Wyatt - 01 - Kick Back (14 page)

When Hobba appeared, passing slowly
down the street in the Econovan, Wyatt put away his notebook and got into the
Falcon. He didnt acknowledge Hobba but drove out of the street. He was hungry
and thirsty and cold and the day wasnt over yet.

* * * *

Twenty-Six

If
Ivan wants to drop his bundle, Sugarfoot thought, thats his problem. No way am
I going to just act as if nothings happened.

Once planted, the resolution grew.
He could see three clear reasons for going on the offensive. One, settle his
personal scores with Wyatt and Hobba. Two, recover Ken Salas take so they
wouldnt be out of pocket. Three, hijack Wyatts job and make some real money
for a change.

But Ivan had him airing mouldy
carpets and collecting small debts all day on Wednesday, so by the time he got
to the saloon bar of the Kings Head and put out some feelers, the only thing
available was an old .25 pistol with a silencer.

Even at home he couldnt get any
peace. Rolfe was in the kitchen mixing dried fruit and nuts for a bushwalk next
weekend, and Tina was going on about how men never put the seat down
afterwards, they always splashed and dribbled, and she for one felt revolted
and in future someone else could clean the loo.

So Sugarfoot shut himself in his
room, did a line of coke and turned on the box. He watched the Channel 2 news because
(a) there were no ads, and (b) he liked the way Edwin Maher did the weather.

At seven-thirty he went downstairs.
Tina was doing the washing-up. He wanted to say it wouldnt hurt her to include
him in the evening meal sometimes, but remembered it would be lentils, so he
said what hed come down to say: Tina, are you going out tonight?

She didnt turn around. Why?

Can I ask a favour?

Such as?

Can I borrow your Kombi?

This time she turned around. Whats
wrong with your car?

Well they fucking know my car and I
dont want to get ambushed again. Nothing, Sugarfoot said. I told this mate
of mine Id help him shift some furniture.

Youve got a mate?

He said bitterly, Forget it, and
turned to leave.

Come back, Sugar. I didnt mean it.
Her face was red, half remorseful. When do you need it?

Later tonight.

She began shrugging and showing
indifferencea typical woman thing, Sugarfoot thought. Finally she said, I
suppose its all right.

Thanks.

Couldnt be a simple matter, though.
Couldnt just hand over the keys. He had to wait while she said, Be careful
with it. Plus if you could put some petrol in.

Fucking do me a favour sometime.
Sugarfoot took the keys from her outstretched hand. Then she seemed to notice
him for the first time. Theres something different about you. Have you had a
haircut?

You could say that.

He turned around and left the room.
Upstairs he watched a video. At nine oclock he stuck the silenced .25 in his
belt, put on his long coat, went downstairs, and started Tinas Kombi.

By nine-thirty he was outside Hobbas
scungy Housing Commission flat on Racecourse Road. He had no clear plan, intending
only to rely on surprise. He went up to the eighth floor, knocked, got no
answer, and came down again. He didnt want to miss Hobba, but he was also
nervous that the ethnic kids might decide to firebomb Tinas van.

Plus there was a lot of action going
on. Police and ambulances up and down Racecourse Road, shouts in the darkness,
hoons laying rubber in their panel vans, the police helicopter poking about
with a searchlight.

Animals staggering home from the
pub, pissing and chucking in the lifts and stairwells.

When Hobba hadnt shown by midnight,
Sugarfoot thought, maybe the bastards are all at Pedersens. Ten minutes later
he was negotiating the tidy garden beds and gravel paths around Pedersens neat
weatherboard house. He got in through the porch at the rear and made his
wayflat against the wall, both hands on the .25, barrel next to his ear
through every room in the house.

Pedersen wasnt home either.

He sat on a vinyl couch and thought
about that.

Theyve done the job and Pedersen is
out celebrating. He comes in late and tired. Hes just going to turn on the
light when a voice comes out of the darkness: Been out, have we? About that
job you pulled .. .

Pedersen paralysed, mouth open, a
sitting target.

By 2 am Sugarfoot was thinking,
bastard, hes probably in Bali, getting his dick massaged on Kuta Beach.

He left, using the front door this
time.

And felt his foot kick against
something on the welcome mat. He crouched down to look. Just shows you, never
jump to hasty conclusions. Two copies of the
Herald-Sun,
yesterdays and
todays. Pedersen hasnt been home at all. Nor has Hobba. Theyve gone to
ground somewhere.

The trouble with being a loner is,
you cant have guys watching until someone, somewhere, shows himself. Sugarfoot
drove the Kombi back to Collingwood, feeling tired and depressed. Another big
day tomorrow.

* * * *

Twenty-seven

On
Thursday morning, Hobba took the eight-thirty to twelve-thirty shift, Pedersen
went out to buy the two-way radios, and Wyatt picked up the transfers. They
were fancy transfers, the bogus company name in futuristic black lettering. He
was applying them to the sides and back of the van, smoothing out the wrinkles
and air pockets, when Pedersen returned with the radios.

Well test, Wyatt said.

He closed the steel garage door on
Pedersen and walked up to the street level. He let a taxi pass, then pressed
the transmit button. Hows that?

Pedersens voice erupted, sharp and
distorted: Loud and clear

Okay.

In the lock-up again, Wyatt helped
Pedersen remove their prints from the van. From now on they would wear gloves.
The vans papers were untraceable, but both Pedersen and Hobba had served time,
so their prints were on record.

They worked in silence. It didnt
seem to suit Pedersen. Wyatt could feel the sideways looks. Eventually Pedersen
said, Know the first thing Im going to do with my cut?

Wyatt felt no curiosity about
Pedersen. He was interested only in how solid Pedersen was. But he said,
keeping it light, knowing Pedersen wouldnt matter after tomorrow, New
wardrobe?

Pedersen scowled, brushing his hands
on his japara. Four-wheel-drive, something with a bit of style, like a Range
Rover.

Then youll need a different hat,
Wyatt said. Nice Akubra with a broad brim. Plus moleskins and riding boots.

What am I, a fucking mountain
cattleman? Pedersen waved his John Deere cap and might have stepped out of a
film about a small town in Texas. What about you? he said.

This was meaningless small talk and
Wyatt hated it. He could never think of things to say or reasons to say them. This
and that, he said.

Pedersens face tightened. He stared
at Wyatt. Youre a close bastard, good at all this he gestured at the van, the
job ahead of them but a cunt to work with. Try unwinding. A bloke likes to
know who hes working with.

Wyatt spoke quietly, the words flat
and cold. Let me down and Ill kill you. Youd do the same to me. Thats all
we need to know about each other.

Pedersen watched Wyatt, nodding
knowingly. It was a way of saying that Wyatt didnt have all the answers.

Wyatt swung into the vans drivers
seat. Weve got work to do.

Pedersen locked the garage door
behind them and got into the passenger seat, sitting close to the door. He didnt
speak. He opened the street directory and began noting alternative routes
between Finns office and the safe house.

Wyatt said, If possible, avoid
major intersections, right-hand turns, pedestrian crossings, road works.

Pedersen did not look up. I done
this before.

Make a note of times: for each leg,
duration of traffic lights, anything.

Pedersen pulled back his sleeve,
revealing a Timex on his broad, corded wrist. He wrote down the time, ten oclock.

The traffic was medium to heavy.
Wyatt drove along St Kilda Road and then into Toorak Road. He crossed Punt Road
and Chapel Street, turned right into the side street connecting with Quiller
Place, and parked adjacent to the T-junction.

We can do it two main ways,
Pedersen said. Either go back the way we came, or go via Commercial Road. Both
mean lights and trams. There would be a right turn to get onto Commercial, and
a right turn if we went back on St Kilda Road.

Side streets?

Pedersen looked at the map. Theyre
mainly one-way. Well have to choose the right ones.

Wyatt didnt like side streets. They
meant stop signs, roundabouts, speed humps, people reversing out of driveways.
He said, Well try the main roads first.

During the next two hours they timed
the main routes twice, first at a cautious speed and then pushing it, Wyatt
anticipating lights, trams, gaps in the traffic. Pedersen read the map, looked
out for copsand for Sugarfoot Younger.

They were beaten by the trams, the
constant picking up and letting down of passengers. Frustrated, they watched
small cars slip past while their big van idled uselessly, waiting for the trams
to move on. In Toorak Road, matrons in furs manoeuvred Rolls Royces in front of
them, and there were delivery vans double-parked outside the boutiques. In
Chapel Street council workers were digging trenches.

No choice, Wyatt said. Has to be
side streets.

Pedersen looked at the map and they
tried again. By midday they had their route. It was a compromise, making use of
the main streets and a system of narrow residential streets. After three runs,
Wyatt had the trip down to twelve minutes. Pedersen, gloomy for so long,
suddenly grinned. Home and dry before they even raise the alarm.

Wyatt pulled on the hand brake.. Twelve-fifteen.
Time for your shift.

The grin faded. All go, eh, Wyatt?

* * * *

Twenty-eight

On
Friday they rotated the shifts again. Wyatt took the first shift, and he saw
the money arrive.

Two men brought it in a briefcase,
late in the morning, as Anna had said they would. From the drivers seat of a
rented Datsun, he watched them drive up in a mud-splashed white Falcon, two men
in tweed jackets, yellow hard hats on the rear window shelf. They were in there
for five minutes, and when they came out they looked fed-up.

Hobba watched until two oclock.
Pedersen watched until four, this time on foot. At five past four, Wyatt and
Hobba pulled up in the van. Pedersen climbed into the back and changed into
overalls. Finn had come back from his coffee break, he told them. And hed seen
a client go in.

They hit at four-twelve.

Anyone passing on the footpath might
have seen a white commercial van pull into the driveway of 5 Quiller Place and
three men get out. The men wore balaclavasit was a cold dayand overalls. They
kept to the far side of the van, which meant that they couldnt be seen
clearly, but one witness, a Lady Wright, later told police crossly that three
tradesmen came out, pushing one of those trolley things. There was only one
other witness, a shop manager checking to see that he had switched off his car
lights. He saw the van over at number 5 and said he assumed they were getting
their computers serviced.

No-one saw the three men pause at
the front door and pull the balaclavas over their faces, then plunge through,
fast and silent.

Wyatt went to Finns office, Hobba
to Anna Reids.

Pedersen locked the front door,
unplugged the telephone and held his gun to Ambers temple. He touched his
forefinger to her lips and pushed down on her shoulders until she understood
and sat on the floor. He said nothing.

Hobba was there first, pushing Anna
Reid ahead of him. She stumbled, restricted by a close-fitting skirt. Her hair
fell forward, concealing her face. Who are you? she said, shaking it back. What
are you doing?

Hobba said nothing. He pushed her
onto the floor next to Amber and pressed his .38 to the top of her head.

Wyatt came in with Finn and a
clientmale, young, wearing a short leather jacket and designer jeans. The
client was blurry, vague, as though half asleep. Finn refused to be hurried. He
entered alertly, a vigorous shape in a grey, fitted suit, and stared in fury at
Hobba and Pedersen and back at Wyatt. You dont know what youre getting into
here, he said.

Wyatt motioned with the gun.

What? Finn demanded. Whats that
supposed to mean?

Dont, Mr Finn, Amber said. Her
voice was shaky. He wants you down here with us.

Finn eased his big frame onto the
floor. Wyatt prodded the client, who seemed to collapse in relief.

Hobba said, Face each other in a
circle, and put your wrists out.