by Peter Corris
I shuffled over to the sliding door into the apartment but there was no way to get a purchase on the handle. Suddenly I realised that I was cold. My jacket was missing and I was in my shirt sleeves. Cold wind blowing. I tried hammering the lounge back against the glass door but it was laminated, strong as steel, and I only succeeded in wrenching my shoulder. I swore and then my eye fell on the glass-topped coffee table.
I blundered across and shoved hard against it. The glass slid off and smashed on the tiles. I worked at the shards with my feet until I had one firmly wedged between a heavy pot plant and the railing. I stretched out on the cold tiles, rolled into position and managed to saw the cords around my left wrist against the glass. The position was agonising and blood made the going slippery. Praying I wouldn’t cut a vein, I clenched my teeth, swore and sawed. The cord parted and I had one hand free. I held it up and watched the blood ooze from half a dozen cuts. Ooze, not spurt. I wiped my hand on my shirt and got my cramped fingers to work on the knots around my other wrist and feet. I was a bloody mess by the time I finished, but the relief when I shook free of the lounge was like a double shot of Glenfiddich.
I slid the door open and went into the apartment, dripping blood on the snowy carpet. The place was big with a large sitting room, three bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms, I found the front door and slotted the security chain into place to give me some time if anyone happened along. Still dripping blood, I went into the largest of the bathrooms and wrapped a towel around my hand. I opened several cabinets and found antiseptic, cotton wool and gauze bandage. I cleaned the cuts, put thick pads on them and bound them into place. I left the bloody towel and the bits and pieces where they fell.
It had been mid-morning when I’d made my call on Carter, now it was after 9 pm. I realised that my bladder was full and my stomach was empty. I pissed, then prowled in the big, state-of-the-art kitchen for food and drink. There was an open bottle of white wine and several different chunks of cheese in the fridge along with jars and containers-olives, caviar, pickles. I drank from the bottle, tore a hunk from a rye loaf sitting in a perspex bread bin and wolfed it down with some Edam.
I swallowed some painkillers and brewed up a pot of Colombian coffee. Brewed it strong. I followed my bloody tracks back to the sitting room. I’d been too keen to attend to my injuries to take any notice before but now I looked around the room with interest. Scott di Maggio smiled out at me from a series of photographs showing him with celebrities-Sinatra, Arnold Palmer, George Bush Senior.
‘Hi there, Scotty,’ I said.
One of the bedrooms had been set up as a study and I ransacked it looking for evidence of what di Maggio was up to. His story about investigating Sentinel so we could all get paid was obviously a blind for something. If I’d known anything about computers I might have been able to learn something from the flash model sitting on the desk, but I didn’t even know how to turn it on. I went through the drawers and plonked anything that looked interesting on top of the computer. It didn’t amount to much-a notebook with the names and phone numbers of Underwood, Hart, Travers and myself along with several numbers for Bryce Carter. There was a copy of Sentinel Insurance’s most recent annual report and a document showing how the Hartley Investigation Agency fitted into the larger structure of the Trans-Pacific Corporation based in Los Angeles, California. It was like a spider web of interlocking entities including dot coms, investment advisory consultants, software agents, stockbrokers, legal outfits and insurance companies. Trans-Pacific had insurance companies in the US, Canada and Mexico, Hong Kong, Singapore and Malaysia, even in New Zealand, but nothing in Australia.
I sat back and thought about this while my head throbbed and the cuts on my wrists stung. When would the painkillers cut in? Then I noticed that the message light on the phone was blinking. I hit the button.
‘Scott, where the hell are you? I’ve tried your mobile. It’s that Hardy. Shit… Never mind.’
Bryce Carter. An idea was beginning to form. I got the address of where I was from one of di Maggio’s numerous credit cards bills, checked the number in the notebook and rang Charlie Underwood.
Di Maggio came home a little before 11 pm, which had given me time to do what I had to do. He had company with him, a big body-builder type with attitude. But I’d found a. 32 Beretta Puma in a bedroom drawer. Only seven rounds, not a lot of gun, but enough, going along with the element of surprise and a lot of anger. I ushered the two of them into the living room and had them sit together on the leather couch while I sat on a chair two metres away.
‘I like the way you maintain your weapon, Scotty,’ I said. ‘All oiled and cleaned and ready to shoot. A. 32 won’t necessarily kill you even at this range, but it’ll fuck up your golf swing.’
‘You wouldn’t do it,’ di Maggio said.
‘I’ve been king-hit and drugged and I lost a lot of blood getting untied. I’ve drunk most of a bottle of wine and I’m high on painkillers. Try me.’
‘He would,’ the muscle man said.
‘Shut up, Ray.’
‘He’s right, Scotty. You bet I would. And I’m guessing Ray’s the one who hit me. With you, Ray, it’d be a pleasure. Only seven shots, but. Want to have a go?’
Ray said he didn’t. Di Maggio looked around the room and winced when he saw the blood on the carpet. ‘Can we talk money, Cliff?’
I shook my head. ‘No. We talk reasons, explanations. Then we talk penalties.’
‘You’re drifting,’ Ray said. ‘Another hour and you’ll be on your ear.’
I held up the large mug; I was on my second pot of the Colombian. ‘The coffee’ll keep me going and I’ve got friends coming.’
Di Maggio said, ‘You’ll have to get up and let them in.’
I grinned at him. ‘The trouble with you Yanks is that you think everyone in the world’s dumb except you. I left the door open. Didn’t you notice?’
About half an hour later when I was definitely feeling the strain, they all trooped in-Underwood, Hart and Travers.
‘Jesus, Cliff,’ Charlie said. ‘You look like shit.’
‘I feel like shit.’ I handed him the gun and pointed at Ray. ‘You. Get up and piss off. I’ll think about laying charges against you. All depends on how things work out here. If I was you, I’d take a holiday out of Sydney.’
Ray left without a word. It was four to one now and I relaxed.
‘What’s this, Hardy?’ Travers said. ‘Charlie’s told us bugger-all.’
Underwood put the gun aside. ‘That’s because I know bugger-all. Cliff just told me we’re all being dudded by Scott.’
‘He’s lying,’ di Maggio said.
‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘This is what’s happened.’
I laid it out for them-how they were followed from the restaurant, how I went to see Carter and the result of that. I showed them the lounge on the balcony, the broken glass and the cords. I didn’t need to point out the blood.
‘This is the way I see it. Scott here doesn’t just work for Hartley. You think he’d have this pad if he did? You should see his company credit card bills and the other perks he’s got. He’s a sort of hitman for a thing called Trans-Pacific Corporation who’ve got fingers in lots of pies. They’ve got insurance companies all around the Pacific, but they haven’t got one in Australia.’
‘What’s to stop them buying one?’ Hart asked.
‘Nothing, but it’s a competitive business, I suppose. The price’d have to be right.’
Travers was up and wandering around the room. He stopped at the wet bar. ‘Anyone fancy a drink?’
‘I’ll have a scotch,’ di Maggio said.
I shook my head. ‘You’ll have nothing. Soak up as much as you want, Darcy. You might like to take a few bottles with you. The way things’re looking that’s all you’re going to get out of this.’
That got their attention. Travers poured himself a massive drink, but Charlie and Colin Hart focused their attention on di Maggio, who loosened his collar and slid his t
ie down.
‘Get on with it,’ Hart said.
‘I think Scott was setting Sentinel up for a big drop in their stock value. He’s got a bloke on the inside-Carter.’
Underwood nodded. ‘I know him.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘He gave us work. He’s delayed the payment. Got us jumpy. Along comes Scott who says he’s in the same boat. Let’s all pull together and get the dirt on Sentinel.’
‘You mean it’s not shaky?’
I shrugged. ‘Who knows? Probably not, or Trans-Pacific wouldn’t be interested. Bound to be some irregularities, skeletons in the closet. One way or another we would have teased them out. Working for free, mind you. A few leaks to the media about this and that, our lack of confidence, “unnamed sources”, all that shit, and a solid company suddenly looks iffy. The shareholders get cold feet. Trans-Pacific makes a low offer and they grab it. Good deal all round and Scotty here walks away with a big bonus, or a vice presidency and stock options or whatever these arseholes do for their hotshots.’
There was silence in the room except for the sound of ice cubes in Travers’ glass hitting his teeth as he finished his drink. He got a refill immediately.
‘Any proof?’ Charlie said.
I showed them the Sentinel annual report and the Trans-Pacific structure.
Colin Hart didn’t want to believe it. ‘Having that report’s consistent with what Scott told us to begin with. I mean, his worry about Sentinel.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘If you can work his computer you’ll probably find more of the same, but…’I held up my bandaged wrist. ‘It’s not consistent with this. I broke out of the huddle by going directly to Sentinel and that panicked Carter. You saw that thug who was here with Scott. I reckon he’s the one who whacked me. I was out there on that balcony strapped down like a lethal injection candidate. I wonder what the next step was for me?’
Di Maggio surprised us by getting up smoothly. Underwood moved to put himself between the American and the Beretta but di Maggio waved him away with a smile. He went to the bar and poured himself a generous scotch and went back to the couch. He took a pull, put the glass down and then broke into a slow handclap.
‘I guess you’d have been collateral damage, Cliff. I knew this guy was smart,’ he said. ‘But I underestimated him. I have to tell you guys that he’s got it pretty much right.’ He waved his glass. ‘A few things where he’s a little off beam but basically right.’ He raised his glass in a salute to me and took another drink.
‘What did I get wrong?’
Di Maggio shrugged. ‘Not much. Bryce Carter works for me and I don’t actually work for Trans-Pacific. I’m a sort of troubleshooter they hired. I specialise in making things happen the way people want them to.’
‘You bastard,’ Hart said. ‘You took us all for a ride.’
‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘You mean this was all your idea? Trans-Pacific wasn’t involved directly?’
‘No, Cliff, I wouldn’t say that. I cleared it with Hank Rapaport and a couple of the other board members.’
I nodded. Hart moved up on di Maggio and looked ready to throw a punch. ‘You’d have walked away with something like what Hardy says and left us swinging in the wind.’
‘I’d have covered your expenses, Colin, and perhaps a little more. But now…’ He swilled the rest of his drink. ‘There’s no money to play with. Not unless…’
I knew what was coming but I let him have his moment.
‘Unless?’ Charlie said.
‘Unless you guys let things go ahead as I planned. When it all goes through I’ll be generous.’
Travers looked very interested. ‘How do we know that?’
‘You’d have to trust me.’
The three detectives looked at each other and then at me. ‘What d’you think, Cliff?’ Underwood said. ‘You’re the one who twigged. You should have the biggest say.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘How about a vote? Let’s say I get two votes and I’m against. If you three can agree on a yes vote I’d be overruled. Why don’t you go out on the balcony and talk it over.’
That’s what they did. Di Maggio topped up his drink, sat down and looked at me. ‘You’re crazy, Hardy. They’ll buy it.’
‘We’ll see. Just suppose the Trans-Pacific offer for Sentinel got knocked back by the government. What then?’
‘Not a problem. I’ve got someone on the inside in the Treasurer’s Department who’d help to give Trans-Pacific a clean bill of health, which would be stretching a point by the way. And he’d see the Treasurer got on the right track. He did it for me before with Bio-Chem. He could do it again.’
‘I see. Got all the bases loaded?’
‘Damn right.’
The three trooped back into the room and I could see from Darcy Travers’ unhappy face that the decision had gone against di Maggio.
‘No deal,’ Charlie Underwood said. ‘Fuck you.’
Di Maggio shrugged. ‘That’s it then. No pie to cut up. I somehow think your paperwork to Sentinel’ll go missing. Tough luck. I’ll have to think of another way. And like Charlie said, what proof have you got of this? I don’t think the cops’ll buy your story. As for Cliff here, why, he got drunk and cut himself. What’s new?’
Colin Hart moved forward again but I pushed him back. ‘Easy, Colin. No need for that. We’ve got him by the balls.’
I don’t know anything about computers but I knew how to operate a digital camcorder and Scott had a beauty. I’d set it up to focus on the couch and I’d activated it with a remote control when I’d begun my spiel. I went over to the bookcase and revealed it.
‘It’s all on tape, Scott. Pictures and sound. Remember some of the things you said? Some of the names you mentioned?’
Di Maggio went pale and his hands shook. ‘Jesus, you bastard.’
Charlie Underwood was the first to get it. ‘What’d he say when we were outside?’
‘Oh, he just bragged about who’d okayed the deal and how he could grease the wheels in Canberra. Little things like that.’
Charlie nodded. ‘You’ve got something in mind.’
‘That’s right. I’ve been through his desk. He’s got more than forty grand in a cheque account. I think he’s going to transfer some of it here and there. What d’you reckon, Scott?’
‘What do I get in return?’
‘Eventually, you get the tape.’
‘Eventually?’
‘After you and Carter clean up the mess at Sentinel and leave the country.’
‘Bryce is an Australian.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find him something to do at home. We bloody well don’t need him here. So, you make some transfers right now or the tape goes straight to where it can do you most harm. Your choice.’
He had no choice. We went into the study, he turned on the computer, got his banking details up and transferred the amounts they specified to their accounts. Large sums.
‘What about you, Cliff?’ Underwood said.
I looked at di Maggio to see if he was going to mention the four thousand he’d paid me. He wasn’t. ‘I’ve had fun,’ I said. ‘Let’s say two grand and a hundred and twenty bucks for a new shirt and pants.’
I told Harry Tickener all about it and regretted that he couldn’t use it.
‘Sure I can,’ he said.
‘Harry, I’ve got a deal with di Maggio.’
‘I’m writing a novel. I can use it there, change it round a bit.’
Megan phoned me after I banked the money for her. ‘Hey, thanks. I didn’t expect it so soon.’
‘It’s okay. I had an insurance policy.’
‘You didn’t cash it in?’
‘No, it came due.’
‘Cool. Thanks again… Cliff.’
‘Come back a star,’ I said.
DEATH THREATS
The young man sitting across from me was the colour of teak and looked about as tough. There was no fat on him and he’d slid snake-hipped onto the chair as if he was flex
ible enough to sit there and bend his legs up around his head if he’d wanted to. He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt and his forearms were sinewy. His handshake was that of a heavyweight although he had the build of a welter, light-middle at most.
‘Billy Sunday advised me to get in touch with you, Mr Hardy,’ he said.
I nodded. ‘And how is Billy? Haven’t seen him in a while.’
His lean face fell into sad lines. ‘Not the best. You know how it is with us blackfellers; fifty’s old. And Billy hasn’t exactly taken care of himself. Crook kidneys.’
‘Sorry to hear it. He could handle six blokes at a time in his day. Joel Grinter, did you say your name was? How can I help you?’
‘D’you follow golf?’
‘No. I’ve heard of Greg Norman and Tiger Woods. That’s about it.’
He smiled and his face came to life. Very young life- he couldn’t have been much over twenty, but he conducted himself as though he was older. ‘That’s a start. I’m a professional golfer. Rookie year. I’ve won once already and had three top tens.’
‘You’d be making a quid then?’
‘Yeah. Doing all right. Plus Lynx are making noises to sign me up. That’s where the real money is.’
‘Good for you. It’s a better business to be in than boxing. You can keep all your marbles.’
‘Right, if I can stay alive. I’ve been getting death threats.’
He told me that he was from Canungra in Queensland, had won a scholarship to the Sports Institute in Canberra and had been a top amateur. Now he was staying in Sydney with his coach, one Brett Walker, who lived in Lane Cove. He was due to play in a tournament at Concord, starting tomorrow. After he won his first event in Queensland some months back, he got a new car.
