by Garry Disher
Stolle had a little pistol in his fist. Get out.
You wont need that.
Get out.
Wyatt waited for him at the door that led to the house. He let Stolle prod him with the gun into the kitchen and then through to a room at the front. Stolle had spent some time and money on the place: thick woollen carpets, central heating, expensive fabrics on the chairs and over the windows.
Stolles front room had the look of an underused office. The furniture smelt new; there was dust on the screen of his Apple. He shoved Wyatt in the back. Have a seat.
There was an armchair and an ergonomic desk chair. Wyatt collapsed into the armchair. He realised how tired he was and a series of tendon-stretching yawns broke out in him suddenly. Stolle grinned at him, swivelling back and forth on the rotating seat of the desk chair.
God knows what she sees in you.
Who?
The client. On the run, fresh out of luck and friends, you dont exactly inspire confidence.
Wyatt yawned again. I want to see the five thousand.
Stolle lost his grin. After a while he nodded and reached his right hand into his left sleeve. Wyatt heard a snap of elastic on flesh and then Stolle was throwing him a small packet.
He caught it with both hands. He knew at once that it contained less than five thousand dollars. He riffled the notes with his thumb: ten one-hundred dollar notes, torn cleanly in half.
This was stupid. He felt too weary to fight it. He shook his head, dropped the half notes on the floor.
Stolle reached into an inside pocket of his jacket. This time it was an envelope with a key in it. Brisbane bus station locker key. Theres four thousand dollars waiting for you. The other half of the money on the floor youll get when were on the plane tomorrow morning.
Wyatt stared fixedly at Stolle and weighed it up. He could thump Stolle for the other half and walk out of here with a thousand dollars now, but be arrested or shot tomorrow. He could let Stolle take him to Brisbane and still find trouble, whether or not the promised five thousand was attached to it. He didnt think this deal came free of trouble. It was trouble in the sun, though, a place where his face meant nothing to anyone, and those things were more important than anything else right now.
What does this woman want?
She said there was something in it for you. Maybe your parents died?
Wyatt said nothing to that.
A rich uncle maybe?
Did she give you a name?
No name.
Describe her.
Stolle swivelled unconcernedly in the chair. He shook his head. Youve come this far. By lunchtime tomorrow youll have answers, plus five thousand bucks in your pocket.
What about you?
Me? Stolle grinned. I pick up my dough and go and play in the sun. He rattled imaginary dice in his palm and tossed them across his desk.
Wyatt shrugged. He didnt gamble and didnt understand the compulsion. Chance came into his workthe bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time, an unaccountable switch in routinebut mostly he worked from verifiable information and he controlled all the factors. He got up. Youve got the tickets?
We pick them up at the airport. Stolle looked at his watch. The flight leaves at ten. Im getting some shut-eye. Id advise you to do the same.
He disappeared. It was 4 am. Wyatt stretched out on a sofa in the sitting room. When a board creaked in the hall three and a half hours later, he came awake all at once, his eyes open and staring upward into curtained daylight. He heard an extractor fan rattle into life and then water gushed in the bathroom.
They left Stolles house an hour later. Wyatt had had his first shave in five days. He wore an old suit of Stolles. It fitted badly, looking wrong by itself, so with Stolles help he made a few additionsa lightweight overcoat to drape over his arm, a scuffed briefcase, a rolled-up newspaper.
No-one stopped them; no-one looked twice at them. Stolle sat next to Wyatt on the plane but he didnt communicate with him beyond indicating a picture of Jupiters Casino in the in-flight magazine. The flight was direct to Brisbane and took two hours. Five minutes before it landed, Stolle bent down and reached for something on the floor. It was an envelope and he said to Wyatt, You dropped this. Wyatt put it in his pocket. He guessed it was the other half of the torn one thousand.
No-one stopped or noticed them at the other end. Stolle collected his bag and led the way outside the terminal building. The air was hot and dry. They took a taxi, riding in silence across the flatlands near the airport. Dead grass lined the highway and closer to the city Wyatt saw further signs of drought, patches of bare earth showing in the parks and gardens. The sky looked brown and he could smell dust above the traffic fumes. Somewhere in the interior strong winds were stripping the topsoil, lifting it high and out over the coast.
Then the taxi was plunging into the canyons of the city. It was a glassy place, brash and fast. The taxi pulled up in Adelaide Street. The driver pointed. Bus terminals through there, under street level. He spoke rapidly, strangling his words: a Queensland way of speaking.
They got out and walked through to the mall and the stairs that led down to the lockers and the bus stands. All the while Wyatt felt focused and wary, the back of his neck prickling with the weight of the hand that might reach out to spin him around. But there were only out-of-work kids in the mall, bored police watching them, Japanese tourists in baggy cotton shorts.
The number on the key was 226. Locker 226 was in the centre of several banks of grey-faced lockers. There were people there, depositing or retrieving luggage, but the one of most interest to Wyatt stood up from a moulded plastic seat that was bolted to the floor and intercepted him as he approached the lockers. He didnt say anything, didnt move. She had nearly killed him three months ago and he wondered if death was part of this deal.
* * * *
Fifteen
Wyatt backed away a little. It was a bad place to be plenty of exits but he was underground, in a city he didnt know, among people who would profit by his being dead.
Anna Reid seemed to sense this in him. She stood well clear, her hands where he could see them, and said, Wyatt, its okay, as if shed backed a risky dog into a corner. He stopped, his eyes restlessly scanning the crowd thronging the terminal.
Mr Stolle, Anna said. She smiled and shook Stolles hand.
Wyatt watched them closely. He saw Anna stand centimetres from Stolle and hand him a buff-coloured business envelope from the bag over her shoulder. The envelope disappeared somewhere inside Stolles coat. The transaction was quick and neat. No-one else saw it. Its all there, she told him.
The grin was wide on Stolles face. I trust you. Listen, now Im here, how about dinner one night?
He waited. Anna Reid stared at him. Then she said distinctly, You must be joking.
Stolle flushed. He said, You lousy cow, and backed away.
Anna watched him go. She wore a sleeveless cotton dress, olive green, and black sandals. Her hair, black and straight and fine, was drawn back behind each ear. It gave her a poised, challenging air. When Stolle was gone, she turned back to Wyatt. Give me the key.
He handed it to her. The number 226 stencilled on the locker door was chipped and faded. She opened it, took out an Ansett bag, and gave it to him. He slung it over his shoulder wordlessly. It felt light, but the bag had been padded out to give it bulk, probably with balled-up newspaper. She said what shed said to Stolle: Its all there.
Wyatt said harshly, Whats this about?
She ignored him. Have you had lunch?
Forget it.
He wanted to get away from her, from this place under the street where no natural light ever penetrated. He turned to leave, and as he did so she caught his arm. Her grip was strong. Ive got a job for you.
The low voice, the pressure on his arm, made him remember her, and at once some of the tension went out of him. Anna Reid had embroiled him in a chain of disasters but he remembered the heat of her, the kind of energy that spelt danger and risky
rewards. They had acknowledged one anothers lawlessness and there had been a time when hed believed they could work together. Then it had all gone wrong. Hed had the chance to kill her, just as hed killed Harbutt, but he had not done it and, since then, whenever she had surfaced in his mind, hed been glad that he hadnt. Hed mostly put her out of his thoughts but sometimes an image of her lurked in the recesses of his mind. At those times a melancholy would settle over him.
But he didnt trust her. He trusted only himself, a fact that had kept him alive and on this side of the barred windows and the razor wire.
Wyatt? She shook his arm. Hear me out?
He looked at the ground. Someone had stepped in chewing gum, a streak of it stretching from the heart of the wad. He wasnt used to her and he wasnt used to this.
Have lunch with me? Listen to what I have to say?
He nodded. It was the warmest he could get.
She took him into the mall, turning right toward the river. A hundred metres down, in the centre of the mall, was an open-air bistro. Anna led him to an umbrella-shaded table set flush against the waist-high enclosure that separated the tables from the tourists and the shoppers. The cover was good for the things they had to say to each other. A Madonna clip blasted out from an adjacent Just Jeans outlet and a kid with a squeezebox was busking for coins on the opposite side of the mall. There was also a catwalk nearby, a man in a tuxedo squawking into a microphone as young women paraded in bathing suits. Wyatt watched the people watching the parade. Japanese tour parties, a couple of backpackers with peeling noses, students, shoppers. Almost everyone wore shorts and sneakers, so he forgot about watching for the kind of body language that said someone was packing a gun and meant him harm.
They ordered club sandwiches and a jug of water. Anna Reid also ordered wine in a small carafe. Wyatt didnt touch the wine. He said, What are you doing here?
She knew what he meant. I grew up here, remember?
Yes.
So after the fuck-up in Melbourne I packed it in down there and came back here to live.
The fuck-up didnt ring true. Shed forced it, as if she hoped it might establish a common ground between them, something hard and streetwise. She saw the shutter close over Wyatts face, and went on quickly: I walked straight into a good job.
She paused and searched his face for some encouragement. Wyatt didnt help her. There was no expression in his eyes, no softening, only a kind of hard summary.
You know, she said, that time in Melbourne ... I didnt mean
She stopped, but Wyatt was still focused on her, a force complete and silent.
She said rapidly, I slept with you because I wanted to, not because it would make the job go smoother.
He continued to watch her.
I didnt know in advance what would happen with you. Surely you can see that?
Wyatt maintained his hard silence. He didnt eat, didnt touch his glass.
Sometimes I think of you, Anna said. I didnt mean for things to go wrong.
Wyatt leaned toward her and his directness was unnerving. You set up a scam that was intended to make you a lot of money. You put the money ahead of me. Know that about yourself.
She flushed. That pretty well makes us alike, wouldnt you say?
He didnt answer and he didnt let his face show anything. The truth was, she would have killed him then if he hadnt stopped her; hed had the chance to kill her and he hadnt taken it. That fact lay there between them and he hated it. He said, The past is a waste of time. Its only good for reminding you that it repeats itself. What do you want?
She was still angry and showed it. Not to kill you, if thats whats bothering you, and certainly not you for yourself. As I said, theres a job youd be good at. The moneys big, up to a couple of million, all large denominations so itll be easy to bundle.
What happens if I say no?
She looked tired suddenly. Youre free to go. The five thousand is yours, no strings attached.
People hurried by a few metres away. Just down from the bistro the fashion parade MC was inviting the gawkers to give his girls a great big hand. Wyatt tried a smile. Once it started, it was genuine. Tell me about it.
Anna nodded and some of her anger drained away. I work in the head office of an insurance company, run of the mill legal work. Several weeks ago a memo came across my desk from TrustBank, asking for a ruling on liability in a one-off matter affecting one of their branches. She leaned forward, dropping her voice. Between here and the Gold Coast theres a sprawling development called Logan City: new low-cost housing, down-market shopping centres, blue collar and lower white collar workers, young families, mortgages, high unemployment. TrustBank has a main branch there and two smaller branches. On Friday week the two minor branches will be closed for a security upgrade. The work will be carried out over one weekend and all their funds will be transferred to the main branch. As I said, up to two million, all in one place.
She sat back. I want you to hit that bank. I think its possible.
On Friday week?
She smiled apologetically. For a while there I didnt think Stolle would find you in time.
Rob it all by myself, Wyatt said.
I know people. I used to run with some hard cases when I was young, people my father used to defend before he was disbarred. I can put you in touch with the right kind, steady, no junkies or morons.
The point is, will they work with me? Do they know who I am?
Im not spreading your name around, if thats what you mean.
He stared at the table.
Ive seen you in action, she said. You can make it work if anyone can.
He stared at her for a while. An inside job, he said at last. Just like the last one.
Its not like the last one at all. Its an inside tip-off, thats all. Why should they trace it to me?
Who else knows this moneys going to be there?
A few people at TrustBank, a few in my firm, the security van people.
Wyatt nodded. A lot of people, in other words. There was good and bad in that. The good was that the finger wouldnt stop at Anna. The bad was that others might have got ambitious. He wondered if that was the only catch.
* * * *
Sixteen
On Friday Daniel Nurse told his wife: Why dont you listen? Its staff only. No family.
His crocodile-skin suitcase was spread open on the bed and he was folding a change of underwear into it. Joyce watched him sourly. He took a couple of white shirts down from their hangers in the wardrobe and tried to figure out how to fold them. Joyce might have helped but she was going to be stuck here at home with their fourteen-year-old daughter all weekend while he went off gallivanting, so he had to do his own bloody packing.
I wouldnt be in the way, she said. I could read, walk on the beach.
Nurse turned away so that she wouldnt see his fear and strain. He also felt close to the edge of smacking her sulky mouth for her, and hed never done that before. He caught his reflection in the window and didnt like it. Short, round, pink and more or less hairless. The view beyond the glass was better. Their house was a 1920s Queenslander on stilts set into a slope of East Brisbane opposite the Norman Creek. There was a private school below the house, tiled rooftops among big old trees. Mignon Nurse would be going there in the next year or so, when hed scraped the money together for her fees. Better than the high school sprawled out on the opposite bank. The trees on that side were home to a colony of flying foxes. They stank, they were noisy, they reminded Nurse of vampires. Here, in East Brisbane, life was cleaner, more orderly.
He turned away from the window. Its a training session, for Christs sake. Im expected to share a room, some assistant manager from the Mackay branch. Ill be at lectures tonight, all day tomorrow, and tomorrow night. Were more or less shut away the whole time. Full on.
Joyce persisted. Theres no reason why we cant get a room together. You go off to your lectures, Ill lay around on the beach. If you got the urge to gamble, Id be there for a change to stop you losing t
he lot.
Jesus Christ, he didnt want her anywhere near the place. He should have said TrustBank was holding the workshop in Mt Isa this year. Mention the Gold Coast and it was like a red rag to a bull. Look, sweetheart, the head office boys will be there. It wouldnt look good. Theyre trying to build up a team spirit and Id be on the outer if you were there.
Joyce folded her arms. A lot of men and no wives? God, you must think Im naive.
Well be flat-out the whole time. Too buggered to muck around even if we wanted to. Plus which, they dont like it if we booze at these things.
At least, thats how it had been at the one and only TrustBank training retreat hed attended, two years ago. He tucked a pair of carpet slippers into the case. That was the right touch, for the sour look left his wifes face. Lets have a weekend down there soon, she said. Just the two of us.
