CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It took Gary an hour to fight through peak-hour traffic and reach his apartment. During the journey, juicy clouds looked ready to burst. However, they restrained themselves and he arrived home in a good mood. The fate of Trewaley's file was now beyond his control and he could turn his face towards the future.
Once inside his apartment, he threw his jacket onto the couch and laid Cassidy's revolver on the coffee table. The cat usually appeared when he arrived home, but didn't front up. He looked around. "Oscar, where are you fella?"
He soon discovered why Oscar was a no-show. A tall and swarthy guy with a big piece of plaster on his forehead stepped out of the bedroom and pointed a pistol at him.
Gary's nerves sizzled. Cinders fell from the roof of his mouth onto his tongue. He didn't spend much time, in the Alexandria terrace, studying the face of the guy he choked to unconsciousness. But the dude holding the pistol looked a lot like him. The plaster on his forehead removed any doubt. Christ on a crutch. This guy must work for Trewaley.
"Don't fuckin' move."
"Who're you?" Gary rasped and wondered if he could grab the revolver on the coffee table and snap off a shot before … no, that would be suicide.
"Shut up. Put your hands in the air, right now. I want to kill you bad, so don't give me an excuse."
As Gary raised his hands, his gaze jumped between the pistol and its scowling owner. At least the guy hadn't shot him, yet.
The intruder strolled over to the coffee table and picked up the revolver. "This yours?"
"I think the cleaner left it behind."
The thug tucked the revolver behind his waistband and frowned. "Hah, fuckin' hah. Now, keep your hands up or I'll shoot you." He pushed the muzzle of his pistol into Gary's belly and used his spare hand to pat down Gary, searching like a cop or ex-cop.
"What's this about?"
"Shut up." The intruder stepped back a couple of paces and looked at the bedroom door. "You can come out now."
Gary got another shock when Angus Trewaley's Chief of Staff, Oliver Bristow, emerged from the bedroom. Bristow was a tall, thin man, with lank hair in his early thirties. Gary had never met someone wearing a pinstripe suit. Yet Bristow wore his as if it was the fashion of the future. For some reason, he held a soft-leather carry bag.
Gary's realised that Bristow's presence was a positive sign. Surely, a big political player like Bristow wouldn't be here if Gary was going to be iced. Unless, of course, the stakes were so high Bristow had no choice. That was possible.
Gary's trembling subsided. "I don't remember inviting guests."
The thug waved his pistol. "Shut up."
Bristow said: "He's clean?"
"Yes."
"Good." Bristow looked at Gary. "If I was you, I wouldn't mess with this guy: he's ex-SAS. You know who I am?"
Gary decided to play dumb until he knew what game this young fogey was playing. "No idea."
"Really? I'm sure you do. But, in case you don't, my name is Oliver Bristow. I work for a man called Angus Trewaley. You've heard of him?"
"Of course."
Bristow nodded towards his henchman. "And you know this gentleman, don't you?"
Gary peered at the thug. "Have we met?"
A scowl. "Of course we have, you dickhead. You knocked me out in Alexandria a couple of days ago and shot my pal."
"I think you've got the wrong man."
"Bullshit. I recognise you - I didn't see you for long, but I recognise you."
Bristow looked at Gary. "Patrick Arnott's mother employed you to find her son, didn't she? You found him in Alexandria. Then Tony here and his pal Roger turned up. You knocked out Tony and shot Roger, who's still in a hospital, I'm afraid. Won't be out for another week."
Gary said: "I don't know what you're talking about. I missed the first half of this movie."
A frown. "Don't play dumb. Three days ago, Pastor McKenzie from the Sunrise Mission told me that Patrick Arnott stole a file from Merton & Co that could embarrass my boss. When I complained to Merton, he mentioned that Arnott's mother employed you to find her son. That's why, when I heard about the mayhem in Alexandria, I assumed you were responsible. Tony's just confirmed you were."
"You're barking up the wrong tree. But tell me: why are you here?"
Bristow ignored his question. "You also killed Robert Merton in his beach house a few days ago, didn't you?"
"I still have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't play games with me."
"You are talking in riddles. So tell me what you want - what you really want."
A frown. "I want two things: I want to know where I can find Patrick Arnott and I want the file."
"What file?"
"Don't play dumb: the electronic file of my boss's tax affairs that Arnott stole from Merton & Co. Now, tell me: where is Patrick Arnott?"
Gary was a little surprised to learn Bristow didn't know that Arnott died in the beach house with Merton. There obviously wasn't much coordination between the Trewaley and Merton camps. Maybe that explained why their hunt for Arnott was a fiasco.
Gary said: "I have no idea."
"Bullshit. You found Arnott at the Alexandria terrace."
"Once again, I don't know what you're talking about."
"I don't believe you. And where's the file?"
Gary was tempted to reveal that Bristow could find the file on the internet or in his email inbox. However, if he did, the guy might go crazy and tell his henchman to start shooting. He didn't want to give these guys a chance to be stupid, because they would probably seize it. Better to play for time.
"I don't know anything about a file."
A deep frown. "Don't play games. I hate to sound corny, but we can do this the easy way or the hard way."
He did sound corny - very corny. He was obviously a political fixer operating far outside his comfort zone. A real thug wouldn't have talked so much and sure as hell wouldn't have worn a stupid-looking pinstripe suit. The guy should have stuck to leaking stories to the press and backstabbing political enemies.
Gary said: "Really? What's the hard way?"
"I don't want to resort to violence. But, if you don't co-operate, I'll go for a walk and Tony will interrogate you. He's dying to do that. Like I said, he's ex-SAS. He was dishonourably discharged for torturing Afghan prisoners. So he knows a lot about torture." Bristow looked at Tony. "You've brought your stuff?"
"Of course."
The more Bristow talked, the further his credibility slipped and took his henchman's down with it.
Gary said: "And what's the easy way?"
"Tell me what I want to know and you'll be well rewarded."
Gary's brain tingled. "What do you mean?"
"I'll give you $200,000."
Wow. "Oh? How can I trust you to pay up?"
"You won't have to. I've got the money here, in this bag. Let me show you." Bristow unzipped his carry bag and held it up to expose numerous bundles of $50 notes.
Gary felt a surge of greed and got tired of playing dumb. Time to pretend he would do a deal. "What's happening? Your goons tried to kill me in Alexandria. Now you're offering me money."
A coffin-plate smile. "So you were at Alexandria?"
"Of course I was."
"Well, they didn't try to kill you. They just got, well, over-enthusiastic. But I believe in the carrot rather than the stick. So, do you want to take the easy way or the hard way?"
Gary's plan to disarm the thug required that he pretend to cave in. "I'll take the easy way. Put the money on the coffee table and I'll tell you what I know."
Bristow smiled and put the money on the coffee table. "Good. Where's Patrick Arnott?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean: you don't know?"
"After we left Alexandria, he said he didn't trust me and disappeared."
"I don't believe you."
Gary made a sweeping motion with his hand. "Can you see him around?"
"Did he die
in the beach house - is that what happened to him?"
"How would I know?"
A deep frown. "You said that, if I gave you the money, you'd tell me where he is."
"No, I didn't. I said I'd tell you what I know. I don't know where Arnott is. But I can tell you where the file is."
Bristow's eyes glowed. "Really? Where?"
"You'll give me the money right?"
"Of course."
Gary knew that was a lie, and reciprocated with one of his own. "OK, Arnott gave me the file, on a flash drive, before he disappeared."
Bristow flushed royal red. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"I'll get the money, right?"
"Of course, of course."
Despite the pistol pointing at him, Gary almost laughed at Bristow's insincerity. "OK. It's under the sideboard. Let me get it."
"No, don't you move. I'll look."
Bristow stepped over to the sideboard, dropped to his knees and peered under it. He was greeted by a loud screech. A blur of fur dashed past him into the bedroom. The Chief of Staff yelped and fell backwards.
The thug instinctively turned to watch Bristow's reaction. As his pistol wandered off-line, Gary took two quick steps and grabbed it. The thug tried to swivel it back on target. Wrong move. Gary stepped forward and lifted his knee into the guy's balls. The thug tried to turn his hip to protect himself. Too late. The knee ploughed into his groin and lifted him several centimetres off the ground.
The thug emitted a loud "woof" and looked like he had swallowed his tonsils. He doubled over and lost his grip on the pistol. Gary kneed him in the face and watched him topple over backwards.
Gary quickly rolled the dazed thug onto his belly and yanked out the revolver nestled in the small of his back. Then he rose, stepped back and pointed both weapons at Bristow. "Sorry, I forgot to mention the cat. That's where he hides from visitors."
The thug clutched his balls and flapped around like a wounded seal. A tear-stained voice. "You prick."
"Shut up." Gary looked at Bristow. "If he's ex-SAS, you can cut off my legs and call me Shorty. He couldn't believe his luck when you fell for that bullshit. You really are a goose. Thank God you won't get a chance to run the country."
Gary glanced down at the thug's pistol: a Walter 9mm that carried 19 cartridges. Nineteen. Christ. Did the fool think he was in a Hollywood movie? Was he planning a shopping mall massacre?
Gary tucked the pistol behind his waistband and aimed the revolver at Bristow. "You two aren't very good at this, are you?"
Bristow had obviously never had a gun pointed at him and looked ready to pack his dacks. "Y-y-you won't shoot me, will you?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you behave."
"I will, I promise."
"Good."
Bristow recovered some composure. "Look, can't we make a deal? You can have the money, of course. Just give me the file."
Gary smiled. "But I've already got the money."
"No you don't, it's mine."
"Not anymore."
Bristow looked shocked at Gary's treachery. For a few moments, Gary could have heard a pinstripe drop. Finally, the Chief of Staff said: "Bullshit. You can't do that."
"Why not? I've got two guns and you've got none. But don't worry, I'm going to keep my side of the deal."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm going to tell you where to find the file."
A childish grin. "Really? Where?"
"Pull out your smartphone and google the Parliament House website. You'll end up at a fake site with a link to the whole file. It's very easy to download. I've also emailed the file to every federal pollie, chief of staff and political journo in the country. It's probably in your inbox right now."
Bristow looked like someone was pissing on his shoe, Even his pinstripes seemed to sag. "Oh, Jesus - you're kidding?"
"No. So, you see, you're too late."
Bristow whipped out his smartphone and did some furious tapping. Then he emitted a low moan. "Fuck, fuck. You bastard. You can't do this."
A shrug. "I've already done it."
"You'll pay for this: I'll report you to the police."
"For what?"
"The shootings at the beach house. I bet you were involved."
Gary scowled. "Really? You want to get involved in that? You want to get Trewaley involved? You must be mad. I had nothing to do with that. But, if you claim otherwise, I'll murder you - I flat-out guarantee that. If I've got to go to hell, I won't go alone. But, for once, why don't you do something smart and cut your losses."
"What do you mean?"
"Trewaley's cactus. Find another politician to brown-nose."
A beady stare. "You're not working for Arnott's mother, are you? You work for the Government."
Gary laughed. "I don't work for anyone; I'm just a self-employed businessman trying to make a buck."
"You cunt." Bristow looked at his henchman, who had risen to his feet and was gingerly massaging his balls. "Come on, let's get out of here."
Bristow reached out to pick up the bag of cash.
Gary pointed his revolver at his head. "Don't touch it."
Bristow retracted his hand as if stung. "It's mine."
"No, it's not. It stays here."
"You can't do this."
"Really? Who's going to stop me? You can't go to the police - you definitely can't do that. So fuck off."
The thug interjected: "I'm going to settle up with you."
"Please do. I can't wait. You can use all that SAS training you never had. Now, get the fuck out of here."
Bristow scowled at his henchman. "Come on, let's go."
He stormed out the front door with the limping thug in tow.
Hard Landing Page 24
