by Graham Guy
Enrico finished his beer. “Anything else to be aware of?” he asked with a wink. “The man-made kind.”
“Oh,” she smirked. She ran a damp cloth along the top of the bar and leaned over to speak quietly to Enrico. “A couple of coppers with about a thousand orders and warrants and Christ knows what else for people who don’t exist.”
It was just as he expected. “Got an airport?” he asked casually.
“Not an airport as such… more like an airstrip. If you want an airport you have to go to Burketown.”
“So where’s the strip?”
“About six kilometres out of town at Karumba Point. It runs parallel with the beachfront, facing west towards Mornington Island.”
“Is it sealed?”
Helen gave a brief chuckle. “You gotta be joking! Red soil and gravel. Planes can’t even be serviced here. They have to be taken to Mount Isa, Mareeba or Cairns.”
“Many planes come in?”
She served him another beer as she spoke. “No big ones, but heaps of small ones. Especially at the height of the fishing season. There’s even a couple of pilots who live here on the off chance of getting a gig when they can.”
Enrico suddenly became very interested.
“One poor bugger,” she went on, “Jesus, I feel sorry for him. Actually, he comes in here now and again. Josh Emery. Came up here with his girlfriend and kid on a promise to fly some guy around. Turns out he was a bloody shonko. The coppers cart him away. Josh then has to send his bird and the kid back to Bathurst in New South Wales to live with his mother ‘cause they’ve got nothing. And he’s out there shovelling shit on prawn boats and grabbing what pilot jobs are going.”
“Shit happens!” Enrico said as he drank some more.
“Yeah, shit happens,” she added dryly.
Enrico looked around. “Always this quiet in here?” he asked, noticing there were only a few other people in the bar.
“You’ve just happened by on a quiet ten minutes. Most of the time I don’t have time to spit, let alone have a yarn with a customer. That’s total luxury.” She looked up as another customer entered the bar. She nodded to him and said, “Josh Emery’s just walked in. You want to meet him?”
“The pilot bloke?” Enrico couldn’t believe his luck. “If you like,” he replied casually.
“G’day, luv,” Josh called to the barmaid as he walked to the bar. She noticed a forlorn look on his face. “G’day Josh. Still nothing?”
He shook his head.
She pulled a pint and put it in front of him. “On the house. Guys, why don’t you have a chat,” she said and introduced the two of them. She looked up as more people entered the bar. “Seems my ten minutes is over, fellas. You’ll have to excuse me.”
Josh unenthusiastically held out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said as Enrico took hold of it.
“Yeah, good to meet you, Josh. I’m told you’re a pilot?” Enrico put in, looking to make conversation.
“Trying to be,” he answered glumly, “but all those plans appear fucked and burned.”
“Not necessarily,” Enrico told him with just enough enthusiasm to give the young man hope. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six going on fifty,” he replied offering a hollow laugh.
“How good are you?”
Josh turned to Enrico. “I could fly through the eye of a fucking needle.”
Enrico took a $100 bill from his pocket and put it on the bar in front of him. “I’d like to buy an hour of your time. Will that cover it?”
Josh grabbed it and stuffed it into his pocket. “So… what do I have to do?”
“Talk to me. Is there somewhere we can go?”
Josh’s temper suddenly flared. “You come on to me with any crap and I’m gone.”
Enrico looked around the bar. He spotted an empty table in a corner. “OK, we stay in here,” he told Josh, then ordered another two beers and moved to the vacant table. “What can you fly?” he asked.
“Pretty well anything… except jets and helicopters.”
“No jets or helicopters,” he assured him.
“So what then? You haven’t driven all the way up here to find a pilot if what you’re doing is legit. I would suggest to you that you’re looking to do a one-off fucking drug haul in a plane that’s not your own. You’ll pay the pilot with an ounce of lead behind the ear once the job’s done and walk away with a million bucks. Tell me if I’m getting warm?” he said angrily.
Enrico hardly flinched. “Not even plugged in, young man.”
“What then?”
Enrico liked the man’s attitude. He also knew he’d have to be very convincing to prevent him walking out the bar room door. “OK… I want a pilot. It’s a one-off job. A big job. It’ll also involve a plane which won’t belong to somebody else. I intend to buy one…”
“Jesus Christ, mate, it must be some sort of bloody deal!”
“All I’m prepared to tell you at this point is that if you’re interested, the job will require two weeks out of your life. One week to prepare and one week for the actual job. It will be dangerous, I won’t lie to you about that. You’ll need to know your way around the aviation industry and that means flight plans, fuel, runways. You will be paid $200,000 for those two weeks and if you get us home safe and sound, you can keep the aeroplane.”
“Whoa, now just hold on a minute! Who the fuck’s ‘us’?”
“You will have three passengers. Two men and a woman.”
Josh Emery looked at Enrico for a lengthy period without speaking. He got up from the table and walked away. When he returned, he sat down and again glared hard into Enrico’s eyes. “What sort of plane?”
“We’ll get to that.”
“Is it drugs?”
Enrico shook his head.
“Bullshit man! It’s fucking drugs. Has to be. No way! There’s no amount of money in the world that’d ever get me to do that shit.”
Enrico held up his right hand. “On the life of my children, I promise you it is not drugs.”
“What then? Stolen bloody paintings? Whatever it is, it’s obviously not very big and is worth a shitload.”
“If you decide you’d like the job, we’ll talk more and you’ll be told more. How long do you want?”
“If I decide to take it, when do I start?”
“If you decide to take the job, it starts now and so does the pay. It’s up to you. Right now, I’m pretty stuffed. I’m going back to the cabin to have a snooze for an hour or so. If your answer is yes, be back here in three hours. And Josh. Think long and hard. If you commit, there’s no turning back. Remember that. My partners wouldn’t take too kindly to a walk-out halfway through.”
“Is that a threat?”
Enrico leaned into him. “That’s business,” he answered in a voice as cold as the beer he’d been drinking. “You can’t wear new boots if you’re planning to take them back. Think about it. See you in three hours.”
* * *
John James McGregor-McWeasely was still holding his face as he drove into Karumba. Slowing right down, he scanned the streets trying to pick up Enrico’s four-wheel-drive.
He went past one group of cabins. It wasn’t there. As he got opposite another he saw a similar vehicle.
Shit!, that’s it, he said to himself, drawing to a halt. He was about to back up and take a better look when up ahead he noticed a man walking towards him. Fuck!… it’s him!
Quickly he checked his mirrors and backed up before doing a U-turn. He drove a short distance and looked into the rear-view mirror. Enrico gave no indication he had seen him.
That bloody prick doesn’t even know I’m on his arse, he thought, grinning.
When he saw Enrico disappear into a cabin, he did another U-turn and parked opposite, about 60 metres from the entrance to the accommodation complex.
Now I’ll wait and see what he does next, he thought as he slipped the driver’s backrest a couple of notches and made himself comfortable.
<
br /> Three hours later, he watched Enrico leave the cabin and approach The Animal Bar. A man he didn’t know was standing out front waiting for him. They exchanged words and then headed back to Enrico’s cabin.
As the two walked together, John James noticed one of the locals speak to Josh Emery. After the two had disappeared inside the cabin, John James turned over the engine and drove up to the person who had spoken to him.
“Excuse me, mate, that bloke you just spoke to, Jesus, I know him from somewhere… can you tell me who it was?”
“Yeah, that’s Josh, mate. You know him?”
“I reckon I went to school with him. Haven’t seen the bugger in years. Josh eh! Bloody Josh,” John James laughed. “What the hell’s he doing here?”
“Came up here to fly planes but got left high and dry by some bastard. Top bloke, too…”
“Josh… Jesus… what’s his other name… Josh Smythe is it… some name like that?”
“No, no. Josh Emery. Dunno who the bloke is he was with.”
“Small world isn’t it… bloody Josh Emery. He used to date my sister. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
John James’ mind went into overdrive. That bastard has come all the way up here to find a pilot? What the fuck are they into? Marcella was probably right. Twenty million bloody dollars. It’s gotta be that big for them to go to this trouble. Better see what happens from here.
Again John James drove back along the street and parked at a discreet distance but within full view of the entrance to the holiday cabins. He was desperate for sleep and a good meal. He was low on fuel, but he knew he couldn’t risk being seen by too many people. He was also keenly aware that once he got out of his car, people would be quick to spot his unusual gait. He’d already risked his identity in finding out about Josh Emery. He accepted that such was a totally unavoidable risk.
John James was in two minds. He had now established that Enrico had driven all this way to recruit a pilot. Did he leave now, return to Sydney, stake them out and wait, or hang around for a day or so, wait for Enrico to leave and see what he could find out? He chose the latter. There was also the matter of a couple of stiffs he’d left out on the side of the road. A chill shot through his body as he recalled how close he came to being killed himself.
An even bigger chill froze him to his seat when, a couple of hours later, still waiting to see the result of the meeting between Josh Emery and Enrico, a tow truck pulling a trailer went past his parked car. John James only paid it scant attention until he noticed the burnt-out remains of a Holden ute on board the trailer.
Shit! he exclaimed silently. Not much left of that. He glanced at the rear-view mirror, then over his shoulder and all around himself. Something is telling me to get the fuck out of here. Soon, me-boy… soon.
He couldn’t help wondering if the bodies of the two men had been found. Noticing no increased activity in the town or a sudden mass exit of vehicles to the spot, he figured they hadn’t been.
The meeting between the two men went on past three hours. Finally Josh Emery emerged alone from the cabin wearing a grin from ear to ear. He kept one hand in his pocket. John James had his suspicions.
He’s holding a shit-load of cash in that pocket. I know. I used to do the same. The first time you get your hands on a heap of dough, you just want to hold onto it. Right now Josh Emery is holding onto it.
He also knew that if Josh Emery had just been given some sort of lifeline, he’d want to talk about it… even if he’d just made a promise to Enrico not to, which he was sure he had. That was human nature. He always wanted to, but didn’t know anyone.
He watched as the young pilot made his way up the street into The Animal Bar, figuring he had to take another risk. As unobtrusively as he could, he walked slowly into the bar, his head down, but his eyes ever alert. He spotted Josh sitting at the bar. There were two empty stools next to him. He climbed onto the one furthest away. The barmaid approached him and asked him what he wanted.
“Just a beer.”
He watched her approach John James, sitting alone with a stupid grin on his face.
“Jesus, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” she beamed.
Josh looked around, offering only a passing glance at John James. Speaking in a voice just above a whisper, but still loud enough for John James to hear, he told her, “That guy you introduced me to earlier today just gave me a job. Paid me a shit-load up front, but swore me to secrecy.”
“What sort of job?”
“Flying.”
“What… out of here?”
“Sssh. No. Got to work that out yet. Probably from a deserted airstrip in the Northern Territory somewhere.”
“Where to?”
“You wanna come to Italy?”
“Ita…”
“Sshhh… fucking hell!”
“Sorry… when?”
“September. The twenty-third.”
John James half turned on his stool to put more of his back to them. Again his mind went into overdrive. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. The pilot, the destination and now the date. Even the approximate departure location.
Thank you very much you total bloody idiot.
He finished his beer, picked up an abandoned newspaper, held it to one side of his face and walked from the bar. He walked down the street, ordered three steak sandwiches and a giant coke, climbed in behind the wheel of his car and headed back to Sydney.
This is big, this one. I can really feel it. You don’t drive all this way to recruit a pilot if it’s not. Twenty mill! Starting to look better all the time.
As he cleared Karumba and sped off back to the harbour city he slowed a little as he went past the site of the double killing. He breathed more easily when he saw no activity around the area where he’d covered the bodies. He caught a whiff of something smelling.
Jesus, I need a bloody shower!
* * *
McLoughlin reached for his phone. “Hello.”
“Harry Springer, Ken.”
“Whaddaya got, Harry?”
“Jesus, I didn’t know whether to call you on this or not…”
“Go on.”
“The bodies of two blokes have been found way the hell up in North Queensland…”
“No, my bloke’s here…”
“You sure?”
“No, I’m not sure. If I was, I’d nail the prick… tell me?”
“.22… point blank. Looks like a pen-gun.”
“Bullshit!”
“I was just going through the sheets of what’s been going on around the place. Forensic in Brisbane had a look. They couldn’t find one of the bullets. Went clean through one joker’s head and out the other side. But two others lodged inside the other bloke. Powder burns show the bullets entered the body as they left the barrel. But get this. No rifling on the bullets.”
McLoughlin was stunned. “Whereabouts?”
“Karumba… it’s up on the gulf, opposite side to Cairns.”
“Jesus Christ, way up there?”
“What do you think?”
“Motive?”
“Doesn’t seem to be one. Whoever did it also torched their car. It was ten days before they were found.”
“Nice one!”
“Still no ID on them. The hitter took their wallets and stuff. Ripped off the number plates. Defaced the rego label. The local blokes up there say they weren’t known. The engine in their car was stolen according to licensing. Probably a couple of transients off the prawn trawlers. They’re still checking.”
“Looks like a quick trip to Karumba. Thanks Harry. Stay in touch.” McLoughlin pushed another button on his phone. “Commissioner Johnson.” He waited to be put through. “McLoughlin, sir. I need a plane to get me to Karumba in North Queensland ASAP.”
“I’ll call you back as soon as it’s ready,” came the reply.
Bourke looked at him. “Karumba?”
McLoughlin briefed his partner on the conversation he’d had with the
homicide squad chief. “I reckon I better go, just to be on the safe side. You stay here. I’ll leave you my phone in case we get a call. Can’t see the fucking Weasel going all the way up there, but this bloody pengun shit! Christ, they’re not that common.”
McLoughlin was met at Karumba airstrip by the local Senior Constable. They quickly exchanged greetings and McLoughlin handed him a photo of John James McGregor-McWeasely. “Seen this prick?”
The Senior Constable shook his head.
“Where’re the bodies?”
“You serious?”
“Yeah, I’m serious.”
“Shit, Sarge, they’ve been cremated.”
McLoughlin nearly choked on a laugh. “Wh… what? Who ordered that?”
“Dunno. Just happened. About a week ago. Forensic in Brisbane said they had all they needed. Go ahead and fix ‘em up. So the local funeral bloke did.”
McLoughlin was too dismayed to comment. “Take me out to where they were found.”
A short time later, the two policemen were walking round the area where the two bodies had been located. McLoughlin made his way to the spot. “Been raining up here?”
“Had about thirty mils two days ago,” he replied.
Realising it was pointless trying to find anything of substance, he told the Senior Constable to take him back to the town.
“Go up to the end of the street and pull over.” When they alighted from their vehicle McLoughlin handed him a picture of The Weasel. “You go down that side… in and out of everywhere. I’ll do the same on this. Try for a positive sighting. See how you go. Meet you back here.”
McLoughlin walked a few metres and stopped. Suddenly, a strange feeling came over him.
He’s been here. Jesus Christ, the prick’s been here, I can bloody feel it. But why? Why the hell would he come up here? And I just bet a pound to a pinch of goat-shit no-one saw him.
Two hours later the two policemen met back at Clark’s car.
“Don’t tell me. No-one saw him.”
“Beats me, sarge. Everybody who comes here always goes to The Animal Bar. I spoke to the barmaid in there. She doesn’t miss a trick. She hadn’t seen him. The bloke at the service station said he hadn’t either.”