by Peter Corris
‘I tried to get in touch with you just before Ken’s boys got rough with me,’ I said. ‘I was told you were sick.’
‘Yeah. When Scott died I tried to pretend it had nothing to do with Ken. Then Julian came to me again and told me Ken’s latest threat. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I went to Ken and he nearly went berserk. He told me about you and said he’d kill Gina if anyone interfered with his plans. Including me. He didn’t threaten my wife and kids, but he wasn’t far off doing it. I had some kind of breakdown. I’m all right now.’
I doubted it. I got up and suggested we walk around a bit. I wanted to see how he moved, how tense he really was. You can tell a lot from the way someone walks and reacts to other moving objects. He welcomed the idea and jumped up jerkily. Worrying. We strolled around the park and he seemed to relax a little as we went. A dog dashed past with its young owner running after it, calling its name. Joe grinned briefly at the sight. A dog-lover or a kid-lover. He wasn’t doing too badly.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I understand what you’re saying, but nothing’s changed. From what I’ve seen of it, that house of your parents’ makes a pretty good prison and Ken has several nasty types to do the heavy work for him. Gina’s his ace-in-the-hole. If I ... if we could get her out things’d be different. But I can’t see how.’
‘There’s a way,’ he said slowly. ‘There’s a way.’
We were at the north end of the park, almost to Glebe Point Road with the Ancient Briton just across the way. It was nearly noon. ‘Come and have a drink, Joe,’ I said, ‘and tell me all about it.’
22
Finding a quiet spot to talk in in the Ancient Briton is no easy matter, what with drinkers, pinball players and the race broadcasts. The best time is in the lull immediately after a race when the winners and losers drift over to the TAB section to collect or attempt to redeem their losses. As a form of gambling it seems to me to have it all over cards and dice and little balls rattling round in a spinning wheel, but to each his own. Joe’s drink was white wine and mine was old beer. We retreated to a dark corner and drank while waiting for the race hubbub to subside. When it was quiet enough, Joe said. ‘They go to church on Sunday. That’s the key to it.’
‘Who does?’
‘My mother and father, Ken and his wife and their kids. Gina doesn’t go. She isn’t a Catholic and she refused to bring the twins up as Catholics. That’s another thing the old people and Ken have got against her. Scott was like me—didn’t care one way or the other. Ken’s a pillar of the church—big contributor, wants one of his boys to be a priest and one of the girls a nun. All that shit. It’s very important to him. He puts on his thousand dollar three-piece and goes to church, no matter what.’
‘That leaves how many watching Gina?’
‘Two.’
‘A little guy, bit bandy, looks like he might’ve been a jockey that grew? And a big bald character?’
Joe drank some wine. ‘That’s right. Their names are Lewis and Barbour. They’ve both got criminal records. Ken convinced my dad that they’re needed for protection. There’s a couple of others that spell them from time to time, but they’re the ones on duty on Sundays.’
‘I can’t quite see how Ken keeps Gina penned up in there. She’s a resourceful woman. She must be able to think of some way out.’
Joe shook his head. ‘She’s not well and the twins are sickly. Ken’s threatened to take the kids away and send them to Italy. Gina’s more or less dropped her bundle. She needs help in the worst way.’
I thought about it as I finished my drink. Lewis and Barbour were formidable but not insuperable obstacles, especially if I had a bit of backup. Still tricky, though, and disastrous if it went wrong.
Joe returned with two more drinks. ‘The thing is, you have to understand how Ken thinks. He doesn’t believe anything serious can happen on a Sunday morning. It’s a mind-set with him; he almost changes personality for those couple of hours. Also, there’s a short time, just ten minutes or so, when only Lewis is there. Barbour gets there later, at least he did the last two Sundays.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I’ve been going to church with them, just to get right up Ken’s nose. He can’t say anything about it. The oldies are so glad to have me along. My father’s failing a bit. Scott’s death hit him hard. Me going to church is a plus. Ken can’t deny him that.’
‘I’m encouraged,’ I said. ‘Just what’ve you got in mind?’
‘I think I should check it out again tomorrow. See if there’s still that time gap. Then we should do it the next Sunday. Go in there and take Gina and the kids out. Then heap all the shit on Ken we can.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said and I meant it. Another week of inactivity wouldn’t be so bad with the knowledge that something was going to happen at the end of it. The thought of guns worried me a bit, but it appeared that Barbour was the gunman in the group and we were hoping to avoid him. In an operation like that there’s no certainty. The best you can hope for is a prospect of success and Joe’s plan had that. Besides, I needed Gina out of Ken’s clutches if I was going to get paid.
On Monday there was a message on my answering machine. The voice said, ‘Gleebooks here. The book you ordered has come in, Mr Hardy.’ It was Joe Galvani’s signal that the gap in the security at the Balgowlah house had occurred again. On Tuesday I broke and phoned Glen’s flat. No answer. I tried the Goulburn Academy and was told that Sergeant Withers was on medical leave. I asked what was wrong with her but that was information that could not be divulged. Compassionate leave, perhaps. I rang the house at Whitebridge but if she was there she wasn’t answering the phone. I missed her and I was suffering a bad case of jealousy. I wondered what other members of the force, male, senior rank, were on leave at the moment and who among them had recently done a tour of duty on the south coast. No hope of finding out.
Despite being used to irregular hours, the night duty at the casino threw my sleep patterns out. I found it hard to sleep during the day and was tired just about the time I had to start work. It was lucky there were no crises because I wasn’t in a fit condition to cope with them. I delegated as much as I could and trusted that the system would run smoothly. It did and I got the credit from Oscar Cartwright. I also got an insight into the way executives function and it didn’t increase my respect for them.
The most impressive member of the security staff was Ralston. Edgy, nervous and aggressive, he was on top of everything. He never looked tired and his powers of concentration were amazing. He could sit for hours at a video monitor, making notes and looking for anomalies. He spotted a dodgy blackjack dealer and ran the tape for me.
‘See how he does it?’
‘No,’ I said.
Ralston explained how he manipulated the cards in the shoe and the slight pause that occurred in a part of his routine. It took me three viewings to pick it up.
‘How much is he costing us?’
Ralston checked his notes. ‘Not much. My guess is he’s setting up for one big score.’
I’d been thoroughly briefed on the procedure to cope with this situation. The dealers were on contract; they were unionised and had high-priced lawyers available. It was necessary to go very carefully with them. The drill was for us to investigate the offender before suspending him and calling him to a private session at which he could offer to resign after seeing the evidence. Or he could opt for a hearing, where he could be represented by as many QCs as he could muster. Ralston and I worked together on the matter and it came together easily. The dealer was an unlucky punter in heavy debt to the bookies. He had hired a card sharp to teach him the tricks and was grooming a young woman to play recklessly and one fine night come out a big winner.
Our man took the resignation option. Cartwright congratulated me and I suggested a bonus be paid to Ralston. He came to my office to thank me and accepted a tonic and bitters while I had a light beer.
‘You’ve got me pegged, haven’t you?’
‘I’ve
seen it before, Keith. How long’s it been?’
‘Three years, bit more.’
‘You’re making a bloody good fist of it. Good luck to you, I say.’
‘Thanks. It’s hard. The days seem so fucking long, you know? But if I went back on the booze I’d lose everything—wife, family, the lot. I came close before and I know it’s not worth it. But it’s hard. Keeping busy’s the answer, or part of the answer.’
He drank some tonic water. ‘I could use some more responsibility. That’d help, but I doubt I’ll ever get it. I put in for your job, but ...’ He shook his head. ‘No way.’
I leaned forward. ‘I’ll put in a word for you when the time comes. Maybe get you the 2IC spot.’
‘That’d be something.’
‘I might need some help soon. It’s to do with the Galvani thing. There’s a bit of risk involved.’
‘I could do with an adrenalin rush.’
‘You’re not a religious man, are you, Keith?’
‘No, not at all. Why?’
‘This goes down next Sunday morning.’
He finished his drink in a long swallow and set the glass firmly down on my desk. ‘Sunday’s the worst,’ he said.
On the Saturday afternoon before we were to make our bid, I sent Ralston off to reconnoitre the Balgowlah house, telling him to make sure the car he used wasn’t wired up in any way. It was risky because Ken and his boys knew him by sight, but if he couldn’t do this without being spotted he wouldn’t be much use to me on the day anyhow. We had a meeting at the casino that night and he had a full account of the layout plus photographs.
‘Amateurs,’ he said.
‘But armed and motivated.’
‘I suppose so. Certainly armed, and there’s a bit of whizz-bang electronics but nothing I can’t cope with. I had a bit of a look around in the garage by the way. The facilities are there to bug and track the cars. It looks like Terry Baxter’s playing games. He’s the boss of the car pool.’
I’d met him briefly. A red-faced beefy type who was going to be out of a job if everything went right. Ralston showed no signs of nerves and did his job with the usual precision. I was jumpy. It was a busy night at the casino and the money-counters were flat out. Not long before I was due to knock off Oscar Cartwright got hold of me and took me to his office for a drink.
‘Not long to go now, Cliff. Sure you won’t reconsider and stay on?’
There’s nothing like a single malt at 3 a.m. I rolled it around in my mouth. ‘No thanks, O.C. I’ll miss the cheques and your smiling face, but it’s not really my scene. I’ll break your new boy in and then I’ll get back to gum-shoeing.’
He sighed. ‘You’re a romantic.’
‘That’s me,’ I said.
I bade him goodnight and went off to find something to get the smell of the whisky off my breath. I was meeting Ralston and I didn’t want to make it any harder for him than it already was and always would be, forever and ever, amen.
He was making a last check of the monitors, clear-eyed, skinny from the long drying-out process, pale from the night work. ‘We’ve got a bloke off sick,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to stick around for another hour or two.’
I kept my voice down, although there was no one else in the room. ‘Won’t give you much time to sleep. We go at eight-thirty.’
‘I wasn’t planning to sleep. I’ll be ready.
‘Okay. See you then.’
We’d arranged to meet at the Spit Bridge at 8 a.m. sharp. He gave me a thumbs-up and turned back to the bank of monitors. Grey shapes drifted down empty corridors and disembodied hands shuffled cards and threw dice. I shivered without knowing why and got out of there.
23
Our plan had the virtue of simplicity and the element of surprise. We were to roll up to the big double gates, Ralston in his Hiace van and me in the Commodore. Ralston was confident he had a gizmo that would open the gates. That was the surprise. Lewis, who I still thought of as Runty, would have to cope with two armed and determined men. The simple thing for him to do would be to give up.
I’d had a few hours sleep but I hadn’t shaved and I wore jeans, a T-shirt and an old denim jacket. Ralston had shaved and wore a suit, although he’d dispensed with the tie. I’d heard of this before—reformed drunks have to keep themselves spruce as a reminder of what awaits them if they fall off the wagon. We met at the bridge and Ralston produced two balaclavas.
‘What d’you think?’ he said.
I shook my head. ‘I want Gina to recognise me instantly so there’s no frigging around. We want to be in and out before Barbour shows up. What’ve you got that goes bang?’
He threw the balaclavas into the van and invited me to look through the window. On the floor I could see a pump-action shotgun with a barrel not much longer than a stick of cabanossi.
‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘Are you any good with it?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right, Keith. Let’s do it!’
The street the Galvanis lived in was wide and the property was so big that our area of operations would be well away from the nearest neighbour. A plus. A quiet Sunday morning. Kids don’t play in the street anymore, they watch television. NO cars parked in the road, of course—this was multiple-garage territory. Ralston took the lead and swung his van into the driveway. I saw his arm go up and the big wrought-iron gates swung open. The van shot through, up the raked gravel drive, and he executed the fastest three-point turn I’ve ever seen. Smart move but I wasn’t expecting it and didn’t have the time or space to do the same. I’d have to back out.
We jumped from the vehicles. Ralston slid open the van’s door and we raced for the back of the big house. I had my .38 in my hand and was praying I wouldn’t have to use it. Ralston ran briskly ahead of me with the pump in one hand. Joe had told me that the front door was kept locked and was protected by a heavy security screen. The back door was the go. Ralston jerked it open and jumped into the kitchen with the shotgun held low. I had the layout of the house from Joe and we’d agreed on our initial roles. Me to get Gina and the kids, Keith to scare the shit out of Lewis.
As it turned out, the two things happened more or less simultaneously. I ran up the stairs and could hear Ralston pelting through the downstairs room. I opened Gina’s door and found her looking out the window down at the driveway.
‘Gina, it’s Cliff Hardy. Don’t be scared. Where’re the kids?’
She was scared. She was also pale and listless. It seemed to take forever for her to recognise me, but she did and pointed to a door. ‘In there.’
‘Good, get them quick. No clothes, no toys, just get them and we’re going.’
‘But he’s just ...’
I heard a noise outside and spun around, bringing the gun up. There was a thud and Ralston showed himself, waving his hand to bring my gun down. ‘Got him,’ he snapped. ‘Let’s make it fast.’
Gina was wearing pyjamas and a light dressing gown. She was barefooted. The babies were in twin cots. She gathered them up, almost dropping one. ‘I’m so weak,’ she moaned.
I took one of the infants and tucked it under my arm.
‘Come on!’ Ralston hissed. ‘I don’t want to have to hit him again.’
I shot a quick glance at Runty as we dashed for the stairs. He was sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out. There was blood running down his face from a gash on his forehead but he was stirring. Both babies started to yell as we hit the stairs and Gina would have stopped if I hadn’t shouted at her to keep going. She stumbled, but kept moving. The kids screamed their heads off and Ralston’s feet thumped on the carpet as he took the last six steps in a jump. We rushed through the hall and dining room and kitchen and out onto the tiled area at the back Ralston was in the lead, bent low with the shotgun amazingly steady as he ran.
We rounded the house and saw a green car come bucketing through the gates. It skidded to a stop a few metres through the gates.
‘Shit,’ Ralston yelled. ‘Get them in the van.’
I bundled Gina and the twins in and slid the door closed. Barbour was out of his car and the stubby carbine was in his hands. I fired at him, knowing I wouldn’t get him at the range. I heard the bullet thud into the brick wall. There was a boom as Ralston sent a shell into the front of Barbour’s car. The bonnet and grille collapsed. Barbour jumped aside and raised his gun. I snapped off another shot and missed again. Ralston had run forward and was close now. He aimed low and fired. Barbour jumped in the air and fell, his gun fulling free. Ralston was getting into the van. I ran up to the window.
‘It’s all gone wrong. We can’t leave him.’
Ralston grinned at me as he started the engine. ‘He’ll be okay. I loaded every second shell with light birdshot. Let’s get the hell out of here.’
Barbour was sitting up now, clutching at his legs. His trouser pants were turning dark but he was swearing and getting ready to crawl across the grass for his gun. The Hiace shot down the drive, swerving around the mangled green car, and I followed. Trying to reverse fast and avoid an obstacle while your hands are shaking isn’t easy, and I clipped the brick pillar on the right-hand side as I went through. As I straightened up I saw that Barbour was on his feet with his gun in his hand. Runty was staggering towards him down the drive. I hoped Baldy wouldn’t blow him away out of sheer disappointment.
I glanced at the dashboard clock as I pulled away and saw that the whole thing had taken eight minutes. We’d allowed ourselves ten. Barbour had arrived about two minutes early, just soon enough to get a couple of dozen pellets in his legs. Tough.
I’d nutted the whole thing out with Joe Galvani in the pub eight days back. We drove directly to the airport where we met up with Joe, who had clothes for Gina and the twins as well as tickets on a flight to Perth. He had people standing by there to take care of them. The kids were still screaming but they calmed down when Joe produced heated bottles. Gina was slowly getting her bearings and taking stock of things. She dressed in the back of the van and got the twins togged up. Joe had a double stroller unfolded and when they were installed with their bottles they looked as if nothing unusual had happened.
