Darlene was having breakfast in the kitchen. She had a piece of toast and Vegemite in one hand while she filled the kettle with the other.
“Morning, Darl,” Large said, making straight for the fridge.
“Morning.” Darlene put the kettle down and turned it on. She finished the piece of toast, looking Large up and down as she licked butter off her fingers. “Are you going to get dressed for breakfast, like a normal person? I don’t need to be looking at your thing while I’m eating.”
“Yeah, you do. You love it,” he said, grinning. She could hardly talk anyway, swanning around the kitchen in a bikini bra and a pair of very skimpy shorts.
“Not for breakfast, I don’t. Do you want some tea?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Large said, putting the orange juice, milk and Weetbix on the bench, before going into the laundry and pulling a pair of shorts and a T-shirt out of the basket of clean clothes.
“You know I’m going down to Monique and Tina’s place on Saturday don’t you?” Darlene called from the other room.
“Yeah,” he said even though he had forgotten. Monique was Darlene’s twin sister. Identical twins. She and Tina ran a little antique business down in Berry. They seemed to do alright at it too. They were dykes of course, not that Large cared, although it did seem to be a waste. Monique was a stunner, just like her sister. Tina was a bit butch for his tastes, but they were a lot of fun. Good senses of humour. Large and Darlene spent Christmas with them in Berry each year and always had a good time. Of course, when Large had found out that his new girlfriend had a lesbian twin sister the obvious thoughts had arisen, but he knew better than to say anything. Not if he wanted to keep his balls. “When are you back?” he said, trailing his hand across her buttocks as he crossed the kitchen.
“Thursday. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of food in the freezer. Even though you’ll just go to the pub every night.”
Large shrugged, putting his usual six Weetbix in the bowl and adding milk.
Sharon started yapping and scrabbling at the front door just before the doorbell rang. The video screen next to the intercom showed three men on the veranda. Large didn’t recognise any of them, but they didn’t look like cops – too many tatts. Not that tatts really meant much these days when every bastard seemed to be inked up from head to toe. He pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”
“Looking for Phil Waters.”
“Do I know you?”
“We’re friends of Mick Cole.”
“Yeah? What can I do for you?”
“Business.”
Business? Must be a lot of business, needs three of them. “Okay. Hang on a sec.” Mick Cole was a Chief, and one of his biggest customers. He had some kind of ludicrously pretentious official title in the motorcycle gang hierarchy, but basically he was their armourer. He bought guns from Large, but he usually came himself, and alone. Large glanced at Darlene, at all the skin she had on display. “You better stay in here. Till I find out what these jokers are after.”
He went through the living room and grabbed his Sig from the drawer in the hall table, breeched a round, checked the safety, and slipped the gun into the waistband of his shorts at the small of his back. He sold Glocks, but for his own personal protection he preferred a Sig Sauer P229, on the basis that if it was good enough for the US Secret Service, it was probably good enough for him. And they were a better-looking gun.
Sharon went straight through the door as soon as Large opened it, sniffing at the men’s feet and jumping up against their legs. “Don’t worry about her, she’s a lover not a biter,” Large said, sticking out his hand. “Phil Waters. Everyone calls me Large.”
The one at the front was the tallest. Short black hair, wraparound sunglasses. He looked at Large’s hand for a moment then took it. “Pike,” he said, not bothering to introduce his friends.
Large nodded to them. The two heavy-set men obviously weren’t there to do any talking. They weren’t quite as big as Pike, but they were big enough. Plenty of muscles on show under their tatts. “Come in,” Large said picking up Sharon and tucking the dog under his arm. “How is Mick anyway?”
Pike stopped in the lobby. “He says to say g’day. Bit too busy to drop by himself.”
“No worries, come in, have a seat. Can I get you boys something? A cuppa?”
“No, thanks. We won’t be staying long.”
Large put Sharon in the kitchen and closed the door on it and Darlene while the men seated themselves in the living room. The three men had spread themselves out, Pike in the centre of the big lounge, one of his mates was to the left on a lounge chair and the other to the right in Large’s favourite leather recliner. Large pulled over a dining chair. It gave him a slight height advantage but the three of them had spread themselves out so he had to turn his head to keep an eye on them all. “What can I do for you?”
“A friend of mine has been hurt. Someone did him over with a baseball bat.”
“Oh yeah? Sorry to hear that. Is he alright?” Large leaned forwards to free up the gun at his back, wondering how fast he could get it out. “When you say friend ...”
“Sister’s boyfriend. He’s a prick, but he’s still shacked up with my little sister.”
Large shrugged, as if to say, Families, what are you going to do? At least the bloke hadn’t been a brother-in-arms, not an actual Chief. That wouldn’t have been good. “And what had he done, your friend? I presume he did something, for someone to take to him with a bat.”
“That’s not the point.”
“No?” said Large. “Well, what is the point? Because I’m failing to see the relevance. To me, I mean.”
“The point, you fat cunt, is that he is part of my family now, and you beat the shit out of him. My sister is out of her mind because her dickhead boyfriend is in hospital with a lot of broken bones. And she is on the phone to me every five fucking minutes wanting something done. We know the stupid prick owed you money. Me and Joe and Musta here.” He turned slightly, indicating his sidekicks.
Large was on his feet with the Sig up in a double-hand grip in the time it took Pike to glance at his friends. The bikie looked surprised to find himself on the wrong end of the gun, not sure whether to get up or stay down.
“You come in my house and start fucking threatening me?” said Large, sounding calmer than he felt. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I ought to put one in your leg just for being a rude bastard.” He lowered the gun so it was pointing at Pike’s right leg.
The one on the left said, “No, no,” and all three of the Chiefs shrunk back into their seats.
“You’re a weak cunt, Waters,” said Pike, the first to recover his naturally mean composure.
“Oh, I am going to enjoy shooting you,” Large said. He moved across the room, keeping the gun on Pike, but narrowing the angle he needed to cover all of them. The Chiefs turned their heads to follow him, but they didn’t attempt to move. Large backed up to the front door and opened it. “Okay, on your feet. This audience is at an end. Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”
They stood slowly and filed out, watching Large all the way. Part of him really wanted them to try something. He would enjoy shooting them, but he knew the momentary satisfaction it would give him wouldn’t be worth the shitstorm that would follow. Not to mention explaining it to Mick Cole. Pike was the last out. “This isn’t over,” was all he said.
“I think you better to talk to Mick, ’cause if I see your face anywhere near me again, you can all kiss those Glocks goodbye. And tell your sister’s boyfriend to pay his fucking debts next time. Save us all a lot of grief.” He watched them get into a white Land Rover that was sitting in the middle of the driveway. They backed out and drove away, far too slowly for Large’s liking.
Back in the kitchen he found Darlene putting the Browning pump-action back in the broom cupboard where it belonged. “What the fuck was that all about?” she said, closing the door.
“One of the arsewipes that owes money turns out to have co
nnections to the Chiefs. Nothing to worry about.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to Mick.” Large put the Sig away. He needed a drink.
In the kitchen, his Weetbix had turned into a sodden grey mass. He poured himself a serious rum and knocked it back before he picked up his phone and punched in Mick Cole’s number. It rang three times, then Large heard Mick’s deep croak.
“Large, how’s it hanging, mate?”
“Good, Mick, now that I’ve had a drink.”
“Yeah? You’re starting early, what’s up?”
Large switched ears and refilled his glass. “I’ve just had a visit from a friend of yours.”
“Yeah? Who?” said Mick.
“Prick called Pike. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”
“What d’you mean? What’d he want?”
“You know him? ’Cause he used your name.”
“Yeah, I know him. What’d he want?”
“Apparently a bloke I had some professional dealings with is a sort-of relative, his sister’s boyfriend,” said Large.
“Boyfriend?”
“Yeah. His sister isn’t happy, apparently. Pike’s, I mean.” Large sipped at his rum. “Listen, I don’t want to step on Chief territory, you know that. As far as I know this boyfriend has no connections. He owes, and he won’t pay, so I do my thing. It’s just business. Then this Pike prick shows up. At my house, mind, with a couple of muscled marvels in tow, more tatts than brain cells, and he’s demanding that reparations be made.”
“What’d you do?”
“I asked him to leave.”
“And?”
“They left. I was quite persuasive—”
“Jesus, you didn’t—”
“Course not, he said he was a friend of yours. I might have threatened him a bit but no actual harm was done.”
“Good.”
“Listen, mate, who is this bloke? I mean, I assume he is what he says he is. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been so polite.”
“Yeah, he’s new in town. I don’t know him well, but he comes with a rep.”
“Yeah?”
“Hard man. From down south, they brought him up to run a few things. Very connected.”
“Yeah? He needs to learn some fucking manners.”
“I dare say,” said Mick
“Can you have a word with him?”
“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do. It might need some grease.”
“You do surprise me. How much you reckon?”
“No idea. I’ll let you know.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll sort something out.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“Alright, say g’day to Darlene.”
“Sure.” Large pressed the red button and dropped the phone on the kitchen bench. “Mick says g’day,” he said to Darlene, who was bent over, scraping his Weetbix out of the bowl and into the bin.
She didn’t reply.
Large wondered whether to believe Mick. He’d known him a long time, since before the Chiefs, but Large was still an outsider. They could all be fucking with him. There was no way to tell. Could this shit be related to the guns? The only way to find out was to get hold of the fucking guns. He picked up the phone again and called Jimmy.
John was putting floorboards in the back bedroom when he got the call from the storage unit manager asking him to come over.
“Why? What’s happened?”
“There has been a break-in. A number of units have been gone through. Yours is one.”
“How is that possible? You’re supposed to have a manager on site.”
“They were armed. The manager’s still at the hospital getting checked out.”
“Jesus. Yeah, okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
His father’s furniture and books had been pulled out of the lock-up and strewn about on the floor where they were mixed up with the contents of the units on either side, which had been opened as well. Boxes of books had been emptied on the floor, wardrobes opened. The big desk was on its end.
There was a police officer in blue overalls examining the lock of one of the opened units. The manager was talking to a pair of uniformed policewomen. He looked worried. John introduced himself.
“Which is your unit, Mr Lawrence?” asked the older of the policewomen.
He pointed. “Four-oh-two.”
“What was in your unit? What were you storing?”
“There, you can see. Furniture and books mostly. My dad’s stuff. I hadn’t had a chance to go through it yet. Mum hasn’t been well.”
“We’ll need you to tell us if anything is missing, but don’t touch anything yet. You’ll have to wait until CSOB have finished looking for prints.”
The police gave him a card and asked him to come and make a statement after he had checked the unit. John didn’t know what was in it so he could hardly say if anything was missing.
When the crime-scene guy had finished, John started packing books back into the boxes. It didn’t all fit back in, of course. The manager helped with the furniture and left John with insurance forms to fill out. The desk and the wardrobe were badly scratched and some of the books were torn or had their spines broken. Nothing else seemed too bad. John figured he had got off lightly.
“What do you think they were after?” he asked the manager.
“No idea. They might have just been looking for anything they could find.”
John looked dubious.
“Or maybe they thought someone was keeping drugs or money here. Maybe the police will find out.”
“Maybe,” John said.
The white Commodore braked suddenly to avoid hitting a bicycle weaving across Glebe Point Road. The driver, known to his mates as Brain, was a heavy-set young man with short-cropped dark hair and a droopy left eye, the lasting result of an intensive counselling session administered by the guards in his first stretch at Bathurst. The fingers wrapped around the steering wheel were covered in prison tatts.
“Take it fucking easy,” said Large from the back seat.
“This is it, next left,” Jimmy said, “Norfolk Street.”
“Jesus will you look at all these wankers around here,” Brain said, braking and indicating left.
“Yeah,” said Jimmy, “all think they’re so bloody cool. Look at that one with his flat cap and his fucking Ned Kelly beard.”
Jimmy and Brain had known each other forever. Grown up together, wagged school together. Mugged people for money to buy grass and speed together. During that time Jimmy had managed not to come to the attention of the law, but Brain hadn’t been so lucky. Now they worked for Large together.
“What’s with all the fucking Chinese around here?” said Brain.
“They’re taking over the bloody country,” Jimmy replied. “Buying up the farms. Up north, all those big bloody farms, so they can grow more rice. That must be the place.” He pointed at a driveway entry flanked by tall brick walls.
“Yeah, pull in here,” said Large. Brain parked opposite the entry driveway. “Yeah, that’s it. Go and have a shufty, Jimmy. Brain and I’ll wait here.”
They watched Jimmy cross the road and disappear through the gates. Brain began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Then he turned to Large, “You mind if I turn on the radio?”
“Yes.”
Jimmy was back ten minutes later. “It’s a bloody old people’s home.”
“What?”
“It’s not flats – it’s an old people’s home. Look, there’s a sign, it says Forest Court Retirement Village.”
“Forest Court? You’re kidding.”
“Yeah. It’s not that big, far as I could tell from the outside. It’s got a security gate, you’ve gotta get buzzed in. Inside there are lots of small buildings with gardens and courtyards between. Backs onto a little park on the other side.”
“Get in from the park, you reckon? Over the wall?”
“Probably could, the wall’s
pretty high, but no barb wire or glass. It’s not high security or anything. People are coming and going all the time, you’d be better off just following someone in the front gate.”
“I don’t fucking get it,” said Brain. “Little old ladies smuggling machine guns?”
“Gotta be fronting for someone,” said Jimmy. “Just using her name and address. Pretty clever.”
“Maybe,” said Large, staring at the gates.
“Get some old wrinkly to front for the shipment. Wonder if she’s in on it or just a stooge.”
“Dunno,” Large said. “Let’s go.”
“She’ll be some bastard’s mum, or maybe auntie. Probably doesn’t even know what’s going on,” said Brain.
“Just drive, will you,” said Large.
* * *
Chapter 11
A Bit Famous
John slowed as he came over the top of the hill at Glebe Point Road. The footpaths were crowded with commuters and school kids taking part in the morning rush. At the lights he jogged on the spot while a 370 bus lumbered across the intersection, fan belt squealing. He crossed the road, not waiting for the lights to change, and ran up past the church. It was only a short run this morning, a couple of laps of Wentworth Park then back through Glebe and the university. It was a route that would take him past Forest Court but he wouldn’t drop in. It was too early. He needed to fill in the insurance forms and go to the police station to give a statement anyway. As far as he could tell, none of his father’s things were missing, but he probably should get his mother to look at it, see if she thought anything had been taken. But after the way she had reacted when she had seen the lock-up on Tuesday, he didn’t think it was worth the drama.
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