Cross Off (16 page)

Grant Reuben didn't regard himself as either a coward or a hero. Brain-power, he believed, was his
long suit and that was what he was exercising now. Vance Belfante was ripe for the plucking, had already been plucked in fact, and couldn't be allowed to find out. Besides, he was out of control. Reuben had the bruised face to remind him of the fact. He wasn't surprised to hear about Geoff Caulfield's bashing. Tate was a threat, linking him to the attack on Ava Belfante, exposing him to serious criminal charges and, possibly, physical danger if he failed to accommodate the hit man in some way. Reuben had studied constitutional law in his university course. Not one of his favourite subjects, no money in it, but he had remembered one phrase in particular—'checks and balances'.

He listened to the news broadcast on a transistor radio balanced on top of a pile of legal papers. He nodded and switched the radio off. 'Checks and balances,' he said. 'That'll be Vance.'

George Frost turned away from the window. 'Which leaves the other bloke.'

'Which is your cue, George. Checks and balances.'

Frost's lean, bitter face creased in puzzlement. 'What the fuck are you talking about?'

'Doesn't matter. It's all working out the way I told you it would.'

Twenty-four hours after meeting Belfante at Long Bay, Reuben had performed the same office for Frost on his release from the prison hospital. He had driven him to the Hilton Hotel where he had made a reservation for Frost for a week. The two men had sat in the room eating an expensive lunch and drinking quality wines as Reuben made his pitch. In essence, it was to turn half of Belfante's assets over to Frost in return for Frost's protection against the contract killer.

'It's worth what?' Frost asked.

'Now, badly managed, under-financed, maybe seven hundred thousand. Properly looked after, a million easy. Yielding ten per cent legally, more under the counter, depending on how you want to play it.'

'Sounds good.'

'It is. It's your big chance, George. Your chance to get a real slice of the good life. Have you got anything better going?'

Frost shook his head. He didn't like the lawyer and didn't trust him, but the deal had a sound ring to it. He had a strong fancy to see his name on some title deeds, to file income tax returns and sleep soundly at night under a roof he owned. 'Why me?'

Reuben shrugged. 'You've got the nerve. I'm giving you the motivation.'

'How do I know you'll come through?'

'I've drawn up some papers—fixing you up with a corporation, property transfers, funds lodged in accounts, blah, blah. A signature from me and it's all set. And I sign when he's dead.'

'This bloke you don't even know the name of?'

'Right. He'll be coming for me. He doesn't know about you, but you know about him.'

Frost had agreed to the terms then and he had to admit that Reuben's plan appeared to be working. Anyway, what choice did he have? He was finished with Vance Belfante and what opportunities were there for a forty-year-old two-time loser? He was nervous, sure, but how good could this guy be? He'd made a mess of the job on Ava, and Reuben had set him up nicely to give Vance the business.

'Getting cold feet, George?'

Frost sat in one of the leather chairs and looked around the room. Nice. Pictures on the walls. Maybe he'd have an office like this when he was running his corporation. He gazed at the lawyer. Little prick, with his flash suits and poncy hair-do. 'Ava's Vance's widow. She inherits. How about that?'

Reuben smiled. 'She'll find there's bugger-all to inherit. Debts mostly. I told you. I've been moving things around while Vance was inside. He gave me his power of attorney.'

Frost laughed. 'Did he? The dumb bastard.'

'You're not going to be dumb, are you, George?'

Frost said, 'I'm going to need some money, a car. Might have to hire a couple of people.'

Reuben waved the hand with the signet ring. He touched his hair knot. 'Whatever you want.'

'And I'll need a couple of guns, Grant.'

18

D
unlop adjusted the volume level so that he could hear Ann Torrielli's voice over the traffic hum. She said, 'You have to see her, Luke. She insists.'

'It's not wise.'

'She's worried about something. She won't talk to me or Roy.'

'Is it to do with Belfante's death?'

'I don't know.'

Dunlop was in his car several hours after following Ann and Ava back to Paddington from Double Bay. He'd spent some of the time on the phone to Burton in Canberra, some briefing members of the backup team on their assignments for the evening and some considering how to tackle Reuben. He was tired, debating whether to go home or get a quick meal in Darlinghurst, but the urgency in Ann's voice couldn't be ignored. 'Okay,' he said. 'You and Roy take off about eight, right?'

'Right. You should see Roy. Wow!'

'Terrific. Tell Ava I'll be there at ten past. And Ann, be careful tonight.'

'We've both got guns in our handbags and bulletproof bras.'

The plan called for Ann and Roy-as-Ava to go on a pub crawl with a member of the backup team tailing them and communicating by radio with the base. Another backup man, also in radio contact, was already in the second house. Dunlop alerted him of his impending visit and sat back in his car to wait, his stomach growling and his mind troubled.

At eight-ten he opened the back door of the tiny house and stepped into the kitchen. 'Ava?'

'In here.'

He went into the living room and found her sitting in front of the television with the sound turned off. He dropped his jacket on a chair. She stood up and walked towards him. Many things about the scene struck Dunlop as odd. There was no smell of tobacco smoke or, if there was, it had been concealed by an air freshener spray. Ava wasn't smoking or drinking, which was extraordinary for that time in the evening. She was stone cold sober, smelling of roses. She pecked him on the cheek. 'Good to see you, Luke.'

Dunlop smiled. 'I saw you today but I hope you didn't see me.'

'Ann told me about that. You win. We didn't see you. I'm about to have my first drink of the day. You want one?'

'It'll be mine, too. Sure. Why the big change?'

Ava shrugged as she went into the kitchen. She was wearing loose white trousers and a blue silk shirt. She bent easily to open the small fridge and took out a bottle of champagne and two glasses. The shirt rode up as she straightened and Dunlop saw that the elasticised top of the trousers had been turned over to keep them up around her reduced waistline. She carried the bottle and glasses into the
living room, removed the foil and wire and popped the cork.

'I wish I had a dollar for every time I've done that.'

'Takes me ten minutes,' Dunlop said.

Ava poured and handed him a glass. 'Cheers.'

They drank. Ava brushed back a strand of hair. Her nails were pink. The bruising had gone from her face which was thinner than before with the strong, handsome features better defined. Dunlop drank his champagne quickly and poured another glass. They were standing close together in the small room. Barefooted, she was nearly half a head shorter than him. She emptied her glass and held it out. He filled it. She steadied his hand as he poured.

'Come upstairs. I want to show you something. Bring the champers.'

Dunlop followed her up the narrow staircase. The bum roll Ann had mentioned fascinated him. He wanted to reach out and feel the moving muscles and flesh. They went into the back bedroom. Dunlop noticed with approval that the curtains were drawn and the windows closed.

'What?' he said.

Ava unbuttoned her shirt. Her breasts swelled, the nipples big and pale, stiffening as the fabric moved across them. 'Please,' she said. 'Just once. Please, Luke.'

Dunlop put the bottle and glass on the floor and moved forward. He slid his arms around her and she pressed hard against him. They kissed. Her mouth was warm and the champagne was sharp on her breath. He put his hands inside the trousers and eased them down. She opened his shirt and licked his chest. She had a light dressing taped to her ribs and a bandage on her arm.

'Ava . . . I'll hurt you. I don't . . .'

'Ssh, it's all right. I promise.'

She backed away to the bed. He pulled off his clothes and they sank down together, lying sideways, touching and kissing. She mothered him, pressing her nipples to his mouth and eyes. He opened her legs, probing softly. She stroked him until he was hard, then she cocked her leg up, guided him into her, grasped his hips and began to move.

He came quickly. She clung to him and pressed herself close until he had finished.

'Nice,' she said. 'Nice.'

'Nice?'

'Sometimes nice is better than great.' She kissed his neck. Her hands ran down his back.

'You didn't come.'

'I've come thousands of times. I didn't have to. Thank you, it was lovely. And I swear to you I won't tell Ann.'

Dunlop was silent. After a time Ava moved and he eased himself away. 'You're a bit heavy for me,' she said. 'I'm not the woman I was. Get the bubbly, will you, Luke. And you can put your clothes on if you feel guilty.'

Dunlop filled the glasses and sat beside her up against the bed-head. Sweat trickled into the hair on his chest. His stubble had reddened the skin below her left shoulder. He touched the spot and she flinched a fraction, then closed her hand over his and moved it down to her breast.

'Why, Ava?'

She drank some wine and stared at the striped curtains. 'I wanted my last fuck to be with a good man.'

He laughed. 'Come on, Ava. It's not going to be like that. You're well protected.'

'I know. How do you think it's going? I mean, he hasn't shown up yet or anything, has he? You're not keeping me in the dark?'

Dunlop shook his head. 'Nothing like that. It's impossible to say. It's early.'

Ava smiled. 'Early.'

'As these things go, yes. What's the matter? Roy and Ann both say you've been upset. Is it to do with Vance, or . . .'

'No, nothing to do with that bastard. Good riddance, I say. But there isn't a lot of time, Luke.'

'What d'you mean?'

'I've got cancer. Lungs and liver. Pow! Pow! I had my suspicions and snuck out for some tests while you put me up in that hotel. Got the results today. Ava's on her way out, Luke, and it won't be long.'

'Jesus, Ava. I'm sorry. You're sure? Sometimes they make mistakes . . .'

She kissed him hard. 'No mistakes. Now let's get our gear on and I want to go downstairs and have a proper drink and a smoke. I knew I'd never get you into the sack if I was smelling like an ashtray.'

Tate broke into Reuben's flat in Rushcutters' Bay shortly after four p.m. He had been watching the block for an hour and nothing he saw presented him with any problems. The only worry he had was that Reuben might not return to such an insecure place, but he judged the lawyer would think he could buy safety in the form of eyes and hands and guns. That would be a serious miscalculation. The flat was on
the second floor, a two-bedroom spread with a view over the water and a decent-sized balcony. The sort of place Tate had lived in himself from time to time, except that he would have insisted on a better security lock in the front and much better door locks.

He prowled through the rooms, sniffing at the stale marijuana smoke and noting the black sheets and massage oils, the 'his' and 'hers' silk kimonos. A bedroom drawer contained vibrators and dildos of various sizes, condoms and lubricants. In the bathroom there was an array of shampoos, conditioners and hair gels. Tate didn't think he would have any trouble with a man who spent so much time and money on his hair. The bar held a stock of expensive liquors and mixers, along with imported beers and a variety of wines.

He found the safe in the second bedroom which doubled as a study. It was set into the wall behind a bookcase he slid easily aside on a track. Tate sneered when he saw the poorly designed concealment and he grinned when he saw the safe. Safe opening was a skill he'd acquired while he was in the Legion. In his platoon were two of the best cracksmen alive—a Frenchman and a Scot—who vied with each other in lecturing anyone who was interested and in demonstrating their skills. Tate had absorbed all he could. This was a piece of junk. He had it open in ten minutes. He wiped the combination lock with a tissue and drew on thin latex gloves. Inside the safe he found eighteen thousand dollars in cash and an assortment of legal papers. He took the money.

'Near enough, Grant,' Tate said. 'Let's call it all square.' He closed the safe and eased the bookcase back into position. He went to the bathroom and
used a reagent strip to test the sugar content of his urine. A less accurate guide to the state of his metabolism than the blood test, but suited to the circumstances. He was reassured by the result and flushed the plastic strip down the toilet. Then he went to the window and looked down on the parking area for the block of flats. The number of each flat was painted in the middle of the allotted space. Tate took a bottle of Amstel light beer from the bar fridge, removed and pocketed the cap and settled down in a chair by the window.

'Watch this space,' he said. He realised, with astonishment, that he'd made a joke and laughed. He drank some beer and took out the .22 pistol. He sighted it on one of the pictures on the wall opposite—a dopey-looking thing, all circles and blobs. Tate liked landscapes and seascapes. He drank the beer and thought about the Huon Valley—the hills and streams. He was as good as there, thanks partly to Reuben. He told himself he must remember to thank him.

Reuben was nervous as Frost checked over the BMW in the car park under his office building.

'Looks okay,' Frost said. 'Let's go.'

Reuben's hand shook as he turned the key in the ignition. His heart was pounding as the engine fired and purred softly. His pulse slowed to normal. He drove out of the car park and put on wrap-around sunglasses against the late afternoon light.

'Surely he'd have to do some planning first?' Reuben said. 'Reconnoitre or whatever?'

Frost didn't like chatterers. 'Maybe,' he said. 'Hard to know. Watch the taxi.'