Wyatt - 03 - Death Deal (23 page)

Dejection showed in her face. He
realised that she was losing her natural colour, gaining a prison greyness. Her
voice soul-sick and low, she said, Ill wither up and die in here. Its
privately-run, but that doesnt mean much. Ive got friends but I cant watch
my back all the time. She looked fully at him. I cant bear it, Wyatt.

Careful. Father Kennedy.

They both glanced around the room.
No-one was paying them any attention. It brought back her humour. Some priest.

Wyatt looked too weather-beaten and
rough around the edges to be a scholarly priest or an ambitious one or an
ingrate in a wealthy diocese. The effect he had aimed at was prison visitor, a
long-faced, stoop-shouldered man who probably grew vegetables and devoted his
time to the kind of heartache cases that no-one else would touch. There had
been priests like that around in his childhood.

Just then Wyatt became aware of a
shift in the rooms atmosphere. He looked across at a table by the door. A
woman was talking to the people there, an inmate and her mother, and it was
clear that they resented her but could not tell her to shove off. It was a
curious tableau, almost like a pimp touching base with whores.

Anna confirmed it. Oh God, not her.

Who is she?

She works here. She put the hard
word on me the moment I came inside. Shes convinced I know where the money is
and will want to channel some of it her way. You know, in case I want extra
cigarettes, a Walkman, silk knickers, an office job instead of peeling vegies,
uppers, downers, some marijuana to sprinkle in my roll-your-own tobacco.

Wyatt watched the woman. She wore a
mauve suit, the jacket gathered tight at the waist, the skirt slit at the back.
A filmy scarf frothed at her throat and she wore big tinted glasses with fussy,
angular, gold-speckled frames. Her hair was dark, permed into a cloud around
her head. Somewhere under all the frills there was a calculating heart.

What did you say to her?

I said fuck off and the result was
Ive been peeling vegies ever since and some inmates tried to heavy me.

The woman looked up, saw Anna, saw
the priest with her, and smiled.

Brace yourself.

Wyatt watched as the woman threaded
her way among the tables. The inmates and their visitors kept their eyes
lowered and stopped talking, relaxing only when it was clear the woman had
someone else in her sights.

Anna, how are things with you
today?

Anna said stonily, Go away.

Arent you going to introduce me?

Father Kennedy, Anna said.

The woman gushed over Wyatt. An
enamelled name-plate on her lapel read Lesley Van Fleet. There was lipstick on
her teeth, cracks in her make-up.

Annas settling in very well here,
Father. She knows that if I can help her, I will. Anything at all, she only has
to ask.

Van Fleet was watching Wyatt but it
was all aimed at Anna. He could see the womans love of manipulation and
imagined her house, a life surrounded by pampering luxuries paid for with
inmates money.

Youre very kind, he said.

When Van Fleet drifted off to
another table, he said, Theres your ticket out.

* * * *

Forty-one

At
eight oclock that evening, Van Fleet said immediately, Its not enough.

Wyatt regarded her calmly.
Apparently she cast off the veneer when she went home at the end of the day.
Her face was free of make-up, giving it a diminished, unprotected look,
reinforced by the puffball slippers on her feet and a pair of pink silk
pyjamas. She had been smoking when Wyatt found her. Hed picked her back door
lock, proceeded noiselessly through the house with his gun out, and come upon
her in an armchair reading a book. The cigarette sat unfinished in an ashtray
and she picked up a sherry glass.

Nowhere near enough.

Not
Get out of my house . . . Who
do you think you are? . . .
No,
Ill never do it
or
Ill
tell
the police.
He had promised her money and she had wanted it at once.

Wordlessly he counted out another
five thousand dollars. The first five, crisp twenties and fifties, was neatly
stacked in front of her.

I knew you werent a priest. I
could tell.

Shed had a few drinks. They hadnt
softened her, just increased her sourness. The money and her acceptance of it
reminded her that she hated herself, but she also had a kind of sneering
contempt for Wyatt and knew the cards were stacked in her favour. People like
you, you make me sick.

Wyatt counted out the money a note
at a time.

Think youre Bonnie and Clyde. Youre
just scum. Give me one of those poor husband-killers any day.

Wyatt looked at her. Theres envy
there somewhere, he thought. Shes stuck, thinks shes missed out. He took in
the room: soft falls of curtain over the window, fluffy white hearthrug, a pink
tinge in the wallpaper and plenty of cold, clean white paint on the skirting
boards, doors and mantelpiece. Small porcelain milkmaids and shepherds were
grouped on an antique sideboard. The lounge suite was new, stuffed cream
leather couch and armchairs. She was listening to a syrupy FM station and
reading a fat paperback called
Siren Song.

Ten thousand, he said.

She sipped her sherry, staring at
the second bundle of banknotes on her coffee table. Her fingernails were like
talons, albino pink, and he saw her slip one between stiff, lacquered waves and
scratch her scalp. The sound was audible across the room.

She looked up at him. Tell me
again.

Wyatt told her.

She folded her arms. Nope. Not
enough. Too much risk.

Wyatt bundled the money into one
pile and put it in his pocket. He didnt look at her, didnt speak. He was in
the doorway when she called out: Wait a minute.

He paused with his back to her.

Fifteen thousand, she said.

Wyatt came back into the room. He
sat down, put the ten thousand dollars in front of her and said, Ten.

Make it twelve.

Wyatt had been prepared to go to
fifteen. What mattered most was that she wanted the money badly enough whether
it was five or fifteen. He waited a while, then counted out another two
thousand dollars.

Theres your twelve.

Van Fleet drank greedily and
refilled her glass. Wyatt could smell day-old perfume, cigarette smoke and
sweet sherry, and hated it. He wanted to get out of there but this was just the
beginning.

Van Fleet folded her arms again. Okay.
Ill need three days to set it up. Well need a room, notices, the education
officers permission. More than anything, the paperwork has to look right, as
if I couldnt be blamed for thinking the offer looked genuine so I passed it on
to the education officer.

I understand.

Call me tomorrow.

She reached across to pick up the
money but he got to it first. It went into his pocket and a wail of loss and
privation broke from Van Fleet.
No!

Wyatt stood and looked down at her.
He took the money out. Ill give you a thousand. The rest you get on the day
itself.

He could see her working out the
profit and loss. In case you decide to keep the thousand and report to the
cops, remember two things: twelve thousand is better than one thousand, and
he showed her his gun again I kill people.

Van Fleets mouth went down in a
sulk and she snatched the thousand from him. Let yourself out.

Wyatt changed hotels twice in the
following three days. He telephoned Van Fleet several times. When she finally
said that she was ready, he shaved his head and paid a pharmacist to put a ring
in each ear. He bought hundred-dollar jeans, a seventy-dollar shirt, and black
lace-up boots stitched with yellow thread. He bought a baseball cap in a surf
shop, a scuffed briefcase in a junk shop and a bundle of second-hand books with
titles like
Style Manual
and
Plotting Your Way to Success.

Van Fleet picked him up the next day
at twelve-thirty. She did not comment on his appearance but held out her hand
for the money. Instead, he counted out five thousand dollars and stuffed them
into a post office jiffy-bag that had a stamp and her name and address on it.
He knew that greed crawled in her and he was stringing it out. Theres a
letterbox on the corner.

She stopped the car while he got out
and dropped the jiffy-bag in the slot. He got back in the car.

You still owe me six thousand. I
want it now.

Think, Wyatt said. Theyll check
you out, theyll have to. Do you want them finding six thousand dollars in your
bra or in the glovebox of your car? He had a second jiffy-bag, prepaid but
unaddressed. He put the money inside it and stuffed it in his briefcase. Weve
reached the point where it has to be trust on both sides, all the way. If you try
to warn anyone at the prison, Ill tell the cops to check your mail tomorrow.
If all goes well, Ill post this as soon as were out.

Think youre so smart.

That was all she said. They got to the
prison at twelve-fifty-five, timed to coincide with a shift change at the gate.
He pocketed Van Fleets keys and tucked his gun under the front seat of her
car. She signed him in and he clipped a visitors pass to his shirt. They went
through the metal detector, a door was buzzed open, and they were in.

Library, Van Fleet said.

Wyatt bounced on his toes as he
walked. He wore the cap at a jaunty angle. At a couple of places in the
corridor, posters had been pasted to the wall, advertising a workshop in the
library, 1 pm sharp. He hoped that Anna had done her part.

The prison library was a broad,
glass-walled room at the end of the corridor. The books were in grey metal
stacks, their spines colour-coded according to subject area. Most were
yellowfictionand most of these were fantasy novels. There were three large
tables and a couple of computers. Posters and book jackets were taped to the
glass between the shelves.

The room was occupied: Anna Reid and
a brisk, efficient woman wearing an ID card bearing the words Education
Officer. The woman said regretfully, I hope for your sake a few of the other
inmates show up. It was such short notice, you see.

Wyatt gave her a careless grin. Im
used to it.

Right, well, Ill leave you to it,
shall I? This is my lunch break.

She bustled out, glancing amusedly
at Wyatt, nodding at Van Fleet.

A moment later, three inmates
slipped into the room. Annas friends. They were jittery, grinning, curious
about Wyatt. Doesnt look your type, one of them said.

They moved quickly. A powerful woman
nodded at him and stationed herself at the door. Her job was to dissuade anyone
who thought the notices advertising the workshop were genuine. Wyatt could feel
her scrutiny, her black eyes trying to penetrate him. His sex didnt interest
her. His life lived in risk and walking in shadows did.

The other women took Van Fleet
behind a protruding bookstack. He heard the snap and scrape of clothing against
flesh. It took the women five minutes to get Anna into Van Fleets suit, blouse
and stockings, shape a wig around her head, cake her face in make-up, fit the
glasses to her face.

She came out looking like Van Fleet,
carrying Van Fleets clipboard and satchel. Van Fleet was behind the bookstack,
trussed and gagged.

Then the three women were gone. They
touched Anna as they went and the lithe woman whod guarded the door said, Send
us a postcard. They ignored Wyatt.

Wyatt followed Anna to the main
gate. The time was ten minutes past one and the afternoon shift paid no
attention as Anna scrawled in the book and Wyatt handed back his visitors
pass. The gate clanged shut when they were halfway to Van Fleets car. Anna
stumbled a little as though shed been shot and Wyatt heard a moan, low and
relieved, in her throat.

* * * *

Forty-two

They
had checked all along Broadbeach and Surfers Paradise. Stolle wasnt playing
Jupiters or the Monte Carlo. That left the Flamingo, a place that didnt
feature in the tourist brochures. Small, practically anonymous, the Flamingo
was a casino with a hotel attached, fifty suites starting at one thousand
dollars a night. Five levels, ten suites to a level, one ordinary gaming room
on the ground floor and something for the high-rollers called the International
Room. They learnt that Stolle was paying one thousand dollars a night for suite
306, and losing between fifty and one hundred thousand dollars a night in the
International Room.

They checked in. Later Anna said, He
won a million in the first week, and lost most of it two nights ago.

Wyatt ran his fingers the length of
her spinal column. After a week in prison, she looked thinner. Her backside was
small, tight and youthful, and as he stroked it she raised her hips from the
bed.

The girl at the front desk told you
all this?