Wyatt - 04 - Cross Kill (19 page)

Eh? Napper shouted. Help you
molls with anything?

Then the Renault jerked forward half
a metre and Napper stepped away from it. The ambulance was gone and the traffic
was moving again.

Napper turned to get back into the
ute. What was eating these people? The ute looked all right. No flat tyres.
Then he went around to the back of it and the rage hit him again.

The poster was the size of an
opened-out newspaper and his bitch of an ex-wife had pasted it across the
tailgate. You could read it a mile off: WANTED: FOR FAILURE TO PAY CHILD
SUPPORT screaming above a blowup shot of his head and shoulders. There was a
bit more at the bottom, a catalogue of his crimes probably, he didnt wait to
find out. The lousy cow. He tried jerking at a corner of the poster. Shed used
a powerful glue. Behind him, drivers were leaning on their horns and some of
them were even laughing.

* * * *

Thirty-two

Bax
wandered out of the trees, stopped in the middle of the track, cocked the heel
of one handmade shoe and then the other, five hundred bucks from Footloose in
Chapel Street, and cursed. Dust and mud. And a hint of onionweed odour in the
fabric of his suit.

He passed some kids feeding the
ducks, lovers necking on the grass, and made his way up the terraced river
bank. The Mesics were waiting for him in Stellas XJ6, Stella in the back, Leo
behind the wheel. Bax folded himself into the passenger seat and said, Did you
get him?

Listen, Stella said, and she
thrust a microrecorder between the seats. Bax heard the fat sergeant incriminate
himself.

Pictures?

Leo had a video camera in his lap.
He gave it to Bax, showed him how to monitor what was on the tape. Bax saw
Napper and Stella clearly, both cars, both numberplates. The recording also
showed time and date. Nice.

Leo retrieved the camera from him. Yeah.
Terrific. Now all we have to do is sort out a couple of professional gunmen
tomorrow night, a piece of cake, something I do all the time. Bad teeth showed
under his stiff ginger moustache. His face looked pouchy with calories and
strain. Right, Bax?

But Bax raised a hand warningly,
shutting him up. He strained to hear the tape. Wyatt, he said at last. I
know that name.

So?

So hes bad news, not someone youd
want to tangle with.

Great, Leo said. Id hate to
think I was going up against a wimp.

Stella hitched herself forward on
the rear seat until her face appeared in the gap between the seats, close to
her husbands upper arm. She touched him. Itll be fine, sweetie. Dont fret.

Leo looked down at her fingers,
covered her hand with his. He said to Bax, I cant see why you dont grab them
before they break in.

Think about it, Bax said. Theyll
be at their most jumpy then, most determined. You and Stella could get hurt,
not only me. On the way
out
of the place theyll be more vulnerable
because theyll have their hands full and will be starting to think they got
away with it.

He looked to Stella for support. She
said to her husband, Well be tied up, remember, so theyll feel safe from us,
theyll have their money, and they wont be expecting the police to show.

Youll probably be handcuffed, Bax
said. The pros find that quicker and easier than tying people up.

Whatever, Stella said. She shook
Leos arm. Okay, sweetie? The police will grab them on their way off the
property.

Cops doing us a good turn, Leo
said, shaking his head. Why cant we sort this pair out ourselves?

One, Bax said, you probably
couldnt. These blokes are killers, theyll shoot their way out if theyre cornered,
theyve got more to lose than you have. Do you want to chance it? If you bring
in hired guns youll just advertise to the world
and
to Victorhow
vulnerable you and Stella are.

Bax waited. Leo looked away. Two,
Bax said, news of the raid, the arrest, police around the place for the next
few days, will scare off the opposition. Three, this will throw a scare into
Victor. Hell learn that his seniority and his contacts are worth fuck-all.
When he realises that not only did we know about the raid, we stopped it dead
and I was instrumental in protecting the familys interests, hell feel left
out, his power base eroded. If you bring in hired guns for protection, hell
take the advantage, hell argue that its time to break up the firm.

We can put pressure on him then,
Stella said, to go back to the States and do what he did before. Hell
continue to get his percentage, same as before.

They fell silent. Stella hadnt
taken her hand away from Leos arm and after a while Bax found himself staring
at it. She still had sex with Leo, so she said. She didnt say whether or not
she liked it, and she didnt say whether or not she liked the guy himself, but
she still had sex with him. This was an area in which Bax felt uncomfortable
and ignorant. Once, laughing, shed said shed gone home still wet from him and
there was Leo, wanting a screw. So, theyd screwed, she said, only she wished
shed had time to have a shower first. There was nothing calculated about the
words or the way Stella delivered themit was just the way she was. Bax hadnt
struck that kind of thing before. It did something to him, a kind of unpleasant
wrench in his guts.

He turned his attention to Leo. All
you have to do is act natural tomorrow night. Surprised, angry, scared of the
guns. No heroics.

Yeah, well, one things for sure: Im
not risking the money. Ill put, say, twenty thousand in the safe, the rest in
a safety deposit box in the bank. We can afford twenty grand if something goes
wrong, we cant afford two hundred grand.

Bax shook his head. Theyd been
through all this. Hell know somethings wrong, Leo. Hes expecting big money
tomorrow night, and hell be pissed off if its not there. We dont know how hell
express it: trash the house maybe, pistolwhip all of you till you say where the
money is. Dont worry. Ill retrieve it for you, make sure its not logged as
evidence.

If you stuff up, Bax, Ill have
your guts for garters, Ill spill you to Internal Affairs, Ill take the money
out of your hide.

Leo was hot-faced, his voice heated,
so they both said, fair enough, understood, and Stella patted his arm.

Then Stella said, apparently siding
with her husband, Bax, they could hurt us, just for the hell of it or so we
dont hassle them. Maybe we should go out for the evening?

One, that will make them
suspicious, all that money there and no one to keep an eye on it. Two, hurting
people is not this Wyatt characters style. We know of a dozen bank and payroll
jobs hes pulled and in each of them he took pains to keep people calm. The
only ones who ever got hurt were people who crossed him or pulled a gun on him.

Meaning,
Leo, if youve got a
gun, hide it somewhere, dont go wearing it tomorrow night.
Bax watched the
big man carefully, hoping the message was getting through.

Just act normal, he said. Have
Victor over for dinner, make the job easier for these characters.

* * * *

Thirty-three

Victor
Mesic was feeling acutely alert and alive. It was Thursday evening, and hed
just spent an hour on the Nautilus gear, finishing with a sauna and a shower.
Seven oclock, everything blurred and softened in the half light of evening,
all his senses heightened. His Saab gleamed darkly, a mean, squat shape. He
could smell onions cooking somewhere. Birds were settling in the short young
gumtrees around the car park perimeter. Bass notes drummed from a weatherboard
house opposite the gym.

Then a car door opened, clicked
closed softly, and suddenly something about that didnt feel right to Victor.
He was sure of it when a gun barrel probed the hinge of his jaw and a voice
whispered, Thats not my finger, Vic

He froze and put up his hands.

Dont be a dickhead, the voice
said. The gun nudged him. Open the door, passenger side.

It was finally happening, just as hed
warned them it would, opposition firms moving in on the family itself. Victor
fumbled a key into the lock and opened the door. Slip across to the drivers
seat, the voice said.

Victor stood there. He wanted badly
to relieve the pressure on his bladder. Who are you? What do you want? It
came out as a croak.

Just get in the car, Vic, the
voice said, and Victor felt the gun dig into his spine this time.

He got in. He felt the gun tickle
his ear as the man followed him into the car. With the interior light on,
Victor saw the gunmans face clearly. It was a narrow face full of scooped
shadows and hard planes. If a face like that ever smiled, it would still look
bleak and detached. The body was long and loose. The man seemed to fold up in
order to fit into the little car. He was wearing latex gloves. You can have my
wallet, Victor said. Take the whole car if you like. Just leave me here.

Maybe later, Vic. Right now, all I
want you to do is drive home.

The voice was low, calm, and somehow
reassuring. Home?

Through the gate and into the
grounds. No ones going to get hurt, so theres no need to go off half cocked
about anything. Another vehicle will be coming in immediately behind us. No
noise or fuss means no one gets hurt, nothing gets broken, okay?

You wont get away with it. Well
put the word out on the street.

The gunman tapped the barrel on
Victors knuckles. Drive, Vic. Thats all you have to do for now.

Something about the mans stillness
made Victor work the Saabs gears and pedals hard, getting the full effect of
the cars acceleration and exhaust note. He stopped that when the man said, Grow
up.

Ten minutes later the dark mass of
the man stiffened and he peered forward through the windscreen. Were almost there.
Okay, Vic, I know the gate is operated by an electronic signal. I want you to
open it, then drive into the grounds, wait for the van behind us to drive in,
and shut the gate. Then park outside your house. If you activate any sort of
alarm at all, Ill shoot both your kneecaps. Youll never walk properly again.
Do you understand what you have to do?

Victor didnt trust himself to
speak. He nodded.

Fine. Were going to get along just
fine, Vic. All right, slow down, blinker on, open the gate.

Victor did all that. The only hope
for him came when Stella appeared on the steps of her house, shading her eyes
from the headlights. He wound the window halfway down to shout something, but
the gun changed his mind. The gunman murmured, Im a friend youve brought
home for dinner, okay?

Victor nodded. He stopped the car
and opened the window fully. Stella, he said.

I wanted to catch you before you
went in, Stella said, to invite you to dinner.

Victor jerked his head. Actually Ive
got a friend with me.

A strange look came and went on
Stellas face and Victor heard her say, Why dont you both come?

There was a low, pleasant voice next
to Victor, a gun in his ribs: Why not? That all right with you, Vic?

Victor nodded.

Then a second set of headlights
swept over Stella. She stepped back, frowning. Telecom? What do they want?

No idea.

Victor needed guidance here. He
looked at the gunman. Stella was walking toward the Telecom van, maybe into the
face of another gun. What now?

The gun pressed harder. Close the
gate, switch off and get out of the car. Dont try to run or shout or do
anything at all.

Victor got out, stood waiting on the
gravel drive. The man joined him. Victor didnt speak again: the barrel jammed
against his kidney was conversation enough.

Then the Telecom vans lights went
out. The air was mild, the strongest stars fighting through the citys night
glow. Victor heard footsteps coming toward them along the drive. Feet scrabbled
for purchase, someone swore, the footsteps came on again. Two figures appeared,
Stella walking ahead of a second man. He was like the first, tall, hard and
easy with his size and the gun in his hand. Stella stopped when she reached
them. Full of loathing, she said to both gunmen, You wont get away with this.

* * * *

Wyatt
would have liked a dollar for all the times hed been told that. He pressed his
.38 against Victor Mesics temple and said around him to the woman, Well get
away with it.

She scowled. I mean after. Any idea
who youre dealing with here?

Wyatt had heard that a few times
too. He said, Were going into your house. Time to find your husband.

They went in by the front door,
Stella Mesic first, followed by Jardine, Victor and finally Wyatt. He looked
around. Concealed lighting smeared striped wallpaper and threw the shadows of
clocks onto the parquet floor. The place seemed to be full of clocks: fussy
gilt affairs on spindly tables, a couple of grandfather clocks in wall
recesses. Wyatt told them to stop in the hallway. The woman had been cooking;
he could smell curry. Light spilled out of a half-open door nearby; a TV
muttered; somebody coughed.