‘Why did he give you this?’
‘I told you. To tide us over.’
‘Charity?’ spat Lorcan as Dylan fetched the money, waving the bundled notes around like a colourful fan.
‘You were asking for it anyway,’ said Naiyana, frustrated by his obtuseness. ‘Isn’t it better that I get it?’
‘I offered to work with them, not get a handout.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to tell you this,’ she said, though not in the least bit sorry, ‘but they don’t want you working with them. I’m amazed they even care after what you did to their machine.’
Naiyana watched Lorcan’s focus turn to Dylan as he rifled the edges of the bills. Even in the middle of the desert he was led by cash, greedy for profit. They had grown so far apart. She wanted to save her family. He wanted to save himself.
98 Emmaline
There was silence and shocked expressions around the table. Except for Barker who just nodded as if his suspicions had been verified. He always thought that there was something off about Chester Grant. That he looked and acted a little too poster-boy for a politician. Barker had never understood why anyone would fight for the rights of the constituents above their own. When Rispoli pointed out that he should be doing the same as a policeman, Barker shook his head disdainfully, as if his younger colleague was an idiot.
Emmaline got word from Zhao that their request to put Chester Grant and Nikos Iannis under watch had been cleared. Zhao would lead on this. Any suspicious movements or actions would be noted, even though they couldn’t detain them. Not without solid evidence linking them to the deaths.
She returned to what they had.
‘So we know that two trucks met on Keenan’s Run. And from the number of tracks not just once.’
Then it clicked. She recalled the information she had got from Bobby Marley.
‘A kid in town claimed he had spotted Naiyana west of Hurton meeting someone with a beard. We can assume that it wasn’t anyone from town.’
‘And why is that?’ asked Oily.
‘Because otherwise we would have a name, or the boy wouldn’t have mentioned it at all.’
‘Keenan’s Run is west of the town too.’
‘Yes, he claims to have seen them just off the road. But what if they had been heading to Keenan’s Run and the quiet spot they had discovered? Around the back of that hill.’
‘They didn’t want anyone to see,’ shrugged Barker. ‘We know that because no one in Hurton seems to have known that the miners were even out there.’
‘Yes,’ said Emmaline. ‘So why go all the way out there and risk being seen en route?’
‘Because they were trying to hide something from those in Kallayee, not the people in Hurton,’ said Rispoli, slapping his hand off the van, causing it to rattle.
‘Exactly,’ said Emmaline. ‘Naiyana Maguire was meeting Ian Kinch out there. More than once.’
‘As in having an affair?’ said Oily.
Emmaline nodded. ‘It looks it.’
‘But how do we prove it?’
‘We get a confession,’ said Emmaline. ‘If they’re still alive.’
99 Lorcan
He had eventually wrenched the money from his son’s hand. Neither of them were elated with this development but he couldn’t afford for it to be lost down one of the holes in the yard.
The next day he woke up early and left for Hurton. He bought some bricks and cement dust, more to rub the money in Mallon’s face than for any building plans. Show both him and his snide son that he didn’t need credit. Despite his attempts to goad them, Mallon and his son remained in annoyingly good spirits. Cash was king after all.
When he had left Kallayee earlier he hadn’t quite decided his next move. But handing over the money to the old vulture behind the register swung it for him. He wanted to be the one getting cash forced into his hand. And not just a measly few bucks either.
With the materials in the back of the ute he headed for Wisbech, hitting a hundred and forty and feeling like a lawbreaker, a man not to be messed with. He needed the swagger, he needed the backbone it supplied.
The meeting with Nikos had been arranged for the same place as before. Durston Park. Having charged down there, he parked up and watched from across the road. He didn’t want to get there first. That would look desperate. Though the state of his unwashed clothes would probably give that away. He observed a swathe of people enter and leave the park, studying each one. None of them looked like Nikos. Lorcan was confident he wouldn’t send an associate. Nikos wanted his slimy hands on the information. This was personal.
Eleven o’clock rolled around. Time to stick or twist. Stick with the trickle of charity money from Ian and maybe squeeze a little more if it came to it, or deal with Nikos, get rich but acquire an enemy for life. He knew all the rumours about who Nikos and Georgios were and what they had done. Which was fine when he was making them money. Now he was stealing it.
100 Lorcan
On the way back to Kallayee he called into a rest stop for a stiff one to calm his nerves. Nikos would be pissed that Lorcan had stood him up. Lorcan would get word to him through Phil that he had destroyed the evidence and that he wasn’t looking to sell it. No hard feelings. He doubted it would work.
He was about to set off when another traveller pulled into the stop. Hitched to the back of his sedan was a trailer and a quad bike, a ‘For Sale’ sign looped around the handlebars.
Lorcan stared at it. It reminded him of an old quad his aunt and uncle had bought for him as a kid. His parents had hated it; too fast and too dangerous for their liking.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ he asked.
The owner looked up, the nozzle of the pump stuck in the sedan, humming to himself as he filled it. He glanced at the quad then back.
‘Nothing. Bought a new one, so don’t need this one.’
Lorcan didn’t need it either. But he was sick of denying himself luxuries. ‘How much?’
‘Couple of hundred and you can take it. Saves me dragging it up to Leonora.’
* * *
He unloaded the quad from the back of the ute as Nee glared at him. Dylan was jumping up and down in excitement that they had a motorbike. It was the happiest Lorcan had seen him since before Christmas.
‘Cost me one-fifty,’ said Lorcan, irritated that he felt the need to explain himself.
‘And the stuff for the house?’
‘I got that too. Cement dust and bricks. I can repair the roof beam myself.’
He could see that she wasn’t impressed.
‘And what do we use it for?’
‘I can drag stuff behind it. Move things around. I can take it to town. Leave you the ute.’
‘Really?’ she said, perking up. Offered exclusive use of the family vehicle. ‘Are you sure it runs?’
It had worked fine at the rest stop. But he decided to lie instead.
‘I better make sure.’
Straddling the machine, he started it up. It was advanced in years and the drive chain was too noisy but he didn’t care. It would be fun. Especially in a town all to himself.
Revving the engine, he sped towards the crossroads, hitching a left past the tunnel house. On the return journey, a nervous and angered Ian, Stevie and Mike emerged from the house to glare at him.
He zoomed back towards his own house, grinning at the speed and the warm air dashing through his hair. He felt alive and free. A kid again. Naiyana stood with her hands on her hips watching him with disdain. So distracted she didn’t see Dylan dart for the middle of the road, past her before she could reach for him.
But Lorcan could see him, right in his path. Leaning his weight to the side he tried to steer the heavy quad away. Still he got closer, the bike refusing to change direction in a hurry, the steering old, lazy and stubborn.
At the last moment Dylan must have sensed the danger and paused, Nee dragging him away as Lorcan flew past.
Coming back, Lorcan’s wide grin had transferred to his so
n who bounced from foot to foot with glee, in awe of his father. He was grasped firmly by Nee who shouted that he hadn’t picked up anything to eat and that she would have to go to town. Ignoring her, he continued past.
As he sped towards the tunnel house again, Ian was standing in the middle of the road. Lorcan stood on the brakes, performing a controlled fishtail that released another pleasing burst of endorphins. He still had it. His youth. Today had been a good day.
‘What are you doing?’ shouted Ian over the shuddering engine.
In response Lorcan revved the bike. He didn’t want to stop. If Ian was going to get in his way, then he would flatten him.
Stevie and Mike watched from the side, equally frustrated. If it had been Mike not Ian in the middle of the road, Lorcan wondered if he would have stopped at all.
‘That money was for the house.’
‘I bought what I needed. This will help,’ said Lorcan. ‘I can move stuff with it.’
‘Then get to work and quit messing around.’
‘Everyone needs a break. Besides no one is going to think anything is wrong if we – me, Nee and Dylan – are happy and enjoying life. We are your best cover – keep us happy and you’ll all be fine.’
‘And if we don’t?’
Lorcan revved the engine again and pulled away, swerving around Ian and off to the edge of town, whooping all the way.
101 Mike Andrews
As they watched the cloud of dust following Lorcan, Mike stared at Ian. Eventually he turned and caught his eye.
‘I have to go,’ said Ian, hoisting a canvas bag over his shoulder.
‘Leaving us with him?’ said Mike.
‘Don’t react.’
‘He didn’t listen to anything you said,’ said Stevie.
‘I’ll insist tonight,’ said Ian, ‘but I’ve lined up another deal.’
‘How will you insist?’ asked Mike.
‘You won’t be seeing him on a bike for a while,’ said Ian.
There was an undercurrent of malice that suggested Mike ask no questions. That was fine. The only thing he would insist was that Ian told him everything. Every bone-crunching detail. But not everyone was happy with this.
‘You aren’t going to run, are you?’ asked Stevie.
It was something Mike hadn’t considered, too eager to know what might befall Lorcan to think through the possibilities. This was what Stevie had brought to the lab as well, thoroughness and application.
‘No,’ said Ian.
‘If you shaft us…’ said Mike.
‘There’s one shaft you need to keep your mind on and it’s that one,’ said Ian, pointing to the tunnel. ‘You’ve both seen the money. One security box each. One key each. Split evenly. Plus as usual, I’m selling half there and keeping half here.’
This had been the plan from the start. Keep half behind in Kallayee. Both as security in case Ian was arrested and as a commodity they could take should they need to leave in a hurry. They each had a burner phone too just in case.
‘Let’s see,’ said Mike, spitting his used gum into a wrapper.
‘You don’t trust me?’
He tilted his head, then followed Stevie and Ian to the disused coal bunker, attached to the side of the house but minus the original sloping roof. Lifting up the board he shone the torch inside.
‘Happy?’ said Ian, dropping the board hurriedly, as Lorcan sped past again.
From the surly expressions it was obvious that no one was happy but it was good to know that should Ian unexpectedly decide enough was enough, their safety net was within reach.
Making his way to the ute Ian threw the canvas bag into the cab. Past the crossroads Mike watched as Naiyana got ready to leave at the same time. He and Stevie would be alone with Lorcan and his son for a while. He couldn’t hold back the grin.
102 Mike Andrews
As they watched the two vehicles leave, he looked at Stevie.
Neither wanted to go back down the tunnel yet. There was a wall to pick and rubble to clear as well as installing netting above their heads to protect both them and the equipment from rockfalls, something that remained just as terrifying now as it did the first time he had been caught in one.
Lorcan passed again accompanied by the ripping buzz of an engine struggling in the heat and dust to escort its crazed cowboy through town.
‘Just one dig,’ said Mike, smearing the sweat from his brow as he clacked the gum. ‘One dig to keep me going.’
Rather than the instant dismissal he was expecting, Stevie seemed to be considering it. Mike wanted to goad him about the charity. Some petty gratification.
‘One dig?’ said Stevie, doubt etched on his face.
Mike smiled, despite himself. One dig. Or maybe two. He might struggle to hold himself back.
‘Some revenge for breaking our equipment.’
Stevie shook his head. ‘Leave it. We’ll make the money back, Mikey. The man has nothing but a broken house and broken dreams.’
It was delivered without glee, the honest truth from an honest friend. It was a persuasive argument. He shouldn’t lower himself to Lorcan’s level. Even if it would have felt good.
‘Okay, let’s get back to it,’ said Mike with a smile, replacing the gum in his mouth with a new piece.
* * *
Two hours later and the rubble had been cleared, a couple of new stanchions in place, the netting affixed and some rock cracked by hand that had a few slim veins of gold striated through it. Maybe a couple of hundred once they put it through the machines. A tough but profitable couple of hours.
They made for the light. The sun was on the way down for the day. Nearly time to close up shop and head into Wisbech for a mini blowout.
The first thing that he noticed was the quiet. At first the endless silence of Kallayee had annoyed him but after suffering through the ear-splitting drone of the machines it was divine. But silence wasn’t what he had been expecting this evening.
Stevie voiced his thoughts.
‘You think he ran out of fuel?’
‘Hopefully he crashed,’ said Mike, smiling at the image. Insult and injury to Lorcan Maguire was the only thing that seemed to motivate him at present.
He sauntered out into the fading sun to stretch. The deep breath filled his lungs with air. And caught there. He spied the stationary quad. Parked beside the coal bunker.
103 Mike Andrews
He broke into a run, passing a confused Stevie.
‘The bunker,’ he shouted.
Stevie overtook him before they reached the coal bunker. Lorcan was there, a canvas bag on the ground beside him.
‘Stop!’ shouted Stevie as if calling out to a common thief.
‘I’m going to kick the living shit out of you,’ yelled Mike. And he would. Two against one. Even Ian couldn’t complain about that once they told him what Lorcan had been attempting.
Then the rifle appeared from the bag.
Mike stopped as suddenly as he could, skidding in the dirt, all thoughts of attacking Lorcan as scattered as his nerves. The penknife in his pocket would be useless against a rifle. He glanced at Stevie. His friend sported the same frozen look of fear. A look that betrayed that he didn’t know what to do. Their own rifle was in the tunnel, stashed by the steps. Too far away to be of any use.
‘Put the gun down, Lorcan,’ said Stevie, slowly.
There was an unsettling smile on Lorcan’s face that Mike was trying to read. It looked demented. He hoped it wasn’t.
‘Kick the living shit out of me, eh?’ he said, swinging the bag onto his shoulder and grabbing the rifle in two hands.
Mike found that he had nothing to say. Despite his bravado, now that shit was going down, he was lost.
Stevie inched closer to Lorcan. ‘You can’t take that,’ he said, polite but firm.
‘I am,’ said Lorcan. ‘And leaving with my family.’
‘We can find a way,’ said Stevie, his hand up, pleading for calm.
‘We tried. You shut
me out.’
Mike found his voice. It wasn’t as strong as he had hoped. ‘You can’t rob us,’ he said, the whimper diseasing the words.
Turning to him, Lorcan said loudly, ‘I can and I am.’
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Stevie pounced.
Mike yelled at his friend to stop but the gunshot drowned it all out. Stevie slumped to the side, blood pouring out of a wound in his chest. There were no moans, no final, rasping gasps of air, no goodbyes. Just dead.
Mike stared at his friend. Just like words had failed him earlier, now his muscles failed him too. He couldn’t move. He stared at Lorcan. The rifle was still pointed towards Stevie but lowered, aimed at the ground. If he attacked now he could disarm Lorcan. If he moved right now. But his feet felt glued to the earth.
In the end Lorcan moved first, the bag of gold slipping off his shoulder to the dirt. His face betrayed the shock of what he had done. Then he broke into a run, away from the scene, back in the direction of his house.
Mike’s feet finally moved. He ran to his friend but could immediately see that there was no hope. All life had gone from the eyes, the blood seeping into the earth, creating a dark pool underneath him.
He looked up. Lorcan was still running, the coward fleeing the scene. The crippling fear left him. Revenge took over. Returning to the tunnel he grabbed the rifle. Checking it was loaded he made for the bastard’s house.
Charging through town he stalked up to the front door still not quite aware of what he was doing. He had never fired a gun before, he’d had no need to in the quiet suburbs of Brisbane; nothing to shoot for there but the highest grades possible. Grades that give you an education. Grades that are meant to shield you from ever having to wield a rifle in anger.
Taking cover, he peeked in the living-room window. It was empty, the air quiet, prickling with tension. The kitchen was the same. Only a little more airy given the gap in the roof. He made a calculation. Lorcan was holed up in the back with the boy and the rifle. A firm press on the front door determined that it was closed, maybe even wedged shut. He wondered what to do. Climbing in the window was possible but left him a sitting duck. He wasn’t built, designed or trained to stalk prey. Especially prey that could shoot back. And as much as he hated Lorcan Maguire’s guts, he didn’t want to shoot the boy by accident.
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