Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

by Lee Christine

  She turned and headed for the stairs which led to the lower level of the Queen Victoria Building, heels clicking on the mosaic tiles of the central lobby. She could imagine Dickson in the gym, pretending to be listening to music while working out on a recumbent bike or treadmill. Was the collector already there, lifting weights or using a nearby machine? Or would he arrive ten, twenty, even thirty minutes after Nate had deposited the money in Locker 17 and begun his own workout.

  There was no way of knowing, though both men were confident the cash wouldn’t be left in the locker for long.

  The lower ground floor was a thoroughfare of office workers in transit from Town Hall Station to the city, and Josie easily joined the throng, stepping onto the down escalator and hitching the new leather handbag higher on her shoulder. Staring at the crowd from behind clear black rimmed glasses, she pressed her fingertips lightly to her chest, feeling for the necklace containing the tiny transmitter, hidden beneath the zipped up jacket of the grey suit.

  Almost half the tables in the Coffee Bean Cafe were vacant, and in minutes she was sitting directly across from Uptown Drycleaning, with an unobstructed view of the shop.

  She ordered bacon and eggs, toast and tea, and when the waiter retreated, she reached into her bag and took out the special smart phone with the inbuilt, long distance video camera. She only had to pick up the device and the camera would do its thing, recording everyone using the drycleaners. Best of all, the screen display and phone continued to work as normal.

  Perspiring beneath the wig, Josie glanced at the other patrons. Most were business men and women, stopping for a quick coffee, or breakfast on the way to the office. Some were using their phones, others reading through notes, or engrossed in the morning papers.

  No-one even looked her way.

  She was flicking through a magazine when a small man of Asian appearance unlocked the drycleaners and switched on the lights. He flipped the sign from “Closed” to “Open” and shut the door behind him, retreating to the rear of the shop.

  Doing her best to appear relaxed, Josie gazed over the top of the magazine then glanced at her watch.

  7:10 a.m.

  Ong Chung was open for business.

  At seven thirty, Nate parked the bike in the underground QVB car park.

  Dressed in jeans, a plain black tee-shirt and boots, he slung his back pack over his shoulder and stowed the leather bike jacket and helmet inside the storage compartment. Then he took the stairs two at a time until he reached the lower ground level.

  Anxious to check on Josie, he slipped on black sunglasses and headed for the drycleaners. She should have picked up the exchange between him and Dickson, and if everything had gone to plan she would now be in position, recording customers dropping off and collecting clothes. As yet, he’d received no message from her, and that was reassuring, would indicate she hadn’t run into any kind of trouble. He’d feel better once he had a visual on her, better again once her part was done and she could return to the safety of the hotel.

  Nate caught sight of the auburn wig long before he reached the cafe. He stopped and pretended to study some expensive leather goods displayed in a shop window while he checked his reflection. All good. He looked no different to half the population on their morning commute, listening to music on his phone’s inbuilt music player.

  ‘Approaching drycleaners, copy,’ he murmured, confident the inbuilt microphone attached to the cord would pick up his words without a problem.

  ‘Copy that.’ Despite the high energy music blaring from the gym, Nate easily heard Dickson’s reply.

  Ahead of him, Josie lowered the magazine, an indication she too had heard the exchange, and for the first time since leaving the hotel at five a.m., Nate breathed a little easier. He drew level with the cafe, watched her spoon sugar into her tea and stir, a signal everything was fine. In response, he removed his sunglasses just before he pushed open the door of the drycleaners.

  Ong Chung emerged from the rear of the shop, skirting around the items of clean clothing hanging from an alphabetised circular rack.

  The man was small, coarse black hair streaked with grey, and he didn’t make eye contact as he came towards Nate, a bunch of wire hangers clutched in one hand.

  ‘Yes?’ he said by way of greeting.

  ‘Morning.’ Nate slid the backpack from his shoulder, grateful there was no one else in the shop to witness his first drop.

  ‘Trains are late this morning.’ He recited the words as per Kennett’s instructions.

  The man put the wire hangers on the laminated counter, and if he were surprised to see Nate standing there instead of Grassy, he didn’t let it show on his face.

  Nate waited for the scripted response.

  ‘It’s happening more and more.’

  And there it was!

  Ong spoke with a heavy Vietnamese accent, nervous eyes flicking towards the door, as if he wanted the exchange made before someone else came into the shop.

  That made two of them.

  Nate unzipped his backpack and pulled out the blue linen drawstring bag Kennett had given him at the compound. The bag was heavier than it looked, weighed down by bundles of cash zipped inside the deep pockets of a jacket.

  ‘I spilt red wine on my windbreaker.’ He loosened the drawstring a bit so Ong could see the material. ‘Are you able to get it out?’

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’ Still refusing to make eye contact, the man took the bag and stowed it beneath the counter. ‘You can pick it up after eleven tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Nate zipped up the backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He wouldn’t be coming back for the jacket. He’d be coming back to arrest Ong Chung.

  ‘Have a good day.’

  Ong Chung was now in possession of a serious bundle of cash, but where the money went after that was anyone’s guess. Josie would continue to linger in the vicinity of the shop while he was in the gym. Hopefully, one of the photographs would show a customer leaving the drycleaners, carrying the blue draw string bag.

  It was a long shot.

  But a shot worth taking.

  Nate opened the door and stepped outside, sliding on his sunglasses and glancing at Josie for a couple of seconds. She was biting into some toast and turning the page of a magazine. She didn’t even look up.

  Good girl, he thought, with a sudden rush of affection. It was hard putting any member of the public in danger, particularly one as important to him as Josie. It just went against his natural instinct to protect. And she would never know how much it had torn him up — asking her to do this — on her twenty-first birthday of all days.

  The age old adage “the greater the risk the greater the reward” came to mind.

  It didn’t only apply to the stock market.

  Nate shrugged the backpack more securely onto his shoulder and walked quickly towards the escalator which would take him up a level. Fit Forever was situated in one corner of the building at street level. Access was via George Street or from inside the Queen Victoria Building itself. A large, open space with a bank of lockers built along one wall, the gym provided the best chance of a sighting.

  A light sheen of sweat broke out on Nate’s forehead. He needed to get in there fast. Dickson had been working out for over an hour. Any longer, and he’d start attracting attention.

  Up ahead, the gym’s blue opalescent sign came into view.

  Nate checked his watch.

  7:45 a.m.

  Even in Grassy’s unhealthy state, Kennett had insisted he do a minimum half hour of exercise following the drop. To leave right away would have created suspicion, and Grassy was a suspicious looking character at the best of times.

  Nate was fitter, and he could easily stretch the session to an hour.

  An hour, from the time he put the money in the locker.

  An hour, before he needed to leave for the compound and report back to Kennett.

  An hour, to get a sighting of the collector.

  Chapter 2
3

  8:00 a.m. Thursday

  Luke put the skim flat white on the table in front of his wife, and slid into the booth next to her. ‘What’s that?’

  Allegra lifted up a small, intricately wrapped gift box for him to see. ‘Earrings I bought for Josie’s birthday. I’m going to leave them in the top drawer of her desk.’

  Troubled by his wife’s grief, Luke slipped his arm around Allegra’s waist. With Simon Poole away, she was busier than ever, and the temp she’d been assigned couldn’t make headway through the mountain of work as efficiently as Josie. To compound her irritation, she found Henry Grace difficult to talk to.

  It all added up to his wife being tired, stressed and not her usual self.

  But worst of all, Allegra was terrified for her friend.

  Luke gazed at his wife’s profile. He loved the way she’d done her hair this morning, some kind of intricate upstyle that highlighted her bone structure and exposed the swan like curve of her neck. Known among the legal fraternity as the “perfumed steamroller”, to him she was a potent mix of strength and fragility. And right now, she was showing her vulnerable side.

  Frustrated he couldn’t do anything to help, other than use his contacts to follow the police investigation, Luke rubbed a hand over her back. Most of the leads had dried up already. One or two functioning cameras had yielded a handful of plate numbers, Nate’s among them. But the registration details showed a Nate Jordan as registered owner, not Nate Hunter.

  Luke was positive they were one and the same person, though to date, the police hadn’t been able to track down Nate Jordan. Just at the moment, they were more concerned with reports leaking straight from the rank and file of the Southern Cross, that a retaliatory strike against the Altar Boys was planned for Saturday afternoon, following Lizard Mulvaney’s funeral.

  ‘I can understand Lizard sending the boys protecting him home,’ Allegra said suddenly, resuming their conversation prior to him lining up for coffee, ‘especially if he wanted to discuss leaving the Southern Cross. But being murdered the very same night? Someone knew he was alone.’

  Luke sipped his coffee and thought for a moment. ‘The protection boys could have gone back to the Southern Cross compound. Their presence would have tipped off certain parties that Mulvaney was alone. Josie told police it was two bikies.’

  Allegra looked at him over the rim of her cup. ‘Do you think Mulvaney was killed by his own gang?’

  ‘I don’t know. The Altar Boys claimed responsibility for the attempt at the Court House.’ Memories of that day sent a cold draft through Luke’s body. Allegra had come close to a bullet that day. ‘The police are not prepared to state publicly that Josie witnessed the murder, and I agree with that. If she is alive, she won’t stay that way for long once the bikies learn she can identify them.’

  Allegra flinched and put down her cup. ‘Mulvaney went to great lengths to try and contact me.’

  Luke nodded. ‘He was a family man living on borrowed time. Maybe he wanted to discuss providing for Sandra and the kids in the event of his death.’

  ‘We’ll never know now.’

  Another thought came into Luke’s mind. ‘What did Simon have to say?’

  ‘Not a lot. I expect he’ll call and speak to Henry again.’ Allegra pressed her lips together, as if she’d been about to say more, and thought better of it.

  Luke frowned at her hesitation. ‘What?’

  She gave a tired shrug. ‘I may be wrong, Luke, but I got the impression Simon was thinking of coming home.’

  Henry Grace locked the office door then moved behind the huge oak desk to sit heavily in his chair. With a weary sigh, he buzzed his secretary.

  ‘Yes, Mr. Grace?’

  ‘Hold all calls please.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Henry listened to the dial tone, sweat beading his forehead so he had to wipe it away with the back of his hand. Eventually, he punched out the number, counted the rings at the other end. One…two…three…

  His son picked up on the fourth ring. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’s me.’ Henry closed his eyes at the huskily slurred word. ‘Not working today?’

  A yawn.

  Henry could picture him, dirty blonde tousled hair, skinny frame sprawled out in the ground floor studio he rented somewhere in Sydney’s west.

  ‘Don’t start til five.’ His son’s voice was raspy, rough, damaged.

  ‘We’ve got a problem.’ Henry locked the disappointment and associated guilt deep inside him, like he always did. ‘Something bad’s happening.’

  ‘What do you mean bad?’ His son was more alert now.

  That’d be right.

  He showed a lot of concern when things affected him.

  Henry sucked in an untidy breath. ‘You might have seen on the news that Josephine Valenti is missing. What police aren’t saying is that she witnessed Lizard Mulvaney’s murder before that tat parlour went up in flames. Allegra Greenwood acts for the Southern Cross. Naturally she’s been asking a lot of questions. Her husband’s one of Sydney’s top security experts. Between them and the police, God only knows what will be uncovered.’

  ‘How does it affect me? I thought you fixed my situation years ago.’

  His situation?

  A novel way of putting it.

  The ungrateful little prick.

  ‘I’ve been fixing it ever since. What have you been doing?’

  As he’d come to expect, his son’s voice took on a defensive ring. ‘Where was I going to get four hundred grand?’

  Right then, Henry was grateful he couldn’t physically get to his son.

  ‘Paying your gambling debts was the easy part,’ he bit out between gritted teeth. ‘But the big shot realised I could be of use. I’ve been breaking the law for ten years so he wouldn’t send the bikies around to break your kneecaps.’

  There was silence at the other end, and Henry gazed at the framed photograph of his wife, and tried to stay calm. If she ever found out, it would kill her.

  ‘If I get caught — I’ll be struck off, disbarred. I’ll go to prison, and I won’t be able to guarantee your safety.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘The bikies are on the brink of out and out war. You might want to think about getting out of Sydney.’

  Chapter 24

  The instant Nate stepped inside the gym he spotted Dickson by the weights, wiping himself down with something the size of a handtowel. A loud hip hop mix pumped through the stereo system. Everywhere people were in motion.

  At the front desk, he registered as a casual and paid for an hour’s workout and a locker. In the men’s change room, he donned gym shorts and trainers, placing the plastic bag containing the bundles of cash on top of his boots and folded jeans.

  Back in the workout room, he headed over to where Dickson was standing by the lockers. To the casual observer, Dickson looked to be taking a breather while he drank from a water bottle, but Nate understood he was directing him to locker 17.

  As he passed by, his offsider slung the towel around his neck, a pre-arranged signal which told Nate he had nothing to report.

  He relaxed a little and scanned the room. Nearly all the machines were in use, and the clientele not listening to personal music players were running, cycling or rowing in time to Jay Z’s “Ninety-nine Problems”.

  No-one even looked in their direction.

  Nate zeroed in on locker 17.

  The door stood open.

  Empty.

  As Dickson performed a series of lunges, Nate placed the money inside the locker and spun the combination closed. Keeping his movements unhurried and relaxed, he located locker 26, put his gym bag inside and again spun the combination. Then without so much as a glance at Dickson, he headed across the room to claim a vacant treadmill.

  ‘Do you need help with the settings?’

  Nate removed an ear bud as a female staff member wearing a blue Fit Forever tee-shirt stepped in front of him.

  �
�Thanks, I’m fine.’

  The girl left, moving between the machines, eyes searching for anyone in need of assistance.

  Nate stepped onto the black mat. The machine lit up like a Christmas tree and he punched in the speed and incline. It had been a while since he’d undertaken any hard exercise, and he was rearing to go, confident it would take the edge off his anxiety while he waited for the money to be collected.

  He watched Dickson head towards the men’s change room and breathed a little easier. Both drops had been made now, and in less than ten minutes, Dickson would be watching over Josie.

  After last night’s debacle, Nate was confident his offsider would be on his game.

  ‘Can I get you another tea?’

  Josie pretended to check her watch before looking at the waiter. ‘Um, I might have a skim latte. I’m killing time until a job interview.’

  ‘One skim latte coming up.’

  The waiter was back in minutes, setting her coffee on the table and tearing her account from his notepad. ‘Good luck with the job.’

  Josie smiled and returned to watching the commuters, keeping a keen eye out for anyone going into the dry cleaners. There were constant updates coming in from the gym. The money was in place. Dickson should be with her in about ten minutes.

  The plan was for the two of them to return to the hotel while Nate carried out surveillance. If no one showed in that hour, he’d head back to the compound and report to Kennett.

  Her cup was halfway to her lips when there was a loud bang.

  Josie’s body jerked, nerve endings prickling as hot coffee slopped into her saucer. Broken pieces of china skated across the floor in all directions, and when she turned to her right, a red faced waiter was apologising to patrons.

  Josie put down her cup with a trembling hand, watching as the young man squatted between the tables and began gathering up the broken pieces. A triangular bit had come to a stop under her chair, and she bent down to retrieve it, passing it to the waiter with what she hoped was a sympathetic smile.

  ‘No, no, leave it, leave it,’ someone said in heavily accented English.