Wyatt - 01 - Kick Back (12 page)

Then he sat next to Ken Sala on the
bed. He explained how none of this was Kens fault, and he, Ivan, would put it
right, and Ken could go on as before, so long as he kept his trap shut, okay?

Okay, Ken Sala said.

He fingered his neck worriedly.

* * * *

Twenty-one

Wyatt
called Anna Reid at six oclock and she said she had the polaroids, come around
any time, and now they were in her lounge-room and she was riding him on the
rug in front of her log fire, concentrating hard. He looked up at her face, the
parted lips, the eyes staring as if hypnotised by the patterns in the rug. Now
and then she came out of it, saw him and grinned, leaned over his face to give
him a nipple or to let the line of his cheek and jaw brush her breasts left and
right. Sometimes she clenched her face in a kind of fury, as if this were not
enough and she wanted to consume him as well. She would bite, ride him quickly
for a while, ease again.

This is what Ive been thinking
about, she said, not the money

In answer, Wyatt raised her a little
with his hands and pushed up. She bent her head back. Then he rested and she
lifted herself and they watched as she moved on him again.

When she pulled at his shoulder, he
rolled with her. She backed along the rug, wanting him to follow. She climbed
backwards into an armchair, Wyatt almost losing her, then flopped back, getting
her breath, while he moved in her again.

She said, I want to finish, yet I
dont want to.

Wyatt gravely took both her hands
and moved them down. She looked questioningly at him, then smiled slowly, and
he watched her long fingers begin working, circling, pushing hard at herself.
He was on the edge too so he watched her face, and when her eyes opened in a
kind of sorrow he let himself go.

The room was hot. They were
perspiring. Wyatt, arms locked to support his weight, looked down at Anna, who
watched him drowsily, her face swollen, heavy-lidded. She blew air between her
breasts and onto his chest and it felt like a cooling breeze.

After a while he pulled away and
fell back onto the rug. It was an expensive rug and he seemed to sink into it. I
feel exposed up here, she said, lying down with him. A moment later Masher
joined them, purring, coiling his furry back into Wyatts waist.

They slept. Later, stroking Annas
arm, Wyatt asked, Did anyone see you using the camera?

She groaned and stirred. Back to
reality. No. I waited till they were away from the office.

Did you get shots of every room?

She put her head on his chest. When
she answered, her voice seemed to amplify, to carry in his chest cavity. Every
room, the alarm system, the safe.

Wyatt tried to see her face. He saw
only her scalp through her hair. He flopped back again, looking around at the
walls and ceiling, the paintings, the light fittings. She had expensive tastes.

Soon he felt restless. Anna was
looking down the slope of his body, tracing its hard, muscle-corded surface
with her hand, but hed begun to think about the job he had planned with
Pedersen later this evening, and about the Finn job itself. He looked at his
watch. Seven-fifteen. He shifted slightly, disturbing Masher, who stretched and
shuddered and began to purr again.

Anna sensed the change in Wyatt and
pulled away from him. Are you going?

Soon.

Ill get the photos.

In a graceful single motion, she
uncoiled from the floor and stood back from him. He got to his feet, watching
her cross the room to where a leather bag had been placed on a small table. She
had a lithe, unselfconscious style of walking. The red marks on her skin from
his body and the carpet were oddly appealing and in other circumstances he
would want her again.

She came back with a handful of
polaroid shots of Finns office. He began to shuffle through them. He came to
one that showed the safe and he stopped, thinking hard. He stood like a statue,
staring into Annas fireplace without focusing on it, trying to work out the
details.

She touched his arm. He seemed to
jerk awake and she flinched a little at the look of coldness and distance on
his face. Whoops, she said.

He muttered something.

You were far away, she said.

He hated to be interrupted when he
was concentrating on a job. He wanted to leave, go for a walk somewhere, find a
quiet place where he could think. But that might offend her, so he started to
say something reassuring. And then the answer to the Finn job came to him,
quick and complete. A smile creased his face, transforming it.

Welcome back, Anna said, stepping
close to him.

He watched her. She had the control
now. This was what she was good at. Her head dipped and she moved down his
body, nuzzling him. Later, when they were on her rug again and she was moving
on him, she leaned forward to kiss him and he could taste both of them on her
lips.

Her thighs began to pull at him as
if measuring desire and anger. Her face was severe. I didnt expect any of
this, she said.

He nodded. Ive got a place on the
coast, he said, watching her. Well go there when this is over.

She smiled and stopped her pulling
and they fell into a trance-like rocking. Masher woke suddenly, licked a
foreleg, fell asleep again.

* * * *

Twenty-Two

By
eight-thirty that evening, Wyatt and Pederson were watching cars hiss along
Chapel Street in dismal rain. An Alfa and then a BMW paused outside Henris
Bistro and drove on again, looking for somewhere to park. Five minutes later
the occupants were back, running in the rain, getting their feet wet, ruining
their composure.

Pedersen was sour about it. It
wouldnt hurt these guys to drop their chicks off and then park.

Therell be a gentleman along soon,
Wyatt said.

They were standing under the awning
of a shoe shop two doors down from Henris. They wore hired navy-blue uniforms,
gloves and caps, decorated with enough gold braid to unnerve the Queen. In his
pocket Wyatt had a dozen cards, printed with the words Valet Parking. In
smaller type at the bottom was a disclaimer: The management takes no
responsibility for loss or damage. He got a kick out of that.

Whats wrong with these fuckers?
Pedersen said. He was hyped-up, cracking his knuckles, pacing back and forth.

Take it easy, Wyatt said.

Pedersen sniffed. I do safes, not
this shit.

Wyatt turned to examine him, his
face expressionless. Theres no guarantee well score. Waitings part of the
job, you know that.

Yeah, Pedersen said. In the rain.

Wyatt said nothing. There was always
someone who got jumpy before a job. There was always someone not as solid as
youd like. Always some personal problem, some quirk, but if you spent all your
time ironing it out, youd never get anything done. He just hoped Pedersen was
sound in the long run.

This is a bummer, Pedersen went
on. We could give the money you took off that pimp to Eddie Loman and owe him
the rest. Lets pack it in.

A few minutes, okay?

Then out of the corner of his eye
Wyatt saw Pedersen place something on his tongue and snap it back like a lizard
with a fly.

Oh terrific, he said, slamming
Pedersen against the wall. Hobba said you were clean. You said you were clean.

Only an upper, to focus me.

Focus on this. You want a hand on
your shoulder inviting you to come down to the station and turn out your
pockets? What else are you on?

Nothing. Take your fucking hands
off me.

With a contemptuous gesture, Wyatt
released him. They stood far apart, and waited, and the rain fell.

Listen Wyatt, Ive gone off the
hard stuff, okay?

Wyatt seemed to ignore him. Then he
shifted position. Ill only say this once. If youre on anything when we do
the job, or try to cross me in any way, youll be part of the food chain before
you know it.

Pedersen scowled and began to bounce
on the balls of his feet.

Then he stopped, suddenly alert. Check
this.

I see it.

A white Mercedes 380 SE had pulled
out of the line of traffic and stopped, brake lights flaring, outside Henris.
Thirty seconds passed. The people in the Mercedes seemed to be conferring.

This is it, Wyatt said. Stay with
me.

They approached the car, umbrellas
up, just as the woman in the passenger seat turned up her collar and reached to
open her door. Pedersen said, Allow me, maam, opening the door, holding his
umbrella over her.

Wyatt tapped on the drivers window.
The window whispered part-way down.

We have valet parking now, sir,
Wyatt said. Here is your receipt. Hand it in after your meal and someone will
fetch your car for you.

I dont know, the driver said. He
was overweight, grunting with exertion. He seemed to be suspicious, so Wyatt
steeled himself to run.

How much is this going to cost me?
the man said.

The woman stirred under Pedersens
umbrella. For Gods sake, Neil, give him the car. Its wet. Im going inside.

Its a free service, sir, Wyatt
said.

The driver got out, showing the
effort. If theres one scratch on this, just one, Ill have your balls.

You wont see a thing, Wyatt said.

Can you drive one of these? Its
not some Japanese tin can, you know.

Neil, the woman said.

Coming, coming, the fat man said.
Wyatt escorted him to the shelter of the awning above Henris front door and
watched him follow the woman inside.

Lets go, Pedersen said.

Pedersen drove, Wyatt directing, to
a public car park where Wyatt picked up the Holden. Then he led Pedersen across
the city to Sydney Road. Both cars drove steadily, obeying all the road laws.

They came to a suburb of narrow
streets, where small factories huddled between workers houses and the street
lights were faulty or broken. Wyatt parked the Holden a few metres beyond a set
of steel doors in a brick wall. A strip of light showed underneath the doors,
and a small sign on the wall said AP Motors.

Wyatt got out and walked back to
where Pedersen waited in the Mercedes. This is the place, he said.

He walked up to the doors, knocked
once, paused, knocked
three times, and heard bolts being drawn back. A voice called out, Bring her i
n. Quick about it.

Wyatt signalled to Pedersen to drive
in. He followed the
Mercedes into the shed and helped a man in overalls
to close the steel doors.

He looked around. The set-up looked
professional. A number of late-model Holdens, Falcons and Hondas were being
dismantled. Some battery-powered ignition drills lay on one bench, among tins
of corrosive solution for removing serial numbers.

The man who had opened the steel
doors waited in the shadows. Two other men stood motionless at the back of the
shed. A fourth man stepped out from behind a Jaguar XJS,
saying, Merc, eh? Lovely

He wore overalls open to the waist,
and gold chains of various lengths around his neck. He stood before the
Mercedes, regarding it with his hands on his hips.

Very nice. Im Ray. Which one of
you is Lake?

I am, Wyatt said, ignoring the
proffered hand. He did not introduce Pedersen.

Ray looked from one to the other. Well,
youre both a bundle of laughs, he said, and he began to examine the Mercedes.
He sighted along the panels, dropped to the floor to peer at the chassis, and
lifted the bonnet and poked about with a small torch. Finally he took a small
magnet from his pocket and fastened it randomly on the body of the car.
Satisfied there was no rust filler under the paintwork, he said, Very clean.

We know that, Pedersen said. Whats
your offer?

Hold your horses, sonny Jim. Buyer
beware, eh?

So? Youve checked it out, now make
us an offer.

Im dealing with Lake, Ray said. Lake,
tell Chuckles here to shut up.

Rays three assistants moved out of
the shadows. Lets all calm down, Wyatt said. He felt very tired. He turned
to Pedersen. Take it easy, okay?

Ask him what his offer is.

Ray pointed. You got a lot to learn
about doing business, pal. We go in the office, break out the Scotch, talk it
over, nice and civilised.

Fuck that.

Lake, my boys are going to sort
your friend out in a minute.

Wyatt stepped close to Ray and said
softly and rapidly, Im sorry, Ray. You know how it is. Hes a good driver,
but hes no good with people.

The cunts high as a kite. Hes
going to turn up in the river one day

Wyatt nodded. Hes got a shitty
personality. Look, well pass up on that Scotch. I dont trust him to keep his
cool. So, if youd like to make us an offer?