Wyatt - 03 - Death Deal

by Garry Disher

  Again Wyatt explained that he didnt have the payroll, hed never had it. No offence, I wouldnt be calling you if I had it.

  Ah well, at least the papers and the TV got some mileage out of it. How much do you need?

  Im not talking about a loan.

  Right, Harbutt said. Then, Im not an ideas man, Wyatt. Im strictly muscle. Give me a sledgehammer, a drill, a stick of dynamite, thats what I do.

  But you can put me in touch with someone. Local, someone who doesnt know my face.

  After a while, Harbutt said, Theres a bloke I done a couple of smash and grabs for, name of Ray Dern. Hes full of ideas, except most of them never get off the ground. Lack of local talent.

  I want you to line up a meeting.

  When?

  Tonight.

  Where?

  Wyatt thought about it. He had nothing to worry about from Harbutt, and if the man called Dern didnt know the name Wyatt, or the face, then his motel would be safe enough. He gave Harbutt the details. Six oclock, he said.

  He spent the day sleeping. At three oclock he caught a bus into the city centre and found a back street discount shop open. He bought cheap socks, underwear, jeans, shirt, windcheater and a disposable razor. The clothes were dark. They fitted poorly. He had one hundred and six dollars left. Back at the motel he showered, shaved, changed into his new clothes and washed and dried his dirty clothes in the motel laundry. Then he lay on his bed to think and wait.

  He wondered what sort of man Dern would turn out to be. If Harbutt knew him, maybe that made him all right. Wyatt knew that the career criminals like himself were fast disappearing. There was no room for them. He put it down to drugs, the movement of money by electronic means, advances in security technology. The purely cash jobs were drying up. These days, armed robbery was virtually unproductive in terms of risk and profit.

  Then there was a knock on the door and Harbutt and another man filed in and they had a woman with them.

  * * * *

  Three

  She hung back, letting Harbutt enter first, then slipped through the door and to one side. It was a display of meekness that Wyatt knew owed more to the man behind her than to personality. Wyatt had once spent a few days with her and there hadnt been much meekness in evidence then, so it had to be the man. Dern was fiftyish, a tall, benign, wise father-figure with a large, sensual, comfortable body. He beamed, and stuck out a broad tanned hand at Wyatt.

  Mr Lake. Good to make your acquaintance. Id like you to meet Thea.

  Thea bobbed, smiled quickly, shook Wyatts hand. When hed known her shed been calling herself Maxine. She looked at him levelly, a sallow, mocking blonde in a tight skirt. Then the nail on her ring finger dug warningly into his palm. It was a way of saying that she wouldnt reveal his identity if he wouldnt reveal hers.

  Thea, Wyatt said, and she released his hand.

  He leaned against the wall and asked them to sit. Harbutt chose the only chair in the room, Dern and the woman sat close together on the bed. When they were settled, Dern looked brightly around at everyone. He was a professional beamer, proud of his tangle of black hair and the young woman next to him. He wore a costly casual suit, the flowery tie tugged loose from the collar, and slim-line Italian shoes. Lets start from the beginning, shall we? he said. The voice was deep-chested, pleased with itself.

  Harbutt leaned forward in the chair. I told Lake here that you had a couple of jobs in mind that required a good pro.

  Indeed I have.

  Wyatt didnt like the man, his air of satisfaction. Then he thought about the hundred and six dollars in his pocket and said, What sort of jobs?

  Dern blinked, as though there should have been a few minutes devoted to small talk and other niceties first. Right you are. He counted on his stubby fingers. One, a weekend warehouse sale. Two, a racehorse. Three, a private art collection. I need someone who can work out the angles, bypass security, do a clean job, etcetera, etcetera.

  Wyatt looked at the woman. Whats Theas role in this?

  A rich, avuncular chuckle later, Dern said, She put me onto the first job. My little kitten here just happens to work for a crowd that specialises in your blockbuster style of three-day warehouse clearance sale.

  The kitten simpered at Dern, then glanced expressionlessly at Wyatt as Dern went on: To cut costs they only employ one guard and the takes not collected by armoured car at the end of each day but after closing time on day three. Could be a couple of hundred grand in the safe by then. We simply go in before the armoured car gets there.

  Wyatt folded his arms and rested his back against the wall. Half of the two hundred thousand will be in cheques and charge-card slips.

  Doubt flickered in Derns face, but the optimism won out. Still, even a hundred grand is a tidy sum.

  Split four ways, its twenty-five thousand each. You said a warehouse. Wed have to seal the place. What are we looking atfour doors, six, ten? Do we know what kind of safe it is? And so on. Is all that worth twenty-five grand each?

  Thea flushed, as though hed attacked her, not the idea. She was pretty in a soft, undefined way, but it was spoiled by a perpetual sourness under the beauty. Wyatt knew that she collected and harboured injustices, and now shed just found another one. He put some conciliation into his face and voice and said to her, It shows an instinct for the type of score that can pay off, though. Im not discounting it totally.

  She smiled at him. Dern saw it and narrowed his eyes, as if hed picked up a current running between them. He asserted himself. Like I said, I come up with the ideas. I rely on people like you to identify the snags. Next job, the racehorse, Almanac

  Harbutt frowned. You want us to fix a race?

  Dern put up both hands and his big smile creased his face. No, no, no. I want you to steal the horse.

  Wyatt nodded. This Almanaca big winner?

  One point six million in four years, Dern said. A mate of mines got twentieth share in him.

  Insurance?

  Possibly. Or possibly the owners themselves will fork out to get him back.

  Wyatt looked flatly at Dern. One, how do we transport him? Two, where do we keep him? Three, how do we look after him? Four, what if they dont pay?

  Now irritation and resentment were getting the upper hand in Derns face. Like I said, I deal with the big picture. Could it be that difficult though? I mean, rent a farmhouse, buy a few bales of hay.

  Dern, the reason Im alive and on the outside while my peers are dead or behind bars is that I take the big picture and look at it dot by dot.

  Ahh, Dern said, dismissing him with his big right hand. The left, meanwhile, was on Theas bare knee, rubbing it in a way that looked uncalculated but was intended to tell Wyatt to keep his eyes to himself and to remind Thea exactly who was buying her dresses and paying her rent these days.

  The art collection, Wyatt said.

  Definitely an insurance job. Theres a Western District grazier with a homestead chockers with antiques and original oil paintings. Old stuff. Old.

  You say that as if you think a paintings worth something if its an oil and got a signature at the bottom of it. Id need to view the collection first.

  Now, why doesnt that surprise me? said Dern. Dont any of the jobs Ive outlined grab you, make the old heart flutter? He looked at Harbutt. You didnt tell me your mate was a wet blanket, Mike.

  Wyatt uncoiled from the wall and unfolded his arms. I havent said no, Dern. Give me the addresses of these places and Ill check them out. If one looks promising, Ill be in touch. But that will only be the start. Well need equipment, vehicles, somewhere quiet to stay. All that costs money. Are you good for it?

  Dern scowled. He looked glossy but it was perspiration, not good health or enthusiasm. The enthusiasm was gone, worn down by the cold hard stamp that Wyatt was slapping on things. He took a notebook from his pocket and scrawled in it. I can go to five grand, he said, tearing off a sheet and extending it to Wyatt.

  Wyatt pocketed it. Fine. Well meet again tomorrow, same time.
>
  Here?

  Wyatt shook his head. I dont like to stay in one place too long. Harbutt will let you know where.

  When they were gone Wyatt lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was pebble-dashed, painted white, ringed here and there with water stains. The room resembled a prison cellmonastic, bare, grubby. He thought about Dern and the woman. Dern was a windbag. Thea could be a handicap. He didnt trust her. She carried grievances around with her and was liable to play both sides against the middle.

  He thought then about the woman called Anna Reid who had soured things for him in Melbourne a few months back. She was calculating, cool under pressure, a professional. Like him, shed put the job first, and hed been in the way. Shed had her own agenda. In the end he had tumbled to what shed been doing and had stopped her, but not soon enough to do anything about the repercussions that had robbed him of his permanent base and forced him into going on the run. He probably should have shot her. It was an article of Wyatts faith never to give anyone a second chance to cross him. But something had held him back, the might-have-been element in their relationship and the knowledge that she was someone he understood and could work with, not against.

  The woman calling herself Thea was no match.

  Wyatt lay like that for two hours. When the knock came at eight oclock, instinct told him who it was. Cops didnt tap meekly like that.

  He opened the door. Youre making a mistake.

  She had her arms crossed protectively over her chest. Arent you at least going to ask me in?

  She didnt wait for a reply but slipped past him into the room. She was full of mannerisms, little shoulder hunches, darting looks and mock wicked grins like a wife who knew she was misbehaving herself. Wyatt searched outside, then closed the door. You shouldnt have come.

  A drink would be nice. You didnt even offer us a cup of tea before.

  Wyatt pointed at the tiny refrigerator. Help yourself.

  She pouted. Charming. Very gallant.

  Say what you have to say and get out.

  She crouched at the open door of the refrigerator. Scotch . . . gin . . . Ill have a vodka. She perched on the edge of the bed and unscrewed the cap of the little bottle. Cheers.

  Does Dern know youre here?

  Dern. A nice man, but, you know, a bit like a cuddly uncle.

  Whats your problem, Maxine?

  You are. Dont you know that? Weve got unfinished business from before. She searched for the right word. Closure, thats what I missed out on back then. You just cleared out on me.

  It was finished.

  Not as far as I was concerned. When I saw you in action this evening, demolishing all Derns clever ideas, I thought, what am I doing with him? Why arent I with you? You and me, wed get things done and have fun doing it.

  Wyatt shook his head. It was over for him here. There would be no job with Harbutt or Dern or anyone else. Get out, he said.

  She came close and placed the palms of both hands flat on his chest. You dont mean that. Cant I stay a while? Ray thinks Ive gone to see a friend.

  Wyatt clamped his hands around her wrists until the pain showed in her face. He turned her around, shoved her toward the door. Out, he said.

  But then headlights blazed beyond the curtain in the courtyard window and he knew he was too late. There were two vehicles and the lights went out, doors banged, and Dern started pounding on the door. He didnt seem to know who he wanted. Lake, you in there? You bastard. Thea, I know youre there. Come out, slag.

  Wyatt went to the door and opened it. Dern was there, tense, his fists close to his chest. Behind him, at the door of the second car, was Harbutt. He shrugged apologetically at Wyatt. Sorry, pal.

  Dern burst into the motel room, large and agitated, swinging his fists uselessly. Wyatt stepped calmly into a gap and drove his knee into Derns groin. The big man doubled over and dropped to the floor. He gasped and writhed until the pain eased.

  Ray, Thea said. She bent over him. Did he hurt you?

  Dern pushed her away. Fuck off.

  I was just talking over the job with him.

  Dern screamed, I said fuck off. Oh, Jesus, it hurts.

  Thea persisted. You should know his real name is Wyatt, not Lake. Hes bad news. You dont go in lightly with someone like that. I was just checking things out with him first.

  Wyatt dragged her outside and slammed her spine against Derns Fairmont. He swung back his hand, slapped her so hard she rocked on her feet. Stop stuffing me around, broadcasting to the whole world who I am. Get in your boyfriends car and shut the fuck up.

  Mate?

  Harbutt stepped into the light, holding a cigarette. Im sorry, mate. He got this bee in a bonnet about you and her after we left this evening and had to come back. I tried to talk him out of it.

  Wyatt nodded curtly. The jobs off. Im out of here.

  Harbutt dropped his cigarette, ground it out with his shoe. Thats what I thought youd say. A shame. A couple of them jobs had promise.

  Wyatt had nothing to say in reply to that. He went back into his motel room. Dern was in the bathroom, the door closed. There were the sounds of water being scooped and sloshed behind the door and he guessed that Dern was soothing his overheated groin.

  Wyatt packed everything he owned into a carrier bag and walked outside. Harbutt was smoking another cigarette.

  Mate, I could see what was happening, how it was all one way between Thea and you. Ill let Dern know nothing happened, you werent interested.

  I dont care what you tell him. I dont care what he thinks. Its nothing to do with me.

  The last Wyatt saw of Thea was her pinched face in the passenger seat of Derns car, begging a cigarette from Harbutt. He walked away from the motel, wondering at the binds and knots that people got themselves into over feelings.

  * * * *

  Four

  We found him, Mack Stolle said, and then Im afraid we lost him again.

  He put the receiver to his other ear, reached for a pen and doodled on the pad in front of him. Hed been working on the Battle of Waterloo: Nelson, Hornblower, belching cannons, torn rigging above sailors with cutlasses in their teeth.

  Thats what I said, and I stand by it, Stolle said. Eighty-seven per cent success rate in tracking missing persons.

  He drew a splintered hole above the waterline in a French frigate. Thats right, near Mt Gambier. Hes on the run. You sure you want this bloke found? He beat up my operatives and got away from them.

  Stolle looked up then, at the man in the chair across from him. No, I certainly will not be putting the same men on this case again. In fact, Ill be doing it myself.

  Mostyn, bruised and sorry-looking, stirred in the office chair.

  No. Yes. Thank you, Stolle said. Bye for now.

  He replaced the handset. No guesses who that was.

  She pissed off with us?

  Stolle stuck his forefinger in his ear and agitated it. You could say that.

  Im sorry, boss, Mostyn said.

  Youre sorry. Im the one thats sorry. If you two pricks hadnt fucked up Id have delivered him to Brisbane by now. Id be on the Gold Coast, happy as a pig in shit, squandering our hard-earned fee at the roulette table in the Monte Carlo. He looked at Mostyn sharply. What went wrong anyway? Wheres young Whitney?

  Forget him, he cleared out, Mostyn said. Look, we tracked Wyatt to Adelaide, lost him, found him up the bush somewhere, eventually followed him to some place near the border.

  Stolles voice took on a lashing quality. The way I heard it, he was up the bush snatching a payroll. Id say you two dickheads tried to relieve him of it.

  No way. He didnt have the money on him.

  So you did try it on. Arsehole.

  Boss, we had him, okay? We were in the actual room with him, needle primed ready to go. Naturally we searched his gear.

  And you let him escape. I thought you were meant to be crash-hot with your hands and feet?

  Mostyns gaze slid away from Stolles face. Well, yeah, I mean, hes a powerful bas
tard.

  And you woke up on the back of a semi in Port Adelaide.

  Mostyn nodded tightly.

  Jesus Christ, Stolle said. So what happened to Whitney?

  Got scared, did a bunk, buggered if I know.

  Got scared with his pockets full of the blokes money, Stolle said.

  No, boss. It wasnt

  Just shut up, okay? Whitneys long gone. You he pointed, you want a chance to redeem yourself?

  Some of the gloom left Mostyns face. You mean youre not giving me the sack?