by Andrew Nette
Chance glanced in the direction of the kitchen, then back at Tremont, his eyebrows raised.
‘Her old man paid me five grand to get her out of New Atlantis. Our contract didn’t say nothing about what would happen afterwards.’ Tremon shrugged, flashed Chance a sly grin. ‘Can I help being a charming bastard?
‘Anyway, Celeste was Cornelius’s missus for a time and he was real open with the pillow talk, all the details of his operation, including where he stashes his money.’
Tremont leant forward, did a line, pinched his nose and indicated for Chance to do the same. Chance shook his head, rolled a cigarette.
‘The coke is for down time only, Gary’ said Tremont, noting the look of disapproval on Chance’s face. ‘I’m clean when I work.’
Tremont sat back on the couch, sniffed, swiped his forearm under his nose. ‘New Atlantis has all the features associated with your garden-variety, nut job cult. Isolationist. Obsessed with the end of the world. Run along strict hierarchical lines, etcetera. But while the foot soldiers grow organic vegetables, those who’ve been spiritually purged and are loyal to Cornelius have a higher calling, tending the high-grade ganja he sells to dealers along the northern NSW coast.
‘Their product is good, it’s a cash business and Cornelius doesn’t trust banks. What’s more, its April, growing season’s almost over and I hear they’ve sold most of the latest crop.’ Tremont rubbed his hands together. ‘Now does that sound sweet deal or does that sound like a sweet deal?’
Chance fired up his rollie from a novelty hand grenade lighter on the table, thought about the mechanics of the job, energised by the prospect of working again.
‘What about security?’
‘A couple of heavies to keep the local rednecks at bay.’
‘If the money is so lightly guarded, there’s nothing to stop us from just going in and getting it, right?’
‘No. Guys like Cornelius are conditioned to expect someone to come at them from outside, cops or a rival grower.’
‘Or someone like you.’
‘Correct. But he’d never expect trouble from within. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been dealing with people like him for years.’ Tremont looked around the motel room, sighed. ‘With the money from this score I can get out of this game, do something else.’
‘So, what’s your plan?’
Celeste returned, passed a can of beer to Chance. Tremont put an arm around her waist, smiled up at her. ‘Celeste, baby, tell Gary about life in New Atlantis.’
The New Atlantis minivan came into Mullumbimby for supplies every few days. It wasn’t hard to spot. Tremont told him to look for a vehicle with the traditional symbol of Atlantis, a cross in concentric circles.
Chance tried striking up a conversation with the driver, an older woman in a caftan called Connie. He told her he was an ex-independent contractor gone bust, just come through a bad divorce, depressed, looking for a different path.
When that didn’t get him anywhere, he disabled the van’s clutch sensor while Connie was in the toilet, then offered to fix it when she returned and couldn’t start the engine. Lilith accompanied Connie on her next visit, asked Chance whether he was interested in coming out to have a look at New Atlantis. On his second visit he was invited to stay.
Chance rang Tremont before he left, made a plan to meet him, with the money, in seven days.
The first thing Chance felt was pain. He remembered the beating, and the lead up. Then he noticed the smell, a cloying organic aroma.
He was cheek down on a wooden floor, four sets of feet at eye level. He inclined his head. Lilith and Cornelius, Swain, another man, short, broad shouldered with a head of blond hair, all backlit by a single globe hanging from a corrugated iron ceiling. Short Man glared at Chance, dabbed his fingers at the dried blood around his nostrils. Cornelius was dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing at the soul cleansing but Lilith had changed into old boots, jeans, faded red cowboy shirt.
Cornelius nodded and Swain and the Short Man hauled Chance roughly into a wooden chair. Short Man propped him up, dug his strong fingers into Chance’s shoulder while Swain tied plastic rope around him. When they were finished the two men resumed their position on either side of the cult leader.
The walls were lined with tin foil, plastic chemical containers stacked against one wall. In the doorway behind his captors hung a row of drying marijuana plants. Chance’s eyes came to a standstill on a metal workbench where a selection of knives lay neatly arranged on a black canvas pouch, alongside a metal cylinder that looked horribly like a blow torch.
Cornelius adjusted his dark sunglasses, ran spidery fingers through his hair, sighed.
‘Where’s my fucking money?’
Stripped of the theatrics his voice had a brutal, authoritative tone.
‘It was already gone when I got there.’ Chance heard his own voice waver.
‘Figured as much.’ Cornelius scratched at the stubble on his face. ‘No sense you stealing the money and coming back to an empty cubbyhole. But the thing is…’ he lost his train of thought, looked at Lilith. ‘What’s this guy’s name again?’
‘Bell. Lawrence Bell.’
‘The thing is Mister Bell or whatever the fuck your name is, you were trying to steal it all the same, so you must know something, follow my meaning?’
‘Maybe he’s a jack,’ spat Blond Man.
‘Shut up, Dobbs.’ Cornelius flashed his enforcer an annoyed look as he picked up the metal cylinder from the workbench, twisted a valve at one end of it. There was a hiss and a tongue of blue flame came to life.
‘You must be a pretty crappy messiah to have to resort to something as old fashioned as a blow torch to get answers.’ Chance tried to sound braver than he felt.
‘Don’t be disappointed, son.’ Cornelius’s smile exposed a line of yellow teeth. ‘There’s so many people claiming they’re Jesus, Satan or whoever, more people lining up to believe them. Way it’s always been, way it always will be.’
‘Sounds like you’ve been smoking too much of your own product.’
‘Never touch the stuff.’ Cornelius brought the flame close to Chance, ran it along his bare arm and took it away. Chance flinched at the proximity of the purring heat, focused on trying to control his bowels. The smell of burning hair mixed with the aroma of the drying marijuana.
‘I’m working with someone on the outside,’ Chance said quickly. ‘A man called Tremont.’ He noticed Cornelius’s brow furrow at mention of the name. ‘He gets people out of places like this, one of them told him about the money.’
Chance looked at Lilith as he spoke. She gazed back at him, her face blank.
‘He hatched the plan, recruited me to work it from the inside. I was supposed to steal the money, meet him at the front entrance at midnight.’
‘Swain, Dobbs, take the van, go and pick up this Tremont fuck. Do it quietly. Don’t wake the sheep.’ Cornelius stared at Chance as he spoke. His glasses reflected the flame from the blowtorch. ‘Bring him back here,’ he yelled after them. ‘Alive.’
Within moments of the men leaving, Chance heard a vehicle splutter into life, drive off.
‘Now, what to do with you, Mister Bell?’
Lilith stepped towards the workbench, picked up a shorted bladed knife. ‘Terry, I reckon I can think of something.’ She stood next to Cornelius, held the knife in front of his face.
The cult leader smiled, licked his upper lip. ‘You’re full of surprises, ain’t you?’ He turned off the blowtorch.
Lilith slashed the knife across Cornelius’s throat, stepped back. Blood poured through Cornelius’s fingers as he clutched helplessly at the wound. He swayed like one of his followers during a spiritual cleansing, fell backwards onto the ground, squirmed a few moments and went still.
Lilith stared at the body, her breath coming in short gasps. She shook her head hard, glanced at Chance as if noticing him for the first time.
‘Whoever you are, we’ve got to
move quickly,’ she said, cutting the binding. Chance stood, rubbed his wrists for a moment, grabbed Lilith’s knife hand by the wrist, twisted it behind her back, put his other arm around her neck.
Lilith dropped the knife and yelped in pain. ‘What the—’
‘I don’t know what the hell’s in the water around here—’ Chance spat, ‘—but before we go anywhere I want some answers.’
‘You’re hurting me.’
Chance twisted her arm further.
‘Okay, okay,’ she stopped struggling. ‘I stole the money.’
She uttered a husky laugh at Chance’s silence. ‘What, upset I crashed your party?’ Her voice had regained its confidence.
Chance cursed, let her go, angry his reaction had been so easy to read.
‘How much?’
‘I haven’t had the chance to count it but enough.’
‘Now you got a partner.’
Her large blue eyes glared at him. ‘Why the hell should I throw my lot in with you when your last partner is probably having his teeth kicked out by Swain and Dobbs as we speak.’
‘I’m not the one who just killed a man.’
‘Believe me, mate, that wasn’t originally on tonight’s agenda. I could’ve just left you here, let Cornelius slowly barbecue you.’
‘And I appreciate it,’ he said, staring at Cornelius, who lay face up, surrounded by a balloon of dark liquid. His sunglasses had slipped off, the whites of his eyes staring up into his skull.
‘Besides, my partner’s safe for now. Unless Cornelius’s thugs went in the opposite direction to the one I gave them.’ Chance scanned the room as he spoke, fixed on a pile of tools on the floor. He stepped carefully around the blood, selected a large spanner, tested its for heft.
He glanced at his watch. Less than an hour to get the money and meet Tremont. He quickly explained the plan to Eva.
‘Now where’s the money?’
Her brow furrowed as she weighed up her options.
‘Don’t fuck around,’ Chance snapped. ‘The money, where is it?’
‘I hid it.’
Chance fought a wave of exhaustion. His face throbbed. ‘Where?’
‘Behind the farmhouse.’
The night was clouding over and a wind had whipped up, rustled through the canopy, as Chance crouched in bushes near the farmhouse. The woman had been gone almost ten minutes He turned the spanner over in his hands, starting to think he’d been an idiot to trust her, another criminal, suspecting that she’d taken the money and run, when he heard a movement in the bushes.
‘Lilith?’
Without a word, a figure stepped towards him. Its shape wasn’t right, shorter and thicker. A male. Chance didn’t hesitate, lunged towards the figure, swung the spanner as he moved. The figure went down. Chance hit him again to make sure, peered at the body, recognised Dobbs.
‘Got it,’ came a female voice behind him. Chance, his mind racing and blood simple, twisted around, raised the spanner, ready to strike.
‘Whooa, boy, it’s me.’ She raised one hand palm out in front of her. The other clutched a canvas bag. She noticed the body on the ground.
‘Dobbs.’
Chance breathed deeply, nodded.
‘Which means—’
‘Yeah. Swain isn’t far away.’
He took the bag, unzipped it, and looked inside. Twenty and fifty dollar notes, some tied with rubber bands, the rest loose. Nowhere near the million Tremont had promised but at least he wouldn’t walk out of the job with nothing. He zipped the bag shut, slung it across his shoulder.
‘Who nominated you for bag duty?’
Chance glared at her, started walking.
They ducked and weaved through the thick undergrowth that surrounded the New Atlantis compound, emerging onto a flat stretch of pasture. The moon was now almost completely covered in cloud, the wind stronger.
‘Has anyone told you your timing sucks?’ she said as they walked.
‘All the time.’
‘Two fucking months, pretending to chase Atlantis with the rest of the crazies, trying to keep Cornelius’s paws off me long enough to score the cash and get out.’
Chance, realising that talking was her way of coping with the fear, was happy to play along.
‘The name change, all that stuff about channelling an Atlantean priestess, that your idea?’
‘Cornelius’s. He said most people were prepared to believe any old crazy shit you fed them, as long as you gave them the courtesy of putting on a show. And, boy, did that son of a bitch know how to do a show. I almost believed him myself.’
‘So your name’s not Lilith?’
‘No. It’s Eva.’
The moon was almost completely covered in cloud, the wind becoming stronger.
‘Bell’s not your real name is it?’
‘No.’
‘You going to tell me what it is?’
He hesitated. A show of trust now would work in his favour.
‘Gary. Gary Chance.’
‘I always thought there was something suss about you, Gary Chance. The way you were always watching me. I thought you were onto me.’
Chance looked behind them. Still nothing. Picked up his step.
‘Tonight was going to be my last in that place. The it was goodbye Australia and hello Fiji, white sand beaches and cocktails.’
‘You can still do that, though you might have to forgo plans for that first class plane ticket.’
They reached a strip of dense scrub, plunged through it, emerged onto a dirt road, the shape of Tremont’s station wagon visible in the gloom a couple of hundred metres ahead.
The engine kicked into life as they approached, the headlights illuminating the stretch of dirt road in front of it. The driver’s door opened, Tremont got out, stood by the car
‘Whose your friend?’
Chance tensed, alerted by the forced casualness in Tremont’s voice, his lack of surprise at Eva’s presence.
‘Introductions later.’ Chance tightened his grip on the spanner. ‘We need to go.’
‘Sorry, mate.’ Tremont flashed a weak smile, lifted two palms towards Chance. ‘Plan’s changed.’
Swain emerged from the undergrowth at the side of the road, stood next to Tremont. He pointed a pistol at Chance and the woman.
‘Put the bag and the spanner on the ground and stand back.’
Chance dropped the bag on the ground, let the spanner fall after it, tried to estimate whether he’d get to Swain before the man could pull the trigger.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Swain, reading his mind. ‘Big man like you, I figured you spilt your guts too quickly. So when Dobbs and I found nothing at the front gate, I wasn’t surprised.’ Swain switched his gaze to Eva. ‘But it was back at the drying shed, Cornelius bled out and no sign of you, that’s when the alarm bells really went off. Tell me. Which of you did the boss?’
Eva smiled.
‘Not that I care but always told Cornelius he shouldn’t trust you. Pity he was too busy trying to get down your pants to listen.’
‘You jealous, Joe?’
‘You’re not my type.’
‘What, not Aryan enough?’
‘Enough bullshit.’ Swain gestured at Tremont with barrel of his pistol. ‘Check the bag.’
Tremont came forward, knelt and unzipped the bag. His eyes widened at the sight of the money.
‘Bring it here,’ said Swain.
Swain took the bag in one hand, couldn’t help himself, peered inside. Chance seized the opportunity, launched himself rugby tackle style around Swain’s stomach. It felt like hitting a brick wall. Swain grunted as the air was knocked from him. The gun skidded into a gully at the side of the road, the bag dropped to the ground. Bills spilled out, quickly picked up by the wind.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ grunted Chance as he wrestled with Swain on the ground. ‘The bloody gun.’
Tremont and Eva glanced at each other, had the same thought. Tremont moved first.
Eva tripped him up as he grabbed the bag, kicked him in the side of the head. More bills flew out as he fell.
Chance and Swain were off the ground, circling each other, looking for a weakness to attack.
On the edge of his vision, Chance saw Eva reach into the side of her boot, withdraw something and throw it. Swain howled as the knife she’d used on Cornelius bit deep into his shoulder, lurched towards the shadows at the side of the road.
Chance stood stunned for a moment. Tremont lay groaning on the ground. Chance thought about helping him, dismissed the idea as Swain re-emerged, the pistol in his hand. He swayed like a drunk, his face set hard against the pain, aimed unsteadily at Chance, fired.
The shot went into the bushes behind him.
Chance made a desultory attempt to grab at some of the loose bills blowing in the air.
‘Forget the fucking money,’ shouted Eva from the driver’s seat of the car. ‘Get in.’
Swain fired again. A rear passenger window shattered.
Chance dived into the back seat. Eva slammed her foot on the accelerator. Several more shots sounded in the darkness behind them.
‘Where’d you learn to use a knife like that?’
‘Let’s just say I had a misspent youth.’
‘Lucky for me.’
‘That’s the second time I’ve saved your arse tonight,’ she said.
Chance brushed window glass off the back seat with his hand, stretched out. ‘How will I ever repay you?’
She smiled, not taking her eyes from the road. ‘We’ll figure out something.’
Back to TOC
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to David Whish-Wilson, Eva Dolan and David Honey-bone for reading the manuscript of Gunshine State, and to Chip Henriss, Jeremy De Ceglie, and Liam Farrelly for sharing their stories. I am also grateful to Eric Campbell, publisher of Down & Out Books, for giving this book second life.
Finally, this book would not have been possible without the love, patience and thoughtful advice of my partner, Angela Savage.