Master's mates ch-26

by Peter Corris

  ‘But you still want to…’

  She nodded vigorously. That gesture had made her glossy hair bounce the previous time. Now the hair was less glossy, less alive. She seemed to have aged a bit. In a way it made her more attractive. The artificiality I’d noticed in her features previously had diminished. It must have been a matter of makeup and deliberate control of facial muscles. Now the makeup was less careful and distress had removed some of the control. She drained her mug and set it on the desk.

  ‘I’ve made a mess of two men’s lives, I don’t want the score to go up to three. I still want to help him.’

  ‘Even if he doesn’t want you to.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does you credit, Lorrie. Well, we’ll see how it goes when Montefiore rings. These sort of elaborate entrapments have a way of going wrong. I suppose if we can find out enough we can apply some pressure in the right places. Maybe threaten to go to the media. Who knows? But it’s still a long shot.’

  She gave me a searching look and the strain lines subsided as she smiled. ‘That’s not what you mean, Cliff. You mean it’s dangerous.’

  ‘Yeah. Could be. For all concerned. Stewart included.’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m game and my guess is you are as well. Stewart? He doesn’t have any choice.’

  It wasn’t a bad summary of the situation-realistic, pragmatic. She stood and I did too, as a sort of reflex action. She moved around the desk and I found myself moving towards her. We stood close, almost touching. She drew in a deep breath and I saw her full breasts rise inside her shirt. She lifted her left hand and stroked the right side of my bristled face. I hadn’t noticed that she was left-handed. Some detective. Her hand was warm.

  She stepped back. ‘Sorry. Sorry. Not a good idea. Shit, I didn’t mean to…’

  I reached, took hold of her hand again, held it for a few seconds, lowered it and let it go. ‘I like the idea.’

  ‘No. Not now. Let’s…’

  We’d got through the moment, just, and we both knew it. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘You’d better get back to Britt and the kids and I’d better make sure my mobile’s charged up. Things to do. I’ll see you to your car, Lorrie. No harm in that.’

  She smiled. ‘No harm at all.’

  Montefiore’s call came through later that night.

  ‘Hardy? This is Jay Montefiore.’

  ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

  ‘That right? Good. Means the lady with the loot’s been taking notice.’

  ‘Speak your piece.’

  ‘Don’t you want to hear about our voyage?’

  ‘All I want to hear is where I meet up with Fay and when and how I make sure you’re not both bullshitting.’

  ‘Yeah? How d’you reckon to do that?’

  Unbidden, an idea came into my mind. I said: ‘I’ll have someone with me who’s an expert on analysing testimony. She’ll record what Fay says and examine it. When and if she’s satisfied, you’ll get your money.’

  There was a long silence. ‘Jesus. I don’t know about that.’

  ‘Take it or leave it. How’s Reg?’

  ‘What the fuck d’you care?’

  ‘I don’t much. Just thinking out loud. Mrs Master knows him and that counts for something. I thought Fay had an eye for him and he didn’t wave a gun at me. I’m wondering if we really need you in the picture, Jay.’

  ‘You’re a tricky bastard, Hardy, but it won’t work. Sucked in-Penny’s gay, didn’t you notice?’

  I had, sort of. ‘Just trying to get you going, but what I say still holds. Two of us, two of you. A tape. A couple of hours. Then you get your payday. When’re you getting married?’

  ‘Fuck you. I’ll ring later.’

  He hung up and I closed the mobile with a grin on my face. It never hurts to keep the opposition off balance. Worth a drink. I poured a moderate scotch and added a few millilitres of water. I had a candidate in mind for the testimony analysis.

  The phone rang again before I’d done much damage to the drink. I picked it up and didn’t speak.

  ‘Hardy?’

  ‘You’re back.’

  ‘Don’t be more of a smartarse than you can help. Okay, we agree to your terms. The meet’s tomorrow, nine sharp. Here’s the address-flat three, 213a Darling Street, Balmain.’

  I made a note, even though I was recording the call. ‘Why there?’

  ‘This isn’t a fuckin’ chitchat. That’s it.’

  ‘At a guess, Penny’s boat’s moored nearby.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘You sound anxious, Jay.’

  ‘I’m anxious to get the money. That’s all.’

  ‘Can I talk to Fay?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Stop pissing around.’

  ‘Okay. You don’t imagine I’m going to waltz in with twenty-five thousand cash in my briefcase, do you?’

  ‘You better.’

  ‘Get real. You’re green as grass at this game, Jay. I’ve done it before. In this country, every bank transaction of ten thousand dollars and over gets reported to the authorities. Mrs Master’s going to have to make three withdrawals from three different accounts. She can’t make them between now and nine o’clock tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to take cheques?’

  ‘Jesus, if I was there, Hardy, I’d-’

  ‘I’m sure you would. You’re not old and you’re a kick-boxer. I’ve never understood that sport, if that’s what it is. Kicking was considered cowardly when I was growing up.’

  He let out a stream of obscenities and I realised that he was pretty drunk. There was the sound of a whispered exchange, then an altercation at the end of the line and a different voice cut through: ‘Hardy? This is Fay. What’re you playing at?’

  ‘Welcome to Australia, Fay. Nothing, really, just trying to ensure a level playing field.’ I repeated what I’d said to Montefiore about the money. Fay didn’t rant and rave.

  ‘You listen to me, Hardy. You’d better turn up with five grand minimum or it’s no deal. Your client should be able to lay her hands on that much one way or another between now and then. If she can’t, she’s probably not going to come up with the rest. You tell her that. You tell her as soon as this call ends. And don’t bother with the call-back number. We won’t be there.’

  Fay was the real player and the one with the savvy. ‘All right, Fay,’ I said. ‘That’s one for your team. But I’ve got one more condition.’

  ‘I’m running out of patience here. What?’

  ‘I’ll want to see that. 38 sitting somewhere in plain view, unloaded, with the cylinder open.’

  ‘You’re paranoid.’

  ‘Big word. D’you know what it means?’

  End of call.

  16

  I phoned Lorraine and gave her the story. She asked why I’d played so hard to get and I told her I didn’t like being dictated to and that, with people like this, you had to keep an edge. And that I had another reason.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I thought you might like to come along-as this nonexistent testimony analyser.’

  ‘At nine o’clock in the morning in Balmain? Have you any idea what my day is looking like tomorrow?’

  ‘It was just a thought. You’re shelling out a lot of money. I thought you deserved a chance to look at where it’s going. As well as that, I think you probably are a good judge of character, with the occasional slip, and you might be better able to judge the value of what Fay says than me.’

  ‘You really think that?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘No ulterior motive?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘I can guess what you think of me, Cliff. That I’m one of those women attracted to bad men. Like the helicopter lady, right?’

  ‘It crossed my mind.’

  ‘Maybe you’re the same. Attracted to women with bad track records with men. Bitches.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘Jesus, as if I haven’t g
ot enough worries. But what if they know me? What if someone’s been watching me, or Penny’s given them a description?’

  ‘Good point. Got a wig? Four-inch heels?’

  She gave a snort of amusement. ‘I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it. How much money should I scrape up?’

  ‘Four thousand.’

  ‘I thought you said five.’

  ‘Stuff them.’

  She laughed and we agreed to meet in Balmain a few minutes before the appointed time. I’d be there earlier but I didn’t tell her that.

  I realised I still had half of the drink I’d made when Montefiore’s first call came through. I hadn’t touched it through the second call or when talking to Lorraine. I freshened it up and sat back. What are you doing? I thought. The woman’s ripped the heart out of two weak men and she’s prepared to go to bat for a third strong one only so he can co-parent for her. Keep your professional and emotional distance. I hadn’t even liked her at first. But then, I hadn’t liked Cyn with her North Shore ways straight off, or Helen Broadway with her divided loyalties, or Glen Withers, imbued with the police culture. I drank the scotch and wrestled with the thought that maybe Lorrie Master was right-I was attracted to unsuitable women. If so, too bad.

  I was in Balmain just before eight, with a pair of field glasses, a miniature tape recorder and a camera. First stop was the wharf at the end of Darling Street to make a sweep of the water with the glasses. It was a clear, crisp morning with no breeze yet to speak of. The Harbour Bridge looked majestic in the near distance and I watched the ferry to the Quay pull away with its cargo of office workers who at least could start and end the day surrounded by beauty. The harbour was already lively with boating types getting ready to do whatever they do with their big, pricey toys.

  The You Beaut was moored a hundred metres offshore amid a cluster of other boats. No action aboard. I supposed someone who knew boats could have told that she’d made a long voyage but I couldn’t. She looked the same to me as when she sat in Noumea marina. I moved around to get a better view and to be sure there was no reflection from the glasses and I saw some movement. Reg Penny emerged from the hatch with a bottle in his hand. He squatted near the bow, took a swig and then pulled out his tobacco and rolled a smoke. He lit it and drank again. He was bare-chested and wearing his battered shorts. He looked relaxed. A young man wearing a red kimono joined him and shared the cigarette and the bottle. They yawned and emptied the bottle. Penny tossed it into the water and they laughed and headed for the hatch. They weren’t going anywhere just yet and I was relieved. Penny would probably know Lorrie whatever disguise she adopted, and that wouldn’t help matters. I adjusted the zoom and took a photo of the two men and then one of the boat before heading back to my car.

  Number 213a was a small block of flats squeezed in between a convenience store and a dry-cleaner’s. The narrow side entrance from the street was blocked by a high security gate; a set of iron steps ran up the side of the building to a minuscule walkway with four doors opening out to it. From the shape of the building, the flats couldn’t have been much bigger than motel rooms. Jay and Fay weren’t splashing out on what they’d got so far.

  I drove back up the street and parked near the Gladstone Hotel where I could keep the flats in sight and any comings and goings. At first I didn’t recognise her. She looked taller and more heavily built; she wore sunglasses and her hair was blonde-streaked. It was something about her walk that identified her, a purposeful stride. She appeared from around the corner on the other side of the street and hesitated for just a fraction when she spotted my car. Then she kept on going and went into the convenience store. I left the glasses in the car, checked that the tape recorder was working and followed her.

  She’d bought a packet of cigarettes and was removing the wrapper.

  ‘Didn’t know you smoked, Lorrie.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘So I am.’

  ‘No need to overdo it. The look’s fine. Took me a bit to pick you.’

  ‘Right.’ She dropped the smokes and lighter into the pocket of the jacket she was wearing. It had padded shoulders and a solid lining, giving her the bulkier look. She wore slightly flared trousers and high, blocky heels. Her shoulder bag was roomy and vinyl, not the stylish leather number she usually carried.

  I touched her on the shoulder. “Where’d you get the jacket… and the bag?’

  ‘From Britt. She’s very puzzled, poor girl.’

  ‘Got the money?’

  ‘Four thousand, one hundred and fifty.’

  ‘Nice. Okay, let’s do it. What we’re after is the name of the man in question, who he works for and anything else distinctive about him. We get that on tape, give them the cash and leave after we agree to meet again. We should have time to run a rough check on the name. Won’t turn up anything if he’s undercover or it’s a false name, but it still could be useful.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘For one thing, it could help to put some pressure on Stewart.’

  ‘I’m all for that, but I’m a bit scared. Here’s the money.’

  It was packed into a manilla envelope and not that bulky. I put it in the side pocket of my windbreaker. ‘They’re not exactly desperadoes, Lorrie. Montefiore’s potentially violent, but Fay’s got both eyes on the money. She’ll keep him in check. She’s the player. Don’t be worried if you see a revolver on display. I told them to leave it out where I could see it. It’ll be unloaded.’

  Her composure wavered a little. ‘A gun? Have you got one too?’

  ‘No. This is about money and information. All sorts of threats about them maybe, but no one gets hurt.’

  We were standing outside the shop and it was still ten minutes to meeting time. Lorrie gave a startled jump as metal grated on cement and the security gate to the flats opened.

  ‘You’re early, Hardy,’ Jarrod Montefiore said. ‘Who’s your good-looking friend?’

  Dumb of me, we hadn’t agreed on a name. Lorrie was up to it. She swung around and took off her shades. ‘That makes us equal. Mr Hardy hasn’t told me your name either. Better that way, don’t you think?’

  We went up the steps and then in single file along to the door of flat three. Fay opened the door and stepped back. With four of us inside there wasn’t a lot of space left over. The place was what’s called a studio, meaning that cooking, eating, living and sleeping all went on in the same room. The bathroom and toilet were just about big enough to sit down and turn around in. The furniture was old and battered. The Smith amp; Wesson sat on top of the TV set with the cylinder closed. They were game-playing. Fair enough. So were we.

  ‘Fay,’ I said. ‘Good to see you.’

  Fay was looking at Lorrie and ignored me. The jacket she wore and the bag she carried were cheap; I couldn’t tell about the shoes, pants and blouse. I wondered if Fay could. Lorrie returned the look. Fay’s dark roots were showing and she’d put on some weight, presumably from inactivity. There was a suggestion of a double chin and her jeans looked tighter than would be comfortable. She swung away, picked up a packet of cigarettes from the stained Formica table and lit one.

  ‘Let’s get down to it.’

  ‘Meaning let’s see the money,’ Montefiore said. Unlike Fay, he was looking good-tanned and fit and moving loosely. Maybe he’d had to work hard on the boat; maybe he was back in the gym kicking canvas. He looked now as if he could give Sione a good run for his money.

  I tossed the envelope on the table and turned the tape recorder on inside my blazer pocket. I hooked a chair out for Lorrie, who took off her jacket and sat down. Fay looked nervous. She smoked and flicked ash into a saucer crowded with butts. She watched Montefiore as he counted the money.

  ‘Four thousand,’ he said.

  I said, ‘Four thousand one hundred and fifty.’

  Montefiore bunched a fist. ‘I said five.’

  I shrugged. ‘All she could muster.’

  Fay butted her cigarette and dropped heavily into a chair. ‘Sit down, Jay. What t
he fuck’s the difference?’

  Montefiore glanced at the. 38.

  ‘Don’t even think it,’ I said. ‘You’ve got twenty thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars to come.’

  He sat down next to Fay. ‘It’d be almost worth it, you tricky cunt.’

  Lorrie glanced at me. ‘Can we start, Mr Hardy? I’ve got a busy day.’

  Fay lit another cigarette. The air in the room, already stale and smelly, was thickening. ‘I thought you were going to record this,’ she said.

  I nodded. ‘We’re recording. Let’s start with the bloke’s name. Make it loud and clear.’

  ‘She’s not even listening,’ Fay said.

  Annoyed, I glanced at Lorrie, who was looking distracted. ‘She’ll listen to the tape.’

  ‘I can hear something outside,’ Lorrie said. ‘I-’

  The flimsy door crashed inwards and a man wearing a stocking mask burst through the gap. He had a pistol with a long barrel in his hand and he fired twice quickly, the shots no louder than heavy coughing. I pulled Lorrie to the floor between the first and second reports and Montefiore, who’d been hit somewhere low, reeled towards the gunman, who shot him again, point-blank. I scrabbled across the carpet to the television set, bumped it away stand and all with my shoulder and scooped up the. 38, praying that it was loaded. Montefiore had collapsed towards the gunman but was still clutching at him. The gunman squeezed off more wild shots before I had the. 38 roughly aligned. I fired twice in his direction but he was already moving, heaving against Montefiore’s bulk, heading for the door. I fired again, but he was gone.

  The air in the room was thick with the smell of cordite and dust from where the bullets had impacted on the walls and ceiling. I coughed and spluttered as I got to my feet, fighting for physical and mental balance. Through the haze I could see that Fay was lying back in her chair, a dark hole in the middle of her forehead. Montefiore lay face down with his hands stretched out like claws, pointing in the direction his killer had taken. Blood from his wounds had surged forward and was trickling towards the shattered door.

  ‘Lorrie?’