Flank Street

by A. J. Sendall

  Some people are able to plan their lives, knowing what to do, where they will be, and what they will be doing in five, ten, fifteen years. I was never to be like that. All I’ve ever been able to do is follow. Follow one event with another, follow what my gut tells me, or as in this case, follow along with somebody else’s plans, and I was sure Carol had a plan. I was a drifter, a vagrant to the simple twists of fate.

  Mount Tamborine

  The cell phone Carol had given me was lying on the chart table. I’d left it there weeks before, not liking the idea of being contactable. It was also quite bulky: a pain having it in my pocket. However, it was going to be useful. I switched on the inverter and put the phone on charge. By the time I’d finished breakfast, it had enough juice to make a few calls.

  First, I called Stella, telling her I had to go away for a few days, and that she was running things during her shift, and to work in with Meagan, who would be running things from eight p.m. Next I called Joy, a temp barhop I’d used a few times before. She was a bit older than the other girls, but a good solid worker who didn’t take shit from customers. Meagan was great, but she sometimes allowed herself to be intimidated. Meagan would still be asleep, so I left her call for later.

  When I called Carol’s mobile, she laughed in surprise. ‘What’s the emergency? I didn’t realise you still had that thing.’

  ‘I hate it, but I’m too mean to throw it away. What are you doing today?’

  ‘Waiting for you to get your shit together and do this job with me.’

  ‘Pack a bag, call Gilda and Murray. You’re going for a visit.’ Before she could protest, I ended the call and switched the damn thing off.

  There was an electronics store not far away. I rowed ashore and walked to it with a list of things I’d need. A plan was forming in my head, but I’d need to see the property to know if it was feasible.

  The Valiant would be conspicuous in the small community, but I was loath to go car shopping. I needed new wheels that were not connected to my name, but for now, I was stuck with it.

  Carol was ready to go when I arrived just after midday. I carried her bag and put it in the trunk, as a gentleman should. She had a wide smile, obviously pleased, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t open the door for her. I had to draw the line at that.

  ‘I thought we’d stop at Coffs again and have a leisurely start in the morning. How does that sound?’

  ‘Sounds great. Maybe we’ll have time to walk out to the end of the wharf, or even across Muttonbird Island. That would be nice.’

  Ordinarily I would have dismissed that idea as a waste of time and not relevant to the job. That day I said, ‘Let’s see how the weather is.’

  We made chitchat. I asked how her parents had reacted to a surprise visit and she asked about arrangements at Frankie’s, about Lenny and about Meagan. Women always seem to find more to talk about than men do.

  We checked into the Blue Haven Motel in Coffs at six-thirty, the same joint we‘d used when we drove south nearly two months previously.

  ‘Just like old times,’ she said as she checked the fridge for a beer.

  ‘Except this time you don’t need to worry about me tying you to the bed.’

  She glanced over her shoulder as she continued to rifle the fridge. ‘Who said I was worried?’ There was the trace of a smile in the corners of her eyes. She handed me a beer. We sat outside at a small wooden picnic table enjoying the last of the daylight and the smell of the ocean.

  ‘Wanna go back to the New Delhi for old time’s sake?’ she asked.

  ‘No, just in case that screaming kid’s in there again. How about Italian?’

  ‘Sure, as long as they do big portions.’

  I was on my best behaviour so I didn’t say anything about her insatiable appetite. Although I was playing a game, as she was, it felt... nice? I didn’t really trust her, and she’d no reason to trust me, but we were pretending, and it made for a comfortable time. I wondered if that was how some married couples made it work, preferring that to open hostility or cold indifference. When I started wondering what it would be like to be married to Carol, I drained my beer, flicked the cigarette butt into the weeds, and said, ‘C’mon, time to eat.’

  The proprietor of the Blue Haven gave us directions to an Italian place he recommended. As it was only a kilometre away, we walked in the warm sea air on a side road close to the beach. In other circumstances, it could have felt romantic. As we walked side by side, our hands bumped. I thought she was reaching out to hold hands, and she must have thought the same, as we both moved away and there was an awkward silence. We’d had sex a couple of times, but it was never a romantic thing. Not for me anyway, and for Carol it would have been strategic.

  The restaurant was authentic, the food good. We both managed to be polite and stay away from taboo subjects.

  She had something on her mind. Over brandy and espresso, she said, ‘Where will you stay? On the mountain?’

  Her eyes weren’t quite meeting mine.

  I knew what was troubling her. I thought about toying with her, telling her I was her boyfriend and I would be staying in her bed at Murray and Gilda’s place. Instead I said, ‘It’s okay, I’m not expecting to stay with your family. I’ve booked a room for a week, just round the corner at the St Bernard’s. I told them I was a landscape photographer and would be out most days, and maybe overnight a couple of times.’

  ‘It’s Wednesday today, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Cool. They do a traditional roast on Thursday nights that’s really yummy.’

  ‘I’ll let you know. You’ll be with Murray and Gilda, remember.’

  She opened her mouth to speak, and then seemed to think better of it.

  The following morning, we walked both the wharf and Muttonbird Island. The wharf was an ancient wooden structure jutting out into the turbulent bay. The island stank of guano, but walking in the stiff sea breeze was a great way to clear the head.

  Carol was obviously pleased to be doing normal things a couple might do. I played along, sitting on a bench looking over the marina occupied by fishing boats.

  ‘We could stay another day, couldn’t we? Just take a holiday, just for one day?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But we’re right here and there’s no rush. He’s gone for a month. Why not?’

  ‘I’d miss the St Bernard’s traditional roast. Come on, time to roll.’

  I was expecting a pout, but she just shrugged, smiled, and was on her feet. She was trying really hard and it was making me really nervous.

  I dropped her off at the Gold Coast Airport car hire and followed her as far as St Bernard’s.

  I soon discovered where the hotel got its name when a ninety kilo dog took an unhealthy interest in my crotch, leaving a slime trail looking suspiciously like a dishonourable discharge.

  Check in was simple and friendly. The receptionist gave me a detailed map of the area with all the attractions marked and told me about their Thursday special roast. I promised not to miss it.

  The room was much better than I expected; it was a small suite with a pleasant sitting room and small veranda. Like the pub itself, it had exposed heavy timbers and was kitted-out with plain, solid furniture. The veranda had spectacular views across what I was to learn was the Guanaba Gorge. A kookaburra was laughing in one of the nearby ghost gums, and in the distance, a band of cicadas were warming up for their evening song.

  After changing my trousers and checking out the room, I went downstairs in search of a beer. The main lounge was spacious and doubled as a dining room. Beside it was a smaller public bar known as the dog pound. I went in and leaned against the bar, waiting to be served.

  There were half a dozen tradesmen engaged in good-natured banter and serious drinking.

  ‘How are ya, mate?’ said the one closest to my right.

  It was just an informal greeting, not an invitation to start a conversation. ‘Never better, thanks,’ I responded.

/>   The barmaid lay a beermat on the bar and looked up at me expectantly. ‘What’ll it be?’

  ‘A schooner of pale ale, thanks.’

  While I was waiting for my drink, I asked the beer drinker beside me, ‘What’s the Thursday roast like?’

  ‘Oh, it’s okay if you like that sort of thing.’

  He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask. I took the beer through to the lounge room and sat at a table near the window that had the same view over the gorge.

  By the time I’d had two beers, the place was filling up, and the smell of roast meat and vegetables was tormenting me. The helpings were generous and the food was good in a country canteen way. I passed on the dessert of trifle and custard in favour of a shot of brandy, followed by an early night.

  The next morning, I ordered breakfast from room service and studied the map the receptionist had given me. The area had many spectacular lookout points. I picked one as a place to meet Carol later in the day and sent her a text message.

  The St Bernard’s was just a few minutes’ walk from the café I’d used when last here. Beyond that, it was another five-minute walk to the target house on Bateke Road.

  The air was cooler up here than down on the coast. I walked along under the shade of large fir trees, glancing into the Todd’s property as I passed. The hire car was there, but no sign of people.

  Bateke was on the right, about a hundred metres further on, lined mostly with large houses on one-acre blocks. Some of those on the left side were much larger than average, and the sections at least two acres.

  I hardly needed to check the number; Carol’s description had painted a full picture. There was a two metre high wall running the length of the front, broken only by a large sliding gate across the driveway. Through the bars of the gate, I could see a large white house with wide steps up to a columned portico. As Carol had said, the house was set well back and was not easily viewed, either from the street or from the neighbours.

  I continued past. I looked from outside the next house and walked on. From what I’d seen so far, it wouldn’t present any real problems, but first I needed to check access from the national park. The difficulty was identifying the back of the house from the park. I figured Carol could help with that. I walked back to the hotel and collected the car.

  At eleven o’clock, she arrived at the lookout wearing a summer frock and sandals. She looked cute, but it wasn’t the best rig for bushwhacking.

  ‘How’s Mum and Dad?’

  ‘Mum’s good, Dad’s playing golf.’

  ‘I hate golf.’

  ‘You ever try it?’

  ‘You’ve gotta be joking.’

  ‘Then how do you know you hate it?’

  ‘I just know. I hate golf and everything about it.’

  ‘Okay, let’s leave golf alone. Did you have the roast last night?’

  ‘Lamb, but passed on the trifle and custard. I need you to identify the back of the house. I passed the front a couple of times, but it’s not going to be easy to hit the right place from the bush.’

  ‘What can I do? I don’t know what it looks like either.’

  ‘Your parents have a friend living on that street, right? You know what that looks like from the back?’

  ‘Sort of; I’ve been in there once.’

  ‘So we’ll count the number of properties from one to the other. It’ll be obvious then, especially as it’s set further back. Go home and get changed.’

  She looked down at her frock and smoothed the front. ‘What?’

  ‘Get changed. You can’t go walking through the forest like that.’

  ‘I often do.’

  I looked at the open sandals, the cotton dress, and wondered how far she’d get. I knew her well enough that there was no point in arguing. Let her find out.

  ‘Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  We took the hire car and drove along Bateke; there were thirteen houses between the target and the friend’s place. Half a kilometre beyond Bateke was a small park with a trail that led into the forest. As with most national parks in Australia, ninety percent of the trees were gums: ghost gums, majestic blue gums, and the sweet-smelling lemon-scented gums. The going was easier than I expected, and Carol gave me one of those I-told-you-so looks. She had no trouble identifying the first house, and when we counted the thirteen, it was obvious we were at the right place. I took in how it all looked: the slope of the ground; the break in the trees just before the back fence, which was just a low chain-link I could simply step over. It all looked too easy. From the fence line, it was only a thirty-metre dash to the house, and neither of the neighbouring houses could see that line. I took one more look, burning it into my memory, and we walked on.

  Five minutes later, we came into a small clearing. The view was magnificent, taking in the valleys and gorges, and the high-rise buildings of the Gold Coast, thirty kilometres distant. We sat on a well-used fallen tree, looking out in shared silence. Something churned inside me, reminded me I’d been missing this kind of isolation and tranquillity. Carol was unusually quiet as well, staring out across the vast emptiness.

  ‘Makes that city madness seem all the more crazy, doesn’t it,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t go all soft on me, Micky.’

  ‘I was just saying—’

  Her elbow hit my ribs. ‘Come on, before you start crying.’

  ‘I was just saying, that’s all.’

  ‘Fancy some sushi for lunch. There’s a great little place in Southport, about thirty minutes away.’

  She stood and started walking, a wide smile pulled across her face. She’d taken the upper hand.

  ‘So what do you think about the access? Looks okay, huh?’

  ‘Should be fine; I can take a line from the fence to the back door without being seen by the neighbours. If I walk in mid-morning tomorrow, there’ll be little chance of anyone spotting me. At night I’d stand out and probably set off any dogs in the surrounding houses.’

  ‘We.’

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘We will walk in.’

  ‘I thought we’d had this conversation, Carol.’

  Somewhere between sushi and sundowners in a bar overlooking the beach at Surfer’s Paradise, she talked me into letting her go in with me. Her main argument was that I didn’t know what a bearer bond was a few days ago, and if I didn’t know that, then maybe there were a lot of other valuable papers I would overlook. She was right in one way, but I’d always worked alone for a good reason. I didn’t know of any self-respecting thief that worked with a woman, other than Clyde Chestnut Barrow, and look what happened to him.

  She was jacked when I said, ‘Okay... all right... you win.’

  ‘I’ll do as you tell me. I promise.’

  ‘If you don’t, I’ll tie you to a radiator and leave you there for the cops.’

  It seemed like a low-risk job and we’d go in and out during daylight. No lights or torches to give us away and maybe she would find things we could fence. Who could tell?

  String of Pearls

  After a huge fried breakfast, I walked to the park we’d stopped at the previous day. She was waiting, leaning against the bonnet of the hire car, smoking and watching me as I approached. This time she was dressed more appropriately in a rugby jersey, hiking shorts and boots. It suited her and showed off a good pair of gams.

  ‘Care to wander?’

  She crushed the cigarette under a hiking boot, took a rucksack from the passenger’s seat, and fell in step beside me as I entered the forest.

  ‘What have you got in there?’ I nodded at the rucksack.

  ‘Just the essentials that all girls carry.’

  My gut told me to stop and empty it on the ground in case there was a weapon, but the newly elected trusting side of me said let it go.

  We stayed well back from the fence lines until we identified the house. It looked bigger today. I was keen to get in, toss it, and get out again. After stopping for a minute to look around, we walke
d straight for it: over the fence, across the yard and into the rear portico. I took a pair of blue overalls from my pack and stepped into them, pulled on a blue ball cap and walked along the side of the house like an everyday repair man. The phone inlet was at the base of the wall, just before the front of the house. A sloppy installation: took me fifteen seconds to cut.

  The lock was a simple Yale a kid could have picked. I was in in less than thirty seconds, Carol slipped past me, her eyes wide with excitement. I quietly closed the door behind her.

  I handed her a pair of latex gloves from my bag, spoke close to her ear. ‘Put these on, wait here, and keep quiet.’

  She nodded her agreement as I left to scope the place. Three minutes later, I was back. ‘It’s empty. Stay with me all the time. Understand?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I snapped a pair of gloves on and we started going from room to room. It reeked of money, lots of money, everything from original art to displays of fine porcelain. The office was at the front of the house overlooking the circular drive with an excessive bronze water feature of naked boys pissing in the water.

  Carol whispered, ‘Shall I look for a safe?’

  ‘Yes, and you can speak normally: quietly, but normally.’

  ‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘Okay.’

  I tossed the drawers in the desk first, turning over and emptying each one. In the third, I found what I was looking for. On a business card taped to the back of a drawer was a safe code. ‘There’s a safe here somewhere. Keep looking.’

  I went to the file cabinet next, and worked up from the bottom shelf. As there was a safe, I didn’t expect to find much of value laying around.

  ‘It’s here,’ Carol said softly, ‘in the floor under the corner of the carpet.’

  I handed her the codes. ‘Do you know how?’

  She looked at it, nodded, and started dialling. I watched over her shoulder as she dialled the code and spun the dial back clockwise until it stopped with a light click. The lid was heavy. She squatted over it, heaved it open, and stood back to let me look.

  ‘Take it all out; make a pile of interesting stuff, and drop the rest back in.’