Deal Me Out

by Peter Corris

  The pub was in Kensington and had been adopted by the university students, which meant that the management had gone for maximum drinking space and minimum comfort. It had a large, outdoor terrace crammed with chairs, benches and tables in various stages of decay. The two main bars seemed to have been designed to promote deafness; the noise of the juke boxes, TV sets and pinball machines blended in with the raucous blast of Friday night student revelry. Erica had put on shades and high heels as she’d promised, and she looked exotic and mysterious as she peered through the glasses into the loudest bar.

  I shook my head. ‘Be like drinking in a room with a taxiing 707. Let’s go out on the terrace.’

  I got a white wine for myself and a gin and tonic for Erica, and we sat on the terrace which was filling up with kids who either didn’t like noise or were taking a break from it. There were just enough over-twenty-fives around for us not to look conspicuous.

  ‘Maybe it’s not a good night,’ I said. ‘End of week fun night.’

  ‘It was a Friday that Bill met him. He liked to get into all this on Friday; said it made him feel young.’

  ‘Christ, I can’t even remember what young felt like. He’s not going to be here, love. You know that.’

  ‘What’s this, Hardy’s first law of surveillance?’

  ‘Something like that.’ I drank a big gulp of wine and waited for it to make me feel young.

  ‘I’m going to take a look around.’

  She knocked off her gin and tonic and wandered down through the sprawling bodies, all wearing jeans, all talking and laughing, all young. Blasts of music came from the bar and I held myself tense for a while until I realised what was wrong and relaxed: this wasn’t the sort of pub I was used to and I’d been waiting for the sound of breaking glass.

  ‘He’s here!’ Her voice was a hiss with tobacco and gin.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘See for yourself, he’s in the … what d’they call it? The Scotch Thistle Room or something.’

  She meant the slightly lower decibel bar, which had apparently aspired to a Caledonian decor before the student take-over. It had a tartan carpet much eroded by beer and cigarette ash, and framed, glass-covered pictures of Highland scenes, which were mostly obliterated by graffiti scrawled over the glass.

  Erica pointed with her chin at the bar and sat down on a spare chair near the door, while I went over for a professional look. Trade was brisk along the length of the bar with the patrons two deep in some places. ‘Mal’ or ‘Majors’, call him Mal, got served with two drinks and took them across to a table near the middle of the room where another man and a woman were sitting. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses tonight and his hair looked a few shades lighter than in the photo, but the reptilian eyes were unmistakable.

  The woman at Mal’s table was about his age, midthirties. She was getting fat and trying to hide the fact in clothes too young for her. She didn’t worry me; I thought I could handle her.

  The man was another story. He kept his eye on Mal as he delivered the drinks, and he didn’t seem too interested in his. The arms draped back over his chair would have been too well-developed to hold comfortably close to his torso.

  I used the bar toilet and came back to Erica’s chair, which she’d turned slightly away from Mal’s field of vision.

  ‘No drink?’ she said.

  ‘No. We’ve got a problem.’

  ‘No problem. That’s him. We just bowl up and lay it on him.’

  ‘We don’t. Did you notice the guy with him?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Not a trained observer, see. He’s what we’ve learned from the television to call a minder.’

  ‘Are you scared of him?’

  ‘I don’t know enough about him to know whether to be scared. He’s big enough for the work, and he looks like he wouldn’t trip over the furniture when he moved. But that’s not the real worry. If Mal’s got a minder, it means he expects trouble. He doesn’t know we’re onto him so the trouble must be coming from another direction. Chances are that trouble for him means trouble for us. Logic?’

  ‘Bugger logic!’

  She jumped up, skipped around me and headed towards the threesome’s table. I was so surprised that I stood still for a few seconds and wasted more time opening my mouth to yell at her. I didn’t yell, but by the time I got moving she had woven through the drinkers and had fronted up to Mal.

  Mal shook his head and Erica said something loud and uncomplimentary. Mal pushed his chair back, the woman moved her body closer to him and the other guy got smoothly to his feet. He was well over a foot taller than Erica, but she stood her ground. I could feel the adrenalin starting to flow as I pushed towards the table. The minder had his hand on Erica’s upper arm in an ungentlemanly grip. I came up on the side and chopped at his big biceps to break the grip. He let go and half-turned, and I swung him further off-balance by pulling on his forearm. He stumbled, and I hacked his right foot out from under him so that he fell down hard and awkwardly into his chair. He looked up, and for the first time I saw that he was very young, not much over twenty. He jumped up and threw a punch, but he wasn’t set and I blocked it pretty easily.

  ‘Real rough on women are you, son?’

  Mal yelped: ‘Fix him, Geoff.’ Geoff tried his best, but I didn’t let him get set. I gave him a short hard punch well below the belt and rasped my shoe heel down his shin bone. With the wind knocked out and a shin giving hell, most people have the good sense to sit down.

  Erica flashed a smile at a man who showed some interest in joining in the action. She shook her head at him and pulled a chair up close to Mal. I leaned down hard on Geoff’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

  ‘Don’t worry, son. I’m not part of his big problem and I won’t hurt him. I just want a little talk.’

  He wriggled, and I put my foot down hard on his left suede shoe. Mal’s face was white and I was sure I could hear his knees knocking under the table. He was looking at me with fascination and I saw that the butt of the gun under my shoulder was just visible where my jacket was open. Geoff saw it too. I closed the jacket and smiled at him.

  ‘Just stay where you are and no-one gets hurt. You might learn something.’ He nodded and I took my foot away.

  Erica had pulled her chair up so close that she was almost sitting in Mal’s lap. The woman with the weight problem was sitting bolt upright and trying to draw herself away from Erica as if she smelled bad. I stood up beside Geoff’s chair and nodded down at Erica who was lighting a cigarette. She puffed the smoke over Mal’s shoulder.

  ‘Where’s Bill Mountain?’ she said.

  5

  ‘BILL who?’ Mal’s voice was not much above a whisper, but his fear made the sound carry.

  ‘We’re talking about play-acting,’ I said in his ear. ‘About the Bill who played Bruce Worthington in the same show that you played Henry Majors in.’

  ‘Christ. Who’re you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who he is,’ Erica said. ‘Where’s Bill, you little shit?’

  It would have been amusing in another context—four foot whatever Erica calling a man ‘little’. Mal was small and he was scared, but something about the quick movement of his eyes over Erica’s face and the half-head turn to check on me told me that he wasn’t dumb.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said loudly. ‘Geoff ….’

  ‘Geoff’s taking a break. Listen, mate, you’re right in it. I’ve got a photo of you signing for a car you forgot to return. You took your sunnies off to sign. Mistake, that. It’s a police matter if that’s the way you want to play it, but there is another way.’

  ‘Stop yapping, Hardy.’ Erica helped herself to a cigarette from the packet on the table and did a pretty good job of looking tough. Mal’s quick, snake-like eyes moved again; they took in her act and Geoff, who was slumped in his chair rubbing his chin.

  ‘What other way?’ he said.

  ‘You got Bill Mountain into the gam
e, we know that. Now he’s missing.’

  ‘I know he’s fucking missing. S’cuse me, Glad.’ Glad’s second chin wobbled as she acknowledged the apology. She was over her fright and getting interested. She fumbled a cigarette from what had become the communal pack and Erica lit her up. Mal watched the women sourly.

  ‘I know he’s missing. So’s the bloody car. Why d’you think they’re after me? Why d’you think I’ve got Geoff along, not that he seems to be any bloody good.’

  ‘Geoff’s all right,’ I said. ‘He’s young, that’s all. We have to have a talk, Mal. Here or somewhere else?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk.’

  ‘It’s me or the cops. Those pictures and the registration form with your disguised handwriting on it’ll send you to gaol. And if you’ve been around as much as I think you have, you’ll know that gaol’s not a safe place if the wrong people dislike you.’

  He kept his eyes fixed on my face while he felt for his drink. I moved it across for him, and he picked it up and took a sip. Glad sipped her drink too, and she and Erica puffed on their cigarettes. It was getting to be quite a cheery little party with only Geoff and me not drinking up and smoking, but then, we were on duty. Mal was doing some quick thinking.

  ‘I might as well use you as an escort home,’ he said. ‘You seem to know what you’re doing. If you’re looking for Mountain you’re looking for the car too. Right?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘The car could stay missing?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘That’d certainly help.’ He finished his drink and pushed back his chair. Glad finished her drink, and Erica butted her cigarette. Geoff looked at me, and I stood up. Mal surveyed the bar carefully to see if anyone was interested in us. No-one was. He stood up and squared his shoulders, looking like Henry Majors again.

  ‘Where’s your car?’

  ‘In the car park.’

  ‘Good.’

  He marched out; Glad tried to hang onto his arm but he shook her off. Geoff brought up the rear. Erica didn’t try to hang onto my arm. Mal looked nervously out at the al fresco drinkers, and hurried down the steps to the car park. We followed him to a white Holden which he unlocked. He handed the keys to Geoff.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I said.

  ‘Woolloomooloo.’

  As Glad was in an arm-holding mood I gave her mine; Erica got the idea and took hold of her on the other side.

  ‘We’ll take Glad along with us,’ I said. ‘What’s the address?’

  He gave me the street and number and I told Geoff to wait until I picked him up, to take it easy and give plenty of clear signals. Then the three of us trooped off to the Falcon where Glad waited for me to open the door like a gentleman. Erica and Glad sat in the back and lit fresh cigarettes. I started the motor which coughed a bit; I coughed a bit too, wound down my window and followed the Holden out of the car park.

  ‘I’m shooting through,’ Mal said.

  We were sitting in the front room of his little studio apartment. Glad had the flat upstairs, and she’d pecked Mal on the cheek before going up. I gathered their arrangement was a convenient one for both of them, company when needed and low on demands.

  Mal had made coffee in his tiny kitchen and brought it through nervously. He was older than I’d first thought, close to fifty, and, away from the pub noise and good cheer, he seemed oddly diminished, shrunken. This was despite his expensive clothes—hand-stitched shirt, European shoes—and cared-for hands. Watching him, I realised that acting a part had become an ingrained habit with him. The trouble was he switched roles a bit too often. Judgement: Mal had been a con man for a very long time, probably too long.

  Any artist who worked in this ‘studio’ would’ve had to paint miniatures. The daybed, a couple of bean bags and a low coffee table just about covered the floor space; Geoff must have slept in the bath. He bludged two cigarettes from Erica and took the portable TV off to the kitchen. I heard the sound of a fridge door, a beer can popped and the electronic babble began at low volume. Geoff hadn’t contributed much to the evening, but no-one was paying him to talk.

  ‘Before you shoot through,’ I said, ‘talk. My guess is you’re a good talker.’

  Erica sneered at the soft soap and puffed impatiently on her cigarette. Mal moved a pottery ashtray towards her and she flicked ash at it and missed.

  ‘Can’t tell you much,’ Mal said.

  ‘Tell us where Bill is,’ Erica snapped. ‘That’ll be enough.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Won’t do, mate,’ I said. ‘You must have had to deliver the cars somewhere. There must have been meetings, arrangements. That’s what we want to hear about.’

  ‘Bugger-all. S’cuse me, Miss.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Instructions came by phone—where to go to pick up this and that. It’s more than my life’s worth to tell you where.’

  ‘Gaol if you don’t.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. It’d take time and there’s some good legal men around. I’d have a chance that way. They might give me a break or the bloody car might turn up. If I talk I’m dead.’

  ‘You have been thinking. Let’s try to keep it general. What about dropping off the car?’

  ‘Car park. Leave the keys, papers, all the phoney stuff. Walk away. The fee came in the mail.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Grand a unit.’

  ‘How many’ve you done?’

  ‘That’d be telling. Look, I can’t help you. If I could put you on to Mountain I would. Then they could break his legs instead of mine.’

  ‘Someone threatened you?’ Erica flashed the question at him. ‘Who?’

  ‘Blower again. He put the wind up me—very nasty-sounding joker. Look, I’ll play square with you; I’ll tell you the only thing I know, just like I told him.’

  ‘I’m confused,’ Erica said. ‘You told who?’

  ‘The bloke on the phone.’

  ‘Told him what?’ I said.

  ‘Mountain mentioned Blackheath.’

  ‘Blackheath—in the mountains?’ Erica grabbed at the scrap of information like the last cigarette in a pack.

  ‘That’s it. I have to explain. I hardly knew him. A few drinks and a chat. Well ….’ He rubbed his thin, white hand across the lower part of his face. Then he used it to pick up his coffee cup. From the look of the hand that was about as much hard work as it was accustomed to. ‘He was looking to make some money, so he told me. I’d done a few of these jobs, went all right, and they told me I could do a bit of recruiting, extra money, if I was careful. Careful! I must have been over-confident. Anyway, over a drink, he mentioned that he liked to drive up to Blackheath sometimes. That’s all. I don’t know why I remember it, even.’

  ‘Any ideas on why he didn’t deliver the car?’

  ‘No. He came through all right the first time.’

  ‘He did it before?’

  ‘Sure. Good job. That’s probably why they gave him the Audi. Shit, doesn’t he know what those things are worth?’

  Just talking about it seemed to be increasing the strain on Mal. For one thing, he hadn’t apologised to Erica for saying ‘shit’. She was hopeless at being inscrutable. Her eyes and the rapid movement of her smoking hand told me that Blackheath meant something to her, and that she was already calculating about me. I decided to show keenness by keeping up the pressure on Mal.

  ‘You told the man who called you about Blackheath?’

  He nodded. ‘You bet I did. I was happy to have something to give him. What do I owe Mountain?’

  I looked at him and didn’t say anything.

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ he said quickly. ‘I saw your bloody gun. I’m not a tough guy. I was bloody glad to have something to say to him apart from “Please don’t kill me.”’ He finished off his coffee. ‘I’ve had Geoff around ever since.’

  ‘How long’s that?’

  ‘A week. What’s your name by the way?’

  ‘You don’t n
eed to know.’ I stood up and rubbed the edge of my hand where hitting Geoff’s biceps had hurt it. Erica stood up too.

  ‘Where are you going?’ There was a note of something like panic in Mal’s voice.

  ‘What’s it to you? Come on.’ I jerked my head at the door and Erica moved slowly. I started to like her more at that moment; she seemed to want to give some comfort to the little man.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what Mountain told me about himself … ?’

  ‘You already told us,’ I said. ‘Nothing. Don’t worry, Mal. You’ve got Geoff.’

  Mal groaned but I had a feeling he could groan on cue. I opened the door and let Erica go past me.

  ‘Say goodbye to Geoff from me and tell him to work on his balance. It’s all in the balance.’ I shut the door and we went down the stairs. I held Erica back for as long as it took for a quick glance along the street. Woolloomooloo is never still, never silent, but there was nothing suspicious going on within sight. Erica tottered ahead of me on her high heels and I took her arm to steer her around a pile of rubbish spilling out from a blocked culvert.

  ‘Careful,’ she said. ‘That’s where he grabbed me.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Her arm was thin but had some nice yielding flesh on it. It was a fine arm to hold. I opened the car and let go the arm reluctantly. I put the key in the ignition and sat back.

  ‘Well, what do we know about Blackheath?’

  She looked across at me. Her face was an interesting colour under the amber street lights. Her eyes seemed very dark and her teeth very white. ‘Are you working on your car case or looking for Bill, with me?’

  ‘It’s a nice point. Does it really matter? You’ve got the picture now. The other people looking for him are a hell of a lot rougher than me.’

  ‘That’s true. Let me think for a minute.’

  ‘How can you think? You haven’t got a cigarette.’

  That earned me a smile; she proceeded to pollute my personal space. After a few puffs, she threw the cigarette out the window. Her sunglasses had slid down across her eyes from their perch on top of her head, and she pushed them back again. They took some of the fringe up and I saw the worry line again.