Pay Dirt (14 page)

Go ahead, Steelgard One.

On schedule, nothing to report, ETA
Belcowie unchanged.

The exchange was brief and sudden,
and for a few moments it froze them to the spot. Wyatt stirred first. We split
up. Snyder, take the bike. Catch the first plane home. Leah, you come with me.
Tobin, you take the truck. Dump it somewhere and catch a train or a bus home.

Snyder stepped forward. Hang on, I
dont like this.

Wyatt tensed. What dont you like?

Splitting up, pissing off I dont
think we should leave until we know what went wrong.

Leave me out of this, Tobin said.
He climbed quickly into the cabin, started the engine and eased the big truck
across the dry creek bed. Soon he was a dust cloud receding from them.

Wyatt turned his attention to Snyder
again. He wondered if Snyder had lost all his commonsense. He looked at the
heavy, acned face, trying to read behind it. Snyder looked confused and
anxious.

Plus, Snyder went on, Im out of
pocket on this bloody deal.

This was more like it. Youll all
get a kill fee, Wyatt said.

How much?

Five thousand on top of your
expenses.

Snyder held out his hand. Lets see
it first.

Dont be stupid. Youll get it
later.

Not good enough, Snyder said, and
he reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a small automatic
pistol. The sky above them was vastly blue and still, so the sound of Snyder
jacking a round into the firing chamber was like a twig snapping. No one moved.
Then, as Wyatt was about to speak, the Steelgard van reported in again.
On
schedule. Nothing to report.

Snyder gestured with his pistol. He
looked flushed and edgy, as if rolling with a plan that might come unstuck at
any minute.

Wyatt stood, his body loose, ready
to take Snyder. He was starting to read the other man. Snyder had been
expecting a hundred grand. Compared to that, a fee of five thousand dollars was
peanuts. Killing Wyatt was the only thing that would satisfy him now. Put the
gun away, Snyder, he said. Lets talk this over.

Snyder shook his head. Uh, uh.
Chuck me your gun before we do anything. Barrel first, thats right, now drop
it on the ground and kick it out of the way.

Wyatt did as he was told. Snyder was
too far back for him to try anything. Youll regret this, Leah said.

Snyders agitation was getting more
pronounced. He seemed to be running against the clock. Shut up. Help Wyatt
load the bike.

Theres no need for this, she
said, dropping the tailboard of the utility. Well pay you when we get to my
place. We dont want to hang around here.

Snyder grinned again, a nervy
grimace as he stepped from one foot to the other. Bugger your place.

Wyatt had clicked the Suzuki into
neutral with his foot and was wheeling it toward the rear of the Holden. He
stopped, looking hard at Snyder, thinking it through. If Snyder intended to
kill them, it made sense to do it at the farmhouse where their bodies might
never be found.

Snyder swung around on him, the gun
arm taut and quivering. Who told you to stop? Load the fucking bike.

Leah chose that moment to reach into
the tray of the utility, haul out one of the folding chairs, and toss it at
Snyder. It flew on its side, spinning end to end, and hit Snyder low, the edge
of the frame mashing him between the legs. He doubled over, his knees together,
and cried out. He had the automatic raised to fire blindly at them when Wyatt,
ducking low, pushed the bike at him. Snyder went down onto his hip, pinned by
the bike. Wyatt rushed him. He stamped on Snyders fingers, prised the pistol
out of his hands and shot him twice in the head.

Then he backed away and watched
Snyder die. He was not breathing heavily or showing other signs of heightened
emotion. If anything, he was frowning, as though some minor hitch was bugging
him.

* * * *

TWENTY-SIX

Then
he turned around. Leah, he said.

He made the word sharp and clear, to
get her attention. She was looking down, paralysed, at Snyder. People see
killings on films all the time, but it never prepares them for the real thing.
The real thing even one man punching anotheris shocking: the sound, the
suddenness and emptiness. Wyatt didnt want her to slide into depression again.
He had to snap her out of it
Leah.

She continued to look down at the
body. Just like that.

He was going to kill us.

She gestured helplessly. Everythings
changed.

Nothings changed. We bury him
first, thats all.

Where?

The farm, fuck it. We cant leave
him out here, and we cant risk carting him around.

At that moment, the Steelgard driver
called in again, gabbling a little as if relieved to be near the end of the
line.
ETA Belcowie, fifteen minutes.

Wyatt turned the radio off. He had
to get Leah moving, get her thinking about survival, not emotions. Grab his
feet.

His feet?

Help me put him in the ute. Grab
his feet.

He thought she might lose it again.
Her face was strained. But then she bent down, grabbed Snyders feet, and they
lifted together. It brought the colour back to her face. They tumbled Snyder
into the tray and Wyatt unzipped the sleeping bags and covered the body. Then
he hauled the bike onto its wheels. Fuel had sloshed onto the road and the
engine was smeared with dirt but it started immediately, smoking a little
before it cleared.

You go on ahead, he said, while I
pick up the road signs. Call me on the radio if you see anything that shouldnt
be there.

Her face changed again. She seemed
to recoil from him. No thanks, Im going home. I dont need this.

She put on her helmet and swung her
leg over the bike. Wyatt didnt say anything. He watched her go. He put her out
of his mind then and got into the utility and drove to the far end of the short
cut. He found the road sign where Tobin had tossed it into the grass. He loaded
it, turned around and doubled back.

This was automatic, taking care of
the loose ends. He did it calmly and systematically. Behind it he was thinking
hard. Steelgards route change bothered him. So did the business with Snyder.
He turned on the radio again.

The drive back to the turn-off took
him five minutes. He got out, collected the other road sign, and tossed it into
the back of the utility. Seven minutes. He turned left onto the main road and
accelerated toward the tin-hut corner. Eleven minutes. He felt uneasy, then
realised why. There should have been something on the radio by now.

Thats when the voice erupted,
tinged with worry. Steelgard One, this is Goyder Base, are you receiving me,
over?

Wyatt leaned forward, listening,
imagining the dispatcher hunched over the transmitter dials.

Steelgard One, this is Goyder Base,
your position please, over.

There was real concern in the voice
now. Wyatt drove on, picturing it from their end. Goyder Base would continue to
call the van, but by now they would also be talking to the Brava pay officer in
Belcowie. They would spend a couple of minutes debating whether or not it was
too soon to call the cops. The cops would spend a few minutes asking questions
before deciding to send a car out. It would take the cops thirty minutes to
arrive and begin the search.

Perhaps forty minutes altogether.
Leah would be okay. Shed be long gone by then. Wyatt slowed, turned the
utility around and retraced the vans route past the turn-off. He took it
slowly. He knew how deceptive an open country road could be. There are always
haystacks, fire-water tanks, clumps of trees, ditches and roadside farm
buildings along them. He slowed to a walking pace whenever he passed one of
these, accelerating again when he saw there was no Steelgard van sheltering
there.

The most likely place was a side
road. He stopped and got out at the first two. There were tracks, but not the
tracks he remembered seeing left by the van on the short cut a week ago.

He found the answer at the third
side road. A detour sign had been tossed into the grass. The dirt was powdery,
registering clearly the tyre tracks of a heavy vehicle. Wyatt remembered from
the maps that this track came out four kilometres south of Belcowie.

He went in. He didnt find the van,
but he found where it had stopped. Found the fat driver sprawled in the ditch,
the back of his head shot away.

* * * *

TWENTY-SEVEN

Trigg
hadnt been one hundred per cent sure that Tub Venables would do it. He knew
Venables wouldnt take his regular route, not after hed learnt that a hold up
team was waiting for him, but what if the fat driver chickened out and went the
long way around to Belcowie?

Hed been wondering what hed do if
that happened when Happys voice crackled on the two-way radio. Boss? He just
turned in.

Trigg sat up, peering down the long
bonnet of an XJ6 hed been trying to sell for the past six months. Probably it
wasnt a good idea bringing an XJ6 onto a road like this, but he hated the
thought of driving some tin can. Okay. Put the sign up and follow him in.

Trigg reached into the back seat,
slipped a .303 rifle from its zippered bag, and got out to wait. He heard the Steelgard
van, then saw it, pitching on the rough track like a ship in mountainous seas.

Venables stopped the van a few
metres short of the big car and stepped out. He looked at the rifle, then at
Trigg, his eyes bulging a little, the lines on his face loose and deep. For the
moment, they were alone. There were only the empty paddocks and distant
razorback hills.

Trigg nodded his head at the rear
compartment of the security van. Is he out?

Venabless face knitted in worry. Hes
on the floor. You sure hes okay?

Hell have a headache when he wakes
up. Apart from that, hell be fine.

They heard footsteps thudding in the
grass at the edge of the track. Happy appeared, his gloomy face showing the
strain. Okay? Trigg asked.

Yep.

Good, Trigg said. Then, to
Venables: Its time you called in again.

Venabless prominent eyes were
watery and troubled. He reached into the cab of the Steelgard van for the radio
handset. His voice rasping a little, he reported to the base in Goyder: Steelgard
One; nothing to report; ETA Belcowie fifteen minutes.

Good, Trigg said again, and he
tucked the front sight of the .303 under Tub Venabless chin and pulled the
trigger. There was a spurt of blood and bone chips and Venables seemed to
spring up and back and smack to the ground. For several seconds afterwards,
tremors passed through his arms and legs.

Dump him in the ditch, Trigg said.
We dont want him found yet.

He wasnt worried about a ballistics
test. The slug would have gone right through Venabless head. He wasnt
particularly worried about the rifle. A drifter had given it to him five years
ago in part payment for a clapped out VW. There was no paperwork linking him to
it, and he didnt intend to hang onto it.

He watched Happy haul the body off the
road. Then he got into the XJ6 and Happy into the Steelgard van and they drove
along the track for three minutes. Tobin was waiting for them next to an
earthen bank thick with tall Scotch thistles and reeds that screened them from
traffic passing along the Belcowie road a short distance away. Tobin had just
arrived. He was dropping the ramp at the back of the breakdown truck. No one
spoke until Happy, guided by Tobins hand signals, had the van aboard the
truck.

Wheres the drivers? Tobin asked.

Trigg stared moodily into the
distance. He couldnt make it. Help Hap get the tarp over the van.

While they were doing that, Trigg
went back to move the first sign. The signs would attract attention when the
panic started, and he didnt want Venables found just yet. He hid the sign in
the grass and drove back to the truck. The van was completely concealed now,
the tarpaulin covering it on all sides. The paint job, the logo on the
sideWyatts team had done a good job.

They pulled out. Trigg went first,
to drag the second sign into the grass, and Tobin and Happy followed in the
truck. At the intersection they turned left, away from Belcowie. There was no
traffic.

Trigg led all the way, keeping in
radio contact with the others. He didnt think there would be a roadblock this
soon, not until the cops had searched and scratched their heads for a while,
but he wasnt taking any chances. If there was a block, hed have time to warn
the others. He imagined the confusion when the police did find something. When
they found Tub Venables but no van, they might be inclined to blame the guard.
If they found the hideout, found Wyatt and the woman and the other man, theyd
think they had it solved.

There were no roadblocks. In fact,
the bogus Brava truck and its cargo were locked in the long panel-beating shed
at the rear of Trigg Motors in Goyder two minutes before the first Goyder
patrol car had even left the city.