The junkyard dog came over to congratulate me.
‘Well done,’ he said, before his voice dropped. ‘You’re dead, kid.’
‘I don’t want the money,’ I said. ‘You can have it.’
‘Don’t insult me,’ he said.
Gus was equally as unimpressed.
‘Didn’t you listen to what I said?’
‘Hey, I won the race, didn’t I?’
‘This wasn’t a race worth winning.’
I checked my watch.
‘I have to go,’ I told Gus.
‘You do what you’ve got to do,’ he said. The light was falling on his face, on all the cracks and crevasses, in such a way that it resembled some outback landscape. ‘You want me to wait for you?’
I did want him to wait – it was such a comforting thought – but it seemed to be almost an invitation to failure; I had to catch the Zolt and I had to do it by myself.
‘No, it’s okay,’ I said, ‘I’ll find my own way to the Gold Coast.’
Gus opened his mouth, and I could guess what he was about to say – I can’t just leave you here – but a look over of resignation appeared on his face, and his mouth closed again.
I was about to take off when something occurred to me.
‘Can you pick up my prize money for me?’
He gave me a dirty look but, hey, he didn’t owe his Mafioso brother three hundred bucks, not to mention the vig, did he?
PULL THE PLUG ON IT
I met Zoe at the prearranged meeting point, just outside the shop where Imogen had bought the postcards that day.
As she handed me my backpack, a car pulled up, all gleaming duco and mirror-polish chrome.
I knew the driver – he was the tattooed man with the long greasy hair I’d met a few days ago. The one who’d wanted me to pay him for pointing out where Zoe’s place was.
‘Are you sure we can trust him?’ I asked Zoe before I got in.
‘He’s my Uncle Doug,’ said Zoe, giving me a scathing look.
That seemed even more reason not to trust him, but we didn’t have a lot of time so I got into the car.
‘Just don’t make a mess back there,’ said Uncle Doug before he took off.
If Gus was incapable of driving fast, Uncle Doug was incapable of driving slow. Even when we were going slow, he was driving fast, double-clutching, hammering through the gears.
When we pulled up near the Jazy house he said, ‘Youse better not have made a mess back there,’ and took off.
‘What did you tell him we were doing?’ I asked Zoe.
‘I told him nothing.’
‘But didn’t he want to know?’
‘We’re not that sort of want-to-know family,’ she said.
I punched the code into the keypad of the Jazys’ property, the gates clicked open and we slipped inside.
The key to the speedboat was in the same hiding place.
The engine started first turn.
Zoe undid the rope.
I put it into reverse and pressed down on the accelerator.
The boat surged forward, crashing into the pier.
‘What are you doing?’ Zoe asked as she picked herself up from the floor. ‘You told me you knew how to drive a boat!’
‘I do,’ I said, making sure that this time it really was in reverse.
I pressed tentatively on the accelerator.
The boat moved backwards.
When we were clear of the pier, I put it into first and pointed the bow in the direction of Cameron Jamison’s house.
When Tristan was behind the wheel, driving the boat had seemed like the easiest sort of driving you could do. There were no traffic signs to obey, no other traffic to worry about, just one big wide watery road. But now that it was me behind the wheel I could see that it was much trickier than it looked. For a start, there was all that power, those two bulbous outboards on the back. Even if I pressed my foot down a little bit, the boat seemed to respond a lot. And today it wasn’t flat calm like it was the other day. There was quite a lot of wind, the bay was a flurry of waves, and the boat bounced around erratically, occasionally sending a fine spray up over us.
As we rounded a headland and the rear of Cameron Jamison’s villa came into view, I slowed down. Zoe delved into her bag, pulled out a pair of binoculars and trained them on the shore.
I smiled at her; as far as accomplices went, she was turning out to be a pretty good one.
‘There’s only one speedboat there,’ she said, passing me the binoculars.
She was right: there was only one speedboat. A twin outboard like the one we had borrowed.
I could see no signs of movement.
I motored a bit closer to the headland, out of view of the villa, before I tossed the anchor over.
‘You’re going to swim from here?’ Zoe asked, surprised.
‘If we get any closer it’ll look too suspicious,’ I said, peeling off my T-shirt.
I checked the contents of the backpack – a pair of pliers, a rubber plug with a cord attached – before I put it on my back, tightening the straps.
Then I slid over the side of the boat and into the water.
Twenty minutes later when I hoisted myself on board again, the wind had dropped to nothing and the sea was glassy. The shore was so still, it seemed painted, like a backdrop at the theatre. And this stillness seemed enormous, insurmountable, as if nothing could shift it.
‘Any problems?’ Zoe asked.
‘No, I did it.’
Zoe checked her phone.
‘Two minutes to go,’ she said.
I checked my watch.
‘I’ve got three,’ I said.
‘Two, three, whatever – something should be happening by now!’
There were so many variables in our plan, so many things that could go wrong; I couldn’t blame Zoe for being worried.
Fifteen minutes later and she wasn’t worried any longer, because basically she’d given up.
‘You got wet for nothing, buddy,’ she said. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’
‘Just give it a few more minutes,’ I said, starting the motor, manoeuvring the boat closer to the villa. ‘Remember, my text said that the meeting was at four. Surely they’re going to allow for latecomers.’
Zoe rolled her eyes and went to say something, but I cut her off.
‘Be quiet!’
‘Why?’
‘Just be quiet.’
Zoe did as I asked.
‘Hear that?’ I whispered.
The sound of cars, of people yelling, of wood splintering.
Zoe brought the binoculars back up to her eyes.
‘Ohmigod,’ she said. ‘Ohmigod!’ One of those I-can’t-believe-my-eyes kind of ohmigod.
‘What?’
But I already knew what.
I could see three figures, one barefoot, much taller than the other two, coming through the back door, heading down to the pier, getting onto the speedboat. My plan had worked: the cops had flushed them out.
‘Is it your brother?’
She nodded.
‘Looks like they’ve got a gun on him,’ I said.
‘I know them,’ said Zoe. ‘The Mattner brothers.’
‘Mean?’
‘Put it this way, when they were at school they used to bite the heads off live snakes.’
‘Okay, that’s reasonably mean.’
The speedboat started up and headed out to sea. ‘How long do you reckon it’s going to take?’ asked Zoe.
‘According to my research, about five minutes,’ I said.
I kept my distance – I didn’t want them using us as target practice.
‘Were those Mattner boys into lighting fires as well?’ I asked.
‘How did you know that?’
‘Technically, then, they’re psychopaths,’ I said.
Meaning that they lacked empathy, would feel no remorse if they were forced to dispose of a couple of troublesome teenagers.
‘The boa
t’s pretty low in the water,’ said Zoe.
I took the binoculars.
Zoe was right, the boat was sinking, and sinking rapidly.
I’d replaced the drainage plug at the rear of the boat with a rubber plug, and then tied it off on the pier. As soon as they’d moved off, they’d pulled the plug out. The boat had been taking in water ever since.
‘Shouldn’t we get a bit closer to them?’ Zoe asked.
‘Not while they can still take a shot at us,’ I said. ‘You can’t be too careful with psychopaths.’
But almost before I said this the boat disappeared under the surface and its three occupants in were sent sprawling into the water.
There was no way they could take a shot at us now, so I started the motor and made towards them.
When we got closer I could see that both Mattners had grabbed lifejackets while Otto was managing without.
‘Otto!’ yelled Zoe.
‘Zoe, is that you?’
I’d never heard Otto Zolton-Bander speak before. But given that he was six foot five, given that he was the Zolt, a notorious criminal, I’d expected a deep manly voice, the sort of voice that terrorises citizens and steals planes. But he had a high-pitched voice, a squeaky voice, the sort of voice that belonged to one of the minor characters in a Disney cartoon.
‘You okay?’ Zoe called out.
‘I’m okay,’ squeaked Otto.
‘Okay,’ said Zoe.
Enough with the okays, already.
‘Otto, we’re going to pick you up,’ I yelled. ‘But I don’t want them anywhere near my boat.’
Otto was quick on the uptake, I’ll give him that. Quick on the uptake, and equally quick on the duckdive, because suddenly he was no longer there.
‘He’s definitely a good swimmer, right?’ I asked Zoe.
‘You watch,’ she said.
I watched and I watched and I watched.
Only an elite diver could hold their breath for this long, I thought.
But then he surfaced right next to the boat and we pulled him on board. And it was such a weird feeling: somebody who had only existed on the net, on a poster taped to a lamppost, on Fox News, was here, live in 3D.
The Zolton-Banders embraced and I felt a tinge of jealousy: my younger sibling was more about vigs than hugs. Zoe looked towards me and mouthed ‘thank you’.
I turned the boat around so that it was headed back to the shore.
‘You can’t leave us here!’ yelled one of the Mattners.
‘Save us!’ yelled the other.
For one small second I thought about picking them up.
But then I realised what a mistake it would be to let them and their lack of empathy and inability to feel remorse in the boat.
Yes, they were obviously poor swimmers, but they did have lifejackets and the water was warm.
I pressed on the accelerator and both Otto and Zoe gave the Mattners a one-fingered wave as we passed them.
As I steered the boat towards the Jazys’ house, Zoe and Otto sat in the stern and talked. The wind whipped most of their words away, but I heard enough to know that Otto wasn’t totally convinced that he should turn himself in to the police.
‘But the Mattners will kill you,’ said Zoe.
Otto said something in reply, but I only caught the last few words: ‘… leave a pretty corpse.’
Zoe wrapped her arms around her sodden brother. And she started crying. By the time we pulled into the pier he appeared to have given in to his kid sister.
‘Otto’s agreed that we can take him in,’ said Zoe. ‘Just as long as it’s not to the local cops.’
He looked at me for a while and I had this feeling that he was weighing me up. Then, in that incongruously high-pitched voice of his, he said, ‘If I turn myself in, what say you and me split the reward money?’
‘Split it?’ I said, because to be honest I’d forgotten all about the reward money.
‘Yeah, fifty-fifty. Seeing as I’m making it so easy for you and all.’
So easy?
I thought of Tristan in the hospital bed, his hand so cold and dead. The wordless Imogen.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ I said.
Again Otto studied my face.
He knew I didn’t have a gun.
He knew that he could just walk away and there was nothing I could do to stop him.
‘It’s your sister who deserves that money, not you,’ I said.
Otto looked at me, then at his sister.
‘You trust this guy?’ he asked Zoe.
‘I don’t trust anybody,’ she said. ‘But do I think he’ll share the money? Sure.’
‘Okay, so how we going to do this?’
I told him.
When I’d finished he said, ‘The Zolt is nobody’s passenger.’
Which is why we ended up in the Jazys’ garage, removing the cover from Mr Jazy’s beloved Mercedes.
‘I’ll go and find the keys,’ I said.
‘Don’t bother,’ said the Zolt, feeling under the dash and yanking out two wires.
He put one of the wires in his mouth and stripped the insulation with his teeth. Repeated the process with the other wire. Joined the two wires together and the engine started.
‘Let’s blow this joint,’ he said in his squeaky voice, getting behind the wheel and revving the engine.
I got into the front seat, Zoe got in the back.
He backed the car expertly out of the garage. I got out of the car, punched the code in, and got back into the car as the gates slid open. To reveal a car parked across the driveway. Hound de Villiers’s Hummer. Hound de Villiers was standing in front of it. He had a smile. And a gun. And it was pointed directly at the Zolt’s head.
If I had a gun pointed between my eyes, I’m not sure how I’d react. Pee my pants? Probably. Put up my hands to surrender? Definitely. I so wouldn’t do what the Zolt did, which was let out a banshee scream, jam his foot on the accelerator and head straight for Hound.
Hound de Villiers brought the gun up, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.
Zoe screamed. I screamed, bring up my forearms to protect my face. And the windscreen fragmented.
I looked over at the Zolt and he was dead.
Well, that’s what I expected, but he wasn’t dead at all.
He was still conscious, still driving, still emitting that banshee scream.
Again, Hound took aim, but our car was almost on him and he had no time to squeeze the trigger.
He jumped out of the way just in time, and we rammed his Hummer. Metal crunched and our momentum pushed it forward about a metre.
Otto reversed the big car and charged again, this time aiming for the back end of the Hummer. It worked: when we hit the Hummer it spun around like a turnstile and we were through onto the road.
A bullet whistled past.
Zoe screamed. I screamed.
I looked behind.
Hound de Villiers put down his gun, got back into his Hummer.
It started to move forward, but then stopped. Smoke was coming from the bonnet.
‘That’s the end of Hound,’ I said.
‘I didn’t think he would actually shoot me!’ said the Zolt, flicking fragments of glass from his cheeks.
He sounded quite shocked.
‘He really doesn’t like you very much,’ I said as we tooled up the road.
There was the sound of a police siren and then a police car, lights flashing, flew past in the opposite direction.
‘I don’t think we’re going to get off the island,’ I said.
The Zolt smiled.
‘Not by car, we’re not,’ he said.
THE STANDOFF
As we bounced over the back roads, Otto Zolton-Bander talked. About how Cameron Jamison had kept him captive. About how Cameron Jamison had said he was going to let him go once he had a movie deal stitched up. Once he had the book rights sorted.
It was a pretty amazing story, but something about it didn’t quit
e ring true to me.
‘So that was it?’ I said. ‘That’s all he wanted from you?’
‘That’s it,’ said the Zolt.
‘And he didn’t hurt you or anything?’ I said.
‘Uncle Cam, hurt me?’ he said.
‘Uncle Cam?’ I said.
‘He’s not really my uncle,’ said the Zolt.
This whole thing was getting crazier and crazier.
‘He is my godfather, but,’ said the Zolt.
‘Our dad and Cameron Jamison were once business partners,’ explained Zoe.
‘And then our dad got dead and Uncle Cam got rich,’ said her brother.
Too much information too quickly – I was getting indigestion of the brain.
So it was sort of a relief when Otto started asking questions.
He wanted to know how we’d managed to find out where he was. How we’d sunk the boat.
‘Nice,’ he said when we’d finished explaining, and I felt a great flush of pride – I’d just received a ‘nice’ from one of the most notorious criminals in the country.
But then he looked at me and said, ‘All that for thirty grand?’ and all that pride disappeared.
I nodded and said, ‘Thirty grand’s a lot of money.’
‘I don’t buy that,’ he said.
‘But I come from a real poor family,’ I said.
He hooted at that and I didn’t blame him.
‘Yeah, sure you do,’ he said. ‘And that’s why you look just like all those other little rich kids who take over my island every holidays.’
We crossed a creek, two great wings of water flying up on either side, scrambled up the side of a hill and pulled up at the back of an old shed. From inside came the sounds of pigeons cooing.
‘Stay here,’ said Otto, getting out of the car.
He disappeared behind the shed and I wondered whether I was being set up somehow. But when he returned a minute or so later I had other thoughts, like: Did he just get a gun he had stashed there?
I couldn’t see any sign of a weapon, however.
‘Airfield’s on the other side,’ said Otto. ‘Reckon it’s better to walk it from here.’
Just as he finished saying this there was the roar of an exhaust and a car pulled up alongside us.
I turned, expecting to see the blue lights of a police car, the stern faces of police officers.
Catch the Zolt Page 16