Double Take (7 page)

“Donny, can you help Pete with—”

“I don't need no help.”

Jack didn't want to make Pete look a fool but the reason he needed help was obvious. “How do you plan to drive two cars then?”

Pete glanced at his watch and then stood up. Jack was horrified that he'd scared Pete off. “I gotta get to work. Anythin' else?”

Jack just about crumbled with relief. “Umm, no, that's it for now. It's only twelve days until Melbourne Cup day.” He ignored his wobbling knees to stand up. “We'll meet back here on Sunday at four o'clock and go through the plan. Any questions?”

“Yeah, why can't we have food at these meetings? All this thinkin's making me hungry.” Jimmy cocked his head at Jack.

“Good idea, Jimmy! Make sure you pick up three pizzas next time.”

“Why me?”

“Because you suggested it.” Jack looked at each of them briefly, deliberately ignoring his whinging brother. “That's it then, let's get out of here.”

* * *

Trent stopped the tape and turned to his brother. “Holy shit, they're going to rob a bank on Melbourne Cup day.”

He listened as engines accelerated and the four cars, a motorbike and the ute drove away. A daddy-long-legs spider crawled along the ancient wooden beam just inches from his head.

“What's Melbourne Cup day?”

“Don't you know anything? It's only the biggest horse race in Australia.
The race that stops the nation.
” Trent tried to repeat the catchphrase the same way his dad had done it. “Remember, last year Dad won some money on that horse called Let's Elope and he had to explain to us what elope meant.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that now.”

Trent knew they should wait a while before they left the boatshed, but those ten minutes seemed to take forever. His self-imposed waiting deadline finally arrived and they clambered out. Then Trent dusted every speck off before they crept around the side together. After one more check he confirmed it was safe and they hustled through the long grass towards home. Max usually kept an eye out for snakes when he walked through this backyard jungle but today he didn't seem worried at all, and for the first time in, like, ever, he didn't complain about the long grass. It was as high as his shoulders but he seemed to be coping with it fine.

Once they were out of the underbrush they hit the pavement running. “Dad has to believe us now,” Trent said as he hoisted the boom box up onto his shoulders. “I can't wait until he hears it.”

“Shit, yeah.” Max slapped his hand over his mouth, clearly the swear word had slipped out. Trent laughed. Max would never have sworn in front of him before. Somehow it didn't seem so bad now.

G
emma stayed in her lounge chair as she watched Murray walk towards the kitchen. She never tired of looking at his perfectly rounded rump. Nicely toned bottoms were her thing. Her eyes fell on the photo above the television. She felt so uncomfortable with it there. Every time she sat in the lounge she felt like she was sharing the room with Murray's wife. It was sad that Hazel had passed away, especially so young. But Gemma didn't understand why he had to make her photo the centrepiece of the wall. It could go on the sideboard, or down the hall. Or anywhere else. It was hard to relax with her watching their every move.

Murray returned with two glasses of wine and Gemma swigged a couple of quick sips, hoping the alcohol would work its magic. She was still weary from her long day at work. But moments later her hopes of relaxing were dashed when Trent and Max bounded into the room as if they'd loaded up on red lollies. Max practically jumped into the lounge beside her and she nudged sideways to give him more room. Trent remained standing but he was shuffling his feet and fidgeting so much she wondered if he had ants in his pants.

“Dad, please don't be mad at us,” said Trent.

Murray raised an eyebrow.

“But we wanted to prove we were telling the truth the other day about the bank robbers.”

Gemma paid attention now, Tiffany's comment about their story being so outlandish that it had to be true resonating in her memory.

“Okay,” Murray said, his voice steeped with scepticism. “But how do you plan on proving that?”

Gemma nearly spilled her wine when Max burst from the chair beside her and ran out the door. “Max! Careful, buddy,” she huffed.

Max returned seconds later hugging a boom box that was nearly as big as his torso. But he was grinning like a kid at the dessert bar at Sizzler. “With this.” It took all his effort to lift the cassette player above his head.

“We taped the robbers this time,” Trent said.

“You what? Jesus. What were you boys thinking?” Murray was on the edge of his chair now. He ran his hands through his hair, and when his eyes met with Gemma's she saw something she hadn't seen in him before—fear.

“Well, Dad, you didn't believe us last time, so we had to prove it was true. You said you wouldn't be mad, remember?”

“Jeez… I can't believe this.” Murray palmed his hair again, and Gemma now knew why he was thinning so much at his temples.

“Oh, and one other thing, Dad. Please don't be mad about the swear words. We had no idea what they were going to say.”

Murray seemed frozen to his seat and Gemma wondered what was going through his mind. She, on the other hand, couldn't wait to hear the tape. “Let's move to the kitchen, shall we?” She stood up, clutched her wine and shuffled the boys towards the kitchen. Together Max and Trent worked on moving the small round table closer to the power point. Then Trent plugged the boom box in and fiddled with it until it was centred exactly in the middle of the table. By this time Murray had joined them.

Gemma sat down beside him while the boys remained standing.

“Now Dad,” Trent said. “Remember you said you wouldn't be mad.”

“I'll decide once I've heard the tape.”

“But Dad,” Max pleaded.

“Shush, Max.” Murray shut him down. “Let's hear it.”

Gemma noticed Trent's trembling fingers as he reached for the play button.

“Fuck you!” The voice on the tape was loud and clear.

“What on earth?” Murray reached forward and jabbed the stop button. “Trent—”

“Sorry Dad, I told you there were swear words. Please, can we play the tape? Please.”

For once Gemma agreed with Trent's pleading. “We might as well hear it, Murray.”

“Please, Dad.”

Murray's shoulders sagged slightly and he sighed. “Okay.”

Max poked the play button again and this time they listened to the tape uninterrupted. Gemma was surprised at how clear it was. It sounded as if the boys were actually in the room with them.

It lasted nearly an hour and Gemma reheated and dished up last night's leftover lasagne to eat while they listened. At one point in the tape she felt like she was in a scene from
Cagney and Lacey
. But that was just a TV show. This was real life…so much more exciting.

The tape ended just as Gemma finished off her glass of wine. “Be a good boy and grab the bottle for me,” she said to Max.

“Where were you hiding when you taped this?” Murray looked on the verge of throwing up. Clearly he wasn't enjoying this as much as she was.

“We were under the shed.” Max placed the half full wine bottle at Gemma's fingertips.

Murray's eyebrows nearly thumped together. “You actually saw these people?”

“Yeah, it's really cool under there. It's dark, so we can see them but they can't see us. There was this one guy though that scared the crap out of us when he fell up the stairs. He was like
this
far away.” Trent held his fingers centimetres apart.

“You should see it, Dad.” It was Max's turn to speak. “We've made this really cool racing track. We race our remote control cars.”

Gemma nearly burst out laughing as she imagined the boys playing with their cars while these guys were planning a robbery upstairs. She wanted to see it, but by the look on Murray's face, he was a long way from matching her thoughts.

“We told you it was true,” Trent said. He raised his chin in defiance and Gemma saw for the first time—or maybe it was the first time she was willing to admit it—how grown-up Trent was.

“I'm sorry, boys, I should have believed you. It's just this whole thing, it's like something from television.”

Gemma grinned. “Ha, like
Cagney & Lacey.”
She loved that show.

Murray glared at her.

“What?” She shrugged.

He shook his head. “Boys, it's past your bedtime.”

“But what about the tape, Dad?”

“Gemma and I need to discuss it. We'll talk about it more in the morning. Now get ready for bed and I'll come up in a minute.”

The brothers weren't happy with going, but they did anyway. Gemma topped up her wine glass and upon noticing Murray hadn't even touched his, added a little more.

Murray waited until he heard the boys upstairs before he spoke. “We'll have to give the tape to the police.”

“I guess so. I could take it to the station tomorrow.”

His eyes shifted from the boom box to her. “You sure you can get away from work?”

“I'll cancel an appointment and shut the door for a bit. It'll be fun.”

He reached over and cupped her hand. “Thank you. You know I can't take time off at the moment.” Murray was always going on about needing to earn as much money as he could just to get the bills paid.

“I know. It's okay.” She sipped on the wine. “So…how much money do you think will be in the bank?”

“No idea. They must bring in extra cash for Melbourne Cup day.”

“Exactly, so how much do you think it'll be? I reckon at least three million dollars, don't you?”

“I doubt it. That's too high,” he said.

Gemma took another swig of wine and thought about the zeroes as she twirled her hair between her fingers. “If there are six bank robbers and there's only, say, one million dollars, then they'd only get about one hundred and fifty grand each. It doesn't seem worth it for that much money.”

“Honey, they're bank robbers, not accountants. They probably haven't even thought it through.”

“Well, it has to be at least two million dollars. Wouldn't make sense otherwise.”

“It doesn't matter how much money it is, because they're not going to rob the bank. The police will arrest them before they do it.” He looked sad as he ran his fingers over the buttons on the boom box. She wished he'd snap out of it. This was exciting.

“Is it a crime to say you're going to rob a bank?” she said. “Or do the police have to wait until they actually do it?”

Murray frowned. “That's a good question. I don't know.”

They sat in silence for a long while. She drank her wine. He barely touched his. She was pretty certain they were thinking about completely different things.

He stood. “I'll go say goodnight to the boys.” He looked like the cat had just died or something.

After he walked off, Gemma stood up and carried both glasses back to the lounge room, trying to avoid Hazel's gaze. She wondered if Murray's wife would have been as excited as she was. It wasn't every day that something like this walked into your life.

Murray returned a few minutes later and sat beside her with a big sigh. “I should've believed them.”

She put her glass on the coffee table and crawled over to straddle him. “Is that what's bothering you?” He looked up at her, his eyes slightly glazed, and she couldn't decide if it was the wine or the unfounded guilt trip he was on.

She leant forward to kiss him and as she started to undo his shirt buttons, she found that she didn't care whether Hazel was watching or not.

C
andice opened her eyes and blinked the sleep away. The clock displayed 5:45. That was good, practically a sleep-in. Most mornings she woke with the birds. She lay there, listening to the natural chorus along with Jack's snoring and was grateful she was here for another day. Taking stock of your mortality did that to you.

Jack stirred and she turned her head to him. “Morning,” she said when he opened his eyes.

“Hey, baby.” He rolled to kiss her, a brief touch of their lips. “Did you sleep well?”

“Right through the night.”

“That's great, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Since she'd been diagnosed with ventricular tachycardia three years ago, this had become Jack's standard morning greeting.

“Actually I feel good.” It was the truth and a refreshing change. Most mornings she felt like she needed to go right back to sleep and she often had to.

“Magic. I'll have a quick shower and get some breakfast on the go.”

After another brief kiss, he flicked off the bedsheet and stood up. She never tired of looking at Jack's naked body. Years of manual labour had kept his figure well toned. He had muscles in all the right places, and even in his early thirties he still boasted washboard abs any twenty-year-old man would be jealous of.

He went to the toilet, but the compact space of their little caravan meant there was little privacy. Sights, sounds and, unfortunately, smells were often shared whether you liked it or not. She tried to block out the noise anyway. He flushed, stepped from the toilet cubicle and into the shower. This was a sight she was happy to watch every day, though. If she could fit, she would have climbed into the shower with him. In their old house she used to do that all the time. It seemed like years, not just eighteen months, since her rising medical bills had forced them to sell their beautiful home.

She cast the thought aside. “Leave the shower running, babe. I'll hop in after you.”

“Okay.”

He wrapped his wet arms around her when he stepped from the shower, and she breathed in the freshness of his shampoo as she smacked him on the bottom.