Flank Street

by A. J. Sendall

  ‘Have you got any food in there?’ she said, nodding at the bag between my feet. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘You should have ordered breakfast, instead of pointing a pistol at me.’

  The café from which I’d first watched the house was just fifty metres away between the car and the house, and appeared to be just opening.

  I pointed and said to her, ‘Go get some takeaway coffees and something to eat. If you hear the horn, get back outside no matter what you’re doing.’

  She smiled as if we were off on a picnic instead of a kidnapping.

  ‘What do you want: a pie, a roll, something sweet?’

  ‘All of that and a proper coffee, not one of those milky designer mayhems: proper, strong coffee. Pin your hair up and pay with cash.’ I handed her a Sydney Swans baseball cap that had been laying on the back seat since I bought the car. ‘Put this on.’

  She put it on, pulled her short ponytail though the gap at the back, turned and smiled. ‘Does it suit me?’

  ‘Fabulous. Now get going before your man is in his car and getting away.’

  I watched her strut to the café looking much younger than the pseudo-sophisticated woman I met for the first time in the bar.

  I wondered what Lenny had told Stella and Meagan to cover my absence. I knew he would easily find a lie. Carol broke my reverie a few minutes later by kicking the door, a carrier bag full of food in one hand, a tray with four coffees in the other.

  I leaned over, opened the door. ‘Who was in the café?’

  ‘Just one guy behind the counter, the owner, I’d guess. I put on an American accent. Want to hear it?’

  ‘No.’ I took a pie from the bag, unwrapped it, wound the window halfway down to vent the steam. It was good and I realised how hungry I was. Carol was demolishing a potato-top, washing each mouthful down with a sip of scalding coffee. I had a brief flashback to two nights previously when we were half full of alcohol, cooking and eating straight from the pan. I shook it away, not really wanting to know.

  ‘What’s up?’ she said, looking at me as she wiped sauce from her mouth.

  ‘Which is the real you?’

  She took another huge bite of pie and asked, ‘Wadaya mean?’ through a full mouth of food.

  Before I could answer and tell her what a lousy American accent it was, I saw movement of the roller door beyond the stucco wall surrounding Hedges’ house. Carol followed my eyes, threw the foil pie-dish in the back, and started the engine.

  ‘Do you mind not throwing your trash onto my back seat?’

  She pushed the gear lever forward and said, ‘Grab this before it spills.’ I took the cup from her as she pulled the Valiant away from the kerb and fell in behind the black Audi.

  There was just the driver. ‘Is that him?’ I asked.

  She nodded, having lost some of her earlier exuberance.

  ‘Stay well back. We only want to close with him at the entrance to the car park. That’s where we’ll take him.’

  ‘Right there in the daylight?’

  ‘Right there. Keep the cap on. Keep calm and do what I say. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I mean it, Carol.’

  ‘Okay—Okay.’ Her face was serious, but showed no sign of fear.

  We tailed him into central Sydney. The traffic thickened, eased again as we approached the Opera House car park.

  ‘Get right behind him now. Don’t let a car get between us and him.’ She nodded, accelerated past a motorbike, and eased in behind the Audi. ‘Not too close. Just follow him slowly up the ramps until he parks, drive fifty feet past, stop and let me out, then park and get back to his car. Understand?’

  ‘Sure. No worries.’ She didn’t look at me. She focussed on the Audi, which was now just twenty metres in front.

  On the third floor, the Audi slowed and swung into an empty space. Carol guided the Valiant into another empty slot five or six bays ahead. I got out carrying the sap, the Beretta stuck into my belt, and approached Hedges.

  He was checking the doors were locked when I hit him. He was stunned, but still on his feet. The valise hit the ground. He leaned against the car, dazed and confused. I sapped him again, grabbed the keys from his hand, marched him to the trunk, and bundled him in. A car drove past while I was stuffing his legs in. They didn’t even look. He was semi-conscious. I bound his hands and feet with gaffer tape, put two wraps around his mouth, two around his eyes, slammed the lid, retrieved the valise and got behind the wheel.

  Carol was in the passenger seat. ‘That easy, huh?’ She was wide-eyed and turned on by the action.

  The Lawyer

  The drive to Pittwater took about an hour. We drank the coffee, ate the rest of the food, stopped at a gas station to get fuel, cigarettes, and more snacks. The way she ate, I was surprised she wasn’t as big as a bus.

  She had the map resting on her legs and gave me directions as we wound through the waterfront roads.

  ‘It’s that big, square, white place on the right.’

  ‘You’ve been here before?’

  ‘No. I’m counting the house numbers. Three more to go, which makes it—’

  ‘That big, square, white place on the right.’

  Carol got out and opened the gates. They were low and unlocked. I drove through and waited while she closed them and got back in.

  It was an ostentatious place with a circular drive around an Italian-style fountain. Neatly trimmed box hedges edged formal gardens and rose beds.

  ‘Nice, huh?’

  ‘If you like this sort of thing.’ I pressed the garage door opener on the key-fob and drove in, closing it behind me. I got out and walked through the internal door.

  ‘Shouldn’t we get him out of the trunk?’

  ‘There’s no hurry. He’s not going anywhere. I want to check this place out first.’

  She shrugged. After looking around downstairs, I went up the wide staircase and found her in the main bedroom.

  ‘I’m buggered,’ she said when I walked into the room.

  ‘Take a nap; we’re here for a while.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘About being here for a while, yes... about taking a nap, no. See what food there is. We’ll be here until late.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll explain later.’

  Back in the garage I noticed for the first time, an old Series 1 Jaguar XJ12. Those old XJs used to be a hobby of mine. I spent a few minutes looking over that Old English White 1973 model, rare as rocking horse shit and in pristine condition. She was gorgeous and I immediately wanted to possess her.

  There was a muffled sound coming from the trunk of the Audi. I slapped the lid, told him to stop whining, and went back into the house.

  Carol was in the kitchen, smoking and eating snacks at the same time.

  ‘Do you ever stop eating?’

  ‘Want some?’ she said, holding out the remains of a peanut bar.

  I took the cigarette from her fingers, took a deep pull, and threw it in the sink.

  ‘Why are we stopping here so long?’

  ‘We’re going to stage one more phone call to Brookes. I want him primed to find out it wasn’t you.’

  ‘But why wait?’

  ‘It has to be at night to make it believable that I could find you and kill him. That couldn’t happen in an hour. Think how this could really play out if he was holding you here. The only person—I assume—that you know can help you, is me. Anyone else is either part of Brookes’ crew or running with Reed. You’ve hidden that little cell phone of yours in a place where he won’t find it. Let’s say in your knickers. Would he find it there?’

  ‘Keep going with your story.’

  ‘So you manage to message me that you’re in his holiday home, blah, blah, blah.’

  ‘And you know where that is because of the other robbery... very good.’

  ‘It gets better. I break-in late at night, there’s a struggle and the gun goes off and kills him.’

  ‘N
o. It can’t be accidental. You have to kill him intentionally as part of your task for Mitchell. He said to kill me because he thought I was the one doing the blackmailing—’

  ‘It was you—’

  ‘So when you find that I’m innocent... you save me and kill him. That’s what you’d do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure, always for an innocent damsel in distress. Is there any real food in here?’

  ‘But you would’ve, eh?’

  ‘What does it matter? You’re not innocent—or a damsel. Now how about making some coffee while I get the big bad wolf out of the car. I don’t want him to know you’re here until we’re ready. So no talking where he can hear you.’

  Back down in the garage I popped the trunk, reeled at the smell. He’d pissed and shit himself; the results were overpowering. I grabbed the baseball cap from the front seat and held it over my nose and mouth as I hauled his legs out, then his body, letting him fall to the floor. The tape over his mouth muffled the cry. He groaned again as I cut the tape around his ankles and pulled him to his feet, pushed and shoved him through the door and into a ground floor bathroom.

  ‘I’m going to cut your hands free. When I do, you’ll undress and clean yourself up. Understand?’

  He sucked air in through his nose and then nodded once. When I cut his hands free, he clawed at the tape that covered his eyes. A quick hit with the sap against his collarbone stopped that.

  He stumbled forward when I shoved him towards the shower stall.

  ‘Clean yourself up.’

  He peeled off his stinking clothes, dropping them on the floor. I gave him another push. He hit the tiles, groped around like a sleepwalker, feeling for the shower. I reached inside and turned both taps on full. He gasped, started rubbing water through his hair.

  ‘There’s soap in front of you.’ He reached and found it.

  When he’d washed, I turned off the water, pulled him out, and shoved him into the corridor.

  Carol was watching from the kitchen doorway. Most women would have looked frightened, nervous; not Carol. The only emotion in her eyes was excitement as she watched him stumble, wet and naked, towards the stairs.

  He recognised where he was, felt around for the familiar banister, bent and touched the old-fashioned stair rods. He tried to speak; from behind the tape, it was muffled gibberish. I pushed him up the stairs. In the bedroom, I rummaged through the wardrobe and found a tracksuit.

  ‘Put this on.’

  There were more muffled words as he pulled the tracksuit on. I bound his hands and feet again and pushed him onto the bed.

  ‘Stay still and this won’t happen too often.’ I smacked him again with the sap. ‘Understand that?’

  He sucked air furiously and gave one stiff nod.

  ‘Good. Each time you move too much or make any noise, I’ll hit you again.’

  He nodded vigorously.

  Something moved in my peripheral vision; Carol, braced in the doorway, arms folded, and a look of satisfaction on her face. I didn’t know what Hedges had done to her in the past, but she was enjoying seeing him suffer.

  In the kitchen, I watched her stir sugar into my coffee as if everything was completely normal. She handed me the mug, followed me into the lounge, where we sat on the overstuffed suite.

  ‘Take it seriously, Carol. Underestimating who or what you are up against is a great way to fuck things.’

  ‘He looked pretty harmless out of his lawyer’s suit.’

  ‘He’s not. We’ll pull this off by being disciplined, not half-arsed. I’ll check him every fifteen minutes. We make the call to Brookes at nine o’clock. Until then, sit back and relax. Read a book, watch TV, but keep away from him.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Sniff around.’

  I spent the afternoon in the office and after three hours struck gold. Hedges kept a diary and a black journal. The diary held many entries detailing where he’d met and been paid off by known underworld criminals, where he’d paid off judges to have a case thrown out or refuse a subpoena. The black book was explosive. He’d recorded times and places of large drug deliveries and who was involved. Same with contract hits. He had times, places, and who financed it. If I showed one of those books to Brookes, he would have no trouble believing it was Hedges behind the blackmailing. I would only pull them out as a last resort. They were much more valuable to me if I could find a way of using that information.

  Carol walked in just as I hid the books on a high shelf.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Lots of legalese bullshit. You ready to eat?’

  ‘Always. Are you going to feed him?’ She nodded towards the stairs.

  ‘He doesn’t need food.’

  I checked Hedges again. He’d wriggled himself to the top of the bed and was propped up against the headboard. The tape was still firmly holding his wrists and ankles.

  ‘You know where you are, don’t you?’ He nodded angrily. ‘I’m going to ask you to do one thing for me later tonight. If you do exactly as I say, no more, and no less, you’ll come through this okay, be safe and relaxed in your own bed tomorrow morning. Understand?’ Again, he nodded. I went back to the kitchen where Carol was cooking spaghetti.

  ‘You could have warned me about the stink in the bathroom.’

  ‘Why did you think he was walking through the house naked and soaking wet? Just to thrill you?’

  ‘Takes more than that to thrill me, Micky.’

  I went back to the office, grabbed the two books, and took them to the Audi, where I hid them inside the back seat. The car carried the stink of Hedges. I found a hose and washed out the trunk, leaving the lid open to air. I had another look at the Jag, thinking of ways I could keep it. I knew it was stupid, but I hated to leave it there when I could steal it.

  It was four o’clock when we sat at the table to eat. She’d opened a bottle of red, poured into crystal glasses. There was no way I was drinking more than a glass, but it occurred to me that if Carol was loosened up a bit it might help. I hadn’t picked her as a cook, but the food was surprisingly good.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked between mouthfuls of spaghetti washed down with wine.

  ‘Fine. He’s softened up and will do as he’s told.’ I watched her push another pile of spaghetti into her mouth. ‘You hate him, don’t you?’

  She wound more spaghetti around her fork, swallowed, and said, ‘He’s an arsehole. The world will be a better place without him.’

  ‘What did he do to you?’

  ‘He’s done plenty of things to plenty of people. How’d you like it?’ She stabbed her fork towards my plate.

  I dumped another handful of parmesan on the top and ground black pepper over it. ‘Surprisingly good.’

  ‘What’s surprising? You think working girls can’t cook?’

  It was a diversion and I let it go. The banter flew back and forth throughout the meal. When we had seconds, I topped her glass up for the third time.

  After we’d eaten, I went up and taped Hedges to the bed. I threatened to hit him with the sap again if he moved, told him I’d be watching constantly.

  I took a charcoal suit, white shirt and a pair of black shoes from the wardrobe, dressed and went downstairs. Carol flinched when she first saw me, and then laughed. ‘Where are you going, hot-shot?’

  ‘Not me: we. Get tidied up.’

  ‘In what? I only packed an overnight bag, you know.’

  ‘Just get yourself as presentable as you can. We’re checking into a hotel.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? What am I going to wear? I can’t go like this.’

  ‘Go look through all the closets. Improvise. And stay away from him.’

  When she came down five minutes later, I was surprised by what she’d achieved—silk shirt hanging on the outside of turned-up suit pants with a cashmere sweater over her shoulders. She did a 360, smiled coquettishly.

  ‘Well done. Put the TV on some crass channel and turn up the volume, then mee
t me in the garage.’ I checked on Hedges again. He seemed to be sleeping.

  When I walked into the garage, Carol was waiting in the Audi. She looked confused when I got into the XJ12, then she shimmied over and slid into the red leather seat.

  ‘Isn’t this a bit risky, using this car?’

  ‘I thought you got off on risk and this would be a treat.’

  She ran her blood-red fingertips lightly across the walnut dash.

  ‘It’s beautiful, almost sexy. Let’s go!’

  We rolled out into the twilight; the V12 was smooth, humming like a 200-horsepower sewing machine. I wanted it.

  The ride was over all too soon. We approached central Sydney and the Sheraton Hotel, parked in an underground car park, a few blocks away. I took two suitcases from the trunk and hailed a cab.

  We checked into a small suite for two nights as Mr and Mrs DeWitt.

  ‘What’s in the suitcases?’ Carol asked as we entered the elevator.

  The doors slid shut. ‘Clothes, books, guns; I thought it might look a bit suss arriving without any baggage.’

  She placed a hand on the mirror behind me, leaned in close and said in a sultry voice, ‘What did you pack for me, Mr DeWitt?’

  ‘Some trainers, a tracksuit, and a .38.’

  She grinned and moved away. ‘I guess the .38 might come in useful.’

  The hotel suite was elegant, and for eight-hundred a night, it should have been.

  Carol went straight for the mini-bar, poured two Scotches and handed me one. She raised hers in salute. ‘Mud in ya eye.’

  ‘Mud,’ I said, raising my glass. We knocked them back in one hit. It was cheap Red Label and burned like rubbing alcohol. ‘That’s it for now. We can drink later; until then we need clear heads. Go take a shower while I order room service.’

  ‘I don’t need a shower.’

  ‘Take one anyway. It’s what women do when they arrive in a swank place like this.’

  ‘Speaking from experience, Micky?’

  ‘Sure, now go take a fucking shower.’

  She undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor, took a folded robe from the shelf, and walked naked to the bathroom. ‘Is this how they do it—in your experience?’