Left Luggage

by Andrew Christie

  By the time they put the tools away for the day, John’s skin was stiff with dried sweat and he was itching from the sawdust that had got down his shirt. Billy had sawdust all through his hair. John poured a Coke for Billy and a beer for himself and settled down on the lounge.

  “How old are you Billy?”

  Billy gave him a curious look. “Twelve. Why?”

  “Just wondering. You work pretty hard, you know, for a skinny little kid.”

  Billy didn’t respond and John realised that he had embarrassed him. He was a good kid and John enjoyed working with him but he was looking forward to the boy finishing his drink and heading home. A shower was in order, then a quiet night eating leftovers and watching crap on television. Tomorrow he would have to visit his mother. “When’s your birthday?” he tried to make it sound natural. Billy didn’t get a chance to answer. He was still looking suspiciously at John when there was a knock at the front door.

  The young man on the doorstep was tall, broad shouldered, with something familiar in the eyes and mouth. A young woman was waiting on the footpath. Heavy eye make-up, tight T-shirt.

  “I’m Tom,” the young man said. “Billy’s my brother.”

  John heard Billy swearing behind him.

  “I’m John Lawrence.”

  Tom looked at John’s outstretched hand for a moment then took it briefly.

  “What can I do for you, Tom?” John said.

  “You fixing the old place up?”

  “Yeah. Billy’s helping me. He’s a good worker, your brother.”

  “You paying him?”

  John glanced at Billy before replying. “Yeah, I’m paying him.”

  “How much?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Tom. Billy’ll tell you if he wants you to know.”

  “He reckons you’re exploiting him. Child labour. It’s illegal.”

  From behind, Billy said, “I never—”

  “What are you, the union?” John said. Smiling.

  “This place should have been ours, you know. Ma’s anyway, then ours.”

  “That’s not what your grandmother thought, apparently.” John stepped forwards, still smiling, but forcing Tom to step back.

  “What’d you pay, hey?” he said. “A million? More? That should be ours.”

  “Time you left, mate,” John said, still smiling, though it was becoming more of an effort. “There’s nothing here that belongs to you.”

  Tom tried to meet his eyes, stand his ground. He shifted his weight slightly to his left foot, then he thought better of it. He leaned to the side, trying to peer past John. “Billy, let’s go. You’re not staying here with this prick. He’s probably a paedo. Come on.”

  Billy didn’t move.

  “Come on.”

  “He’s not,” said Billy. “And I’m not going. Not with you.”

  Tom looked at John. “This is our place. Always has been.” Then he turned and left, storming past the girl, who rolled her eyes and followed him.

  John turned back towards Billy. “Your family continues to impress. How’d you turn out not to be a dickhead?”

  “Sorry,” said Billy.

  “Not your fault, mate. We can’t help our families.” John thought Billy must have inherited the whole Sheehan clan’s quota of intelligence and charm. “You going to be alright going home? You can stay here if you want.”

  “No. It’ll be alright. Tom won’t go home. They’re heading for Jenny’s place.” Billy grabbed his sweatshirt and made for the door, pausing just before he pulled it shut. “Next month. My birthday is next month.”

  On Sunday John took Vietnamese take away over to Forest Court. It was a new Sunday night ritual that he and Betty were both a bit surprised to find they enjoyed. Now that his mother had settled in, John was trying to cut down on the time he spent with her, to give her some space, to let her get on with her own life. And him with his. He figured twice a week would be okay. She could call him if she needed anything during the week. Not that she needed much, and the doctors said she was doing pretty well, worryingly healthy now that her leg had healed.

  After dinner, John asked Betty about Ken. “You get on alright with him don’t you? He seems like a nice bloke.”

  “Yes, he is. He has a good sense of humour. Did you remember to find out about Billy’s birthday?”

  “Yes. It’s next month.”

  “Good. I’ll get you to take me to a camera store.” Betty paused and looked out the window. “Will you look at that old fool.” She got up from the table and started tapping on the window. “Gino, stop it. Leave the flowers alone. I will prune them when I’m good and ready.” The old man stopped picking dead hydrangea flowers, startled by the noise, looking around for the source of the insistent tapping. When he spotted Betty’s angry little figure at the window, making shooing motions at him, he gave an apologetic shrug, turned and shuffled off across the courtyard, leaving the dead flower heads on the ground.

  “Bloody Italians. They always think they know everything about gardening. If he wants to be a gardener he should get his own plants.”

  “That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” said John.

  “The old fool is demented. Every time he goes past, he cannot resist picking off the dead flowers. Of course everyone is on his side, afraid of a few dead flowers. Probably reminds them what’s waiting for them. For us all.” She sat down again, but was still fuming. “Everything neat and tidy, that’s what they want.”

  John had just been thinking how good it was that Betty was getting to know the other residents, making some friends. He stood up. “I better get going. Do you want me to put the rest of this wine in the fridge?”

  “No, leave it. I’ll finish it before I go to bed.”

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  Mileage

  Large was in his study with a cup of coffee, reading the newspaper with his feet up on the desk. The study was just a fourth bedroom with a desk, a leather lounge and a television set. No computers, no landlines or faxes. He didn’t trust them.

  He had a nice house, and a good life, living with Darlene, a tall blonde, and Sharon, a miniature dachshund. He had been with Darlene for ten years but the dog was a relative newcomer, a gift for Darlene for her fortieth. That was two years ago. The gift had generated some memorable thank-you sex, but cute as Sharon was, the little dog had turned out to be a serious yapper, and Darlene an over-indulgent dog owner. On the other hand, Sharon was probably a better intruder alarm than all the electronic systems he’d installed.

  Everything considered though, he had a pretty good life. The house was in Caringbah, in a quiet street, surrounded by a leafy garden that gave it lots of privacy, something Large valued in his line of work. Good neighbours too, predictable. Mrs Christopoulos on one side and the Davidsons on the other, Jeff and Lucy. Nice bloke, Jeff; an accountant. He spent a lot of time in his garden, and it showed. The place was immaculate, always looked fantastic, not a leaf out of place. Generous too, always offering to lend Large his weed-eater or hedge shears. Large had never taken up the offer though, he liked his garden the way it was: overgrown, and well screened from the street.

  Mrs C was a good gardener too. Vegies were her go, no room for flowers. She had the whole backyard under cultivation. Fucking fantastic tomatoes every year. Never failed to bring over a basket for Large and Darlene. She lived alone, no sign of Mr C, not since Large and Darlene had moved in nine years ago. Large had offered a helping hand if she ever needed anything done around the place, but she said, “I got a big family, Phillip, two sons and two daughters. They look after their mum. But thank you. You are a good neighbour.” She was right, he was a good neighbour. Mrs C’s kids all had families of their own. Lots of grandchildren, some of them were teenagers now, so she had lots of hands to help out around the house. Good cook too, Mrs C. Darlene was no slouch in the kitchen but Mrs C could do a roast chicken that just about brought tears to your eyes. She did it some special Greek way, w
ith garlic, lemon and olives. Often Mrs C had arrived at the front door on a Sunday evening, after her family had left: “Phillip, here is some chicken. I make too much, the children don’t want it. Please, take it for you and Darlene.”

  “Happy to, Mrs C. That last lot was the best chicken I have ever eaten. I am not joking. It was fantastic. You’re gonna have to teach Darlene how to do that.”

  “Oh, is just roast chicken,” she said, but smiling. She loved it when Large flattered her. Lovely woman.

  Darlene liked to cook too. Asian mostly. Thai and Vietnamese were her specialities. Some Indian too, not so much Chinese. She was a good cook but sometimes Large hankered for a bit of a roast. Still, count your blessings; the food was good and Darlene was bloody good in bed. Still a looker at forty-two. Blonde. Natural – not a lot of that around these days. Fantastic tits and a nice arse. With Mrs C coming across with the occasional roast chicken, Large didn’t have very much to complain about at all.

  He was just thinking that maybe he needed a couple of biscuits to go with the coffee when his phone began vibrating and playing the Ride of the Valkyries. He grunted, and jammed a pudgy finger and thumb into his hip pocket to prise out his tiny battered flip phone. “Yeah?”

  “Phil?”

  “Yeah, who’s this?”

  “Dennis.”

  What the fuck did he want? “G’day, Dennis, How are ya?”

  “Good. Listen—”

  “Hang on a sec, Dennis. Is this line cool?”

  “Yeah it’s ... remote. Like you said.”

  “Good, okay, but let’s keep it brief, Dennis. Best to be safe, hey?”

  “Yeah, sure. Just wanted to say that it came through this morning. I wasn’t expecting it just yet but, you know. But, well, just lucky it was my shift.”

  “What did?”

  “The shipment.”

  “What shipment?”

  “You know. The shipment.”

  “Dennis, I got no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Um, fuck. Okay ...” There was a pause then, “But listen, Phil, I’m pretty sure this line’s okay. And I wasn’t followed or anything.”

  “Listen, mate, if they were onto you, you wouldn’t fucking know if they were up your arse or not.” Large ran his thick fingers through his hair. “Where are you?”

  “Sackville.”

  “Sackville? Jesus, mate.”

  “You said call from somewhere remote.”

  “Yeah, I did, but remote, not foreign.” Large sipped at his coffee while he thought. “Dennis, I’ve got no idea what fucking shipment you’re talking about. Our shipment isn’t coming for three weeks.”

  “Three weeks. Yeah, well that’s what I thought, what I was expecting. And you were gonna let me know the box number before.”

  “Yeah, that’s the plan.”

  “Well, that’s not what happened.”

  “Just fucking tell me what did happen.”

  “Okay, sure. A container came through this morning with a suitcase in it, like you said. Loaded – guns and money.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. I wasn’t expecting it. Just lucky I was on the scanner. Nearly shat myself when I saw the guns. But no one else was paying attention so I just cleared the screen and let it through.”

  “Fuck.” Large swallowed the rest of the coffee, burning his mouth. “Okay, okay. Listen, Dennis, I need to make a call, find out what the fuck’s going on. Call me back in two hours.”

  “Okay.”

  “And use a different location, don’t hang around in fucking Sackville, you’ll stick out like dog’s balls.”

  Large snapped the phone shut and put it on the desk. Outside he could see Darlene putting out the washing. There was some high cloud about but it was still warm, with a breeze tickling at the gum trees next door. Good drying weather. He gave the phone a flick with his finger and watched it spin round and around. When it stopped spinning he picked it up and flipped it open again. His big thumb moved quickly over the tiny keypad, entering the number.

  The phone rang twice then it was answered. “Large, what’s up?”

  “Jimmy. I need you, we might have a problem.”

  “What?”

  “Get over to my place, I’ll tell you when you get here.” Large pulled the phone away from his ear and squinted at the little clock at the top of the screen. “Say half an hour. Be here before ten.”

  “Okay, but—”

  Large snapped the phone shut then slid the cover off the back. He dropped the battery out onto the desk and pulled the SIM card out, replacing it with another from his wallet. Then he tapped in a text message to a number in Germany. Two minutes later the reply came through.

  ~all on schedule no changes problem?

  Large thought before replying.

  all good just checking

  He hoped he was right. Large had spent a lot of time putting everything in place on this new scheme. Lots of money, and lots of hand holding. But Dennis was the key. Large was all set to bring in a case of Glocks every two months. Now this. Nothing was ever simple.

  It was right on ten when Sharon started yapping and scrabbling at the front door. Large was on his way to let Jimmy in, but Darlene beat him to it, scooping the dog up before she opened the door.

  “Hey, Darlene,” Jimmy said, coming in and nodding to Large.

  “Hey, Jimmy. How are you?” Darlene said. She closed the door and put Sharon down. The little dog immediately jumped up on Jimmy’s legs, licking at his fingers. He squatted down and it rolled over, presenting its long stomach to be rubbed.

  The fearsome attack dog, thought Large.

  “I’m just about to make a cuppa,” Darlene said. “Do you two want some?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Large said, already on his way back to the study.

  “Thanks, Darlene, white with two,” said Jimmy, giving Sharon a last pat before following Large.

  Large could hear his phone ringing and vibrating on the desk as he walked up the hall to the study.

  He picked it up and said, “Hello.”

  “Phil?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Bundeena.”

  “Jesus, Dennis, I hope you’re not gonna claim mileage,” Large said, sitting down behind the desk. Jimmy pulled a car magazine off the shelf and sat down on the lounge.

  “No. Of course not—”

  “It’s not ours.”

  “What?”

  “The shipment, it’s not ours.”

  “How—”

  “You let through somebody else’s suitcase full of guns and money.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Fuck, yeah. Some other prick is using our operation to bring in their own hardware.”

  “Who—”

  “Dunno. Any number of cunts probably, but we’re gonna find out. Tell me about the guns.”

  “Um, they were machine guns.”

  “Jesus. What sort?”

  “I don’t know. They were smallish, you know like the movies. Like the ones gangsters use.”

  “Assault rifles? Sub-machine guns? Machine pistols?”

  “I don’t know. They were small, maybe you’d call them machine pistols.”

  “How many?”

  “Not sure exactly. I cleared the screen as soon as I realised what they were. More than three, maybe four or five.”

  “Okay, not a big shipment then.”

  “What’s big?”

  “Twenty. What about the money?”

  “Looked like a lot. Big bundles of notes. And coins, two bags of coins.”

  “Coins?”

  “Yeah. I thought that was a bit weird, but it’s probably gold. You get that sometimes.”

  “Okay. Gold.” Large glanced at Jimmy, who was lying on the lounge listening to Large’s side of the conversation. “We need to find out where the suitcase went. Did you get a delivery address?”

  “Yeah,” said Dennis. “Storage units in Stanmore.”

  “Oka
y, thanks, mate. Just sit tight. Our job is still on – I’ll call you the week after next.” Large shut his phone and put it back in his pocket.

  “So?” asked Jimmy.

  “Storage unit in Stanmore. We better get over there and check it out.”

  “What about this one?” Betty said, opening the door of one of the fridges lined up on the showroom floor, and letting out a smell of stale vinyl and plastic.

  “No, I want to get one with an ice maker. Like this one.” He opened the door of a fridge that was taller than him and twice as wide as most of the other fridges on display. He had always wanted a fridge with an ice maker, ever since he was a kid, when he had seen them on American television shows.

  They were at a discount appliance store in Alexandria. John had decided that it was time he had a decent fridge to replace the second-hand bar fridge he’d been living out of. He was surprised when his mother had asked if she could come with him. “I’m just looking at fridges, Mum. Nothing exciting.”

  “Better than looking at these walls. I want to get out and about.”

  “Alright, we can get some lunch while we’re at it.” He didn’t regret the time that he spent with his mother, but he didn’t want to get distracted from the work on the house. Not that he had any hard and fast deadline to meet, but he had a program for the work, target dates, to put some limits on the project. He didn’t want it to just drift along. That had been part of the problem after he left the army. No structure. After he got over the burns, he just drifted for a while, convinced himself that he wanted the freedom of being his own boss. But he got bored, got desperate, then got back into it. Private security, but it hadn’t been the same.