Pay Dirt (3 page)

Trigg knew then that hed lost, but
still, he grew businesslike and clapped his hands together. Ill be brief, he
said. Ive been in this city ten years. Trigg Motors is a pretty big concern,
I employ a lot of people, plus theres all the other spin-offs for the local
economy. The citys done a lot for me, now I want to give something back.

Mr Trigg

Liberal endorsement for Central
Ward next month, Trigg cut in. As a Councillor I could do a lot for this
city.

The mayor had started to back
towards the door. She was a neat little package in her formal spring suit,
stiff hair and handbag, and Trigg wanted to push her over. Oh, I am sorry,
the mayor said. The Partys already got someone in mind for Central.

That was quick, Trigg said, before
he could stop himself.

Mr Trigg, there are procedures.
Long service to the Liberal Party, and so forth.

Trigg wanted to say,
And old
money. And brown-nosing.
He held it back and kept his voice even. Perhaps
if I could address the local branch?

The mayor stopped backing away from
him and seemed to come to a decision. Her chin up, her back straight, she said,
I think it only fair to tell you we cant afford to do anything, well, open to
interpretation.

Triggs face changed. Spit it out,
he snarled.

The mayor flushed. The rumours, ...
Im sorry, Mr Trigg, she said.

This time she reached the door and
opened it and disappeared through it.

Triggs right hand went up to shape
and pat his hair. It came away slicked with Brylcreem. He checked in his desk
drawer mirror and saw a gleam of oil on the tops of his ears. He wiped them
with his handkerchief. He was churning inside. His debts were crippling him;
business was non-existent. But try and expand, make the necessary contacts, and
see where it got you. The old money had this town sewn up tight.

The call on his private line came
soon after that. He heard the STD beeps and then Leo Mesic in Melbourne was
saying, You were down this month.

Trigg went pale. Panic settled in
him. He hated and feared the Mesics.

Well? the voice said.

Trigg tried to rally. After all,
Melbourne was six hundred and fifty kilometres away. I was down last month and
Ill be down next month. Theres a recession on.

The voice went on as if he hadnt
spoken. You know how it worksevery time you miss a payment or part thereof,
youre deeper in shit.

Trigg wanted to say,
Watch my
lips.
What do you people expect over there? he said. You tie me up with
cars no one here can afford, theyre using the farm ute till wheat and wool
prices come good again. The guy subcontracting the pills, booze and the videos
owes me twenty thousand. The kids have switched to sniffing Clag or something
because they cant afford speed. I mean, what do you expect? You must be
getting the same story from all your other mugs.

While Leo Mesic responded to him,
Trigg reflected that there wasnt much difference between an upright citizen
cunt and a gangster cunt. They both squeezed you out. Neither gave you a break.

...which comes to three hundred
thousand you owe us, the man in Melbourne said.

Look, no offence, but when people
here pay me what they owe me, Ill pay you what I owe you.

People like Tub Venables, he
thought. It was ironicalthe Mesics had him paying interest on the interest,
and he had Venables paying interest on the interest, and neither of them could
pay. The only way Ill get anything out of Venables, he thought, is payment in
kind.

Out of the hum on the line Leo Mesic
said doubtfully, Maybe we can discount the cars.

That would help, Trigg said,
keeping it light.

Underneath it he felt sour and
anxious. The Mesics had him where they wanted himby the balls. Now that theyd
got him to invest, they werent about to let him buy his way out. The booze,
videos and drugs were cheap, but he still had to pay up front. The stolen cars
all had legitimate paperwork but they were Mercs and Volvos and top of the
range Toyotas that no one could afford any more. Would they let him sell on
consignment? No way. He could run, but theyd track him down sooner or later.

Three hundred thousand, Leo Mesic
said. See what you can do to reduce it.

The line went dead, but the day didnt
improve. Triggs intercom buzzed a few minutes later and Liz in reception said,
Sergeant King to see you. Shall I send him in?

Jesus Christ, Trigg thought. Did he
say what he wants?

Something about yesterday.

Has he found the LTD?

He didnt say. He just said can he
have a word about yesterday.

Tell him to come in, Trigg said.

At first Trigg thought hed remain behind
his desk, but then he thought you cant do that to a cop whos maybe doing you
a favour, so he was standing at the window, looking out at acres of Volvos,
Mercs and Toyotas, all unsold, all stolen, when King came in.

Master of all he surveys, King
said.

Trigg kept his face even. King could
be a sly bastard. Either he was being pleasant or he was saying he knew the
cars were bent. Well, let him. Using the cover of pumping petrol for Trigg after
school, Kings son pushed dope to the towns riffraff.

Fancy a Laser? Trigg said. I can
give you two thou off this week.

Speak to the wife, King said. He
was six feet tall, veined and stringy as a length of rope. Trigg had to cock
his head back to see Kings face. Listen, King went on, we just traced your
car.

Trigg winced and shielded his face,
miming apprehension. Break it to me gently, old son.

Smashed headlight, crumpled
passenger-side wing.

The bastard. Where was it?

Terowie.

Terowie? Hes heading for Broken
Hill, Trigg said. Hell go to ground there with all the other wogs.

Did he look wog to you?

Trigg shrugged. These days your wog
looks like you or me. You cant tell.

According to the blokes he worked
with, hes not wog, hes Australian.

So why did he run?

You tell me, King said.

They stood side by side at the
window. Outside, Happy Whelan was washing an XJ6 in his overalls. He looked
like an ox with a toothache. Acres of duco baked in the sun. With all the
excitement there yesterday, Trigg said, almost to himself, I thought maybe
someone was trying to snatch the payroll.

* * * *

SEVEN

Leah
sent me, Wyatt said.

The man wearing the overalls had a
wedge of watermelon at his mouth. He was snatching bites from it as if Wyatt
had a stopwatch on him. He spat out a pip. Leah, he said, wiping the juice
away.

She said you could fix me up with a
bike.

The sign outside said Jap Job. The
proprietor of Jap Job gestured with the watermelon at the motorcycle parts,
tools and greasy rags that surrounded him. Bikes are my business, he said.

She said ask for one of your
specials, Wyatt said.

Did she now? The proprietor
snatched another bite from his watermelon. He had long, tangled hair and a
drooping moustache. There was juice on his chin. He chewed for a while, then
pointed the watermelon rind at Wyatt. If ever your guts are crook, he said, eat
this. He tossed it away then, dramatically, stood stock still and brought out
a liquid belch. Better out than in.

Wyatt was tired of this. Let me
concentrate your mind, he said, lighting a match and throwing it on the floor.
It landed a metre away from a cut-down drum in which carburettor parts were
soaking in petrol. He followed it with a second match.

The proprietor of Jap Job went white
and rigid. Its concentrated, its concentrated.

I want a bike thats good on the
open road and across country. Something strong, fast and light. I want it
today, and I dont want anything that can be traced to some semitrailer hijack.

The man went sullen. Itll cost
you.

How much?

Three thousand.

Wyatt had money left over from the
job that had gone sour in Melbourne, so he didnt quibble. What time?

Five.

Five oclock, Wyatt said, and
walked back onto the street.

Jap Job was a stone and corrugated
iron shed in a side street behind the business centre of Gawler, a town forty
minutes north of Adelaide. Wyatt walked back to the centre, found a hotel, and
ate a mixed grill. It was the first mixed grill hed eaten for five years. Hed
thought theyd gone out of fashion. He asked for a glass of light beer with it.
The barman managed to sneer without moving a muscle in his face. Wyatt supposed
that the only light beer served in this pub was in the ladies lounge.

He spent the afternoon exploring. Hed
gone to Adelaide by bus and to Gawler by train and he was tired of sitting
down. He liked Gawler. He liked the old stone buildings and the river, the
town-and-country feel about the place.

At four-thirty he retrieved the
backpack hed stashed in a station locker and by ten to five he was at the rear
of Jap Job. Easy Rider had looked like the sort of man whod call in the Hells
Angels to sort out his grievances, but there were no strangers about.

At five oclock Wyatt came in the
front way, his hands loose at his sides. There was a motorbike in the corner
that hadnt been there before. The proprietor didnt greet Wyatt, only said, Suzuki
Five Hundred. Clean as a whistle, climb Mt Everest.

Wyatt didnt care what sort of bike
it was. He straddled it, to see how it would fit him. The engine felt warm, so
he started it with the ignition key. It fired up, low and satisfying. He turned
it off again.

You want to test her? the man
said.

Ill be back if its no good.

I dont know where you come from,
pal, but here you wont get far without a helmet.

Throw one in, Wyatt said.

Itll cost you.

Wyatt paid the extra and at
five-twenty he was riding out of Gawler with a black helmet on his head and the
pack on his back. When he was clear of the local traffic he opened the throttle
full out. He wanted to be on the back roads behind Belcowie before sunset.

The white line flashed by under him.
A bike was better than a car for what he had in mind. Hed be covering rough
ground. Hed need speed and manoeuvrability when he was in the open, and he
needed a vehicle he could hide at a moments notice.

The sun was low in the sky when he
reached the crossroads where the Broken Hill bus had set him down a few weeks
earlier. He turned off toward Belcowie, dropping his speed because the road
surface was treacherous and this was the time of day when bone-weary farmers
drove home in the centre of the road in utilities with bald tyres and faulty
lights.

Wyatt had a specific place in mind.
Hed spent a week with the surveyor when he first started work with Brava
Construction, checking sight-lines across a small range of scrubby hills. Theyd
gone in along dirt tracks and followed fences and seen only kangaroos and nervy
sheep the whole week, but there had also been an abandoned farm in there,
tucked away in a valley between two arms of the range of hills. He wouldnt
know how good the place was until he got up close, but he did know it had a
north exit and a south exit and two exit lines was the first thing he demanded
of any hideout.

Why not rent a place? Leah had
said. That way wed get somewhere comfortable and look legitimate.

Names, faces, paperwork, Wyatt
replied. Hed said it quietly, not looking at her.

Youre obsessive, you know that?
she said.

The shadows were lengthening now.
Wyatt turned on the headlights, picking up a couple of rabbits and a cat on the
prowl. Insects were mashing against the visor of the helmet. He came to a
landmark he recognised, a roofless tin hut surrounded by pepper trees, and
turned off the Belcowie road onto a smaller one. He slowed right down, steering
the bike over channels that had been there since last winter or since the last
time the council grader went throughand that might have been a decade ago. He
was concentrating. He didnt want to miss the track that led to the farm. He
had a nylon tent in his backpack, together with a camping stove and a sleeping
bag, but hed rather sleep in a shed than at the side of the road. He didnt
want some mountain man turning a spotlight and a hunting rifle on him during
the night, and he didnt want a crop duster buzzing him in the morning.

He got to the farm gate just as the
sun was setting. Next to it was a stock ramp, sealed with a tangle of barbed
wire. Wild oats were growing at the base of the fence and gateposts and choking
the metal grid of the ramp. The track beyond it was stony so he was unable to
tell if it had been used recently. He dragged the gate open, being careful not
to flatten the weeds, and wheeled the bike in.

He left the bike behind a boxthorn
hedge and approached the farm buildings on foot. It was a five-minute walk.
There were trees and rocky outcrops between the buildings and the road gate.
Wyatt hoped that these had muted the sound of the bike; if anyone was camped at
the farm they might not realise that the bike had stopped.