Flank Street Read online

  ‘Why’d you want to stop Reed from expanding?’

  She held up the index finger of her left hand as she finished eating, and then washed it down with a mouthful of whiskey. ‘Like I told you, he’s a complete arsehole. Kurt is the worst of them. There’s lots of bad bastards hanging round The Cross, but Brookes keeps them in line to some degree. If the Reeds ever take over, it’ll be a free for all.’

  ‘Why do you care?’

  She drank again, reached for chips. ‘I just do.’

  ‘Enough to risk getting killed, it would seem. So why did you try to extort him? Surely if you’d recovered the gun and taken it to him, there would have been some gratuity? Yet you spent ten grand on me, plus whatever else, to achieve what?’

  ‘You could fake my death.’

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘You could fake it. How would they know?’

  ‘How about if they want your head as proof: how am I going to fake that? Anyway, after you screwed me like that, maybe I want to kill you anyway.’

  ‘If you wanted to, you would have done it already, instead of sitting here drinking whiskey and looking at me like you want to fuck me instead.’

  ‘You’ve well and truly fucked yourself; nothing I could do would top that.’

  ‘I have money. I’ll—’

  ‘Then why did you try to blackmail Brookes? Or is that how you got money in the first place?’

  ‘I’ll give it to you. You could sail away and never come back. I’d disappear. We could fake a car crash, which is plausible, given how you drive.’

  ‘So now you want to insult me?’ Despite the seriousness of the situation, the banter was taking on a comic surrealism. I found myself enjoying it. I held out my glass for a refill. She was quick to oblige, refilling her own as well, taking another handful of nuts, and scooping them into her mouth.

  ‘Okay.’ She tipped her head back to stop the nuts spilling out as she chewed and spoke at the same time. ‘What will it take?’

  There was no pout now, no sign of fear, just a hard and knowing look as she locked eyes with me, as she probably had a hundred other guys.

  ‘Let’s say, just for argument’s sake, I was prepared to consider one of your hare-brained schemes. I’m not, but let’s pretend I am. What have you got to offer?’

  ‘Money. Contacts. Information.’

  ‘Okay, tell me about the information: information about what?’

  ‘I hear a lot of things, things that a dishonest person could use.’

  ‘You mean you used to. You’ve lost your Kings Cross privileges. You’re persona-non-gratis, on your way to becoming the recently departed Carol Todd, and the only thing you’re going to hear is the racking of a 9mm slide.’

  ‘Not if we play it smart.’

  ‘We? What the fuck are you talking about? There is no we.’

  ‘We, you and I, Micky, can both get out of this sweet, if you’ve got the stones for it.’

  She was almost cocky as she slopped more whiskey into both glasses. Her speech was slurred and her face carried a loose smile. I sat back and swallowed whiskey and chips. She told me her plan. Just like last time, it sounded simple enough.

  All we had to do was find a fall guy who we say was holding Carol and forced her to call Brookes with threats. That she was a square gee all along, and would never cross him.

  The more whiskey we drank, the more plausible it sounded.

  ‘Who’d you have in mind for the fall guy?’ I asked.

  She lit a cigarette and handed it to me, the tip stained red from her lips. I could taste it as I placed it between mine, and waited for her to light her own.

  ‘Hedges; he’s one of the few who knew about it. He’s known as a grasping arsehole with few, if any, ethics. If somebody told me he’d done that, I’d have believed them.’

  ‘But he’d be afraid of what happened when he got caught, and getting found out would be inevitable in the long run, unless he was going to kill you.’

  She thought for a moment, ‘You lifted his gun from the nightstand, didn’t you?’

  I smoked and waited for her to continue. She had it all planned out, which made me wonder if she was playing me again.

  When I woke the next morning, there was an empty bottle on the floor and an arm across my middle. My head was hammering and I could feel her breath against my chest. I turned my head and breathed through her hair. The memories of the previous night came flooding back.

  Her plan had sounded simple. Put Hedges in the frame by claiming he was extorting Carol and had forced her to call Brookes. Make up some bullshit about him needing the extra cash to feed a gambling and hooker habit. Maybe we’d throw in something about cocaine as well. I tracked them down, grappled with him, and shot him with his own gun.

  All we needed to do was find him, shoot him, and let the cops find the body. I had other choices, but none of them good. I could kill her and hand the gun back to Mitchell, which would square me with them, but really piss off Kurt Reed. I could grab what cash I could from Carol and head out to sea, leaving her in the shit and Meagan at the mercy of Ray.

  My gut told me that even if I killed Carol and gave the gun to Mitchell, I would still be a problem they might try to get rid of. Even if they didn’t, I would always have to watch my back for Reed.

  I didn’t want to run away to sea leaving Meagan in the shit, plus I wanted to stay in Sydney. I felt at home here.

  That left me with killing a scumbag lawyer who worked for the industrial-strength arsehole Kurt Reed, who hated me anyway. Killing the lawyer would also have a beneficial effect on my dealings with Mitchell and Brookes. Meagan would be in the clear; Carol would probably be okay. If she was, and if she did have access to information, then I’d be okay as well. There were a lot of ifs.

  I shook her awake. She groaned, pushed herself up on one elbow, looked at me through blood-shot eyes, and vomited. I rolled away just in time.

  ‘Sorry.’ She retched again, clamped a hand over her mouth, and bolted naked to the bathroom.

  I followed her, turned the shower on full, and guided her under the stream of cold water. She gasped, shuddered, tried to hit me, and hurled again. When her lips were blue and she’d stopped fighting, I turned the water off and wrapped her in a towel.

  ‘Dry off and get dressed while I make some coffee.’

  She hugged the towel to her shaking body, and sat on the edge of the spa-bath looking like death. I wasn’t feeling much better, but wasn’t going to show it.

  There was chaos in the kitchen. I had vague recollections of making fried egg sandwiches halfway down the second bottle, but from the state of the place, we went further than that. There was a bowl of spaghetti with garlic, oil, and cigarette butts, two empty fruit cans that reminded me of a peach-guzzling contest which she won—no surprises there—and an assortment of snack wrappers from Pringles to Rainbow Nerds.

  I dressed while the coffee was heating up. When she hadn’t come into the kitchen after five minutes, I went back to the bathroom and found her asleep in the spa. I picked her up and carried her to the bed; I doubt she weighed more than a hundred pounds. Just before laying her on the bed, I remembered the puddle of cold sick, so I took her into the spare room, dropped her on the bed and threw a sheet over her.

  When I was pushing the vomit-laced bedding into the washing machine, after cleaning the kitchen, I knew somehow I’d reached a decision.

  The Kidnap

  While Carol was still sleeping it off, I walked to the Seven-Eleven two blocks away and bought two litres of Coke, bacon, mushrooms, sausages, eggs, and butter. I hate Coca-Cola, but it’s great for two things—cleaning marine toilets and curing a hangover. A good greasy breakfast is a must as well.

  She woke not long after I returned, stumbling into the kitchen, wrapped in the sheet and looking in vain for sympathy.

  ‘Did I vomit on you?’

  ‘Your aim was off.’ I poured a tall glass of Coke and handed it to her. ‘Here, drink this.’ She dran
k half and put her hand over her mouth as if she was going to hurl again.

  ‘Christ, what did we drink last night?’

  ‘Too much. You ready for some breakfast?’

  ‘I’d settle for coffee and more sleep—or a quick death.’ She looked at me from under heavy lids, realising what she’d just said. ‘Coffee first, Micky: breakfast later.’

  ‘Food’ll make you feel better.’ I unwrapped the bacon and dropped it into a pan.

  ‘I see you’ve found your way around.’

  ‘I’ve been here before.’

  She was too weak to spar with me, so downed the rest of the Coke, and then let out a huge burp.

  When I laid the fried breakfast in front of her, she protested and pushed it away like a spoiled child. I pushed it back and told her to eat. To begin with, she picked at small pieces, slowly building up momentum until she was wolfing it down and looking for more. There was a suggestion of pink in her cheeks and her eyes were fully open for the first time that morning.

  She rubbed the grease from her chin with the back of her hand, asked, ‘How much do you remember?’, and poured a third cup of thick, black coffee.

  ‘Not all of it.’

  ‘Any of it?’

  ‘Some. I know we discussed one of your hare-brained schemes that would keep you alive and me out of the shit. I seem to remember doing something unnatural with peanut butter as well.’

  She flushed slightly and kicked me under the table.

  ‘Part of a dream sequence, Micky. Move on. I remember that we made a deal—’

  ‘Whoa! There was no deal. I wasn’t that pissed.’

  ‘Not at that stage, no, but you did agree—’

  ‘To discuss it further.’

  She was recovering quickly, flashes of cunning Carol showing through the thinning alcoholic fog.

  ‘I said we could discuss it further.’ I knew I was going for it, but didn’t want her to think I was a pushover. ‘Run it past me again, especially the part about me getting rich and not killed.’

  ‘It’s simple. Johno Brookes hates Hedges, so he won’t bat an eyelid when he hears that you killed him. He’ll want to believe that Hedges was to blame instead of me. We just need to come up with a convincing story of how you tracked him down and rescued me.’

  ‘That and kill Hedges without getting caught by the cops.’

  ‘You were going to kill me. What’s the difference?’

  ‘Plenty, but go on.’

  ‘He has this holiday home in Pittwater. It would be the obvious place for him to take me.’

  ‘And I found out about that how?’

  ‘I told you about it as an alternative place for him hiding the gun, in case it wasn’t in Balmain.’

  ‘And how did I guess he was holding you?’

  ‘You beat it out of some two-bit bag-runner working for Reed.’

  ‘We need to come up with something better than that.’

  ‘We will, but right now’s not the best time.’ She was looking pale again.

  We batted ideas about for another hour, not getting very far.

  Now I was sober, I was edgy about being in her house. If Lenny knew, everyone else could easily know. Someone might come looking for her. I told her to go get dressed for a road trip.

  I thought about going to the boat, but left that for an emergency bolt. A large hotel where we would be anonymous seemed a good solution. We checked into the A.N.A. under my name and paid cash.

  At six o’clock, I went for take-away and a six-pack of beer. We were far enough from The Cross to make bumping into someone unlikely, but I didn’t want to chance it, so went alone.

  When I walked back into the room with Chinese, she arched her eyebrows and said, ‘You know, they have a great sushi restaurant on the top floor.’

  ‘Filled with people who might recognise one of us and blow our subterfuge. Fried rice or Chow Mein?’

  She screwed her nose up. ‘Chow Mein—without beer.’

  I handed her the plastic tray of Chow Mein, opened a beer, and stood it beside her.

  ‘I had a thought.’ I said, then sat at the small table, flipped open the rice, scooped some up and chewed. ‘I went to your home. It looked like someone had broken in. There were things knocked over, a couple of pictures smashed. When I quizzed your neighbours, they said you’d left in a hurry with a tall guy driving a black Audi the same model as Hedges. Then I remember the other place in Pittwater, go there, and pop, there you are locked in a room. Hedges comes in with his nine, we grapple, and I shoot him. How’s that sound?’

  ‘You want some Chow Mein?’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘No, not at all; in fact it is the best so far. I was just angling to get the rice bowl now.’

  We swapped plastic containers and I cracked my beer. ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘It could work. Someone did break-in and trash a few things. That part’s true. And it’s plausible that I would have told you about the second home, just in case he’d moved the gun.’

  We worked on the story throughout dinner and then over a couple of slow beers. Neither of us were in a drinking mood that night, so after watching an in-house movie, we turned in. There were two double beds: no awkward conversation about who sleeps where.

  I stowed my pack with the two guns in it under my pillow and lay down. I didn’t think she would try anything, but after the last con, I wasn’t taking any chances.

  She noticed and said, ‘We have to trust each other, Micky.’

  ‘You can trust me. I’ve kept my end up so far. But—’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry I lied to you. Okay? I didn’t know it was going to turn out like that for either of us. Now it’s different. We’re a team, just like Bonnie and Clyde.’

  ‘Or Mata Hari and Georges Ladoux.’

  ‘I like my version better. You’ll see, we’ll both do okay out of this. We just have to get over this hurdle first.’

  ‘Hurdle? It’s not a hurdle, it’s a fucking great wall topped with razor wire.’

  When she started to undress, I flicked off the light and we were plunged into an eerie hotel darkness.

  ‘Shy?’

  ‘No. Get into bed and go to sleep.’

  ‘So you always sleep fully dressed then.’

  ‘Only when I’m sharing a room with somebody who has a contract out on them.’

  Her feet padded softly on the carpeted floor. Light, and her naked silhouette, flooded the room, receding as she closed the bathroom door.

  The following morning I woke to the smell of coffee and the close proximity of her perfume. The dawn sky, filtered by the heavy drapes, coloured the room in shades of grey. She was sitting on the edge of my bed, wrapped loosely in a white towelling robe, holding a coffee mug in one hand and the Beretta in the other. The bitch had the jump on me again.

  ‘Don’t fret; if I wanted to kill you, I could have easily done it while you were sleeping. I thought this might show you that you can trust me.’

  I winced when she dropped the Beretta into my lap. ‘Is that your idea of foreplay?’

  ‘No time for that this morning, handsome. You have a lawyer to abduct and kill, or had you forgotten?’

  She was cocky and confident again. It was a side of her I liked, but knew I had to be wary of. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Seven-thirty: time to rise and shine.’

  The Makarov was still in the pack, sealed in its plastic bag. She hard-eyed me when I checked it as she sat in the armchair and sipped her coffee.

  ‘Still don’t trust me?’

  ‘No.’

  Thoughts of what was to come were running through my head. Abducting Hedges would be simple. He was a soft-arsed lawyer, and according to Carol, he wasn’t much of a fighter outside the courtroom. But I had to kill him, not just punch him out.

  ‘You’re looking worried.’ Carol said. She stood and let the robe fall to the floor, sat on the edge of the bed with her back towards me and pulled her knickers on. ‘He’ll be no
problem for you, Micky.’ The bra was one of those half-cup, underwired jobs, which she put on and then did some adjusting.

  I continued watching her, as she intended I should. It was a show: temptation, seduction, control.

  ‘He leaves for work at nine-thirty most mornings, so we’d better rock and roll.’ She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, stood and zipped. She watched as I threw the covers back and got out of bed, still mostly dressed.

  Her overnight bag was packed. All I had was the small backpack with the two guns and some of the cash.

  ‘I’ll check out and see you down in the car park.’

  ‘Let’s leave together like civilised people, instead of two deviant fugitives.’

  ‘We are fugitives, and by tomorrow one of us will be a murderer. I’ll see you at the car park.’

  It was eight o’clock. Carol was driving the Valiant through the thick, slow rush-hour traffic. We left the city in light rain and drove towards Balmain.

  ‘How sure of his routine are you?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s a creature of habit, not a risk-taker. He leaves home at the same time every morning, drives to the car park beside the Opera House, and walks from there. He carries his briefcase in his left hand.’

  ‘He doesn’t stop for breakfast, or ever drive with somebody?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. Morning is best, Micky. He often goes out right after work, so it’s hard to predict if he’ll be alone even.’

  When we entered Darling Street, I told her to pull over a block before the roundabout, at the junction of Beattie Street where there was a hardware store. I bought a roll of gaffer tape, a coil of clothesline, heavy-duty plastic garden sacks, and five litres of kerosene.

  I got back in the car and we drove down Beattie and parked a hundred metres past the lawyer’s house. The clock on the dashboard ticked away the seconds. We sat and waited. Carol seemed relaxed, even amused by what we were doing. I was beginning to realise there was a dark side to her that wasn’t immediately apparent.