Wyatt - 03 - Death Deal (11 page)

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 shoulder 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.

You dont understand, Danny said.
He bet another hundred.

Carol was about to answer when she
sensed that she was the object of a strangers unwavering attention. She looked
up. Behind the gawking five-dollar punters, pensioners and loudmouths stood a
tall, grim man wearing glasses with solid black frames. The pit boss. He held
her gaze, then looked beyond her and nodded to someone.

She felt her shoulders being
clasped. She knew without turning around that it was a security guard. A second
guard stationed himself next to Danny.

Excuse me, miss, the first guard
said.

Yes?

He leaned down. He smelt of cheap
food. Youve not been playing, miss. Youve not played at all since you
arrived here, three hours ago. You were not seen arriving with this gentleman.

If you would just come with us to
the office . . . the other man said.

Whats it to you guys? Danny
demanded.

Do you know this lady, sir? the
first guard said. The backs of his hands were hairy.

People were watching them. One or
two whispered to each other. Then the pit boss beckoned with a jerk of his head
and Carol felt strong hands lift her.

Danny slapped a dozen chips down in
front of her. The ladys with me. This is her stake.

Carol immediately selected four
chips and pushed them forward. Im betting on red nine.

The croupier looked at the chips and
then at the pit boss.

Nine. You heard the lady, Danny
said. In fact, Ill go for that, too. He pushed all his chips forward.

The croupier shrugged. The other
players were getting edgy. They hated delays. He checked around the table and
prepared to spin the wheel. The pit boss turned away, clearly disgusted.

The guards muttered. Carol smiled at
them. She knew she couldnt come back here, but there was no point in making
enemies. It was just a little misunderstanding, she said. Thats all.

The guards edged away through the
crowd. Incredible, said Danny loudly.

They were only doing their job.
After all, I could be anybody.

Youre not though, Danny began,
but the wheel was spinning and so he polished his cufflinks again.

Carol watched. A rapid clatter,
getting slower; an impossible last-minute lurch; the number nine under the
pointer.

Danny stood, roared
Yes!,
thrust
up a plump fist in victory. People whistled and clapped. Carol smiled at Danny.
The kiss he gave her was thrusting and moist. Lets have that drink.

She raked in the chips and shyly
pushed them toward him. A grin was splitting his face. I dont believe it. I
couldve bet black eleven till the cows came home. He pushed some of the chips
back to her. Some of these are yours. You brought me luck.

She followed him out of the Monte
Carlo and next door into the Tradewinds. There was a king-size bed in room 212,
under an electric blue bedspread heavy enough to smother an ox. Danny parted
the curtains, calling them drapes, and ushered Carol onto the balcony, pointing
out the lights. He stood there with her just long enough to deny that animal
heat had anything to do with why hed brought her to his suite, then closed the
curtains and showed her back into the room.