Wyatt - 03 - Death Deal (16 page)

Joyce flushed. Of course. Ill
leave you to it.

She went out, closing the door
behind her. Lovell watched her go, then turned to Nurse. Lovely. Over here, me
old mate, so I dont have to yell.

He pointed to the couch next to him
and the journey across the room racked Nurses nervous system. His voice trembled.
What do you want? Its out of order, coming here.

You could say Im a bit strapped
for cash.

I could sell the car.

Chickenfeed. I need a lot more than
that, and you owe me more than your cars worth.

I dispute that. It wasnt my fault
your stuff got stolen.

You dont know, do you? You havent
got a clue how it works. Lovell edged closer, violence crackling around him
like static electricity. Matey, in this business, you lose it, you replace it.

How? Nurses voice went shrill. He
tried again. How? I wouldnt have a clue where to get heroin.

You werent listening. I need cash.
Seventy-five grand for the smack you lost plus another twenty-five to cover the
hassles you caused me.

I havent got that kind of money.
What do you expect me to do, sell the house?

As soon as he said it he wished he
hadnt. Lovell said, Theres a thought.

Please.

On second thoughts, it would take
too long.

So, how?

Keep your voice down. A bank loan.

Nurse lost energy. He collapsed into
the spongy material of the couch. Hed heard of this sort of thing happening,
organised crime figures getting their hooks into bank managers, arranging loans
they had no intention of repaying. He said, I cant do that, regulations
wouldnt allow it.

Lovell looked at him, shook his head
slowly. Dont give me that crap. You do it every day.

What about asset security for the
loan? Could we nominate your plane, maybe?

Youre incredible, you know that?
Get real, Nurse. I want you to forget the formalities, dont you understand
that? Jesus.

Nurse muttered, When?

Well, I need it soon, dont I? You
see, being out seventy-five grand, I had to dig into my own reserves to pay for
the last delivery. Now I find myself in a position where I need upfront cash.

What about Bone?

Lovell spoke through his teeth. We
dont speak about the people I work for, understand? That side of things is
strictly my business.

Nurse realised then that Lovell was
running scared on this deal. Hed lost a load of heroin, probably soured
relations with his buyers, and had people breathing down his neck.

Not that that was any comfort. With
one round-trip to New Guinea, Lovell could be back on track, whereas he, Nurse,
had permanently derailed himself.

He had to know: What if it cant be
done?

Lovell tipped back his throat,
sliding the last of his scotch down it like an oyster. Cute daughter, Nurse.
What is she, fourteen? Fifteen? Hard to tell at that age.

You leave her out of this.

Lovell was finished. Tomorrow morning,
your office.

* * * *

Twenty-six

The
gum-chewing assistant in Kampworld looked meaningfully at the sun-drenched
street outside, the heat shimmers and toxins in the air, the soft tar, then
down at the T-shirt, shorts and thongs she was wearing, then at the balaclava,
black wool. Sure this is what you want?

Im sure, Wyatt said.

She shrugged. She tucked the
balaclava into a plastic bag. Nine ninety-five.

Wyatt handed her ten dollars, got
five cents change. There was a guide-dogs charity tin next to the cash register
but if the girl remembered him, told the cops hed put money in the tin, theyd
run a check on every print on every coin. Bushwalking, he explained. Tasmania.

That seemed to explain it to the
girl. Oh, Tasmania, she said, as though the word meant sleet and winds off
the Antarctic. Already she was grinding her jaws again, grinning Can I help
you? to a kid clutching a pair of Doc Martens.

Wyatt joined Phelps and Riding in
the car. They were silent, professional men. It was Saturday morning, two days
before the hit, and this was a shopping trip. Phelps drove to Toowong next,
waiting in the car with Wyatt while Riding bought a balaclava in a disposals
store. Then he drove to Buranda. Every second shop was a clothing discounter.
The three men separated. Phelps came back with running shoes, jeans and a nylon
jacket of the kind worn by athletes. Riding and Wyatt bought cheap black shoes
and cheap business suits. The money would be transported in a couple of roomy
pink and blue striped shopping bags. Anna Reid had supplied them with latex
gloves bought from a department store pharmacy. Everything was capable of
leaving a trace for the forensic experts, so everything except the money would
be burnt later.

The guns were already taken care of.
Riding had supplied them, a sawnoff shotgun for himself, a .38 each for Wyatt
and Phelps.

The three men spent Saturday
afternoon scouting around. They started in Logan City, Wyatt pointing out the
bank, the small courtyard behind it. After five minutes of exploring the
adjacent streets they settled on a place to stash the first getaway car
overnight on Sunday. It was a busy twenty-four hour service station at the
bottom of an exit ramp on the Gold Coast freeway. It would not be noticed there
and the area was too open, too well lit to attract vandals or car thieves.

Where now?

Wyatt indicated a spot in the street
directory. East Brisbane.

The managers house was a
Queenslander, prettified with savagely pruned flame trees and pastelly colours
on the external trim. The street itself was short and narrow but a bus ran
along it, there were a handful of shops at the end, and plenty of cars used it.
That was useful to know. Wyatt preferred activity to a cul-de-sac where nothing
happened all day except the probing sweep of eyeballs behind the neighbours
curtains.

Phelps cruised past slowly a second
time then took them along the side and back streets until Wyatt was satisfied
that he would know if the manager, Nurse, took a wrong turn on Monday morning.

After East Brisbane they drove to
the grounds of the university in St Lucia. The road curved slowly around to the
right, the river on one side, tennis courts and playing fields on the other.
Phelps rode the brake, avoiding speed humps, joggers and kids on roller blades.
With the windows down they could hear the
whok
of racquets slamming
tennis balls. They came to a sharp bend in the river with fewer people about
and more open space. According to a sign, they were behind the residential
colleges. Students cars, small Japanese sedans with roofracks and bumper
stickers, were nosed into concrete barriers next to sloping lawns and hockey
fields. Trees hid the colleges from view. Music pounded from a window somewhere
above them. Otherwise the area was deserted.

Here? Phelps said.

It was Ridings idea. He had been a
student here, fifteen years ago. At ten on Monday morning, he said, theyll
be in lectures or still in bed. If were seen making the final switch, no-one
will think twice about it. Theres always someone loading and unloading stuff
around here.

Sure, Phelps said. What was the
course again?

I did computer science.

Computer science, Phelps said,
trying the words out with his tired mouth. You could be making big bucks
legitimately if youd stuck to it.

I was expelled, Riding said. They
caught me tapping into NASA files.

Huh, Phelps said.

Wyatt listened to them. He didnt
claim to understand what made them tick. All he knew was, there were people
like Riding and Phelps, who would always slip out of concentration, and there
were people like himself.

* * * *

Twenty-seven

In
Singapore on Sunday morning the message was sure, no problem, as soon as we see
the colour of your money.

Lovell replied, But you can fill
the order okay?

Sure. No problem.

The intermediary for the arms dealer
was a Chinese tailor just off Bugis Street. Lovell hated Singapore. Twenty
years ago hed been kicked out for looking like a hippie. Well, in those days
he
had
been a hippie. Hed landed in Singapore in the first place
because he wanted to take the hippie trail overland to London, like everyone
else. But theyd shut the door in his face and ordered Qantas to fly him home
again. Qantas had got pissed off. In the end, to save hassles, hed had a
haircut. Five hours later, half a dozen twittering transvestites had felt him
up on Bugis Street, squeezing his balls, tweaking his nipples, running their
hands up his crack, and lifting his passport and moneybelt. Bugis Street was
clean now, and Lovell preferred short hair, but he still hated Singapore.

How long?

The Chinese tailor looked at him. Explain,
please.

I said how long will it take you to
fill the order?

No problem. We see your money
first.

A hundred thousand bucks. Lovell
groaned inwardly. Hed hoped hed have something left over from the hundred
thousand Nurse had given him on Friday morning, but no such luck, meaning he
still had to find the full seventy-five thousand for the smack stolen from
Nurse.

It was all in the timing. Pray that
Bone would take a while to notice the shortfall, giving him time to buy the
guns, deliver them, fly back with a few planeloads of cannabis to sell to the
eighty thousand Queenslanders who smoked it at least once a week. Earn back his
original stake plus Bones seventy-five grand.

Maybe he could get this gook to see
reason. Weve done business before, he told the tailor.

The man beamed, his glasses flashed
and his sleek oiled hair caught the dim light. Funny how their hair was either
dead straight or kind of fluffy.

Yes.

Buddha sticks, Lovell said. White
rock. Pink rock.

Yes.

So you know my moneys good. So why
cant you ship the guns now and Ill pay you in a few days time? This will be
an ongoing thing, you know.

No problem. We see your money
first.

Lovell flew out of Singapore at two
oclock, a hundred thousand dollars poorer and his hatred for the place a notch
or two tighter. He flicked restlessly through magazines, tried to doze. He was
a pilot; he was no good at this kind of shit, smuggling, dealing, overseeing
couriers.

When he eventually got to Brisbane
airport that evening it was dark outside. He kept close to people. In the
carpark he checked his car before getting in. On the freeway he changed lanes,
hung back, spurted ahead. It had been a week since Nurse was robbed. Why the
silence? he wondered.

* * * *

Twenty-eight

On
Sunday they set the incendiary devices.

Phelps was responsible for these.
There were two devices and they consisted of plastic jugs half-full of petrol,
a timer and battery, two contact points a whisker apart.

Half-full to allow fumes to build
up, Phelps explained. At nine-fifteen tomorrow morning a spark will jump
across the contact points and pow, instant fire.

Wyatt nodded encouragingly. He knew
how the devices worked but he saw it as part of his job to drop praise here and
there, encouragement, to keep Phelps and Riding efficient and calm.

They put the devices in place at
five oclock, the hottest part of the day, when the city sprawled heat-dazed and
inattentive under the sun. The first incendiary went at the bottom of a
four-metre-high pile of used tyres in a yard several blocks east of the bank. Lots
of smoke and drama, Phelps said.

They set the second in a dumpster of
rubbish behind a nearby supermarket. Flattened cardboard, paper, plastic
sheeting, plywood, styrofoam packaging: it would cause plenty of panic but no
damage.

That night they stole the getaway
cars.

They lifted both cars from the
long-term carpark at the airport. Travelling separately to the airport by bus
at half hour intervals, they met at a side entrance to the carpark. Wyatt
arrived last. What have you got?

Riding spoke softly. A fawn Camira.

Parking ticket?

He nodded. On the dash above the
steering wheel, stupid prick.

When?

A jet was taking off. The sound
thundered around them, so Riding waited. An hour ago, soon after I got here.

That was good. The owner was not
likely to be back for it before Monday afternoon. What they needed now was a
second car much like the first. Witnesses at the university who saw the
changeover were more likely to confuse two cars that were similar in size and
shape.

Theres no guarantee well find a
match with a ticket inside. You two keep an eye on new arrivals. Ill scout around.

Wyatt walked into the gloom. He didnt
want to spend too long here. There were few people about and it was dark, but
even one person could be one too many. His shoes were loud in the gravel. Two
minutes later he saw a ticket poking up from an ashtray in a soft-top VW. He
unsnapped the top, pocketed the ticket, snapped back the flap.