Pay Dirt (8 page)

Pedersens hand went up and came
away with blood on it. He looked at it and then at Letterman, as if the world
was spinning too fast for him. Wyatt?

Ideally Letterman would have another
man helping with the questioning, one to hurt the subject where it wouldnt
show, the other to offer a way out of the fear and pain.
Where is he?
he
repeated.

Wyatt doesnt live here, Pedersen
replied. This is my place.

Letterman was gentle and smiling
again, but the knife was beginning to make a Crosshatch of nicks on Pedersens
neck. I know that. I want to know where he is.

I havent seen him for weeks,
whined Pedersen.

This was clearly the truth.
Letterman had known it all along really, but still, he greeted it with total
disbelief, another move that usually got results. Bullshit! Youre working
with him again.

No, promise, no, Pedersen
protested. He was close to tears. I swear I havent seen him. He got in strife
and cleared out and no ones seen him.

Lets say I believe you. I dont,
but for arguments sake, lets say I do. If he cleared off, where would he go?
Has he got some bird stashed away somewhere? Does he like to poke little boys
in Manila? Maybe hes got an old mum over in Perth or something?

Pedersen began to get his courage
back. This maniac didnt want him, had nothing against him. I hardly know the
bloke. He keeps to himself. One or two big jobs a year, then he drops out of
sight again.

Letterman smiled again and let the
light flash on the blade. You work with him.

Only the once.

You were with him on his last job.

Pedersen nodded reluctantly. Yes.

You stepped on some toes with that
one, Letterman said.

Letterman always used a thin blade.
Thin blades slide in easily, avoiding needless hacking and cutting. He always
held the knife flat and horizontal, and used a single, direct thrust. When he
went in from the front he aimed for the carotid artery. A tough sheath of
muscles protects it, and thats why the thrust has to be strong. He finished
with a wriggle to sever the artery, removed the blade, and watched Pedersen
slide, twitching, to the floor. It was quick and clean, one of the many things
that separated Letterman from the amateurs.

He photographed the body, let
himself out and drove back across the city to his motel in St Kilda. On the way
he thought about the nature of luck in his profession. Although his leads had
amounted to nothing, he believed that it was important that hed followed them.
It could mean good luck would come his way. He might hear something about Wyatt
when he least expected it.

That was why he wasnt surprised to
find a While You Were Out message under his door. It told him to expect a
phone call. The caller would ring every hour until midnight, and again the next
day, starting at seven in the morning. Letterman looked at his watch just as
the phone rang. Eleven pm. The voice on the other end said he knew where Wyatt
was.

* * * *

FIFTEEN

The
fountain near the Gertrude Street lights, the caller had said, and Letterman was
now watching it from behind a tree. He was in the southern area of the parkland
attached to the Exhibition Building, on the citys edge. The time was five
minutes to midnight. The caller said twelve-thirty, but Letterman was staking
the place out first, looking for anyone who didnt belong there. A tramp was
sleeping on a bench near the duck pond and another was under an elm, swigging
from a bottle in a paper bag, but otherwise the area was deserted. Now and then
kids and lovers walked through the park, pausing to watch the splashing water
before moving on again.

Lights were strung around the
Exhibition Building, and if he half-closed his eyes Letterman could see its
shape picked out in pinpricks of light. A Japanese tour party had been in the
park when he arrived, taking flash photographs of the possums. They were gone
now. A pathetic-looking student wearing an old coat had passed by him twice a
few minutes ago, but Letterman had growled, Got a problem, pal?, scaring him
away.

At twelve-thirty a man approached
the fountain and stood with his back to it. Although the light was poor,
Letterman could see him clearly enough to know that this was his man. Ill be
wearing white overalls, the voice on the phone had said. Letterman saw a
stocky man, standing confident and alert, the light making his long hair glow.
There appeared to be rings on the mans fingers and chunky sneakers on his
feet.

Letterman remained where he was.
This was a good place for a meetingthe noise of the fountain would provide
some cover if the informant was carrying a wire, there were plenty of exits and
places to hide, and it was dark. But he knew that darkness was no protection
against fancy cameras and telescopic sights. He wore a rudimentary disguisethe
horn-rims, his hat brim low, his collar turned upbut knew that wouldnt stop a
bullet in the back. There were plenty of people whod want to give him one. Yet
the set-up
looked
okay.

He stepped out from the tree. The
contact had devised a stupid recognition signal, but he went along with it. Excuse
me, Im looking for the hospital.

The contact jerked his head around,
recovered, and pointed toward a building opposite the city corner of the park. Over
there.

Letterman left the shadows
completely and joined the man at the fountain. He said softly, What do I call
you?

Snyder will do. Youre Letterman?

Letterman nodded. What have you got
for me?

Not so fast, Snyder said. He sat
down on the lawn near the base of the fountain and rested his forearms on his
knees. Lets talk this over.

Letterman looked down at the bushy
head for a few seconds, then sat with Snyder. Theres nothing to talk over.
You tell me where to find Wyatt and I pay you twenty grand.

Its not that simple. How do I know
youre good for it? Thats the first thing. Second, I wont know exactly where
Wyatt is until I make contact with him.

Letterman stared at Snyder. He didnt
like the man. Snyder looked lumbering and dissipated and too pleased with
himself. Letterman felt an urge to slide the knife in, or slice off the absurd
hair. Youre telling me he wants you for a job?

Snyder nodded. Over in South Aussie
somewhere. I fly out first thing Monday morning.

Hes meeting you?

Eventually. I fly to Adelaide. I
take a taxi to the bus station. Theres a ticket waiting. The bus takes me up
the bush somewhere. Now, thats all youre getting from me, pal, till I see the
colour of your money.

Letterman ignored him. The bush?
What sort of job?

Maybe Im not getting through to
you. This isnt a freebie, you know. I want something up front, and I want it
now. The rest you can pay me when you see him, thats fair.

Letterman removed the black
horn-rims and cleaned them. Look at it from my point of view. Ive been to
South Australia plenty of times, I dont need to go again. Especially if Im
being set up, the man from Sydney making a fool of himself, walking into a
trap, kind of thing. Give me something to go on, something specific

The last tram rattled by on
Nicholson Street, a hundred metres away. Letterman saw the lights go out and on
again at the centre of the intersection. He realised that the sound of the
traffic was constant, even at this late hour. The air was getting chilly. He
felt tired. Killing Pedersen had been a release, but now he felt tense again.

All right, look, Snyder said. Its
some sort of payroll hit, thats all I know. He asked Eddie Loman to send him
someone who knew about radios and stuff.

Whens the hit?

Next Thursday.

Wheres he meeting you?

Place called Vimy Ridge.

Letterman took an envelope from his
pocket. He didnt mind paying twenty grand to find Wyatt and he didnt mind
paying an advance on it. What he minded was letting Snyder state the terms. Heres
two thousand, he said. Show me Wyatt in the flesh and you get the remainder.

You think youve got me, right? You
think this way Ill be sure to get on that plane. Well, I was going anyway. I
want a cut of this job. You can pop Wyatt when its done, not before, okay?

In other words, I follow you and
wait.

Yeah, Snyder said, staying out of
sight till I give the word. He stiffened. Shit, cops.

Letterman glanced up casually. Two
young policemen had entered the park from Nicholson Street and were walking toward
them. They were carrying torches.

Letterman made his voice loud and
slurred. The goodness is in all of us. The Lord Jesus taught me that. Have you
looked inside yourself for the goodness?

Snyder was reasonably quick. Youre
up a gum tree, mate, he said, punching Letterman lightly on the upper arm. A
flagons the only place youll find goodness. Gday, he said, when the
policemen drew near.

Both policemen grinned and continued
along the path. Letterman watched them. Now and then they flashed their torches
into the shadows. Soon they were out of sight somewhere on the southern flank
of the park.

Loman, he said.

What about him? You know him?

Weve met. The question is, I asked
him to pass the word around about Wyatt, so why didnt he tell me himself?

Its a mystery, all right, Snyder
said.

* * * *

SIXTEEN

After
meeting with Tobin, Wyatt and Leah went back to the caryards on Main North Road
and bought a twelve-year-old Holden utility. Wyatt wanted a vehicle that wouldnt
attract too much attention out in the bush.

The next day they went shopping at
supermarkets and army disposal stores before driving north to the hideout. They
bought four camp stretchers and sleeping bags, a two-ring camping stove and
fuel, enamel cups, disposable plates and cutlery, two shovels, a portable
shower, a chemical toilet, lanterns, candles and tinned and dried food.
Everything was going to be buried before they left the farm. Wyatt didnt
intend to leave a single clue that theyd been thereno tracks, no garbage, no
equipment that might identify them or tie them to the Steelgard hit.

They also bought four radios. Snyder
was supplying a powerful unit to monitor the Steelgard van, but Wyatt wanted hand-held
VHF/FM transceivers for communication in the field. He bought marine-band
transceivers, assuming that no one in the bush would be listening in on that
band.

The next few days would be a waiting
gamewaiting for Thursday, when they would show Tobin the layout, waiting for
next Monday to meet Snyder, waiting for the Steelgard hit itself. It didnt
matter that Snyder would miss the trial run. What mattered was feedback from
Tobin. Would Tobin think it feasible that the Steelgard van could be carted
away? Would he be able to find them a truck that would do the job? Would the
narrow roads pose a problem? Were the sheds at the farm too small?

Wyatt lived with these questions in
the early part of that week, not because he wanted to but because Leah was
there. She was keyed up, anxious to do the job, looking at it from all the
angles. Wyatt was calmer about it. He knew what the problems were, but they
couldnt be answered until Tobin saw the layout, so there was no point in
worrying until then. When he was working, Wyatt was concentrated and deliberate
in all he did. He knew how to wait. He became remote and self-contained, which
people often interpreted as arrogance. It was as if a small, chilling draft
came off him. But he knew he had this effect on people, and because it was Leah
there with him, he made an effort. He looked thoughtful when she raised
objections about the job. He discussed the ins and outs with her. It kept them
going. It kept up the harmony.

Not that they didnt have plenty to
do. Leah made shopping runs into neighbouring townsnever the same town
twiceto buy daily essentials like milk, eggs, bread, butter, fruit, meat and
vegetables. While she was shopping Wyatt explored the possible exits from the
farm. If something went wrong with this job, if they had to get out in a hurry,
it would not be by the road leading to the property. Thats where the trouble
would be coming from.

First he checked the track leading
back into the hills. He followed it all the way. At times it seemed to peter
out, but he always picked it up again. It wound along the valley, around the
edge of the hills, and eventually came out onto a secondary road on the other
side of the range. He confirmed his earlier impression that it was passable to
most vehicles.

But it wasnt the only exit. If both
roads were ever cut off there were the hills themselves. An agile person could
make good progress on the smooth slopes. The grass wasnt too high or dense.
The main danger would come from hidden quartz reefs, rabbit holes and tussocks,
all of them ankle-sprainers. There was also a reasonable degree of coverthe
grass itself, creeks and erosion channels, rocky outcrops, solitary trees,
their trunks rubbed smooth by forgotten sheep and cattle. From time to time he
climbed to high ground. He was making a mental map of the area, marking
topographical features, roads, neighbouring farms and the tin-hut corner, but
being high up also gave him a sensation of unconquerability. He put it down to
the clean, perfumed air, the blue and olive hills, the wind in the tossing
grasses. At other times Leah made him lie with her in the sun. When he was
working he tended to forget about sex for long periods, so when she drew him by
the hand and began to undress him, he would blink, surprised and gratified.