Black Ice

by Leah Giarratano

  'I can't do it anymore,' she said.

  'What do you mean "anymore"?' he said. 'It's not like I've asked you to do anything like this before. It'll be all right, babe. And when you see how many lollies that money'll get us, you won't regret it.'

  'But what if he figures he really would like to keep his money and the drugs and decides that taking us both out is a hassle he could live with.'

  Christian snorted with impatience. 'Look, Cass. I didn't want to tell you this because you didn't need to know,' he said. He sat up straighter in the bed, reached across and touched her shoulder.

  Cassie just waited. She'd never seen him this serious before.

  'I'll be bringing – now, don't freak out – I'm bringing a gun.'

  'Are you crazy? Where would you even get a gun?'

  'Remember Carl Davus?'

  'Davus? The guy who murdered his wife?'

  'Now, now, Ms Jackson. You know better than that. I got him off those charges and made myself famous. Do you know how I got him off?'

  'I didn't follow the whole thing too closely. Wasn't it lack of evidence?'

  'That was a big part of it. They couldn't find the murder weapon.'

  'They couldn't . . . The gun! That gun? You've got the gun Davus used to murder his wife?'

  Christian smiled beatifically. And suddenly, she really got it. This guy was truly despicable. Not just immature and insensitive, but completely devoid of any morals. Evil. For the first time in her life Cassie understood the AA saying that you have to truly surrender before you can let go of addiction. You have to really, completely realise that you can sink no further into filth, that you are powerless. Only then can rehab help, when you know that you have no control. That you must have help, that you will not just accept help, but beg for it. That, or die. The simple truth of this crashed down on Cassie and she wanted to cry with relief. Instead, she smiled. There were other people caught up in this shit. Seren. Seren needed help too, and Cassie knew the minute she saw her that somehow she had to do that.

  'It makes sense,' she said, 'that it would create headaches for this guy if there were two people there rather than just one. It's not easy to get rid of a body.' She paused. 'Or so I've heard.'

  'This is what I'm saying, Cass,' he said, smiling back at her, his eyes focused on her tits.

  She tugged the sheet a little higher. 'But Christian, if two are a hassle, what if there were three? Maybe we should ask your friend, Seren, to come along?'

  Christian laughed. Which she hadn't expected.

  'You like her, don't you?' he said.

  Oh that, she thought. Thank you, Christian. You're making this rock-bottom shit much easier.

  'She's all right,' said Cassie. Actually, Christian, she's fine. She's got you on tape handing over eighty grand for meth and eccy. But eight hundred? Even you couldn't get yourself out of that one, Mr Bullshit.

  Cassie scanned the apartment. The thing she'd always loved most here was the way the moving lights from the skyline danced around on the massive rug in the living room. She'd always liked the purple spots of brilliance the best; they seemed to sparkle most when the cocaine level was just right. She stared at the carpet. Nothing moved. Suddenly, her mum's image materialised, standing at the stove in the kitchen, patiently cooking up endless rounds of salami and cheese toast. It was when they were kids, of course; no one ate with that kind of enthusiasm after Jill came home. Then little Lilly, her niece, took her place on the rug – was she four or five now? Perfect little thing, eyes as infinite as the universe, staring up at her in awe. And then – was that? Yes, Fisher, her cat! Well, Jill's cat actually. Gone forever now, dead just before Christmas. Ancient, he'd been. He'd been Jill's until That Day. After that, Jill had never really looked at him again. Or her. Well, not properly, anyway.

  'What's wrong with you, Cass?' said Christian. 'You want some wine, or something?'

  Or something.

  'Silly! I'm fine, baby!' she said. 'It is three o'clock in the morning. What did you say? Tell me again, I'm just sleepy. What'd I miss?'

  'Sleepy? You're drug-fucked,' he said.

  Rub it in, she thought.

  'What I said,' he answered, 'is that when I saw you and Seren together, I couldn't help but think of you two . . . together. You know.'

  'Oh, I know,' she said. Which is what he wanted her to say, after all.

  'When that fucking Neanderthal saw you two together he must've spoofed in those tracksuit pants,' he said.

  'Must've,' she said.

  'So, you'll do it, Cass? Should I call and set it up?'

  'If Seren will be there, I'll be there,' she said.

  'One more thing?' He smiled that good-boy smile. The one that probably worked with his mummy and had been melting women ever since. The one that used to work with her. 'I was thinking,' he continued, 'that it might be best for you to carry the gun. You know, just in case he wants to pat me down?'

  'So I carry the gun.'

  'What do you think?'

  'What the hell. Let's just get this done.'

  'You see, baby, that's why I love you,' said Christian, reaching over to kiss her.

  'Excuse me, sweetie,' she said. 'I'm going to be sick.' She rose from the bed. 'I've had a little too much.'

  He pouted and blew her a kiss. 'Poor baby,' he said. 'Feel better.' He snuggled down into the pillows and rolled away from her.

  Cassie got out of bed and went to the bathroom to vomit.

  De rigueur.

  66

  Tuesday 16 April, 9 am

  Seren warned Marco not to leave the room or open the door to anyone. She left him watching cartoons in the itchy, fifty-dollar-a-night hotel close to the unit block and went down to the car park to make the calls. She took a seat on a low brick wall alongside the building, out of the wind and out of sight of the road.

  Her boss answered first ring. She'd hoped he'd be in his office. It was just after morning-tea time and there was always a lull before the new batch of freshly-slaughtered chickens was delivered to the gutting room floor.

  'Hello, Zeko,' she said.

  'Why aren't you at work, Seren?' he said. 'And why haven't you called me before now? I was becoming worried about you. Today is the day for your special performance review, have you forgotten?'

  'Oh no, Zeko, I haven't forgotten. But I won't be coming in today.'

  'Well, that is not satisfactory, I'm afraid, Seren. Your attendance here has been bloody bullshit! Now if you get your bloody backside in here now, sick or not, I won't have to call your bloody probation and parole.'

  'Oh, you won't have to call them, Zeko,' she said, removing the tiny recording device from her pocket. 'I think you'll recognise this voice. It's a very distinct accent.'

  While Marco had slept the night before, she'd downloaded the footage she'd taken of Zeko in their last meeting in his office. It was a pity Zeko wouldn't get the full impact of the visuals of himself fondling his prick, but she was certain that the audio of him telling her that her job description included blowjobs would do the trick.

  And it did. Nicely. Zeko Slavonic would not find the need to call Maria Thomasetti today.

  Christian was next. As she went to scroll to his number, the phone rang and she stared in astonishment at the number displayed on her ringing mobile.

  'Christian!' she said. 'I was just this minute about to call you!'

  'Serendipity!' he said.

  'Exactly,' she said, with a fake laugh.

  'So what's on your mind, beautiful? Why were you going to call me?'

  'Well,' she said, then took a deep breath, 'I've got a day off today, and I wondered if you might want to meet for lunch?'

  'Perfect!' he said. 'You see how in synch are we? I was hoping we could get together too. I've got a little business to take care of, and I was hoping you could help me out with it. And then after that we'll have a late lunch and dinner and breakfast too. I can be ready in an hour.'

  Not on your life, she thought. Tonight, I'll be
with Marco, and you'll be getting your finances together. 'Okay, great!' she said. 'Can you give me an hour and a half? You can pick me up back at . . . at my place. I'll be out the front waiting, just text me when you're close and I'll come down.'

  First she needed to do a little shopping. Seren hurried down to the road to the ATM and withdrew a hundred dollars, which ate into her rent money, due in two days. This shit better work, she told herself. Next stop – Officeworks. She purchased two memory sticks, on sale – lucky again – and an envelope. Then it was off to Woollies, where she bought bread rolls and sliced cheese, the brand Marco loved – indistinguishable from soft, sliced rubber – a jar of Vegemite, a six-pack of juice boxes, a bag of Twisties, and a Mars Bar. Hopefully he'd only have time to eat the junk and she'd be back there with him. From the newsagents she bought a couple of comics, more lollies, and a skater magazine. Marco had a school reading book in his bag and the TV. Plenty to do. She wouldn't be that long.

  Still, she felt terribly guilty as she watched Marco examining her purchases. She took the opportunity to quickly download the hidden files onto the two USBs, making certain to password-protect the folder again. Hidden or not, her little boy was smart.

  She changed quickly, kissed Marco goodbye, and left the hotel.

  Checking in last night, she'd seen the gym across the road and had the idea. She couldn't take the copied files with her to meet Christian. Although she couldn't imagine him becoming aggressive and trying to find the copies of the evidence she had against him, only an idiot would take that risk. And she couldn't leave them in the hotel room with Marco – if he found them he might find a way to open them, password-protected or not.

  She smiled at the pony-tailed girl behind the counter in the gym.

  'I'd like to use the pool, please,' she said. 'How much will that be? Oh, hang on, I'll rent a locker too.'

  Five minutes later, after telling Ms Pony-tail that she'd forgotten something and would be back in a tick, she left the gym and headed home to wait for Christian.

  67

  Tuesday 16 April, 10.10 am

  'Un-fucken-believable,' was Byron Barnes' greeting to the morning. 'What fucken cunt would call someone at this time of the morning?' Eyes still closed, he reached for his mobile and cigarettes from his bedside drawer.

  'Man, what time is it?' he said when he answered the phone.

  'It's past ten, you lazy cunt. Are you still in bed?' said Kasem Nader.

  'Nah, man, nah. Kasem! Fuck, man. That thing at Riverstone. That shit was pretty close, man. I was almost fucken there.'

  'Well, you weren't,' said Kasem. 'And the whole thing's a pain in the arse.'

  'I know, man. Poor Whitey and Damo.' Still half asleep, he searched around with one hand for his lighter.

  'Fuckwit. You're on the fucking phone. Stop with the names.'

  'Yep, sure, bro. But this phone's sweet, don't worry. Some cunt donated it to me while he was taking a piss. Shoulda seen the prick when I took off with it. He swung around screamin' with his dick still in his hand and pissed all over the bloke next to him. It was fucken funny, man. You shoulda seen it.'

  'I'm so sorry I missed it. Now shut the fuck up. I need you today. How long till you can get here?' said Kasem.

  'Where, man?' Where's me fucken lighter? Byron was beginning to get the shakes. It'd been ten hours since his last smoke.

  'My parents' place,' said Kasem.

  Byron's hand found his lighter. Thank fuck. 'Sweet,' he said. He lit a cigarette, sucked it down hard. 'Can ya gimme an hour?'

  'Don't be longer than that.'

  68

  Tuesday 16 April, 11 am

  'Jill, I'll meet you over at Central in ten minutes,' said Gabriel when she answered the phone.

  'I can't, Gabe. I'm just about to go in to see the shrink,' she told him.

  'Bail,' he said. 'Say you're sick. We got a hit on Nader. He's about to meet with Byron Barnes – associate of Damien and Whitey.'

  'Shit! Well, Last'll know about it by now and he'll order me off it. He's not happy that I was out with you yesterday. I'm meant to get debriefed.'

  'Last won't know. The techie told me, and I asked him to sit on it for a bit.'

  'What about Lanvin and Genovese?' she said.

  'No one likes them here. The tech called me first. Look, I'm on the way over. Just get ready.'

  Jill didn't want to suddenly feel as great as she did. She was relieved they had a lead on Nader, and she was always happy to avoid a conversation with a psych, but she was beginning to worry about how much she liked being with Gabriel, and how much she hated it when he wasn't around. She jogged out of the building to wait for him.

  In his car, she kicked off her shoes to try to force herself to relax a little on the ride out to Merrylands. She agreed with Gabriel's decision that to take Nader in immediately would be a waste. It was possible that they'd be able to connect him with the operation at Riverstone, and that Damien's testimony might get him some charges for the Merrylands' gig, but they had very little evidence, really, that tied him into all of this.

  Gabe was certain that Lanvin and Genovese would haul Nader in as soon as they found him. They wouldn't want to risk him taking off again like he did after the Merrylands explosion – they'd had to apply to get approval for the listening device and Nader's name had been all over the court documents. He'd made them look stupid.

  But she knew they'd have very little time to get something on Nader before the Feds found out he'd been traced, or he showed up in another call. She just hoped that the pressure of the last few days had been enough to force him into trying to get some of his lost money back. And if he had to cook some more drugs in a hurry, he might lead them to his precursor supply.

  She felt her fists clench when the traffic slowed to a crawl on the M4. There was nowhere to go. Gabriel hit the siren, but it was still slow going; half the civilians didn't know what the hell to do when the music started. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly.

  Byron cruised his Rexie past the Nader residence and took a quick tour of the bombsite. 'Damn,' he muttered.

  Damien's house had been fenced off; signs proclaimed that entry was prohibited due to danger of collapse. He knew he should feel lucky – he was supposed to have been in there when the place blew, and he should also have been at Riverstone by the time it was busted. But instead, he had a real bad feeling. He couldn't pin it down, but he was thinking that maybe it had started with that bitch walking out of Christian's closet the other day, scaring the fuck out of him. Everything was too close for comfort lately.

  He pulled into a driveway a couple of doors up from what was left of Damo's house, turned the Rexie around, and headed back up to Nader's. He left the keys in the ignition and walked up to the front door. No cunt would steal a car parked out the front of the Nader joint.

  'You're late,' said Kasem when he opened the door. He stepped straight out of the house and into Byron's chest, forcing him to back up quickly.

  'Sorry, man. Where we going?' said Byron.