, active and inactive: he had spent years in front-line policing in two states, and had been a fixture at ICAC virtually since the beginning. Unofficially, one of his roles was to arrange deals with his network of informants: immunity or part-immunity in exchange for rolling over and naming names. Coincidentally he was also from Brisbane where, as a young detective, he had made his mark in special operations and the armed hold-up squad. The name Ray Ward equated to some pretty rugged policing in those years. Whenever he broke down a front door, there was always a chance someone would wear a shotgun blast for reaching under a pillow or trying to get over a back fence. If a hood got word that Ray Ward was after him, he went missing and didn’t show his face for a long time. But Ray was astute enough to see the writing on the wall after the Fitzgerald inquiry, when they brought in the new police chief from Victoria to clean out the stables. He had made the move to Sydney while it was still Dodge City, with Detective Sergeant Roger Rogerson wearing both tin star and black hat. Not that Ray was that bent, but when the new Queensland commissioner went on TV and invited all corrupt police to leave, he took it to mean the old days and ways were over – time to make a break, and seek fresh pastures. With his resignation payout he’d had taken his wife on a five-star round-the-world trip, then signed up with the New South Wales police. He did it hard for a few years, serving stints at Katoomba, Mt Druitt, Marrickville and such places before landing the Criminal Intelligence spot. There wasn’t much that Ray hadn’t got involved with on both sides of the border, and he’d had a few nicks taken out of him, but like Geoff he was a survivor in a very tough job. He had to be over sixty, yet showed no signs of retiring. But then he wouldn’t have had much of a superannuation scheme to look forward to, so he’d probably go on until they told him to give it away.