Landed Hard
Dave couldn’t find Rashmi. He’d been driving around Coffs Harbour for hours looking for her. It was a big town and it was time he couldn’t afford. He had no idea where she’d gone. How far could she get on crutches? She must be holed up somewhere, hiding, waiting him out. He had to find her, and he had to do it by himself. Stupid bloody girl. Every minute he spent looking for her meant another minute before he could get on a plane and disappear. Hell, he was trying to help her.
They were only going to stop for food and fuel in Coffs. That was when Rashmi had reminded him she only had one crutch, which meant she couldn’t even get to the café or the toilet on her own. After a bit of asking around, they found a large pharmacy that sold crutches. He should have known better. Should have left Rashmi in the car, carried her to the toilet or the café. She was so angry when she found out about the boy; he should’ve known she would try something.
When she finally woke up, they were nearly three hours south of the Gold Coast. It had taken her a few minutes to realise Billy was gone. He’d tried to tell her the boy had run off, hadn’t come back from the café with their breakfast. Said he’d taken Dave’s money and buggered off.
Rashmi had looked at Dave like she didn’t understand him. “Billy wouldn’t do that,” she said. “He wouldn’t leave us. He wouldn’t leave me.”
Dave shrugged. “Well, he did.”
She shook her head. “Where was it? Where did you stop? We have to go back and get him.” She looked out the window and saw the signpost for Grafton. “We’re going south? Why? Where are you going?” she asked, but she already knew. “I’m not going back to Sydney.”
“You have to. There’s nowhere else. Your mum—”
“And Billy? What about him? What’s he going to do on his own?”
Dave said the thing that was obvious to him but that he immediately wished he could take back. “We’re better off without him. He just…he made things more complicated than they already are.”
“You ditched him? No…”
Dave didn’t look at her. “I have to get you home. Get you away from any link to that dead woman, to the tunnel. And then I have to go. The kid…he’ll be all right.”
“Billy. His name’s Billy, and he saved my life.”
“I know, and he’d want me to make sure you got home safely. He’s got guts; he’ll be fine. He’ll figure something out.”
Rashmi freaked out. “You had no right. He’s my friend. You bastard. You’re a bastard.” She wouldn’t shut up—shouting at him, crying, calling him all sorts of names. Then she started hitting him, punching him around his shoulders and head. Dave wasn’t having that, not while he was trying to drive. He leaned over and slapped his granddaughter across the face. Not hard. “Settle down. You’ll have us off the road.”
Rashmi looked at him stunned, her hand holding her face.
Those fucking eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. But it’s done. We’re not going back.”
Rashmi turned away, crying again, bawling. Her shoulders hunched, and her head against the window.
Dave couldn’t remember ever hitting her before. He’d had to hit Sally when she was a kid. Only a couple of times, when she wouldn’t stop arguing. She was like her mother that way. Always an open hand, though, not like his father had hit him. Fists or belt. Boots sometimes. Until the night the old bastard got home drunk and roaring, with Dave waiting for him behind the kitchen door, a cast-iron pan held in both hands. He’d gone through his pockets while the old man was pissing himself on the floor. Dave left then and never looked back.
Eventually Rashmi had stopped crying. Dave thought she was asleep, but when he glanced over, her dark-brown eyes were staring back at him, looking at him like she didn’t know who he was.
That was how they had driven down the Pacific Highway to Coffs Harbour: Rashmi backed into the corner against the door, staring at him; Dave trying to ignore her, focussing on staying awake and planning his next move.
After they’d bought the new crutches for her, they’d found somewhere to eat. Rashmi spoke to the waitress but not to him, not until she’d finished her chicken-and-avocado sandwich. And then only to inform him she was going to the toilet. He should have known. Ten minutes later he was pushing his way into the women’s toilets, past a sunburned woman whose surprise was soon replaced by outrage.
“Where the hell are you going, mate?” she shouted, as Dave looked around the toilets. There were two women staring at him from the hand basins, but no one in the cubicles.
“Shit,” Dave muttered, then said to the room in general, “Looking for my granddaughter. She’s disabled. On crutches. Thought she might…” By then he’d already left the room, looking up and down the crowded shopping plaza, which was full of tourists. He stepped up onto a bench for a better view, but he didn’t see anyone on crutches or with blue hair. Looking back the other way, behind the toilets, he saw a multilevel car park. He started there. Rashmi hadn’t come past him in the plaza when he was finishing his coffee, so she must have gone the other way.
He worked his way up through the car park, from the bottom level to the top. Nothing. Next he tried the street behind the car park. Dave knew Rashmi could move pretty fast on crutches when she wanted to. But she couldn’t go far; she’d run out of puff. He went back to the Land Rover, still scanning the crowd in the plaza and on the street, and then he drove up and down, going slowly, peering into driveways and lanes. Gradually he got further and further from the plaza. Where the hell could she have gone?
When Dave was back out on the Pacific Highway, he wondered if maybe Rashmi had hitched a ride, headed back up to the Gold Coast. If she’d done that, he’d never find her. He doubled back, covering the same streets again, checking out parks and playgrounds. He drove around the town cemetery and along a mangrove-lined creek. Nothing.
If she were moving about, he’d spot her eventually. If she were moving about. Dave ended up back at the plaza, which was empty now, the day fading, the tourists gone. He was out of ideas, feeling his age, exhausted. The adrenaline he’d been running on for the last few days had long since burnt off. He should just go. Leave Rashmi to get home by herself. It was the smart move, he knew.
He kept looking, even after dark, driving up and down the same streets over and over. Just after midnight, he stopped to rest, spent what was left of the night in the back of the Land Rover. At first light, he woke up stiff and sore, and with no new ideas. All he could do was keep looking. Or he could bail, leave Rash to sort out her own problems. If she didn’t want his help, why the hell was he trying to force it on her? He bought a large coffee and kept looking. He’d give it a couple more hours, extend his search a bit further out. Check out the schools, inside the mall again.
It was nearly midday when he found her—in a bus shelter on the edge of town, huddled against the wall, staring out across the road. She looked frail and worn, as if the wind might have blown her there along with the little drifts of leaves and litter. Dave pulled the Land Rover up and rolled down the window. “Rash?”
She turned slowly and looked at him but didn’t speak.
“We should go, honey.”
Past Raymond Terrace, crossing the floodplains north of Hexham, the traffic started to get heavier, slowing down the Land Rover’s progress: local traffic mixed with vacationers, caravans and station wagons loaded up with surfboards and bicycles. The afternoon sun cast slanting blue shadows from the scrubby woodland lining the sides of the highway.
Once they got across the river at Hexam, they’d be on the expressway. Then it was straight past Newcastle, not much more than two hours to Sydney. Then Dave could drop off Rashmi and go.
By the time he got there, Sydney traffic would be past its peak. He’d be cutting it close, though, depending on how long it took him to get away from Sally’s. He couldn’t afford to hang around. Sal might expect him to stay the night. Hard to tell with her. He could dump the car somewhere out of the way, where it wouldn’t be notic
ed for a while. Get a flight in the morning. Anywhere, just get out of the country. Singapore, Bangkok, a major hub, somewhere busy. Then on to somewhere safe.
After Dave had ditched the boy yesterday, he’d taken a large black bag from the storage unit. That bag was his lifeline—packed solidly with cash, two sets of ID documents, two new phones, a bunch of SIM cards, and a clean gun.
It was nearly 7:00 p.m. when he pulled up to Sally’s house. He was exhausted, too tired to go any further tonight. Rashmi didn’t say a word, just sat looking straight ahead.
Dave went around to open the passenger door, holding the new crutches ready for her. “Come on, Rash. Let’s get you inside. Into your own bed.”
Rashmi didn’t move, didn’t react.
“Come on. Let’s go see your mum. After that I’ll leave you alone.”
She crossed her arms. She still wouldn’t look at him.
“Really?” Dave snapped. “You want it this way?” He threw the crutches into the back seat and grabbed her beneath the arms, dragging her out of the car.
She seemed heavier than she’d been in the tunnel. He was tired. Too old for this shit. Too old to be manhandling his granddaughter. Nearly a woman but acting like a fucking two-year-old. “Put your arms around my neck, will you?” But she just hung limply in his arms. “Fuck. Have it your own way then.” He hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her to the house.
The front door was open, so Dave went straight in. “You there, Sal?” His sneakers squeaked loudly on the polished floorboards as he went down the hall, his lump of a granddaughter in his arms.
Sally was sitting on the sofa, her eyes wide.
“Guess who I found,” Dave said, looking for somewhere to put Rashmi down, even though it was tempting just to drop her on the living room floor.
Rashmi twisted in his arms. “Grandpa…”
The blow came from the right. Hit him in the kidney and took all the strength out of his legs. He stumbled across the room, letting go of Rashmi as he tried to turn. He got his hands up and was trying to see who had hit him. A dark blur at the edge of his vision turned into a kick that struck the side of his head, knocking him off his feet. He landed hard on the big coffee table. The table collapsed under him, its legs splaying as Dave slid onto the floor. His mouth was full of blood; his eyes wouldn’t focus. All he could think of was that it had been a long time since he’d been hit like that. Dave turned, tried to push himself up from the floor. The man standing over him was bouncing on his toes. Not a big guy, but he moved like a fighter. One of his hands was wrapped in a dirty bandage; his nose and face were purple with bruising.
Dave tried to get his feet underneath him, slithering on a jumble of magazines and remote controls. Rashmi had fallen to the floor next to him. Their eyes met for a moment as he pushed back on his haunches. He saw her fingers wrap around a mobile phone that must have come off the table. She slid it under her leg. Dave pushed himself up onto his feet.
The man watched him, his head to the side. He pulled a pistol out of his belt, a Glock. “I’m guessing you’re Dave McPhedran.”
Chapter 30
Safety
They were on the Sydney Harbour Bridge when John’s phone rang. Billy watched the city lights shining through the black-silhouetted bridge girders as John answered it.
“Hello…” The word trailed off as he listened. He held the phone up and looked at the screen.
“It’s from Sally,” he said, passing the phone to Billy. “Put it on speaker and listen. Just listen.”
The sounds that came out of the phone’s speaker were echoey and thin. Billy couldn’t tell what he was hearing at first. Someone was crying, and something was rubbing loudly against the phone. He was about to tell John it must be a mistake, an accidental call, when a man said, “It’s the gold I want.”
English accent, Billy thought. “Manny,” he said, turning to John.
John nodded and held up a finger. “Listen.”
Billy pressed the mute button and turned up the volume as far as it would go.
“I’m not even that fussed about you killing Aunty Ruth.” Manny’s voice was clear through the phone’s speaker. “She could be an old bitch sometimes. And now I get her share. So…silver linings.” There was a sound that might have been a laugh, but it was sharp, more like a grunt. “And her death was quick. More than she ever did for anyone. She probably didn’t feel anything at all. Messy, though.” Manny laughed again. “Maybe, if you hand over the gold, I’ll do the same for you.”
“What fucking gold?” It was another man’s voice, deep, a growl.
“That’s Dave,” Billy said.
John nodded, listening intently as he changed lanes, working through the traffic.
“All the people we chased down,” Manny said. “No one ever admits they’ve got the gold. I suppose it’s a bit much to expect, but it’s all we ever wanted, Ruth and me. Our gold. My dad’s gold.”
They heard a bang, then the sound of coughing, someone gasping for air.
“That hurt, did it? That’s nothing, mate. Your pal, Al—that wasn’t his real name. Did you know that? He was Stewart Finch, a friend of my father’s. They were part of the same gang. Hit a warehouse at Heathrow. Got away with a truckload of gold, but my father never saw a penny of it. No one did except your mate. Mr. Allen fucking Munro. My dad went down, and your mate was over here, lying around on Bondi Beach, spending my dad’s money.”
Another grunt, coughing, spitting. “Go fuck yourself,” Dave snapped.
“We haven’t even started yet,” Manny said. “You’re going to tell me all about the gold your mate Al gave you.”
Billy glanced out the window to see where they were: off the bridge now, traffic thinning as they skirted the edge of the city on the Western Distributor. The windows of office buildings flashed past as John accelerated.
“Nineteen million?” It was Dave’s voice again, and he was breathing hard. “Bullshit, mate. You’re fucking crazy. Who’d give that much to someone to look after? That much gold? How’m I going to hide something like that? How would I even fucking move it?”
“His son, Steven Munro…he said you had it.”
“I saw what you sadistic fuckers did to Stevie. He would’ve said anything.”
“He was telling the truth. You can tell—you really can. It’s in their eyes.”
“Bullshit.” Dave spat then coughed again. “He was just trying to make you stop. Al never had that kind of money. If he had, he wouldn’t have been robbing banks still, would he? He would have gotten rid of the gold years ago, invested it somewhere. Property, stocks, all that. And even if he gave it to me, do you think I’d be living like I am? Did you go to my house? Did that look like nineteen mill to you?” He laughed, gasped, then tried to catch his breath. “Someone’s having you on, mate.”
“Some people just can’t change their ways,” Manny said. “They’ll always be lying, treacherous bastards.”
The ute swayed violently as John changed lanes, weaving in and out of the traffic, past the fish markets and onto Anzac Bridge. Billy braced his arm against the dashboard, his head bent over as he tried to listen to the phone over the whine of the engine.
“Listen, mate. The only money I’ve got is from the bank jobs. The ones I did with Al. There was never any gold.”
“Bank jobs, Dad? What bank jobs?” It was Sally’s voice. Much louder and closer than the two men. She sounded angry. Scared but angry too.
No one spoke for a moment, and then Manny laughed. “Didn’t you tell her what you do for a living?”
“Fuck off.” The snarl in Dave’s voice came through loud and clear.
“What’s he talking about, Dad?” It was Sally’s voice, high and panicky.
“Sally, I… What did… Did you really think my money came from lawn mowing?”
“Why wouldn’t I think that? That’s what you do. It’s what you’ve always done.”
“Sal…”
“What are you saying? Wh
y would I assume… Did Mum know?”
Billy heard the tears in her voice.
A motorcycle braked suddenly and swerved in front of the ute, making a last minute dash for the Victoria Road exit. “Fuck off,” John muttered, flicking the ute into the outside lane, and forcing an outraged woman in a Honda Odyssey to slam on her brakes and hit the horn. The ute lurched and twitched, its stiff old suspension protesting as John brought it back under control.
“I’ve got cash out in the car.” Dave was speaking again. “I was going to use it to run. I was going to go tonight. After I made sure Rashmi was safe. Take that. Let us go.”
“How much cash?” Manny asked.
“Two hundred grand.”
“That’s petty cash. I want the gold.”
“There is no fucking gold…”
The lights were green as they raced past the intersection with The Crescent, heading up the City West Link towards Annandale. John kept working his way through the traffic, pushing the ute into any gap that came open, accelerating whenever he got a clear run. At Catherine Street, he made a left through a red light, the ute skidding and flicking up onto two wheels. Billy’s head smacked the passenger-side window. John got the car back under control and wound it up again, heading for Booth Street.
“Stop snivelling,” Manny said. “Go get the money from his car. Don’t fuck about. I’ll shoot your daughter if you take too long.”
“No, please, don’t.” Sally sounded terrified.
“I’ll go,” Dave said.
“You stay right where you fucking are. Give her the keys.”
John slid the car around the corner into Glover Street, forcing a man to hop back onto the footpath. He shouted abuse at the ute as he dragged a little brown dog after him.
They slowed as they approached Sally’s house, coming up the street at a crawl.
“That’s Dave’s car,” Billy said, pointing at the black Land Rover parked two doors down.
John pulled the ute in behind it and turned off the engine.
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