BECKER

by Gordon Reid

  As they went in, two female cops came out, smiling and talking. One was the senior constable who’d pulled Becker out of his car outside Evelyn’s place when they’d tried to escape Canberra. It had blown up. Not Canberra, but the old clanking and clunking Holden. It had been a good old car, 300-thousand on the clock.

  The woman in blue looked at him as they’d passed. He should have thanked her. She’d risked her life to save him. Had been awarded a medal for her bravery, so he’d heard. But, if he had, he’d have had to explain to Robyn.

  ‘Will this do, Harry? Out here? On the street?’ Then, as she sat: ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Oh, just a cop I knew.’

  ‘In Canberra?’

  It was a silly question, she knew. They were in Canberra.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. A girl had appeared with a menu, an order book, a bottle of water and two glasses.

  ‘Hullo, how are we today? What would you like?’

  They looked. ‘I’ll have the john dory,’ he said.

  ‘And you, ma’am?’

  ‘The same, please, and—’ She smiled, twinkling. ‘Orange cake,’ she said.’ If I may.’

  ‘And you, sir?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  Robyn laughed. ‘You remember?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘I didn’t want to eat too much,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want you to think me a pig. That day, our first date.’

  ‘I gobbled mine,’ he said. ‘Talking,’ he added.

  She rubbed a foot against his leg under the table. Then realised that it was the first time she’d ever done that with any man. Only sexy girls did things like that in public. But she did not care now.

  ‘I think I was in love with you then,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I used to look at you, when you’d come to the register with your shopping.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And when you went to another girl, I was sorry.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I used to wonder how old you were. And why you shopped after lunch. Used to wonder what sort of job you had. Must be a night worker, I thought. Perhaps a policeman. He looks like a policeman.’

  ‘What do policemen look like?’

  ‘Sure of themselves. And well-mannered. Men, you can trust. Firm but respectful. Not like—like—’

  His phone rang. He dragged it out, wondering.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Heard you were back,’ she said.

  He stood up slowly, suddenly apprehensive. He both wanted to, and did not want to, hear from Anastacia Babchuk. She had gone to Melbourne to kill someone. He feared the worst. She had done it. And she was going to tell him all about it. Knowing he would not talk, because they were in each other’s debt. Chook had saved his marriage by removing two dead bodies from the farm. While Chook herself would be in serious trouble, if he broke down under interrogation and told the police. You never knew when they might have heard something about two bodies, which had popped up somewhere.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, moving, only two or three steps away from Robyn. Pretending to be searching for a better signal.

  ‘Can you speak?’

  ‘Well, the reception’s not too good here. We’re on Bunda Street at—at—’

  ‘Gus’s place, I know.’

  ‘Do you? Yeah, well—’

  ‘Can you get away?’

  ‘Well, it’s a bit awkward. We’re here for a funeral, and—’

  ‘What time’s the funeral?’

  ‘Two thirty.’

  ‘At Norwood?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Can you get her to do some shopping?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘The time’s now five to one. I’ll be in El Rancho at one thirty.’

  ‘I… I don’t know about that.’ He looked around. The girl was coming with two plates, smiling.

  ‘Something has come up, Harry.’

  ‘Yeah? Well… I’ll see what I can do. I think… I think Robyn does want to do some shopping.’

  ‘El Rancho at one thirty,’ she said. ‘Enjoy your lunch.’

  He put the phone away and sat slowly. What had come up? Jesus, what now?

  Robyn was making room for the fish.

  ‘You guys not having anything to drink?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Coffee later,’ he said.

  ‘You look worried, Harry.’

  ‘Ah, some guy I used to know.’

  ‘Back here?’

  ‘Yeah, wants to buy me a drink.’

  ‘And I’m to do some shopping?’

  ‘Yeah, do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not, dear.’

  The El Rancho was the same, only worse—dark and subdued, not only the lighting but the mood. If you could call it a mood. The buffalo horns were still on a wall behind the bar and the pictures of rodeos and snow-covered peaks were the same. Chook was sprawled in a corner, long legs stuck out and one arm along the back of another chair. In her free hand was a whiskey glass. Becker remembered she drank Jack Daniels, bought one and went over. There were only two or three other women, plus the usual male lushes sitting there, hoping something would happen. But it rarely did.

  ‘How tall are you?’

  She almost smiled. ‘Six foot two and eyes of blue.’

  She did indeed have eyes of blue, the kind you couldn’t look at for more than a couple of seconds without looking away. The kind that could stare you down. Her leather jacket was open, zipped only at the waist. He glimpsed the butt of something nasty under her left arm. Maybe that was deliberate. Like she was saying to the whole bar, Any trouble and you’re dead. That was her habitual pose. Polly had once said that Chook was a kick boxer. And had added: If you want to give her any cheek, Harry, hang onto your teeth.

  ‘I once knew a girl,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘At school, back in Wagga. Must’ve been six feet.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She was coming along the street one day. Someone started chiacking her.’

  ‘Saying?’

  ‘Tall girls never get a bloke, so—’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They never get a poke!’

  She laughed. ‘Yeah, I used to get that, too. How did she react?’

  ‘Went crazy, raised her hands like a grizzly bear and went for us, teeth bared and brutal and bleeding. Or, we thought they soon would be.’

  ‘What’d you do?’

  ‘Ran like buggery.’

  She laughed. And tossed down her whiskey.

  ‘How old were you at this time?’

  ‘Twelve.’

  ‘Cheeky little bastard. ‘Nice to see you, Harry.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  She pulled in her legs, sat up and leaned forward, arms folded. But always leaving her right-hand fingers, or at least fingertips, just inside her open jacket. A habit, you might say.

  ‘Know a bloke called Barry Barnes?’

  Chapter 13

  Becker was surprised and relieved. They weren’t going to talk about Melbourne. They were going to talk about Barnes. After they’d wrapped up the job in the lane, he’d said it was a terrible shock, especially for Robyn. Scowcroft was a Vietnam vet and some of them went through hell, even thirty years ago. He’d been in love with her, but she was not interest in him. Disappointed love, that’s all it was. But Barnes hadn’t seemed to be interested in the details. He’d said, as he’d left, out of the corner of his mouth: I don’t need your fuckin’ money now. And had looked at him that way he had, aggressively with his little blue eyes going grey and washed out. And meaningfully, as if saying, Understand? Like the two-bit bully he was, and always would
be, to the end.

  ‘Yeah,’ Becker said, ‘he’s a sort of cousin. And a cop.’

  ‘What sort of a cousin?’

  ‘A second cousin on my mother’s side.’

  Chook smirked. She was a good smirker. ‘Not a good record, has he? Still a base-grade struggling after ten years.’

  ‘He’s not too bright.’

  ‘And not too careful, is he?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He talks too much. Word gets around. It’s his wife. Apparently, she can’t keep her mouth shut.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s working with some truckies, loaded with fruit and vegetables.’

  ‘Delivering here? In Canberra?’

  ‘All over the place. Even down in Melbourne.’

  Becker sat back. ‘So that’s it?’

  ‘That’s what?’

  ‘He was pestering me for money, twenty grand. Later he put it up to thirty, then forty. He was going to tell people what I’d done in Sydney. Even hinted he knew more than that.’

  ‘The bank and Evelyn?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘How would be know her husband was laundering money for the Mafia?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe some cop has been talking to him.’

  Chook shook her head. ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘that can happen.’ She flipped back the leather cover on her watch. It was one of those watches in a leather case like officers in old wartime movies used to consult as they counted down the time to going over the top.

  ‘Drink up, Harry.’

  He did so. ‘Hey, why are you, a Canberra cop, interested in Barry Barnes, a Wagga cop?’

  ‘I’m not a Canberra cop.’ Her left hand dived inside her jacket and came out with a new warrant card. She opened it with one finger. He saw a photo of her in civvies. There was the usual wording, but one word stood out: agent.

  ‘You’re a federal agent?’

  ‘Yeah, love undercover work, so they gave me a transfer.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Now I go everywhere, man, look at everything, man!’ She sang it like the Tenterfield Traveller did.

  ‘Promotion?’

  ‘Yeah, not bad.’

  ‘Sergeant?’

  ‘We don’t have ranks. Everyone’s an agent, like in the FBI. But the money’s good, equal to sergeant.’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘How long do we have?’

  ‘Another ten minutes.’

  ‘You haven’t said why you’re interested in Barnes.’

  She grinned or smirked or shook her head ruefully.

  ‘Some information came in,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘He’s doing a deal with truckies.’

  ‘He’s crazy. Those guys talk, when they’re caught overloaded or driving more than eleven hours.’

  ‘I know. They offer cops a deal, information for a little tolerance.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘Getting them to carry soft stuff.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘Only weed at this stage.’

  ‘So, that’s why he doesn’t need my help any longer?’

  ‘We’re still checking, but I may have to drop in on you some day, have another look around Wagga.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  Becker was scared. He didn’t want to see her again, not in Wagga, anyway. People would notice. Robyn might notice. Chook tended to stand out in a crowd.

  She was watching him, amused.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  She dropped her voice. Around them, people were staring. In a place like the El Rancho, there was little else to do. ‘You haven’t asked about Melbourne.’

  Becker had to swallow his fear. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘I looked up at that guy.’

  ‘The one in the lingerie shop? The fat man?’

  ‘He wasn’t fat. He was a short and grisly little nobody with a bad heart. And he wasn’t in Canberra that day they killed Torrence.’

  ‘How did his card get there, on the ground, under the light? By the lake?’

  ‘He lent it to someone.’

  ‘The fat man?’

  ‘Yeah, so his name would not appear on the passenger manifest.’

  ‘Pretty smart. But the fat man lost it. Which led you to the shopkeeper. Who was worried and told the fat man he had to get it back?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘So, what did you do?’

  ‘Some more checking, looked up company records. He doesn’t own the business.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘She does, his wife. He does the books.’

  ‘And what’s her name?’

  ‘Terracini.’

  Becker gulped. ‘Terracini?’

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘That’s Barnes’s wife’s name.’

  Chook shrugged. ‘Terracini? Common enough name among Italians, isn’t it? Could be related, though.’

  ‘Yeah, but what if they’re closely related?’

  ‘Where does this Mrs Barnes live?’

  ‘In Wagga, but she has family in Griffith.’

  ‘Does she, indeed?’

  ‘A connection?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Chook looked at her watch again. ‘You’ve got five minutes.’

  ‘What did you do? When you found the shop?’

  ‘Walked in and asked for a bra. The grubby little jerk was behind the counter, looking for something. He looked me up and down and said something to his wife, who came over. What size? she said. I said, what’s the biggest you’ve got? They looked at each other. I know I don’t have much up here, mostly pectorals, not fat. You’re not one of those funny men, are you? she said. Me? A transvestite? I said. We have some funny types come in, she said. Theatricals, they call themselves. You want to see my fanny? I said. In front of all these people? Two girls were serving women of all shapes and sizes and ages, behind displays and counters and fascinated smiles. The old bitch gasped in a modestly frantic way, no doubt thinking this could cost millions if I really was someone famous like Danny Larue. And up yours too, darling, I said, and walked out.’

  Becker laughed. ‘You didn’t blast anyone in Melbourne?’

  ‘Only some officious arsehole, who wanted to ticket me for parking in a Police Vehicles Only zone. It was outside the local cop shop. I am the police, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. Anyway, I was there on private business, and I didn’t want people to know why.’

  ‘Okay,’ Becker said. ‘I’d better be getting back.’

  ‘To Gus’s? Before she spots you. Jealous type, is she?’

  They got up and walked to the door. ‘She’s an angel.’ Becker couldn’t think of anything less corny. Chook put a hand on the door and pulled. It opened.

  ‘Thanks, Harry,’ she said. ‘This might be the link we need. I might call you again, put a little proposition to you. If you’re interested.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ He knew he had to do it, whatever it was she had in mind. He was tied to her now. ‘Well, Chook—’ He’d done it again. ‘I mean Stacey.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ She tapped him on a shoulder. ‘Thanks for seeing me.’

  ‘I’d better run before—,’ he began to say. Standing by the bin where it had all begun was his wife, smiling.

  ‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘Had a nice chat?’

  ‘Oh, ah—’ He didn’t know what to say. It was like being caught in bed with another woman. ‘Rob? Been for a walk?’

  ‘Went into David Jones, couldn’t think of anything to buy, came out, bought an ice cream and sat and watched the children on the merry-go-round.’

  ‘Ah, yeah, well, t
his is—’ Suddenly he couldn’t think of Chook’s name. He didn’t have to, Chook herself stepped forward, a hand out. ‘How are you, Robyn? I’m Anastacia.’

  Robyn was surprised. But she accepted the handshake, surprisingly gentle.

  ‘Anna—?’

  ‘Stacia, but you can call me Stacey. We used to work together. Where was that, Harry? Canberra?’

  He couldn’t think fast enough. His wife now knew about Chook. He’d have a lot of explaining to do.

  ‘Yeah, saw you two go into Gus’s and thought I’d try to say a word before you disappeared.’

  Robyn was studying her. ‘Were you the one at the back window—’

  ‘That’s right. Was passing and thought I’d drop in. Found he had a visitor, an old bloke looking for a lift to Wagga. Gave him one, sent him on his way. Wanted to get to Sydney. Didn’t have a cent. Mind wandering, I reckon.’

  ‘Oh, the poor man. He said he was Harry’s brother.’

  ‘Brother? Didn’t look anything like Harry, did he?’

  ‘I wonder who he was?’

  ‘We may never know.’

  Chook shrugged, grinning. She could look quite happy now and then. Very matey, very much in control. She shook with Becker.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Harry. So long Robyn. Must run.’

  Then she was off, vanishing in the lunchtime crowd. Always a crowd in Garema Place, even when it was empty. A crowd of memories. They walked back to the car.

  ‘What a tall woman,’ she said.

  ‘She’s a kick-boxer.’ He couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to say.

  Robyn Laughed. ‘A kick boxer? What on earth is that?’

  He did not answer, worried. Thinking about what she’d said: Wanted to get to Sydney. How did Chook know Alfredo had wanted to get to Sydney? Had in fact wanted to get to Los Angeles, people looking for him, afraid he’d talk. That was before the kid had turned up. Or had she turned up sometime before he’d appeared. Hopped out of sight, then crept in behind him. Then calmly executed him. Gave him one for Polly. But why wait so long, listening to the kid talk, let him put three slugs into Alfredo?