The Big Whatever (33 page)

“He'd be facing ten years in Pentridge if he was found. At least. But the fame thing, yeah. Out of character. Any idea where he'd be now?”

She shook her head. “Wouldn't have a clue. Wouldn't
want
to know.” She looked at me conspiratorially. “What about you, Bill? Not gunning for our old Maxxy. are you?”

“Nothing like that. It's fallen to me to tidy up his affairs. Some of them, anyway, the bits that concern me. I just thought you two, on the off-chance. But you don't, so . . .”

I looked back at Multi. His face completely bland now. Calm and amiable as could be. Vi smoked her cig, watchful.

“So I better shoot through.” I shook hands with Multi, gave Vi a kiss.

Vi smiled. “Is there any particular lady friend these days, Bill?”

“How could there be, when Multi here bagged the best one going?”

She gave a wheezy laugh, then started coughing.

Denise was waiting for me in the ladies' lounge back at the hotel/motel. Late afternoon sun was slanting in. The beer garden outside was half full, but except for us the lounge was deserted. Denise had showered and changed. Denim jacket, floral blouse. Sort of a hippie look, but not in a way that would attract attention. We
had drinks in front of us – a gin and tonic for her, a beer for me.

“They definitely know something,” I said. “But they played it very cool.”

“So who was this? ‘The Cat'? ‘Mr Bones'? ‘Brylcreem'? ‘Motel Molly'?”

“It was the one Max called ‘the Multi-Grip Kid.' Actually, we called him ‘Multi-Grips.' Or just ‘Multi'.”

“Yes, simple is better,” she said, without a smile.

“Multi used to be a Sydney knockabout. Very good with machinery – motors, cars and that. He could open most safes, was handy with electrics too. Could deal with an alarm system. He'd been an engineer at AWA, got done for a fiddle he worked with equipment spares. No charges were brought. He was – is – very careful, very meticulous.”

“And his connection with you and Max was what exactly?”

“We were involved in some, ah, things together. One of them turned out pretty well for us. Multi and his missus were able to move away, set themselves up down here.”

Denise's eyes were very wide, pupils large, as she vacuumed up the story.

“You memorizing this for your novel or film script or whatever it is? Multi will provide a bit of underworld colour, right?”

It rattled her for a second.

“Sorry. I don't mean to be so snoopy. I
am
fascinated, though. Genuinely. Max talked about this stuff a lot, talked about
you
a lot. The nightclub. I always assumed it was part-fantasy. To hear the truth now . . .” She let it trail off.

“A lot of this is common knowledge in Sydney anyway. But this is off the record, okay?”

“Okay. But tell me – why Multi, why now?”

“Max mentioned him specifically in the book, like he was sort of directing my attention that way.”

A near-shriek from across the room. “
Here
he is, bless 'im!”

We turned around to see Vi bearing down on us.

“And look, a darling little sweetheart with him!”

Denise stared, literally open-mouthed, then smiled. Vi sat
herself down and put out a paw to Denise. “I'm Vi.”

“Hello Vi, I'm Denise. Love your glasses.”

“Aren't they something?” Vi was reaching for her Kools, shaking her head, turning to me. “Billy, dear. You must think we've become utter
brutes
out here in the bush, letting you go without even inviting you for a drink, generally behaving like savages.”

“No harm done, Vi.”

“Well, we're not having it. There's a good Chinese dinner at the Golf Club. You come along tonight – it'll be our shout. Don't even
think
about saying no, we absolutely insist. Then a big smile for Denise, “You too, petal.”

“How did you know where to find me, Vi?” I said.

“Small town. There are only three places you could be staying, and the other two?” She shook her head. “You wouldn't stay there.'

Denise smiled. “Would you like a drink?”

“No thanks, darl. Just popping through.” Vi turned to me. “You will come, won't you?”

“Yeah, that'd be great.” I smiled as warmly as I could. “But listen, just give me a chance to tub and so on. See you there at, what, seven thirty, eight?”

A look of doubt flashed across her face. But she smiled and said, “Wonderful! Make it eight. The golf course is straight out of town a quarter mile past Ronny's yard, on the right.” She picked up her keys and cigs, waved “Byee!” and bustled off.

When she'd cleared right out, I waited a moment longer then said to Denise, “Are we paid up at the desk?”

She looked at me with surprise. “No, of course not.”

“Go and pay right now. Tell them we're leaving at six in the morning. But be casual about it: ask if there's somewhere we can get breakfast here that early. Then go pack, quick as you can. I'll put the car round the back so we can load up without being seen.”

She looked at me for a second, then took off.

Half an hour later we were out of town, driving east. The sun had gone down, the Princes Highway was quiet. We were driving through tall eucalyptus forest, our headlights picking out the straight trunks either side of the road. Roos and wallabies were grazing on the grass verge, so I was taking it slow.

We'd slipped away without fuss. And without dinner. After a long silence Denise said, “Are you going to let me in on what that was all about?”

“Back there? That was all wrong,” I said. “They were hiding plenty.”

She looked at me curiously, but said nothing.

“And why would they do that?” I said, more to myself than to her. “Cover up, evade?”

“Maybe out of general suspiciousness. Stan's friends were like that, some of them. Wouldn't tell you the truth if there was a lie to be told, any lie.”

“Could be. But we go back, Multi and me. I'm not just some gig. Their guard should've been down, at least a little bit.”

Denise said nothing.

“They were rattled enough to forget the social niceties. Didn't offer me a drink. Vi had a think about it after I'd gone, realised it looked bad, tried to mend it.”

“Yeah, right,” Denise said. “She was trying too hard. I see that.”

“If that character in the book, Jacko, if he really does exist, and if he really was involved in bush rorting and whatnot, then Multi would know something about it. But he played dumb. Said he knew nothing about any book. Wasn't even curious. That just doesn't wash. So I conclude he was covering up. Which means he has an interest. He's
in
it.”

“Why are we leaving then? Why not stay and find out more?”

“If we hung around it could only be good for them and bad for us. They're not going to give anything away, but they'd be trying to find out what I'm up to. And thinking about it now, that yard of Multi's – there's
nothing
happening there. No legitimate living being made, that's for sure. He's up to something.
He's not even hiding it, not that much.”

“Which would mean he's got good connections.”

I gave her a quick glance. “That's right. He could be in with the local cops. Or the Melbourne cops. Or both.”

We drove in silence for another fifteen minutes. A set of headlights appeared in the rear-view mirror, on high-beam. The car came up fast till it was about a hundred yards behind us, then slowed and dropped back a quarter mile. I was still doing just fifty. Over the next few minutes it dropped further back.

Other cars passed it and passed me, but that one stayed put.

Denise saw me eyeing the rear-view, turned to look, then back to me.

“Yes,” I said. “It's something.” I glanced at her. “You think I'm paranoid?”

She considered that. “You don't
seem
to be.”

Silence. Then, “How could they know which way we went?”

I shook my head slowly. “Don't fall for the Darby and Joan act. Multi and Vi are smart. I told Vi I was on my way to Melbourne. She smelled a rat straight off. There are three ways out of that town. The highway west back to Melbourne, east to New South Wales, or the road north into nowhere. They've made an educated guess we're headed to New South Wales.”

Denise glanced behind again. “If we'd stayed, maybe we could have wrongfooted them. By leaving we tipped our hand.”

I didn't say anything. She was right. But still I was glad to be out of there.

Denise said gently, “Like a joint?”

“Christ, no.”

“Do you mind if I do?”

Half an hour later the other car was still on our hammer. It had dropped further back and most of the time stayed out of sight, just a glow back there somewhere. But on the long straight stretches I could see its headlights, way behind.

We came to a little town called Cann River. A hotel, a few shops. And an intersection. The Princes Highway straight ahead
to Eden and the New South Wales south coast. Or left on the Monaro Highway, through the hills to Cooma and the Snowy Mountains. I swung left, passed the pub, went another couple of hundred yards and slowed right down.

When I saw the headlights appear back at the corner I took off, once I was sure he'd seen me. “I hope I didn't overplay that,” I said, more to myself than Denise. She didn't answer.

“Can you reach that carry bag at the back?” I said to Denise.

She turned and hauled the bag onto the seat between us.

With my left hand I opened the clasp and felt around. The Colt was at the bottom. I'd meant to throw it off a bridge somewhere. Another elementary mistake. I knew it was still loaded.

I was going fast now, as fast as I could. When a wide gravel track appeared on the right, I hit the brake and swung into it. The car bumped roughly across a cattle grid. The track was straight, through paddocks, with no tree cover, which meant he could see where we'd gone. Which was what I wanted. I drove fast over the rough surface and into the forest at the other side of the paddock.

A hundred yards in I pulled onto a side track, just far enough to be out of sight from the road. And turned off the lights. Thirty seconds later a car sped past. A dark green Mini Cooper S. Fast, and apparently skilfully driven. I waited a few seconds, reversed out and headed back to the main road.

By the time he realised that I'd doubled back and he'd turned around, he wouldn't know whether we'd gone back to Cann River or turned north. That was the plan. But he was quicker than I thought. By the time I was back on the bitumen I could see him coming out of the bush at the far side of the paddock. He would be able to follow us for as long he wanted.

“Can you drive?” I said.

Denise looked at me, scared but alert. She nodded tightly.

I pulled left, stopped, took the Colt out of the bag, got out.

“Drive back to that town and wait for me there. I'll walk in when I'm done.”

She looked at me doubtfully, then nodded and slid over to the driver's seat.

I ran back to the cattle grid and ducked behind the thick tufts of grass at the side of the road. When the Mini approached the gate, the driver slowed right down to get the small wheels over the grid. I stood up and took a shot at the radiator grille. Then another at the lights. The third shot hit the front wheel.

By then the driver was out, shielded by the car. The young overalled apprentice from Multi's yard. I turned to head back to town, but then I heard a thump. The guy was at the back of the Mini, taking something out. I ran at him. When I got there he was loading a sawn-off rifle.

I swung the barrel of the Colt and caught him on the cheek. He grunted and dropped the sawn-off. I hit him again, and he stayed down. I kicked him hard in the chest to make sure he was out of action, then took the sawn-off, found the bullets, and used them on the Mini's remaining tyres.

A car was coming up fast on the main road. Denise in the panel van. When she pulled onto the side track, I was still holding the sawn-off. The kid was on the ground behind the Mini. She quickly got out of the car, then froze, horrified at what she thought she was seeing.

I went over to the bloke and crouched down beside him. He was a kid, nineteen or twenty at most. Thin, with lank, longish dark hair. Blood trickling down his too prominent cheekbone. A narrow, nervous mouth. Seeing him close-up confirmed the impression I'd got back at Multi's yard: an angry young country town loser. “You all right?”

“Get fucked,” he wheezed.

“Multi told you to follow me, right?”

“Get fucked.”

“You should've stayed further back,” I said. “I picked you right off.”

“Get fucked.”