‘Thanks, Murray. I might just give it a try.’
I walked back up the gravel drive thinking what nice folks they were, and what a shame it would be to have to kill them or their daughter.
Return to Sydney
I’d been at the café for less than ten minutes when she walked onto the veranda and sat at my table. She was brazen, almost arrogant.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing stalking me this way? You could have just called, or waited until I was back in Sydney. How did you find me here anyway?’
‘I just couldn’t wait to see you again, Carol.’
‘You’d better explain, and it had better be good—’
‘Or what? You’ll call the cops?’
‘There are other people I can call who aren’t as polite as the jacks.’
I took the cell phone out and slid it across the table. ‘Go ahead.’
Her eyes cut into me. The lips weren’t pouting now. They were a tight, red line, her eyes narrow with anger or fear, probably a mix of both. She was pissed off I’d found her and no doubt fearful of what came next.
‘I can explain, Micky.’
‘Course you can. Thing is, I’m not interested. Just give me the gun and I’ll leave you and your family in peace.’
‘Did Kurt Reed send you? Are you his lackey now?’
‘Kurt’s not your biggest problem. I am. What were you thinking, Carol? That you could just sit up here and blackmail the man that runs the Sydney underworld? Are you completely mad?’
‘That wasn’t the reason I wanted it. It only occurred to me after that I could use it that way. And it wasn’t really blackmail. I said I would sell it to him—’
‘For?’
She dropped her eyes and mumbled, ‘Two hundred thousand.’
‘Or what? You’d hand it to the cops? That’s called blackmail, Carol, and it backfired. You were too greedy—and too stupid. What was your primary reason?’
She lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Much of the anger had gone and the fear was taking hold.
‘One night, when Hedges was snowed, he said that gun was what would allow the Reeds to gain a foothold in The Cross. The Reeds are pigs, absolute arseholes. I figured if they no longer had the gun, they would remain small-time Westies.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘It’s true.’
‘And I suppose you didn’t know that it was used to shoot a cop either.’
Her jaw dropped slightly and her eyes widened. She looked surprised, or she was playing me again.
‘Anyway, what you knew or what you thought doesn’t matter. Just give me the gun and I’ll leave.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I’ll shoot your father and then ask you again.’
‘Prick.’
‘Think about this, Carol. You say your motivation for conning me into stealing a gun for you was to stop the spread of the Reeds. If you give me the gun, you’ll have achieved that, albeit at a cost. The thing is, why? What was your motivation and why didn’t you just go to one of Mitchell’s guys and tell them where it was and how to get it? Why? Because you planned this blackmail all along. They know it, I know it, and it’s all gone tits-up for you because you weren’t clever enough. Telling Lenny was your biggest mistake, lying to me a close second.’
I could see she was softening.
She leaned back and said,‘Brookes isn’t going to just let it go though, is he?’
‘That’s a bit of a grey area.’
‘How grey?’
I took one of her cigarettes and lit up. ‘I have to kill you.’
She tried hard to hide her reaction, but it was there in the eyes and the swallow—in the way she reached for the ashtray and tamped the end of her cigarette. ‘Why you?’
‘I did the robbery, which makes me your accomplice. I guess he wants to see where I stand. It also gives him a nice hold over me, thank you very much, Carol.’
The reality was sinking in. She suddenly looked tired and frightened. The lips were pouting again, but this time I didn’t care if they reached the table.
‘Come on, Carol, be sensible. There’s no way out of this. If I fail, they’ll just send somebody else. You’re fucked.’
Her shoulders sagged, her tone desultory. ‘Sounds like the story of my life.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In a bank box.’
‘In Sydney?’
She gave a defeated nod, and then chained another cigarette. ‘What about the second clause?’
‘First the gun. Go say bye-bye to Mum and Dad, and then drive to the airport and turn that car in. I’ll be right behind you.’
‘And then?’
‘And then I’ll drive you to your bank and come in with you to collect. If I lose sight of you, or if you try to bolt, I’ll turn around and come back here for a chat with Murray and Gilda.’
The Gold Coast airport was tiny, so it was easy to keep an eye on her as she dropped the hire car back. When she came out of the Hertz office, I tossed her bag in the trunk, opened the door, and told her to get comfortable.
‘It’s a long ride. Slip your shoes off and relax.’
‘Thank you. I’m fine,’ she said, looking straight ahead.
I figured it was going to be a long, quiet journey divided by moments of hostility.
It was still only Sunday, so I had four days to get the gun back to Mitchell or Reed. I had no idea how to play that, but that could come later. First thing was to get the Makarov in my possession.
I decided to take the coast road south to Sydney. It was slower, but there were fewer trucks and more places to eat or stop for the night. It had been three days since I’d had a decent sleep. The idea of a motel was growing on me.
It was five o’clock by the time we arrived at Coffs Harbour. I was getting drowsy. There was a string of motels on the road leading out of town. I pulled into one called Blue Haven and parked outside the office.
Carol had been silent.
‘What’s this?’
‘The timing’s wrong to keep driving; no point arriving in Sydney at midnight. We’ll stop here for the night.’
I checked in, parked in front of unit five, took her bag from the trunk, and told her to go inside. It was time for a show of force.
‘Don’t think about bolting or doing anything stupid or I’ll take my friend here back to Tamborine.’ I laid the Beretta on the small table and watched her face pale. I tipped the contents of her bag onto the bed and checked for a weapon. There were only clothes and shoes, make-up and stuff. I did the same with her handbag. Other than the phone, it was clean. I pulled the battery from the phone and slipped it into my pocket.
‘You can take the bed.’
‘You’re a regular gentleman, Micky.’
‘It’s my major weakness.’
‘How about something to eat, or are you going to starve me to death?’
I hadn’t given it a thought. I realised I was ravenous.
‘There was an Indian place not far back: Indian okay for you?’
She gave a faint smile. ‘I’d eat anything right now, Micky.’
I let her see me jam the 9mm into the back of my jeans, then opened the door, went outside and got into the car.
The New Delhi was crowded, mainly with what looked like holiday makers, some with unruly kids. We sat at a table in the far corner near the kitchen and ordered beers.
‘How about a truce over dinner?’ she asked.
‘I can behave if you can.’
The turbaned waiter arrived, laid the beers on the table, and handed us menus. Carol opened hers and ran her finger down the list of curries as she read. I sipped beer and watched her. She was nervous and trying to hide it. She’d messed up. That, and the realisation there was no easy way out, was just sinking in. She looked up, saw I was watching her and my menu was still closed. She flushed, sipped some beer, and said, ‘You not eating?’
‘What did you decide on?’
&n
bsp; ‘I’m having the butter chicken,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Do you want to split a naan bread?’
‘And some pappadums.’
The waiter retuned and took our order: butter chicken for Carol, lamb korma for me.
After he left there was an awkward silence for several minutes. I didn’t know what to say to her and she was obviously going through a major struggle. I didn’t know if she was going to try to bolt or break down and plead. Don’t ask me why, but I started feeling sorry for her. She’d conned me and put me in a bad situation. I’ve just never been good at seeing a woman unhappy.
A kid at a nearby table started whining and resisting the parents’ attempts to pacify him.
‘You ever want kids?’ I asked, tipping my head towards the spoiled brat.
She looked at me with surprise, then smiled, sneered, and shook her head. ‘What about you?’
‘I wasn’t cut out for that. Those schnooks need to give him a slap, instead of ice-cream. It’s part of the trouble today; kids are allowed to express themselves.’
‘Is this philosopher Micky speaking?’
‘I just think they should slap him properly now, because if he grows into adulthood like that, he’ll be worthless, and one day someone will more than slap him.’
‘Were your parents tough on you?’
‘I didn’t have any.’
‘Sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘Sorry that you didn’t have parents.’
‘You know the old cliché. You don’t miss what you’ve never had.’
‘But still ....’
‘Your parents seem like nice people. I was surprised.’
‘You know, for a minute I thought you were trying to be nice.’
The waiter brought the pappadums and we lapsed into silence again.
Carol broke it.
‘Where were you before Sydney, Micky?’ She was looking down at her glass, twirling it in her fingers, waiting for me to answer.
‘Your friend Lenny didn’t tell you?’
‘He’s not my friend. I just know him.’
‘Well enough to ask him if I’m a robber: just that much.’
‘I didn’t tell him what it was. I just said I needed someone to do a discreet job.’
‘Surprised he didn’t jump in himself with a lead like that. You know he’s got the hots for you, don’t you? Is that why you went to him?’
‘I thought we had a truce for dinner.’
I held up a hand of agreement. ‘We do. Sorry.’
‘So; before Sydney?’
She was a chess player, always thinking strategically four moves ahead, and this wasn’t a truce.
After scrutinising her for several seconds, I said, ‘I’ve been sailing for the past few years. Bumming around, and working for any Lenny who’d hire me.’
Her forehead wrinkled in surprise. ‘Where?’
‘Mainly in the Caribbean.’
‘Sounds glamorous.’
I gave an amused snort. ‘You a Sydneysider, or was Siganto Street home for you?’
‘Gosford as a kid, then the inner-west: Newtown, Glebe, Balmain.’
‘Gosford’s Central Coast, isn’t it?’
‘Central Nowheresville; I couldn’t wait to leave.’
‘Do you have brothers, sisters?’
‘You ask a lot of questions. Is it easier than answering?’
‘Just trying to stay away from the subject of guns and having to kill people. How is your sister?’
She swallowed some beer, trying to hide her reaction. It was then I remembered where I’d seen the other woman from the photograph before. She was the woman Lenny had been with in the bar about a month after I started. I racked my brain trying to recall her name. So much was going on at that time that I hadn’t paid much attention.
‘You thinking of killing her as well?’
‘Not at all. Just asking.’
The kid on the next table started up again, distracting her as she was about to say something. Then it came to me. On Friday, after Mitchell had left and I’d drilled Lenny for information about Carol, he’d spoken of ‘another escort who goes by the name of Heather’. Maybe Lenny was too stupid to realise they were sisters. Maybe he didn’t bother telling me. Maybe he had a reason not to.
She must have seen the smug look on my face as I put that piece in place. ‘Something amusing you?’
‘People.’
She looked back at the kid, shrugged, and then indicated to a passing waiter to bring more beers.
The motel room was stuffy. I pulled an old armchair from the corner, and jammed it against the door. She was sitting on the bed, propped against the grubby headboard, eyeing me suspiciously.
‘So you’re not going to tie me to the bed?’
‘Not unless you want me to.’
She got up and went into the bathroom, taking her bag with her. There was only one window in there, too small to get through. I tucked the Beretta under my belt, closed my eyes, and fell asleep to the sound of the shower running.
The Honey
We rolled into Sydney a few minutes before eleven the following morning. It had taken five hours from Coffs, with a breakfast stop on the way. Carol had been quiet, but not hostile or angry, and I’d tried to keep the peace for the duration of the journey. Things would tense up when we got to the bank.
As we drove through the northern suburbs, I asked her where her bank was located.
‘It’s right in the middle of town, in Martin Place. I need to go home and get my keys first.’
‘Bullshit! Why wouldn’t you have your keys with you?’
‘I just didn’t bring them, that’s all. I didn’t expect to need them.’
‘So you’re telling me you were going to return to Sydney, to live here amongst people who want you dead?’
She lit a cigarette and drew heavily. ‘I didn’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Yes, you did. You’re a strategist. Some would say a cunning bitch.’
‘Nice.’
‘What’s the real reason for wanting to go home?’
She faced me, and said, ‘I want us to talk. I want to tell you what a huge mistake you’ll be making if you give that gun back to them. Micky, please listen to me.’
‘You’ve just had a thousand kilometres to tell me any bullshit like that. What’s different at home?’
She went quiet as if in thought, smoking her cigarette and staring out of the side window.
‘We can work something out, Micky, something where we both come out all right.’
‘If you’re so sure, let’s get the gun first, then I’ll listen. I just don’t trust you, Carol. Are the keys at your place or are you just jerking me around?’
She wound the window down, threw the cigarette, closed it, and straightened her windblown hair. ‘They’re in my bag.’
‘I thought so.’
We were approaching Martin Place. She pulled down the sun visor and touched up her lipstick. I parked in an underground about two hundred metres from the bank, then we walked in silence.
It took ten minutes to get access to the safety deposit box. Two minutes later we were back on the street, walking towards the parking lot with the Makarov in my pack. It would have been easy to just walk away, give the gun to Mitchell, and tell them she was dead, but I drove to Turnbuckle instead. Not a word was said and she didn’t seem surprised that I knew where to go.
I followed her inside. She looked around, taking in the missing photograph and the glass fragments on the floor, but all she said was, ‘Drink?’
‘Sure.’
She poured Jameson into crystal tumblers and handed me one. It was early for me and I’d no intention of getting pissed and waking up on the wrong side of a .38. When I sat in an armchair, she sat opposite me with an expectant look on her face. I raised my hands palm-up. ‘So speak. I’m out of here after one drink.’
‘What’s the rush? You have the gun. You have me where you want me.’ When I di
dn’t answer, she asked, ‘Have you killed before?’
‘What do you want to say? What’s your great scheme where we both come out on top and Kurt Reed or Mitchell don’t chop us into little pieces?’
‘There are ways, Micky, and you know it. We could get on your boat and both disappear.’
‘You’re not my type. Anything else?’
‘I know you don’t want to kill me.’
I sipped my drink. ‘What makes you so sure?’
‘I’m not saying you wouldn’t kill; you might, but not a woman in cold blood. You’re not the type.’ She tipped the whiskey back and got up to refill her glass.
‘You don’t know what type I am.’
She gave a short, derisive snort. ‘I know men; that’s one thing I do know. And you, Micky DeWitt, are not a cold-blooded killer.’
When she emptied the tumbler for the second time in five minutes, I guessed it was fear, not thirst. She’d just said she knew men. She also knew men I needed to know about, so I decided to loosen her tongue and see what I could find out. There were three days before I had to face Mitchell. I drained my glass and held it out for a refill. Time to play.
‘Do you know men that are? If you know I’m not, then you must be comparing me with someone else.’ I leaned back, waiting for her to speak. She had to play along. In her mind, keeping me entertained was all that was keeping her alive: a modern day Scheherazade.
‘Hanging around The Cross, you meet all sorts of people. People come and people go: some are good, others scum. Sure, I knew of one guy had the reputation of being a cold-blooded killer. I didn’t know him, but I’d seen him around. You know how the grapevine works with people like that. Must be the same where you’re from, where ever that is.’
‘London.’
‘Is Soho like The Cross?’
‘Not even close. What happened to the guy?’
‘He got whacked. I heard he crossed Brookes over money ....’ Her words trailed off as she realised what she’d said, and how she was destined to end up getting whacked for the same reason.
‘He doesn’t like to be duped over money, does he, Carol?’
She hung her head, her arms resting on her thighs. ‘Fuck.’
She sighed, stood wearily, and walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a bag of chips and a pack of cashew nuts. She poured herself another and held the bottle out, offering me more. I accepted with a shrug. She poured until my tumbler was nearly full and stood the bottle between us. I could feel the alcohol and guessed she could as well, which was why she’d gone for food. She tore open the pack of nuts, put a big handful in her mouth, and chewed.
Flank Street Page 7