by Garry Disher
They slept. Later, stroking Anna’s arm, Wyatt asked, ‘Did anyone see you using the camera?’
She groaned and stirred. ‘Back to reality. No. I waited till they were away from the office.’
‘Did you get shots of every room?’
She put her head on his chest. When she answered, her voice seemed to amplify, to carry in his chest cavity. ‘Every room, the alarm system, the safe.’
Wyatt tried to see her face. He saw only her scalp through her hair. He flopped back again, looking around at the walls and ceiling, the paintings, the light fittings. She had expensive tastes.
Soon he felt restless. Anna was looking down the slope of his body, tracing its hard, muscle-corded surface with her hand, but he’d begun to think about the job he had planned with Pedersen later this evening, and about the Finn job itself. He looked at his watch. Seven-fifteen. He shifted slightly, disturbing Masher, who stretched and shuddered and began to purr again.
Anna sensed the change in Wyatt and pulled away from him. ‘Are you going?’
‘Soon.’
‘I’ll get the photos.’
In a graceful single motion, she uncoiled from the floor and stood back from him. He got to his feet, watching her cross the room to where a leather bag had been placed on a small table. She had a lithe, unselfconscious style of walking. The red marks on her skin from his body and the carpet were oddly appealing and in other circumstances he would want her again.
She came back with a handful of polaroid shots of Finn’s office. He began to shuffle through them. He came to one that showed the safe and he stopped, thinking hard. He stood like a statue, staring into Anna’s fireplace without focusing on it, trying to work out the details.
She touched his arm. He seemed to jerk awake and she flinched a little at the look of coldness and distance on his face. ‘Whoops,’ she said.
He muttered something.
‘You were far away,’ she said.
He hated to be interrupted when he was concentrating on a job. He wanted to leave, go for a walk somewhere, find a quiet place where he could think. But that might offend her, so he started to say something reassuring. And then the answer to the Finn job came to him, quick and complete. A smile creased his face, transforming it.
‘Welcome back,’ Anna said, stepping close to him.
He watched her. She had the control now. This was what she was good at. Her head dipped and she moved down his body, nuzzling him. Later, when they were on her rug again and she was moving on him, she leaned forward to kiss him and he could taste both of them on her lips.
Her thighs began to pull at him as if measuring desire and anger. Her face was severe. ‘I didn’t expect any of this,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘I’ve got a place on the coast,’ he said, watching her. ‘We’ll go there when this is over.’
She smiled and stopped her pulling and they fell into a trance-like rocking. Masher woke suddenly, licked a foreleg, fell asleep again.
****
Twenty-Two
By eight-thirty that evening, Wyatt and Pederson were watching cars hiss along Chapel Street in dismal rain. An Alfa and then a BMW paused outside Henri’s Bistro and drove on again, looking for somewhere to park. Five minutes later the occupants were back, running in the rain, getting their feet wet, ruining their composure.
Pedersen was sour about it. ‘It wouldn’t hurt these guys to drop their chicks off and then park.’
‘There’ll be a gentleman along soon,’ Wyatt said.
They were standing under the awning of a shoe shop two doors down from Henri’s. They wore hired navy-blue uniforms, gloves and caps, decorated with enough gold braid to unnerve the Queen. In his pocket Wyatt had a dozen cards, printed with the words ‘Valet Parking’. In smaller type at the bottom was a disclaimer: ‘The management takes no responsibility for loss or damage’. He got a kick out of that.
‘What’s wrong with these fuckers?’ Pedersen said. He was hyped-up, cracking his knuckles, pacing back and forth.
‘Take it easy,’ Wyatt said.
Pedersen sniffed. ‘I do safes, not this shit.’
Wyatt turned to examine him, his face expressionless. ‘There’s no guarantee we’ll score. Waiting’s part of the job, you know that.’
‘Yeah,’ Pedersen said. ‘In the rain.’
Wyatt said nothing. There was always someone who got jumpy before a job. There was always someone not as solid as you’d like. Always some personal problem, some quirk, but if you spent all your time ironing it out, you’d never get anything done. He just hoped Pedersen was sound in the long run.
‘This is a bummer,’ Pedersen went on. ‘We could give the money you took off that pimp to Eddie Loman and owe him the rest. Let’s pack it in.’
‘A few minutes, okay?’
Then out of the corner of his eye Wyatt saw Pedersen place something on his tongue and snap it back like a lizard with a fly.
‘Oh terrific,’ he said, slamming Pedersen against the wall. ‘Hobba said you were clean. You said you were clean.’
‘Only an upper, to focus me.’
‘Focus on this. You want a hand on your shoulder inviting you to come down to the station and turn out your pockets? What else are you on?’
‘Nothing. Take your fucking hands off me.’
With a contemptuous gesture, Wyatt released him. They stood far apart, and waited, and the rain fell.
‘Listen Wyatt, I’ve gone off the hard stuff, okay?’
Wyatt seemed to ignore him. Then he shifted position. ‘I’ll only say this once. If you’re on anything when we do the job, or try to cross me in any way, you’ll be part of the food chain before you know it.’
Pedersen scowled and began to bounce on the balls of his feet.
Then he stopped, suddenly alert. ‘Check this.’
‘I see it.’
A white Mercedes 380 SE had pulled out of the line of traffic and stopped, brake lights flaring, outside Henri’s. Thirty seconds passed. The people in the Mercedes seemed to be conferring.
‘This is it,’ Wyatt said. ‘Stay with me.’
They approached the car, umbrellas up, just as the woman in the passenger seat turned up her collar and reached to open her door. Pedersen said, ‘Allow me, ma’am,’ opening the door, holding his umbrella over her.
Wyatt tapped on the driver’s window. The window whispered part-way down.
‘We have valet parking now, sir,’ Wyatt said. ‘Here is your receipt. Hand it in after your meal and someone will fetch your car for you.’
‘I don’t know,’ the driver said. He was overweight, grunting with exertion. He seemed to be suspicious, so Wyatt steeled himself to run.
‘How much is this going to cost me?’ the man said.
The woman stirred under Pedersen’s umbrella. ‘For God’s sake, Neil, give him the car. It’s wet. I’m going inside.’
‘It’s a free service, sir,’ Wyatt said.
The driver got out, showing the effort. ‘If there’s one scratch on this, just one, I’ll have your balls.’
‘You won’t see a thing,’ Wyatt said.
‘Can you drive one of these? It’s not some Japanese tin can, you know.’
‘Neil,’ the woman said.
‘Coming, coming,’ the fat man said. Wyatt escorted him to the shelter of the awning above Henri’s front door and watched him follow the woman inside.
‘Let’s go,’ Pedersen said.
Pedersen drove, Wyatt directing, to a public car park where Wyatt picked up the Holden. Then he led Pedersen across the city to Sydney Road. Both cars drove steadily, obeying all the road laws.
They came to a suburb of narrow streets, where small factories huddled between workers’ houses and the street lights were faulty or broken. Wyatt parked the Holden a few metres beyond a set of steel doors in a brick wall. A strip of light showed underneath the doors, and a small sign on the wall said ‘AP Motors’.
Wyatt got out and walked back to where Peders
en waited in the Mercedes. ‘This is the place,’ he said.
He walked up to the doors, knocked once, paused, knocked three times, and heard bolts being drawn back. A voice called out, ‘Bring her in. Quick about it.’
Wyatt signalled to Pedersen to drive in. He followed the Mercedes into the shed and helped a man in overalls to close the steel doors.
He looked around. The set-up looked professional. A number of late-model Holdens, Falcons and Hondas were being dismantled. Some battery-powered ignition drills lay on one bench, among tins of corrosive solution for removing serial numbers.
The man who had opened the steel doors waited in the shadows. Two other men stood motionless at the back of the shed. A fourth man stepped out from behind a Jaguar XJS, saying, ‘Merc, eh? Lovely’
He wore overalls open to the waist, and gold chains of various lengths around his neck. He stood before the Mercedes, regarding it with his hands on his hips.
‘Very nice. I’m Ray. Which one of you is Lake?’
‘I am,’ Wyatt said, ignoring the proffered hand. He did not introduce Pedersen.
Ray looked from one to the other. ‘Well, you’re both a bundle of laughs,’ he said, and he began to examine the Mercedes. He sighted along the panels, dropped to the floor to peer at the chassis, and lifted the bonnet and poked about with a small torch. Finally he took a small magnet from his pocket and fastened it randomly on the body of the car. Satisfied there was no rust filler under the paintwork, he said, ‘Very clean.’
‘We know that,’ Pedersen said. ‘What’s your offer?’
‘Hold your horses, sonny Jim. Buyer beware, eh?’
‘So? You’ve checked it out, now make us an offer.’
‘I’m dealing with Lake,’ Ray said. ‘Lake, tell Chuckles here to shut up.’
Ray’s three assistants moved out of the shadows. ‘Let’s all calm down,’ Wyatt said. He felt very tired. He turned to Pedersen. ‘Take it easy, okay?’
‘Ask him what his offer is.’
Ray pointed. ‘You got a lot to learn about doing business, pal. We go in the office, break out the Scotch, talk it over, nice and civilised.’
‘Fuck that.’
‘Lake, my boys are going to sort your friend out in a minute.’
Wyatt stepped close to Ray and said softly and rapidly, ‘I’m sorry, Ray. You know how it is. He’s a good driver, but he’s no good with people.’
‘The cunt’s high as a kite. He’s going to turn up in the river one day’
Wyatt nodded. ‘He’s got a shitty personality. Look, we’ll pass up on that Scotch. I don’t trust him to keep his cool. So, if you’d like to make us an offer?’
Ray thought about it. He made a what-can-I-do? gesture. ‘Five thousand. Best I can do.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Pedersen said. ‘I heard that. What a fucking rip-off.’ He was jumpy now from the upper. ‘These fetch bloody a hundred grand in Sydney.’
Ray was beginning to turn nasty. ‘At this stage in the process it’s a buyer’s market. Plus which you’re outnumbered. Five thousand, take it or leave it.’
Wyatt told him they’d take it.
Later, when Pedersen started laughing in the Holden, whooping and singing ‘Some fun tonight’, Wyatt came very close to calling the whole thing off.
****
Twenty-three
They got back to the safe house at nine-thirty. Wyatt drove slowly past the building once and then came back. No cars, no pedestrians.
They found Hobba waiting for them in the flat. He had taken off his shoes and was slumped in an armchair. The room smelt of cigarette smoke and mints. ‘Nice,’ he said, when they came in. ‘This is the life. This is private enterprise for you.’
Wyatt ignored him. He crossed to the window and looked out.
Behind him, Pedersen entered reluctantly, scowling back at the indentations his feet had made in the thick carpet. He had changed out of his doorman’s uniform. Dressed in a flannelette shirt, jeans and japara again, he showed signs of feeling exposed and untidy. ‘We got to stay here how long?’
‘Until the day after the job,’ Wyatt said. ‘Don’t go home, either of you. Buy anything you might need. We don’t know what the Youngers have got in mind. If we stay here, no-one can find us before we pull the job. But keep your eyes open all the same.’
‘You should’ve wasted the little prick,’ Pedersen said.
Hobba sniggered. ‘Gave him a fair old fright though.’ He explained about the ponytail and the earring.
Pedersen snorted. ‘I like it.’
‘Had to be done,’ Hobba said, holding his arms wide.
They began to discuss it, grinning broadly. Wyatt watched them. After a while they felt it, and fell silent, settling back in their chairs.
‘Right,’ Wyatt said. ‘This is how we do it-a simple hijack.’
Pedersen began to nod, thinking it over. ‘It’s not fastened to the floor?’
‘No. I’ve seen the pictures.’
‘Then I like it. We’d be out quickly and we can open it or blow it elsewhere in our own time.’
Hobba frowned at Pedersen, playing devil’s advocate. ‘Like where? We can’t use your place now, in case the Youngers are watching, and I’m buggered if I’m going to wait on a side street somewhere while you work on it in the back of the van.’
They both looked at Wyatt.
‘We do it here,’ he said. ‘Downstairs in the lock-up garage.’
‘That’s a lot of coming and going.’
‘This place is like a tomb during the day. No-one can see into the garage. No-one knows who we are, where we’re from. I paid cash, the whole lot up front. We’ve got all the room we need, plenty of exits, privacy. It’s perfect.’
‘If you say so,’ Hobba said.
Pedersen leaned forward. ‘What if I have to blow the safe? You can’t hide that kind of a noise.’
‘We’ll take a chance,’ Wyatt said. ‘There’s no-one around and the lock-up is below ground level. While you two open the safe, I’ll keep watch up in the street. Can you get us some radios?’
Pedersen nodded.
‘By late tomorrow,’ Wyatt said, ‘we’ll have everything we need: the van, handcuffs, overalls, transfers, explosive, electric drill
He fell silent. They were all imagining the job. It seemed possible now.
Then Wyatt said, ‘Let’s see what we’ve got on Finn. What time did everyone arrive this morning?’
Pedersen opened his notebook. ‘Anna and the girl arrived at eight-thirty. Finn at nine.’
Wyatt turned to Hobba. ‘What time did they leave?’
‘The girl at five, Anna five-twenty, Finn five-thirty.’
‘Anything unusual?’
‘Pretty ordinary. Between ten and eleven, all three cut through to the coffee shop and came back after about fifteen minutes. Then at three-thirty, Finn went out.’
‘We’ll check on that over the next few days,’ Wyatt said. ‘When we hit on Friday we want them all in the office.’
‘What about the time?’ Hobba asked. ‘You still want to hit when it’s peak hour?’
‘It ties up the cops as well,’ Wyatt said. ‘Accidents, cars parked in the bus lanes. If we know the short cuts, we’ll be all right. I want this to go like clockwork.’
Hobba shrugged. ‘You’re the boss.’
They eased back in their bright fabric chairs. Outside a misty rain blew against the thick glass windows. It was warm and sheltered up here, high above the greasy streets and headlong traffic.
****
Twenty-four
On Wednesday morning Wyatt and Hobba hailed a taxi and went shopping. Their first stop was Eddie Loman’s. The N in EDWARD LOMAN HARDWARE was back-to-front and Loman himself had a drooping right shoulder and a stiff leg that swung out as he walked. When the taxi was gone he jerked his head to indicate a workshop at the rear, closed the steel door behind them, and said, ‘Got the balance?’
Wyatt handed him a wad of money. Loman counted
it, six and a half thousand dollars, his lips moving in his grey, unhealthy face.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘your stuffs over here.’
He wheeled round on his left leg and led them to empty fertiliser bags heaped on the floor in the far corner. Under them was a grimy styrofoam Esky. Inside it were four pairs of police handcuffs, a block of Semtex explosive, and an electric drill and bits.
‘I don’t seem to see a van,’ Hobba said.
‘Out the back,’ Loman said. ‘Keep your shirt on.’
He took them through a small door to an empty lot behind the workshop. It was choked with weeds. Steel girders and a cracked expanse of cement indicated that this was a building that had never got beyond the foundations stage. A white Econovan was parked on it. The paint was clean. There was no rust and the tyres had been blacked.
‘What’s she like?’ Wyatt said.
‘What you ordered,’ Loman said. ‘Reliable, fair acceleration, untraceable.’
‘Let me check.’
‘No skin off my nose,’ Loman said. He handed Wyatt the keys.
Wyatt warmed the engine for five minutes before testing the handbrake and the clutch. Then he took the van for a ten kilometre test run. He listened to the engine’s response to varying conditions and ran up and down the gears several times. The Econovan was twelve years old and would not win any races, but it would do.
Back at Loman’s he nodded and said simply, ‘Okay.’
He let Hobba drive back to the city. After some minutes he began to look fixedly at Hobba’s face. Hobba began to squirm and shift in his seat, and finally he said, ‘Something wrong?’
‘You told me Pedersen’s clean.’
‘Far as I know’
‘He was feeding his face with uppers last night.’
‘Max was?’ Hobba shook his head as if to say human weaknesses caused him no surprise, only great weariness. ‘Stupid, stupid bastard.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ Wyatt said. ‘I don’t want him fucking up. At the first sign, I abort the job and I waste him. I want you to tell him that.’
