by Garry Disher
Its a deal, Nurse said.
When she was gone he took his dinner suit from a forgotten corner of the wardrobe, folded it, closed the suitcase lid. He had a shitty couple of days coming upno reason why it had to be a total write-off.
He looked at his watch. Seven-thirty am, time to move. On the way out the door he kissed Joyce and Mignon, told them hed be back Sunday afternoon, and tossed the suitcase into the Volvo. The next part he loathed. Eight years ago hed been assistant manager at the East Brisbane branch of TrustBank. Ten minutes walk, there and back. Twelve months ago theyd appointed him manager of the main Logan City branch. A nice salary hike, nice car, but Logan City was thirty minutes away and it was the arse-end of the world. No way did he and Joyce want to live there, so he was trying to learn to put up with the long drive, and the barren place, with its jobless kids and mothers pushing prams around the shopping centres.
At eight-fifteen he slotted the Volvo into his own space, the only one in the tiny paved courtyard at the rear of the bank, and selected the key to the back door of the bank. The all-night security man was dozing in a vinyl armchair in the waiting room outside Nurses office. The man yawned, looked at his watch, walked away to the tearoom.
Other staff members began to arrive. Unlike Nurse, they had to wait while the security guard opened the double doors at the front of the building. Nurse greeted them, smiled at Angie, the teller with the boobs, and went into his office. It was going to be a hellish morningthe in-tray was full and he had an 11 am appointment with a man he didnt want to see.
To distract himself,. Nurse phoned through for coffee and biscuits and drafted a number of letters and memos. One matter took some thought. At the end of next week, from Friday afternoon until the following Monday morning, his bank was going to be holding deposits on behalf of the two smaller Logan City branches. They were having state of the art safes, cameras and alarms installed and Head Office thought it would save time and trouble to move their holdings to his vaults rather than to haul them up to town. Close to two million dollars, mostly fifty- and one-hundred dollar bills. Extra effort for Nurse and his staff, of course, a fact that his letter to the other managers made clear.
He wrote: I shall expect delivery to this branch at 4 pm precisely, so kindly ensure that the notes are correctly stacked, bound and secured in strongboxes of the appropriate dimensions, ready for collection by Mayne Nickless. I would count it as a favour if you would impress upon the workmen in your respective branches that they have been contracted to complete the refit before Monday lunchtime. I need not remind you that every hour the money is on the road or at this branch is an insecure hour. He underlined insecure.
At ten-thirty Nurse had a second round of biscuits and coffee. That was a mistake: fifteen minutes later, he went to the mens, his stomach churning. At ten-fifty-nine Angie showed the man who had inspired it into his office.
Danny boy.
Nurse stood shakily. The mans name was Ian Lovell and he had a long, raw-boned look, his hair fine and sun-bleached, his body hard and sinewy. His vigour and humour were plain, characteristics that earned him covetous looks from Angie. Lovell folded himself into an armchair, stretched out his legs, and directed a grin lurking with menace at Nurse. There was a briefcase next to his R M Williams boots. Nurse sat down and tried not to think about the briefcase.
So, Danny, what story did you give the missus?
It was a bushmans voice, rapid and almost unintelligible, but the man was a pilot, not a bushman. Nurse wondered how the air traffic controllers ever understood him. A weekend training session for bank staff, he said.
Did she buy it?
Nurse nodded.
Fucking women. Take my advice, ditch the family, become a free man. Lovell nudged the briefcase across the carpet. You know what you have to do?
Im in room 212. Between ten and four tomorrow Ill have three visitors. They each give me twenty-five thousand dollars
Count it, Lovell said. Dont let the bastards pull one on you.
and I give them the stuff.
Say it, Lovell grinned. Heroin.
Heroin.
Then the genial crinkles disappeared from around Lovells eyes and he sat forward in his chair. No fuck-ups, understand? Make sure you count the money first.
You told me that.
Im telling you again.
I dont like it, Nurse said. How do I know these people wont just knock me on the head and take the stuff, the heroin?
Lovell leaned back again and laced his hands behind his head. He had a long trunk full of tightly bunched muscles, and Nurse feared it. Two reasons. One, they know its good stuff and theres plenty more where it comes from. Two, they know I know where they live. He showed his teeth. Same as I know where you live.
Nurse played with a paper clip. He needed to go to the mens again. What if I get arrested? Id get ten years for trafficking.
You wont get arrested. The palms down there are well oiled. Weve been dealing out of the Tradewinds for years.
I told Bone Id have the money I owe him by next month. I dont see why I have to do this.
Lovell didnt reply immediately. He stared at Nurse. After some time he pulled on each finger. The knuckles cracked and Nurse experienced it like a series of shots from a small handgun or the smack of an iron bar across his ankles, knees, elbows. Then Lovell spoke. This time he was soft and all the garbled diction was missing. Because you owe Mr Bone sixteen thousand dollars and he is tired of waiting for it, tired of listening to promises. Lets face it, you are an unlucky punter. You shouldnt gamble. You dont know when to cut your losses.
Nurse tried to rally. If Im only getting two thousand for this trip, that makes seven more trips before Ive cleared the debt. The wife will never buy it.
Fuck the wife. Ill see you Sunday arvo in the Irish Club, four oclock.
When Lovell was gone, Nurse went to the mens again. He was in there a long time. Then he worked through the afternoon and at five oclock he declined an invitation to go to the pub with the others, even though Angie would be there. He carried Lovells briefcase out to the Volvo. By five-fifteen he was well clear of Logan City. Traffic was smooth and fast on the freeway to the Gold Coast, but Nurse hadnt the concentration to stay with the flow. He found himself crawling along at fifty ks sometimes, angry drivers blasting their horns as they passed him. He didnt see the massive theme parks carved out of die scrubby trees at the side of the road, not even the looming billboards that invited him to look. He felt too weak, too fearful, too bleak.
The Tradewinds faced the water. Room 212 had a view of buildings just like it, glass towers stretching to the horizon. The casinos were nearby, smaller, drenched in bright neon. Nurse collapsed on his bed. He slept fitfully, trying to forget Lovell and the people Lovell did this for. But at seven oclock he showered and the shower changed everything for him. He put on his dinner suit and hit the Monte Carlo.
* * * *
Seventeen
Nurse had come along at the right time for Lovell. A contact in the Drug Squad had tipped him the wink that the regular courier for the Tradewinds drop was going to be deported to New Zealand on a murder charge. Lovell had asked Bone to come up with someone else, and Bone had given him Nurse, ripe for manipulation. Lovell left Nurses office, well pleased, and drove to the airport.
Three hours and one connecting flight later, Lovell was looking down on Cooktown. It gave him a sense of bitter satisfaction to take a commercial flight. Hed been a second officer with Ansett at the time of the pilots strike in 1989. The company had refused to reinstate him, and he lost his house and marriage, and finished up relief driving for a Q-Cabs owner. Then one night hed got talking with a man called Bone, a radio job to Spring Hill. A week later he was flying again and making three times his old Ansett salary.
A smooth touchdown. Outside on the tarmac conditions were clear, some humidity, a slight north-easterly blowing. He walked to the terminal, made a phone call, and rented a Budget Commodore. He drove to an airstrip
north of Cooktown. It dated from the Japanese scare of the Second World War and there were airstrips like it all through the north. They had their uses.
The plane was a Beechcraft Baron with twin 260hp Continental engines. There was room for four people but Lovell rarely carried any passengers. Extra fuel tanks had been fitted and two of the seats removed. Now the Baron had the capacity to carry almost four hundred kilos of cargo a distance of 2500 kilometres, cruising at 10 000 metres at a long-range cruising speed of 370 kilometres per hour. Sometimes, depending on where in Papua New Guinea he was working the trade, he had to refuel enroute. Bones people had arranged fuel dumps at two airfields close to the tip of Cape York Peninsula and a further one on Saibai Island in Torres Strait.
Felix was waiting for Lovell outside the hangar. Hed rolled a joint and was smoking it, a solid, slow-moving, lazy-lidded Melanesian whose forefathers had been dragged to Queensland by blackbirders. Felix got paid in cash and some of the New Guinea Gold that Lovell flew in.
Put it out, Felix.
First one of the day. Im one cool kanaka.
Put the fucking thing out. I want to die in my bed, not blow up on the ground or run out of fuel halfway across the Strait.
Felix shrugged. Youre the boss. He nipped the burning end and put the joint in his shirt pocket.
Lovell looked out across the pocked and empty field to the scrubland beyond. He hated it. Lets roll.
They filled from a 10 000-litre underground fuel tank fitted with an electric pump and a 100-metre retractable hose. The Baron always needed a boost when starting from cold. Felix kept a battery cart at his house, the batteries permanently on a trickle charge. Both men lifted the cart down from the tray of Felixs rusty Hilux and dragged it across to the plane.
By 1500 hours that Friday, Lovell was ready for takeoff. He waved at Felix, who had the joint in his mouth again, and taxied to the end of the strip. Conditions were still clear, the north-easterly moderating a little. Lovell released the brakes, pushed hard down the strip, felt the Baron lift off the ground. He felt good. Levelling off at 10 000 metres, he fixed the course hed follow until he reached the Highlands.
Some time later he crossed the coast at the north-western tip of the Cape. Seven thousand kilometres of coastline from Cairns to Port Hedland, and in Lovells particular corner of it there was fuck-all law to worry about. Queensland and Federal police on Thursday Island, and a minimal customs presence on Thursday and Horn Islands. The poor bastards spent all their time chasing Islanders, who transported the odd gram or two in banana boats and aluminium dinghies, while the big hauls flew in unmolested.
He switched to automatic pilot. This was his fourteenth trip this year. It wasnt always New Guinea Gold. Twice now hed flown in two hundred and thirty kilos of buddha sticks from Thailand worth three hundred thousand bucks a time. Hed also hauled cocaine and heroin that had originated in the Golden Triangle. It made its way overland and then by fishing boat and steamer to PNG, and he transported it the rest of the way. Finally, couriers like Danny took it to the Gold Coast, Sydney, Melbourne, and Lovell funnelled the money back to Mr Bone.
But flavour of the month right now was the PNG cannabis. Last week the radio claimed twenty-three thousand kids in Queensland alone smoked it on a daily basis, eighty thousand on a weekly basis. Users in Sydney couldnt get enough of the stuff and were prepared to fork out two hundred bucks a gram for it.
Meanwhile the demand for heroin and cocaine was undiminished, and skyrocketing for crack. The problem there was that the legal penalties were a lot stiffer. That had given Lovell his great idea. Now when he flew in PNG cannabis, compressed in bales the size of a couple of house bricks, there was cocaine or heroin inside each bale. If the Feds nabbed him, the charge would be conspiring to import cannabis, not cocaine or heroin. The cannabis bales would be incinerated and the hard stuff would go up with it.
Far beneath him a fishing trawler was working. Then again, maybe it was carting drums of compressed cannabis across the Strait to the mainland. Everyone was doing it. Lovell adjusted direction two degrees east. That would put him on course for Goroka and touchdown sometime late in the afternoon. He wondered how Nurse was going.
* * * *
Eighteen
They sat in dim light at the Monte Carlo main bar and after five minutes of idle talk the mark said, Call me Danny. He tried to conceal the gold band on his pudgy finger.
Sonia, Carol said. She turned her knees toward him.
Sonia. Lovely, said the mark. It suits you. He brushed her forearm with the tips of his fingers and Carol thought Got you.
Im celebrating, Danny said. He looked at her, waiting.
Let me guess, Carol said. Youve had a run of luck tonight.
Dannys eyes flickered over her. So far.
He began snapping his fingers. The barman moved toward them from the other end of the bar.
Apart from croupiers and barmen, Danny was the only man in the gaming room dressed in a dinner suit. His bow tie was a clip-on, nudged by the folds of flesh at his neck. There were spots on his pink scalp. He was about forty-five and a prime candidate for a heart attack.
What about you, you been winning?
Carol assessed him rapidly. If she said she had lost badly he would be sympathetic and generous, but hed also expect a return on it. On the other hand, if she coolly mentioned a sizeable win he might be impressed, more gratified with his conquest. In fact Carol had not been gambling at all. She had been watching arid waiting for a winner like Danny to come along.
A thousand, she said modestly.
Danny whistled. Not bad, not bad at all.
He looked at her, his head on one side. Carol wore a simple black cocktail dress, sheer stockings, and black court shoes. She wore little make-up and carried a plain Italian leather clutch-bag. Her blonde, sun-streaked hair was straight and fine, cut to brush her shoulders.
The barman brought their drinks. Cheers, Danny said.
She knew how it went with men like Danny. The typical mark didnt like to think he was picking up a tramp. When he was winning, he thought he deserved the best. He thought he was irresistible. It flattered him, gave him status, if a young, good-looking woman was attracted to him.
Carol began to concentrate. Danny was explaining his system to her. I cant tell you the fine details, Sonia, but I can say its been pretty kind to yours truly over the years. He winked.
Prick, Carol thought. What else do you do?
Me? Danny shrugged and looked around the room. Im in banking, securities, things like that. You?
The typical mark also exaggerated his status in the world. And he liked it if you had apparent wealth and standing. Carol looked at her watch, a Piaget fake from Singapore, and said, I run my own business. Interior design.
Danny whistled again. Carol said, Can that really be the time?
Hey, youre not going? The night is young.
He leaned toward her. Lets have another flutter at the tables. For luck.
It shouldnt go quite like this. By now the mark should be suggesting a drink somewhere more comfortable. Carol frowned at her watch.
Just for half an hour, Danny said. Then well celebrate. Im staying next door, at the Tradewinds.
Carol appeared to weigh the issues and capitulate. She laughed. Ive always admired an optimist.
They crossed the smoky room to the roulette tables. Carol had seen rooms like this in strong light, the drink stains and cigarette scorches revealed on the carpets and furniture. The casino was packed with package-tour bus trippers up from Sydney, housewives down from Brisbane, the occasional hard case. At her side, Danny was bouncing oddly on his toes. Carol realised that he was attempting to add centimetres to his height. What a prick.
He placed his bets and immediately began losing. Not badly, but badly if you think youre onto something good and dont want to blow it. He had a habit of rubbing his cufflinks between his fingers after each bet.
Oh, thats a shame, Carol said from time to time. She sat sh
oulder to shoulder with Danny and held his forearm, which he seemed to like. People were watching them, which he also seemed to like, and she thought that expressions like sharp-looking couple were probably running through his head.
If she didnt hold him to his thirty minutes he might soon be broke. She rested her cheek against him and let their thighs touch. He left an impression of perspiration, panic and greed. He turned his face to her and she smiled and wrinkled her nose. Id love that drink now, she said, putting a low, throaty quality into it.
Danny was torn. Bit longer, he said eventually. These games always have a turning point. What if it comes after we leave?
He was a moron, but she jiggled her knee and held tight to his arm. Dont worry. Youre still way ahead.
