Wyatt - 06 - The Fallout

by Garry Disher

  He began to formulate questions and answers. At midday he strolled through to a cafeteria, bought a sandwich, and prowled the perimeter of the university, mentally mapping the configuration of roads and buildings. The campus wore a kind of down-at-heel, blue-collar innocence. It wasnt geared to anticipating hold-ups, burglaries or heists of any kind, only pilfering from the union building shops and theft from the library.

  By 2 oclock Wyatt was on a different bench at a different point of the main lawn. He watched, read a newspaper, sometimes ambled across to the mens in the library basement. The newspaper carried an update on Steers break from prison. Hed first caught the story from a discarded Mercury on the ferry. Since then a man matching Steers description had disappeared near a roadblock in the Western District. Wyatt had no thoughts on the matter of Steer other than that, no matter where Steer went to ground, hed be difficult to find. Hed once trained with Steer, and could attest to the mans gifts.

  * * * *

  Twenty-two

  Ninety minutes after breaking Steer from the remand prison, they had been back at the house in Warrandyte. The drive in darkness across from the Hume Freeway had been hell for Raymond. He had nothing in common with the Meickle woman and all she could talk about was Steer, carrying on about how shed given up everything for him, would walk through fire and water, so what was going on? Why had he cleared out like that? Where was he going? When would he be back? Would he be back? On and on.

  They had left the car at the rear of the little house and gone inside. There she had clutched Raymonds arm. Ray? He will be back, wont he?

  Raymond shook her off. How the hell would I know? Im going to bed.

  Wait with Denise until I get back, that had been Steers instruction. One thing was for sure, Raymond was earning his money on this particular job.

  The next day had been hell, rained all day, and now a new day was dawning, hell all the way, cooped up together, no topic in common except Steer. The Meickle woman was all pink and damp, from two days of bawling her eyes out. She looked like some small, hairless albino dog, Raymond thought.

  I gave up my career for him, she said.

  Raymond flicked through his Jaguar Car Club magazine. He didnt know why hed joined. Okay if you wanted to wear a tweed sports coat and go on a fun run through the Dandenong Ranges, stop in a picnic spot and have your picture taken for the magazine. Okay if you wanted to be buttonholed by some little twerp from the social committee. Okay if you wanted to read a blow-by-blow description in jokey prose about changing the diff oil in a 68 S-type. He yawned massively. The sun was pouring through the glass wall at the rear of the house. Hed slept well, had toast and coffee, and here it was, only 9 in the morning. The long hours lay ahead like a sentence. Couldnt even call anyone on the phone; it had been cut off while the owners were away. Raymond had the patience to stake out a country bank for a day or more, no problem, but he didnt know if he could just sit around like this for much longer. Casing a bank was different. There you had something to aim for, to look forward to. Here it was all up in the air.

  We could be waiting for nothing, Denise said. He just used me.

  Raymond stood, prowled the perimeter of the little room, looked out upon the forest with his fists crammed into the back pockets of his Levis. Look, hes probably got some dough stashed away somewhere. Gone to get it.

  Denise Meickle shook her head emphatically behind him. He saw it like a moon reflected in the glass. Chaffey takes care of Tonys money matters.

  That was interesting. Raymond turned. Chaffey is Steers banker?

  Its safer that way.

  Huh.

  Raymond sank into an armchair, hunted in the cane magazine rack for something better to read. He turned to the back of the New Idea, looked at the candid shots of the rich and famous. Fergies tits, Richard Gere shopping incognito, Australias own Nicole Kidman on a beach with her sister and a heap of kids.

  Still only 9.30. Want another coffee, Denise?

  I mean, how long do we wait? When do we know theres no point in waiting for him?

  Got me there, Denise.

  He found the Maxwell House and spooned coffee and sugar into a mug. Turned on the kettle, then discovered it was switched off at the wall. Lunch. At least there was that to look forward to. He peered in the refrigerator. They had to shop. Get him out of the house at least.

  Denise had trailed after him into the kitchen. She climbed onto a stool at the bench. Or what if hes had an accident? What then? Hell be arrested. If hes hurt, hell need me, hell call for me. Ill have to come, even if it means Ill be arrested as well.

  Are you mad? Theres no fucking way that Im going to gaol for your boyfriend.

  Raymond slammed the cutlery drawer. Jesus Christ, what a stupid bitch. We need some things at the shop, he said finally.

  Ill stay here, Denise said complacently. He may come back.

  Raymond hadnt intended to take her with him in the first place. Anything you need in particular?

  A paper, she said. She gave a coy little shiver. I want to see if they spelt my name right. They could even have pictures.

  Raymond went cold. Pictures. He forced himself to relax. Sure, theyd have pictures of Steer and Denise; no reason why theyd have a picture of him.

  And orange juice and vodka, she said.

  Good. Drink yourself into a stupor. Got any cash?

  Denise turned sourly and went to her room. She came back, carelessly shoved a folded fifty at him, as if offering a tip to an undeserving waiter. I want change.

  Youre a sweetheart, Denise. Id go for you myself if you werent already taken.

  The reply strangled in her throat and the tears spilled. She turned away from him and Raymond shrugged and left the house.

  In a shopping centre over the next ridge he bought a Herald Sun, groceries and vodka. Steer and Denise were on page three. The photo of Denise was ten years out of date. Her aunt in Cranbourne begged her to notify the police that she was still alive. There was no-one who wanted Steer back. Raymond found himself referred to simply as the getaway driver.

  He sat in the Jag and used the car phone. Got the answering machine at Vallances flat in Hastings; no Vallance or Roden registered at the Windsor. Raymond felt frustration begin to settle in his bones. If Allie had been around he could have slipped down to the city this afternoon, fucked her brains out for a couple of hours, been back in time to babysit Denise before it got dark. He looked at his watch. Only another eight hours of daylight to get through.

  Raymond drove back to the house, Allie stirring in his minds eye. There would be time, if he could find her. He had until midnight before he was supposed to take Steer to meet the coastal freighterthats if Steer was going to show up. Raymond had his doubts. Steer was probably well away by now. Hed done a runner, had his own agenda, wanted to dump old Denise without having to listen to a lot of crap first.

  At one oclock Denise said, two vodkas under her belt, Where are you going?

  Out, Raymond said.

  Where? Tony might come.

  Face it Denise, hes long gone.

  Her face dissolved again. Dont say that. Wait with me, please?

  He unhooked her stumpy fingers from his sleeve. Ill be back early evening, okay? I cant hang around here all day. Got things to do. Got a life of my own, you know.

  Youve been paid to look after me.

  Raymond pointed at the vodka bottle. Suck more piss. Dull the pain.

  He left her crumpling behind him and whisked the Jag down into the city. Called at his flat, slipped on his good gear, went to the casino, feeling as eager as a kid at school who had the hots for someone.

  But Allie wasnt there. Nor was Vallance.

  And so he sat at his table and, in a cold rage, gambled away a third of the fifteen thousand dollar fee that Chaffey had given him to spring Steer from gaol, leaving him short for the deposit hed promised Vallance.

  The Warrandyte house was in darkness when he got back. Raymonds mood by now was fuck this for a joke, an
d he went in with Denises shopping-list Ruger in his hand, jacking a round into the chamber, screwing on the suppressor.

  The place stank, as if shed been drinking all day, shut away in misery, too depressed to turn the lights on when the sun went down.

  Unless the cops had been. Unless Steer had some little surprise lined up for him.

  Raymond edged through the dark house, letting the bitter disappointments of his afternoon give way to hair-trigger nerve and preparedness. He heard the floorboards, saw the shape poised against the moonlit window, and raised the Ruger to fire.

  But it was Denise, foggy with booze. She slurred her lovers name. Tony?

  Raymond scraped his hand over the wall, looking for the light switch. He couldnt find it, so let his eyes adjust to the tricky light of the moon filtering through the crowding trees outside the house. No such luck.

  She came across the room, only half comprehending him. Ray? You brought Tony with you?

  Face it, Denise, hes done a runner.

  She wailed. Raymond had never heard anyone wail before. It acted on him like a migraine, like fingernails screeching down a blackboard, and he put both hands to his head to make it go away. The Ruger knocked his skull. Ouch. Will you fucking quit that?

  She stopped a metre away, her mouth wide, tears glistening on her face. Hes hurt somewhere, I just know it.

  Get your act together, Denise.

  She made to turn away. I should ring the hospitals.

  Raymond yanked her around by the arm. Yeah, right, ring the cops as well while youre at it.

  She stood miserably then gathered herself and said, with drunken cunning: Youve got a phone in your car.

  Forget it.

  She came chest to chest with him. Just a couple of calls. I wont give our names. Please? Pretty please?

  Revulsion welled in Raymond. He pushed her hands away. You disgust me.

  She changed again, fierce and concentrated now, intent on prising the Ruger away from him. You cant talk to me like that.

  They seemed to perform a kind of shuffling dance across the floorboards. At one point the suppressor on the barrel of the Ruger flipped up and smacked bruisingly against Raymonds cheek. Christ, will you bloody well

  He should have switched the gun to safety when he had the chance. He should have shoved it away in his waistband. It went phut in the tangle of their hands and Denises head snapped back. Her fingers clenched, relaxed, and she dropped to the carpet like a stone.

  He found the light switch and with the return of his senses, Raymond saw that Denise had been shot smack bang in the centre of her face. His first reaction was to swallow, once, again. He opened his mouth to speak. He shivered, looked around for help.

  A moment later he shook off his attack of nerves. He thought, serve the bitch right, she was redundant anyway.

  The more he thought about it, the more he realised that what they didnt know wouldnt hurt themChaffey, Steer, the police. Yeah, shed simply decided she couldnt hack the pressure any longer and shot through, caught the first bus to Queensland.

  He wondered if he was losing his edge a little. Hed always felt in control before. Allie Roden, the treasure they were doing something to him.

  The jitters came when he wiped the place clean, buried Denise with her stuff and drove back to his flat. The jitters threatened to shake him apart when, as he turned the key in his front door, a hand clamped on his arm and a voice growled, Raymond.

  * * * *

  Twenty-three

  Take it easy, son, Wyatt said. Didnt mean to scare you.

  Raymond breathed out heavily. Youre a sight for sore eyes. Come in.

  They walked through to the kitchen, where Wyatt peered keenly at his nephew under the unremitting fluorescent light. Are you okay?

  There was a bruise on Raymonds face. He wore a distracted air, an edge of hysteria under it. He gathered himself. Im fine. Rough night, thats all.

  Six oclock in the morning. A long night.

  Yeah, well, you know, Raymond said.

  Theres blood on your sleeve.

  Wyatt saw his nephew start violently, turn his shirtsleeve this way and that. This guy tried to mug me.

  Where?

  Raymond blinked, grew more concentrated. King Street, outside one of the clubs. I fought the bastard off. Anyhow, what about you? What gives with the haircut?

  Wyatt rubbed his shaven dome. Im a known face in this city.

  Raymond shrugged, losing interest. Then he yawned widely and stretched his back. Rough night.

  Wyatt said, I want you to take a shower, then have something to eat, then well talk.

  Im right.

  No youre not.

  Raymond weaved out of the room. The shower, food and coffee gave him the sharp edge that Wyatt was looking for. Half an hour later they sat at a table in the harsh kitchen light, Wyatt with a pad and a pen at his elbow.

  Fight. I went to look at the building where the paintings are stored. It can be done. He drew rapidly. These are possible exits. As you can see, the place is like a sieve.

  Raymond gulped a second cup of coffee. Chaffey mentioned nightwatchmen.

  Id rather deal with a nightwatchman than cameras and alarms, Wyatt said.

  What do we do if it goes wrong?

  Wyatt looked at him. Lets say you walk into one of your bush banks to rob it. Theres a cop at the counter, paying his mortgage. What do you do?

  Raymond shrugged. Turn around and walk away from it.

  Exactly.

  There was a pause.

  Whats on your mind, Ray?

  Just going through the scenarios. We could shoot through, not bother with Chaffey. I mean, fifty grand each, its not much. Wed get more selling the collection ourselves. Or, he said, grinning, I could shoot through on you, take the collection with me.

  Wyatt didnt take the joke. Id hunt you down. Never cheat your partners. They have very long memories. When its an institution theres nothing personal at stake. With a partner there is, and if hes like me, hell hunt you down.

  Raymond shrugged. He was full of sulky gestures, like a teenager out to stir an adult. Why not invest the paintings in some coke, some pink rock from Thailand? Cut it, sell it, wed get a million back easy, maybe more.

  Wyatt seemed to snap like a coiled spring. His expression was direct and unnerving as he grabbed Raymond by the throat. No drugs.

  Lighten up, Unc. Just a joke.

  I never deal with that stuff.

  Maybe you should go with the flow. Youre out of date.

  Wyatt knew that his nephew was stirring. Even so, a rare feeling welled up in him. He wanted to slap some sense into his nephew. If Raymond were anyone else hed have walked away.

  But he said nothing, just let the heat dissipate.

  Raymond felt the force of Wyatts stare. He said uneasily, Its okay. I was only joking. Im not a user or anything.

  Good.

  After another pause, Raymond asked, genuinely wanting to know: How come you dont pull the big jobs any more? You loaded or something, just keeping your hand in for the fun of it? These paintings, for fifty grand, hardly your style.

  The answer rose unbidden in Wyatt. Im tired.

  Raymond stared at him, his brow creasing. He seemed to be touched a little with panic and confusion, as though Wyatt had identified a hard, necessary and inescapable fact of existence. You? No way known.

  Wyatt said, All right. Not tired. But there are two things going against me: technology and time. Its getting harder to break into places, and the people I used to trust are all dead and gone.

  As if to bolster Wyatts spirits, Raymond clapped his hands together and said, I wont let you down.

  Good. Time to let this Chaffey character know.

  Raymond stared at the wall, grimaced as if swamped by bad thoughts. Chaffey?

  Its his job, Wyatt said, frowning. Dont you want to see him?

  Raymond said vaguely, Shes jake, no worries.

  Raymond phoned, and Wyatt noticed that he leapt
right in, choking Chaffey off, only letting him suggest somewhere to meet.

  It was the grounds of Montsalvat, the artists colony in Eltham. Chaffey had a ticket to an afternoon jazz concert, and met them on a grassy slope above the hall. It was a good place for a meeting, Wyatt thought, but Raymonds mood had changed again as theyd driven deeper into the hills, a reversal to his nervy distracted state, as if the trees and folds and gullies were populated by demons.