Hard Yards

by J. R. Carroll

  Still stunned, the man staggered away, wiping his face with his sleeve. So much fucking blood. And who the fuck was Mr Smith?

  Edward crashed on the bed, still dressed, and in half an hour fell asleep. There wasn’t much rest in it for him: he dreamed he was back in the Marines, carrying so much equipment he could hardly walk. But the sergeant kept on yelling at him: double up, double up. Come on, come on, let’s move that hairy ass, Hickey. You want me to fuck that ass, Hickey? Then move it! Edward found himself chewing dirt. There were enemy soldiers swarming all over the place, and he was hiding in some reeds. Somehow he’d been separated from his squad. He was soon found, captured, marched at gunpoint to a big building where they tortured prisoners. There were naked, bleeding men everywhere he looked. Edward was taken to a room and told he was going to be thrashed with a split cane because he had been hiding. He couldn’t understand it: surely it was his duty as a soldier to avoid capture. They started flogging him, and the pain was excruciating. He didn’t want to scream, but couldn’t help it: he could feel his flesh being shredded into strips. His head swirled, he tossed and writhed, twisted this way and that way … and woke up, drenched with sweat. Oh, thank Christ it was a fucking dream. Strange: he’d had it before, that and others like it, about being flogged and tortured, and yet he had never suffered nightmarish experiences, or stress, while in the army. Quite the reverse – he gave other people stress and trauma. No doubt the shrinks would have a field day figuring it all out.

  Tex O’Mara was sitting up watching a soft-core porn movie on TV when Barrett arrived, around midnight. There were a few empty beer cans, not many, and the pitiful remnants of a takeaway chicken still in its silver-lined bag. Barrett dumped his travel bag, visited the bathroom, then checked out the bar fridge: around a dozen cans of Toohey’s Draft. He popped one and, still standing, looked at the movie. A woman in a one-piece bathing costume was sitting on a desk having her breasts squeezed and fondled by a man wearing a suit. At least he had his tie loosened. She was sort of fending him off, but you could see her heart wasn’t in it. So why was she wearing a swimsuit in a fucking office?

  ‘That dude’s red hot for sexual harassment in the workplace,’ Barrett said. ‘No means no.’

  Geoff said, ‘Pathetic. I can’t even crack a horn watching this shit. All they do is slobber over each other.’

  ‘Couldn’t you get a real one?’ Barrett said.

  ‘A real woman, you mean?’

  ‘Well, no, I meant a proper stick movie. But since you mention it … seems an ideal set-up, don’t you think? Too good to waste. Why didn’t you give one of your floozies a call?’

  ‘You’d have to fuck off, or crash on the divan.’ There was both a double and a fold-down bed in the room. Being second comer, Barrett knew which would be his. But the very idea of being in the same room as Geoff O’Mara while he engaged in sexual congress made Barrett’s craw contract. ‘I’d be prepared to vacate for an hour or so, while you were doing the deed. Provided you reciprocated, of course.’

  Geoff eyed him closely. ‘You’ve been rooting, haven’t you? I bet you were rooting when I called.’

  ‘No I wasn’t.’

  ‘You’ve got that look, Barrett. And you’ve had a shower. I can smell the shampoo.’

  Barrett drank some beer. ‘You should be a fucking detective. It’s been a bit of a night, I’ll say that.’ All the way to Homebush Bay he had been trying to decide how much to tell Geoff. When you knocked someone, a sure way to get bounced was to spill, even to a good friend and staunch ally like Geoff. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Geoff. He did, but even so. Getting rid of a grub like Diaz might have been a justified homicide, but they’d go through him anyway, because that’s what cops did. He would be dragged through the system. By spilling to Geoff, Barrett would be exposing himself more than he needed to, certainly a lot more than the chick on the screen – she still hadn’t managed to get the swimsuit off. Prisons were full of people who could not keep their mouths zipped up. Another factor: once he knew about it, Geoff would become an accessory. Yet how could he not tell him? They were partners, they were in this thing together; they had a shared beef with Diaz …

  ‘Was it that Chinese piece from the restaurant?’ Geoff said.

  ‘… Yeah.’

  ‘What’s her name again?’

  ‘Mai Ling.’

  ‘How was she?’

  ‘Oh … brilliant.’

  ‘I’ll bet. What about your mates, you selfish bastard?’

  ‘What about ’em? It’s catch and kill your own in this world, buddy. Anyhow, you were the one telling me to butt out, if I remember correctly. Can’t have it both ways.’

  ‘Jack man.’ Geoff returned his gaze to the movie.

  ‘Something else.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Anthony Diaz. He’s … gone. Far away. Won’t be coming back.’

  Geoff looked back at him again. His expression did not change while he chewed it over. ‘Nice one.’

  ‘Yeah. Case of have to, I’m afraid.’

  Silence. ‘So … everything’s cool?’

  ‘I’d say so.’

  ‘The chick? Was she involved?’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately. But she’s ex-country tomorrow.’

  ‘Will she hold up?’

  ‘That’s the question, isn’t it. Even if she doesn’t, I wasn’t there. Plenty of people, cops included, want to see him sent away. Isn’t that the case?’

  ‘Put it this way. I can see them putting in an hour a month on it. Privately they’ll be cheering the perp and partying big time.’

  Geoff watched the movie for a while. Not much happening there. ‘I got some news too. You know that teller machine biz? Our American friend?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I had a call from Ray Ward. He tells me a citizen rang the local cop shop. Reckons he knows who the offender is. Made him from the video still in the paper.’

  ‘You’re fucking joking.’

  ‘Citizen runs a Greek restaurant in Redfern.’

  ‘I didn’t know they had Greek restaurants in Redfern.’

  ‘Our American friend apparently dines there on a regular basis.’

  ‘That’s handy.’

  ‘Ray said, the CI boys are pretty busy, probably won’t get around to it for a few days. Snowed under.’

  Neither of them said anything.

  Barrett said, ‘Wouldn’t mind a Greek feed.’

  ‘Me neither. We’ll have to toss for it.’

  Half a minute ticked by. Still not much progress being made on the TV screen. She had a shoulder strap down, but he could not get that suit off. Now he was squeezing her buns with both hands and thrusting himself against her while she tried to work his jacket and tie off. It was like watching a dog trying to dry-hump a gum tree. Barrett emptied his can and said, ‘Do you have any Interpol contacts?’

  ‘Interpol? That’s stretching the envelope. I don’t think so. Not directly anyway, but I might know someone who knows someone, sort of. Where are we talking?’

  ‘Hong Kong.’

  Barrett could hear the wheels turning. ‘You want to give me a clue or two?’

  Barrett said, ‘Diaz and some Tong heavies in HK have been coercing Mai Ling’s kid brother to bring some shit to Sydney under cover of the Olympics.’

  ‘It’s a good plan. Customs are flat out. But with Diaz gone away, surely

  ‘He might have had a business partner. The deal could still be on.’

  ‘Business partner? Who told you that?’

  ‘She did. She heard him on the phone to someone about it. Why?’

  ‘I don’t like to say this, old son, but “business partner” in the Diaz context sounds a lot like ‘Hollywood Jack’ Tucci to me.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Course I could be wrong. But they have been hugger-mugger. Tighter than maggots in a dead sheep’s arse.’

  ‘Yeah, you said something about that. I’d forgotten. Christ. Sounds right,
doesn’t it?’

  ‘Sounds and smells right. Pretty rare marriage, though – the wops usually stick to their own. It’d be Diaz’s HK connections from his gemstone biz and Tucci’s distribution network here, I guess. His brothers are probably in it up to their Sicilian necks. If that’s the case, mate, your job’s only half done. There’s no way a man of honour like ‘Hollywood Jack’ will cop that. As you know.’

  Barrett shook his head, watching the screen. ‘Christ. Not Tucci. I’ve had enough of that bastard’s tribe.’

  ‘Something tells me you’re going to have to box on. If he finds out about tonight … I mean, if he puts you at the scene …’

  ‘It’s entirely possible. If they’ve been hugger-mugger, then Diaz, being the mouth he is, would have told him what he had planned for me tonight. It was a set-up. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself. They might even have hatched the idea together.’

  ‘So Tucci’s going to know who sent his little mate packing.’

  ‘Even a fucking pea-brained shitman like him could figure that out.’

  ‘But he’s already after you anyway, isn’t he? In relation to the ice-cream rort.’

  ‘A lot of that was huffing and puffing for the cameras. I think he’ll get pretty fucking seriously pissed off now. This could tip him right over. But … if we could snuff out the Hong Kong end of that little transaction, make it known that the deal is exposed, it might take the wind out of his sails.’

  ‘It might. But don’t count on it – in my experience, drug smugglers go on with it even when they’ve been blown. They’re so committed they can’t believe it’s over, and there’s so much money at stake they’re prepared to take the risk. Greed overrules common sense. Anyway I’ll make a few calls in the morning. Have you got this kid’s details?’

  ‘Sure have.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Roland. Roland King.’

  Silence. Barrett could hear Geoff thinking. ‘What do you make of it, Geoff?’

  ‘Well … these Tong guys have been heavying Roland. There’s been a lot of to-ing and fro-ing. Roland’s been on the phone to his sister about it. She’s told you, you’ve told me … So I ask myself, who the fuck does not know about this deal? Add to the mix the Diaz factor – Mouth Incorporated. See what I mean?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I would hazard a guess that the cops over there have been in on this from day one. They’ve probably got the whole team under surveillance, bugged their phones, their cars, everything.’

  ‘If so, they’ll let the shipment go through and wrap everyone up this end.’

  ‘Correct. That’s the way I’d play it, anyway.’

  ‘Which is all very well, but Roland is an unwilling player, acting under duress. And he’ll be the one with millions of bucks worth of shit on his person.’

  ‘Yeah. Unfortunate. He’ll still have to go down, though. He’ll have to go through hoops.’

  ‘Unless … someone can blow the whistle. Kill it before it starts.’

  ‘As I said, I’ll make calls in the morning. Speaking of which, what’s the plan?’

  ‘Tomorrow we cool our heels. I do, anyway. Then in the evening … the massing of the athletes, the roar of the crowd, the lighting of the flame, and … let the Games begin.’

  ‘Do we get to watch the proceedings for nix?’

  ‘We do. We are accredited security officers.’

  ‘Do you reckon our American friend’s going to take a pot shot from the crowd?’

  ‘No. Not if he wants to pick up his pay check. And I doubt if he could even get a popgun through the security system. But you never know, he might be there, checking out the scene. I’d be surprised if he didn’t put in an appearance.’

  ‘We’re going to try and spot him in a crowd of, what, a hundred thousand? At night?’

  ‘Be nice if we could,’ Barrett said.

  ‘You’re dreaming, mate. He could be in drag for all we know.’

  ‘All right. Here’s a suggestion. Assuming he’s coming, and assuming he figures the train’s the best bet, why don’t we camp outside the station and watch the heads going past? At least we know which one we’re looking for. Assuming he’s not in drag.’

  ‘Sounds worth a try. We make a lot of assumptions, don’t we?’

  ‘Course he might not show at all. He might be way ahead of us.’

  Geoff said: ‘He wouldn’t need to be Carlos the Jackal, would he. Shit, he might hijack a chopper and ping Bunny from the air. That’s not as stupid as it sounds, either.’ He was referring to a daring breakout back in the nineties from nearby Silverwater prison, during which a chopper had been commandeered – by the jailbird’s girlfriend. ‘But I somehow think he won’t be able to resist being there for the start.’

  ‘I somehow think so too. In his position, I’d want to put in an appearance.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, mate, all things considered, I might pack it in. This so-called skinflick is not working for me. This crew should be done for fraud – Mary Five Fingers could do much better.’ He clicked the TV off, crumpled his beer can and tossed it into the bin.

  ‘Early start,’ Barrett said.

  In the dark Barrett was wide awake, hands interlocked behind his head, replaying the evening’s events in his mind and staring at the unfamiliar surroundings. He had a lot to be worried about – cops calling on him, Tucci, Mai Ling … If she didn’t go to Hong Kong, she would be almost certainly picked up. And if she got picked up, she would just as certainly ’fess up. It was bad every way he considered it. Even if she did get to Hong Kong, she could easily be arrested there. Every so often he flashed onto Diaz’s head exploding all over that plastic floor: one more horrific memory chip to be suppressed. Geoff finally broke the silence after a good ten minutes. ‘By the way,’ he said. ‘I did a little checking up. The address Bunny went to, you know.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Turns out it’s the residence of one Clive Mallory.’

  ‘Clive Mallory. Now where have I heard …’

  ‘Mallory was an Olympian, a pentathlete. He won a bronze medal back in Los Angeles. Remember? There was a doping controversy, but he was cleared in the end. Claimed he’d had about a hundred cups of coffee.’

  ‘I remember. You have been digging.’

  ‘Yeah. Nearly having the old scone shot off has given me a special interest. Anyhow this Mallory was in the news last year when he admitted to taking banned substances at the time. And since.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Said everyone he knew took them, and you had no hope of being competitive unless you did.’

  ‘No hope without the dope. That’s right. They threatened to strip him of his medal, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yeah. But they soon lost interest when he made it known he could open a whole can of worms if they tried. He came out in favour of legalising performance-enhancing steroids, remember? Said if everyone took them it wouldn’t be an issue, it’d become a level playing field. Which makes some sort of crazy sense, I guess.’

  ‘So anyone opposed to steroids would be compelled to take them, to be in the hunt.’

  ‘That’s the downside of the argument. Well, one of them. Anyway, his name cropped up again recently. There was a piece in the paper about the new blood testing procedures for EPO, which the drug cheats have been using with gay abandon, because up until now it couldn’t be detected. Now the shit’s hit the fan and a whole bunch of Chinese swimmers and others have pulled the pin rather than face testing. But … according to Mallory, there are still loopholes in the system. Apparently the blood test is only good if you’ve been taking EPO in the previous three days, so anyone on the stuff would have to be stupid to test positive. You can take it for weeks in advance, then give it away, and the benefits are still there. Also, a positive result has to match a urine sample, so it’s a complicated business. And at the end of the day no-one knows if blood testing will stand up to legal challenge.’

  ‘You’re certainly full bot
tle on the subject. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Yeah, well I rang a journalist mate and he told me all about it. This EPO stimulates growth of red blood cells and greatly enhances endurance – which is great for powerhouse sprinters like Bunny. It’s like injecting a horse with elephant juice. Once it gets in the bloodstream, you sprout wings. It’s dynamite.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Also dangerous. One of the side effects is that you can drop dead of a heart attack. But athletes don’t care – they want to get their hands on it. Mallory said he had access to this EPO – and the other stuff, the Human Growth Hormones.’

  ‘And Bunny’s paid him a social call.’

  ‘Cor-rect.’

  Silence in the dark room.

  Barrett said, ‘So you’re saying suspicions are confirmed. He is a drug user. Shifty bastard. No wonder he didn’t want anyone watching over him, the sly son of a bitch.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think he called on Mallory for a cup of coffee, or a hundred cups of coffee for that matter.’

  Barrett snorted. His hatred of drugs extended even this far. ‘All that crock he told us about staying focused. Pathetic, isn’t it. I mean, it’s only sport, but … a cheat is a fucking cheat.’

  ‘Don’t take it to heart, son. You’re right – it is only sport,’ Geoff said, and turned over.

  ‘I know, but … it changes your opinion of the man, doesn’t it.’

  ‘I didn’t have one in the first place. He’s just a meal ticket as far as I’m concerned, mate. Anyway it’s not as if he’s a fucking rock spider or something. All he’s doing is taking some chemicals to help him run faster than the other bastards, who are all no doubt doing the same thing. What’s it matter? At the end of the day, if they want to lace their coffee with powdered monkey shit, who gives a rat’s arse?’

  He did have a way of putting things into perspective. ‘Yeah, you’re right, you cynical bastard,’ Barrett said. ‘Now shut up and let me get some fucking sleep.’

  Problem was, sleep didn’t come for a long time. When it did, sometime after three, it was a splatter movie that made his heart thud and his eyes snap open. Then he was awake for keeps.