Taking Care of Business ch-28

by Peter Corris

  The army training was a long time ago, but my sense of direction had always been good. The sky was clear and the sun is the best directional guide you can have. I followed the rough track as far as I could until it veered off in a direction I didn’t want to go. Then it was a matter of pushing through the scrub, hacking in spots with my newly acquired bush knife. After a while the going was uphill and hard and the day heated up quickly as the sun rose higher.

  I made several stops to check the direction and to catch my breath and it was close to 11 am when I broke through a patch of scrub and encountered a three-strand wire fence strung between tall, well hammered in star pickets. The cultivated area stretching ahead of me looked to be about the size of the Hillcrest Winery proper-say, sixty acres, give or take. The bushes stood in orderly rows and there were wide paths throughout, presumably to admit machinery. Pipes ran along the ground indicating a thorough irrigation network. Although I’d smoked plenty of the stuff in my time, I’d never seen a tobacco plant and had no idea what one looked like. But these bushes weren’t grapevines and they weren’t marijuana.

  I took some photos of the crop and the irrigation equipment and the couple of sheds grouped together along one side of the plantation. I had a few big swigs of water, ate some chocolate and worked my way back through the bush to my car. Much easier going downhill and with the trail already blazed. I drove back to the Hillcrest just in time to see Bobby’s car leaving. He was headed further west rather than back to Goulburn so I followed him as before. Within ten kilometres he turned off along a feeder road. I hung back and then followed his trail of dust. The trail ended at the Wilson Creek Winery.

  Back to Goulburn for another night and at about the same time the next day I was tooling along near where we’d turned off the day before. Sure enough, Bobby’s 4WD appeared. I followed him again, this time to the Golden Grape Cellars. Bobby was involved in something big.

  It left me with a nice problem. If I got in touch with the people who collected the taxes from tobacco and they wound the operation up, it was odds on Bobby would finish up in the bag. Bang goes the career, the PhD and my friendship with Spiro. Not an option. If I slid him out somehow and caused the operators some grief, the finger pointed straight at Bobby. I’d pulled off the road to think this through and to drink some water, eat some fruit and stretch. The long walk had worn me down a bit and I took my time about it. As I was doing a few knee bends Bobby’s car cruised by on the way back to Goulburn. Evidently the Golden Grape enterprise didn’t require so much of his valuable time.

  I let him get ahead and followed at a distance wondering if he had other points of call to the east or south. Not so. He drove into Goulburn like a man who knew where he was going and pulled up outside a block of flats. I parked within eyeshot. After ten minutes he appeared in the company of a blonde woman-Carly Braithwaite from Hillcrest.

  They held hands, went to a coffee shop, kissed and did some more hand-holding. Back at the flats, he went inside and stayed for an hour. Long enough. When he came out he had that look about him people get after good sex. Just for now, it says, all’s right with the world. I followed him far enough to make sure he was returning to Sydney and then I headed back to the flats. Carly’s name was on her letterbox with the flat number. No security. I went in and knocked. Carly came to the door in a dressing gown and wearing that same look. No door chain.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You don’t recognise me?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I bought some wine out at Hillcrest the other day.’

  ‘Oh, yes, now I’ve got you. Is there a problem?’

  She was relaxed and it was easy to push past her and close the door behind me.

  ‘Hey, you can’t-’

  ‘Shut up!’ I took out my PEA licence and showed it to her. ‘I’m a private detective hired by Robert Gravas’ father to find out what his son’s been up to.’

  The fear that had sprung into her stance and expression fell away. She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ she said.

  We were in a short hallway leading to an open plan area and I shepherded her, unresisting, ahead of me. The flat was well furnished and appointed with a big flat screen TV, elaborate stereo system with a wall of CDs and an air-conditioner keeping everything cool. She slumped into one of the leather armchairs and I perched on the arm of the couch, looming over her-broken nose, hooded eyes, unshaven.

  ‘Wh… what are you going to do?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know. You know what’s going on with the chop chop and all that, right?’

  She nodded. ‘We only…’

  ‘You only want to get enough out of it to buy a house.’

  Her big blue eyes opened wide. ‘No, to start our own winery. Bobby’s a brilliant-’

  ‘Bobby’s an idiot. If I can get on to the operation as easily as I did, how long d’you reckon it’d take the competition, or the authorities?’

  ‘We’re getting out after the next crop.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We’re going to get married and go overseas for a while, till everything cools down.’

  ‘After committing how many jailable offences-revenue violations, tax avoidance…?’

  She was recovering fast. ‘Victimless crime.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with you, but it’s still a very dangerous game you’re playing. When’s the next crop due?’

  ‘Why should I tell you?’

  ‘Because I can bring your little plan down with one phone call.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘You might have to bring your elopement forward a bit.’

  ‘We won’t have enough money until-’

  ‘Stiff. You look to be doing all right, and Bobby’s driving a forty grand car.’

  A pained look came over her face. She clenched her fists and brought them up to her mouth. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ she said and raced out of the room. I heard doors slam and a toilet flush. I wandered around the room looking at the CDs and the books. I hadn’t heard of many of the bands and singers, and most of the books were about wine.

  After ten minutes or so she came back. She’d dressed in jeans and a shirt and brushed her hair and put on some make-up. She was very attractive and I was sorry to be giving her such a hard time.

  She managed a smile. ‘Where were we?’

  ‘I was telling you to bail out of this business right now and get Bobby clear as well.’

  The smile stayed in place. ‘Oh, yes. We’re supposed to pass up seventy-five thousand dollars.’

  ‘Cut your losses.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She moved to the stereo and pushed a button. Music flowed all around the room.

  ‘You don’t have a choice. I-’

  A man stepped into the room. The music had stopped me hearing him open the door. He was small and not young and I wouldn’t have had too much trouble with him except that he was pointing a pistol at my chest.

  She’d made the call while pretending to be sick. Dumb of me.

  ‘He’s a private detective, Roger,’ Carly said, her voice shaking and her eyes wide at the sight of the gun. ‘He’s on to us.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up. Let’s see the ID, and take it easy.’

  I handed him the licence folder with slow, studied movements. He held the gun very steadily and seemed able to glance at it while still looking at me. He dropped the folder on the floor at my feet. ‘How come?’ he said.

  I was careful not to look at Carly but I could sense the tension and fear in her. I shrugged. ‘That’d be telling, but you’d be pretty dumb if you didn’t know you had competition in this business.’

  ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Fuckin’ Costellono.’

  I grinned. ‘Talking about the Treasurer?’

  Carly gave a nervous laugh which distracted Roger just for a split second. It was enough. I went low in a dive and took him out at the knees. I had a lot of weight and muscle on him and he bounced off the wall and lost his grip on the gun. I ro
lled away and came up balanced as he floundered, torn between trying to get upright and finding the gun. I caught him with a roundhouse right to the temple that sent a numbing jar up my arm but dropped him like a kite with a broken string. Carly stood, a woman mesmerised, as I picked up the pistol.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Are you? You called a gunman over to help you.’

  ‘I swear I didn’t know he’d have a gun. I thought he could talk to you, offer you money.’

  I remembered how she’d reacted to the pistol and was inclined to believe her. Resourceful, but out of her depth maybe.

  ‘What’re you going to do?’

  I scooped up my licence folder and took a look at Roger. He was breathing okay and his eyes were flickering. Mild concussion. Still one of my best punches, even if he was out of his division. ‘Get me some plastic bags, six, eight of ‘em, and stay away from the phone, any kind of phone.’

  She hurried out and came back with a handful of plastic bags. I knotted them together and got two lengths, one to tie Roger’s wrists together behind his back and another for his ankles. I propped him up against the wall. ‘Water.’

  She brought it in a cup. I splashed some on his face, tilted his head back, dripped some into his mouth. He spluttered and came back to us.

  ‘Too old, too slow,’ I said.

  ‘Fuck you.’

  I gestured for Carly to follow me out of the room. ‘I’m going to give you a chance. I don’t know why. I’m giving you and Bobby a couple of hours.’

  She was perspiring and breathing hard. ‘To do what?’

  ‘To get away as far as you can. You’ve both been very stupid and you’re lucky Bobby’s dad is a friend of mine. You call him, pack your bags and get together all the money you can and tell him to do the same. Then you take off. Overseas would be best or as far north or west as you can go.’

  ‘What’re you going to do?’

  I eased the tension out of my shoulders. ‘Got anything to drink here, Carly?’

  ‘White wine.’

  I nodded and she brought a bottle with the cork sitting in it and a glass. I ignored the glass and took a swig. ‘I don’t give a shit about people flogging illegal tobacco, but guns and little weasels like Roger are a different thing. I’m going to drop him and everybody at Hillcrest and the other places right in it. This is what you do. You pack up and put your stuff out the back door.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m trying to fix it so Roger doesn’t get the idea that you and Bobby are in with me.’

  ‘But I called him.’

  ‘This’ll make it clearer. We go back in. I take a look at Roger and you bolt for the door. I trip over Roger and you get away.’

  She took the bottle and had a drink. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Call it an early Christmas present-for Bobby’s father.’

  I gave them most of the rest of the day before I made a series of phone calls to the right people. No names, no pack drill. I also got the computer up and sent the pictures of the tobacco plantation using an anonymous Hotmail address. I let Roger listen and watch it all so he was in no doubt about what was going to happen. Then I took his pistol apart and told him I’d be scattering the pieces between Goulburn and Sydney. Then I kicked him out. He swore a bit. He was better at that than anything else.

  The next day I called in on Spiro, who’d left messages on my answering machine. He was in a state. ‘Bobby’s gone. He’s disappeared.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but it’s all right.’ I explained things to him and he calmed down.

  ‘Where do you think he went, Cliff?’

  ‘I don’t know and if he’s smart he won’t have told anybody.’

  ‘This girl. What is she like?’

  ‘I wouldn’t hold my breath until the wedding,’ I said.

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