Black Ice (29 page)

Monday 15 April, 3.45 pm

'Sorry about that,' said Jill. She straightened in the passenger seat and wiped her face on her sleeve. She felt oddly calm, even peaceful.

'You all right?' said Gabriel.

'Mm-hmm. Where are we?'

'Approaching Blacktown. We should reach Riverstone in fifteen, twenty.'

'How'd they find him?'

'Techies got multiple hits from a thirty-second conversation. Most important word was "Urgill".'

'Huh. Dickheads. And then what?'

'Satellite navigation triangulated the call to the exact location. Have a look in the folder.'

Jill had intended to go through the information as soon as they'd begun the drive. But her outburst of emotion had come as a complete surprise. She pulled the folder from between the seats, flipped it open, and took out three stapled pages. The first contained an address in Riverstone and five or six bullet points about the area immediately surrounding the target property. She turned over to find a full-page colour aerial photograph of a sprawling, fenced homestead. The detail was amazing. She could see a rusted car, dead grass and missing roof tiles. She flipped the page again.

'Oh my God! Are you kidding me?' she said.

The picture had been zoomed in multiple times. She stared at another aerial shot, this time of a man sitting on a back porch. A child's pink bicycle, missing the back wheel, lay discarded at the bottom of the concrete steps. The man was smoking, and was unmistakably Francis Agassi.

Gabriel smiled.

'When was this taken?' she asked.

He glanced at the clock in the dash. 'Ah, around thirty minutes ago,' he said.

'But how'd they get it? Google Earth can't do
this
.'

'Well, they could if they wanted to, but they're not permitted. Google Earth can't get these shots – privacy issues. The mapping software's called Global Discovery; all our intelligence organisations have access to it. Google gets delayed feed. Ours is live.'

She turned back to the front page to read the bullet points. 'So the Feds will be running this one, then?' she said.

'Oh, we'll be there, all right. And so will Hazmat, the riot squad, and the local boys. Last'll be called in because you're involved, and I'm sure he'll bring a couple of the people you've been working with at Fairfield. It makes us all look stupid when the crooks use the suburbs to cook meth and then blow the place up when they're done. Everyone will want in. And half of them will be hoping for another bonfire.'

The show started on the main road leading into Riverstone. Detours were in place, with officers diverting traffic from entering the suburb. As the uniformed cop waved them through, she saw a female motorist out of her vehicle and having a stand-up argument about being denied access to her street. Jill knew that if the road was blocked this far out, they'd already have all exits from the homestead locked up tight. Any one of these cars being turned away could have made a call to the target property, warning them to get out.

They motored smoothly along their side of the traffic-free streets. Every motorist on the other side of the road, heading back towards the main highway, gawked at them. A few people nodded or even waved.

'They're evacuating the houses?' said Jill.

'I'd imagine it would just be a couple of neighbouring properties,' said Gabriel. 'This would just be the local traffic being moved out. The only spectators in there will be cops.'

They turned a corner and both sides of the street suddenly became a parking lot for government vehicles.

'Look: Lanvin and Genovese,' she said.

Gabriel grunted. 'Yep. They're in charge.' He parked next to another unmarked vehicle and turned to Jill as she was getting out. 'You know they're not gonna let you anywhere near the house, don't you, Jill?' he said.

She waited, her hand on the door.

'And you know that Damien and White could get hurt?' he said.

She gave him another look.

'And that if that happens, it's not our fault,' he continued. Waited for a response; got nothing. He began again. 'Because they got themselves –'

'Are we getting out of the car some time today, Gabe?' she said.

He smiled. They left the vehicle and headed over to Lanvin and Genovese.

The takedown of the homestead at Riverstone was textbook. Riot squad approached with loudspeakers first and told the occupants they had sixty seconds to evacuate before the gas went in. Jill and Gabriel had close viewing access, but were warned not to take any part in the operation.

Almost immediately following the loudspeaker directions, Jill watched Urgill walk out expressionless, hands in the air, palms forward. He lay down lithely on the parched lawn. Whitey was next, looking a mess; his nose was plastered all over his face, his eyes were barely slits and there was bruising up to his hairline and down to his mouth. Francis Agassi came out next with a big smile: the genial gangster, pleased with the show. He squinted through smoke, a newly lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. It took him a lot longer to get to the ground than Urgill, although it appeared a knee gave way mid-squat and in the end he hit the dirt like a sack of shit.

Come on, Damien, thought Jill. Where are you? The squad had their masks on; the gas canisters would be fired in within seconds.

Finally, Damien emerged, his face a portrait of misery. Jill knew he felt like everything he'd ever wanted in life was ending today. She knew he'd be taken into custody and charged. There was no getting around that. But she and Last would do everything they could to let the prosecutors know that he'd been cooperative, and hopefully they'd come up with something fair that most involved could live with. She knew that what he'd done was stupid, but she doubted he'd ever again have anything to do with something like this.

The moment Damien was on the ground, the gas went in, but no one else emerged. The riot team secured the house, and Hazmat followed for the clean-up.

Jill and Gabriel made their way over to Superintendent Last, who stood with Genovese and Lanvin.

'No Nader,' she said.

'Nope,' said Genovese.

'What next, then?' she said.

'Whatever,' he said.

'What does that mean?' said Jill.

'It means he'll show up. We've just gotta wait,' said Lanvin.

'We need to get you debriefed, Jill,' said Last.

Oh. Great. That's just what I need, she thought, another freaken debrief. She grimaced at Gabriel, who grinned widely, and together they walked back to his car.

Monday 15 April, 4 pm

Byron hit the horn in the Rexie as soon as the traffic slowed up on Richmond Road. It didn't do any good in terms of moving things the fuck along, but it made him feel better, 'specially since it was giving the shits to the driver in the three-series BMW in front. He watched the man eyeballing him through the rear vision mirror.

Byron wound his window down and asked the bloke if he wanted to talk about it. 'What's
your
fucken problem, cunt?' he screamed. 'You wanna have a go? Pull that piece of shit of yours over now!' He hung his whole arm out the window, and gestured the prick to the side of the road. The eyeballs dropped out of view in the mirror and the BMW's window buzzed closed. Fucken typical yuppie, he thought. No fucken balls at all.

'Ya fucken yuppie!' he shouted out the window for good measure. 'You've got no balls!'

He hit the horn a couple more times, but this time everyone minded their own business. Finally, the traffic began to move.

When Byron spotted the blue lights flashing ahead, he joined the other cars making U-turns to head the other way. Fuck that shit, he told himself. Nader would have to get someone else to do this pick-up. There was some sort of bust going down.

Sick of the pissants in front of him, who were obviously now lost because they'd had to change route, Byron peeled off onto a back road to take a short cut through St Marys. Fuck Riverstone. Who the fuck would want to move things out there anyway? Place was probably full of fucken hillbillies.

Byron opened the Rexie up and hammered it down the rural road.

Monday 15 April, 3.15 pm

Cassie woke up in Christian's bed with nothing left. Her mouth tasted of chemicals, cigarettes and semen. A perfect match for the way she felt – like an inanimate object: an ashtray or condom. So, this is what rock bottom feels like, she thought. She would have cried, but there were no tears available.

Instead, she stared at the ceiling. Pleaded. 'I surrender,' she said.

'Did you say something, darling?' said Christian.

'You're awake,' she said. Funny that a condom could speak, that an ashtray could converse.

'I'm worried,' he said.

'I'm past that,' she answered.

'What?'

'Nothing. What are you worried about?' she said.

Christian sat up in the bed. Surely he should resemble a cadaver, or something close to it. Shouldn't his teeth be rotten, his nails be black; shouldn't there be acne at least?

'Or horns?' she said.

'What did you say?' he said.

'I'm an idiot, Christian,' she said. 'Ignore me, darling. What are you worried about?'

The skin on his chest was hairless and golden. But she thought she could still smell the spray tan.

He spoke, and his teeth were so perfect. She remembered the plastic mouth moulds in the bathroom sink some mornings, gummy with spit and whitening gel. 'I've set up a deal,' he said. 'A big one. Same guys. Eight hundred grand.'

'Eight hundred thousand dollars?' she said. 'What are you, some kind of Colombian drug lord?'

He laughed. He shouldn't have, really, but she'd known he would.

'So, what are you worried about?' she said. No, really Christian, she wondered, what worries you about an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar drug deal? Which part of that concerns you?

'I'm scared they could try to kill me and take the money,' he said.

Well, there's that, she thought. 'Mmm,' she said. 'That doesn't sound good.'

'I was thinking you should maybe come with me.'

'You were thinking I should maybe come with you,' she repeated. 'To the drug deal where you might get killed.' Just to be clear here.

'You're so funny, Cass.' He smiled with his mouth only. 'To be honest, I know everything will be fine. I mean, I know this guy isn't a pussy, but it's not like he's a bikie either. He's in this for the business, like me. But just to be certain, I'm thinking that if there're a couple of us, it would be more of a hassle to take both of us out, and he'd be better off just continuing with the deal as arranged.'

More of a hassle, she thought.

'And I can trust you,' he added.

More of a hassle to kill two people than one, and he can trust me, thought Cassie. You slept with this man last night, she told herself. No, Cassie. You fucked him for drugs. You sucked his cock for cocaine and ecstasy.

She forced herself to stay in the bed. These were the moments she had to remember. Words she had to hear. Leaving now and pretending he was joking, that he was just talking three-o'clock-in-the-morning-drug-fucked-crazy-talk would just mean another day waking up just like this. Hating herself this much.

'I can't do it anymore,' she said.

'What do you mean "anymore"?' he said. 'It's not like I've asked you to do anything like this before. It'll be all right, babe. And when you see how many lollies that money'll get us, you won't regret it.'

'But what if he figures he really would like to keep his money
and
the drugs and decides that taking us both out is a hassle he could live with.'

Christian snorted with impatience. 'Look, Cass. I didn't want to tell you this because you didn't need to know,' he said. He sat up straighter in the bed, reached across and touched her shoulder.

Cassie just waited. She'd never seen him this serious before.

'I'll be bringing – now, don't freak out – I'm bringing a gun.'

'Are you crazy? Where would you even get a gun?'

'Remember Carl Davus?'

'Davus? The guy who murdered his wife?'

'Now, now, Ms Jackson. You know better than that. I got him off those charges and made myself famous. Do you know how I got him off?'

'I didn't follow the whole thing too closely. Wasn't it lack of evidence?'

'That was a big part of it. They couldn't find the murder weapon.'

'They couldn't . . . The gun!
That
gun?
You've
got the gun Davus used to murder his wife?'

Christian smiled beatifically. And suddenly, she really got it. This guy was truly despicable. Not just immature and insensitive, but completely devoid of any morals. Evil. For the first time in her life Cassie understood the AA saying that you have to truly surrender before you can let go of addiction. You have to really, completely realise that you can sink no further into filth, that you are powerless. Only then can rehab help, when you know that you have no control. That you must have help, that you will not just accept help, but beg for it. That, or die. The simple truth of this crashed down on Cassie and she wanted to cry with relief. Instead, she smiled. There were other people caught up in this shit. Seren. Seren needed help too, and Cassie knew the minute she saw her that somehow she had to do that.

'It makes sense,' she said, 'that it would create headaches for this guy if there were two people there rather than just one. It's not easy to get rid of a body.' She paused. 'Or so I've heard.'

'This is what I'm saying, Cass,' he said, smiling back at her, his eyes focused on her tits.

She tugged the sheet a little higher. 'But Christian, if two are a hassle, what if there were three? Maybe we should ask your friend, Seren, to come along?'

Christian laughed. Which she hadn't expected.

'You like her, don't you?' he said.

Oh that, she thought. Thank you, Christian. You're making this rock-bottom shit much easier.

'She's all right,' said Cassie. Actually, Christian, she's fine. She's got you on tape handing over eighty grand for meth and eccy. But eight hundred? Even you couldn't get yourself out of that one, Mr Bullshit.

Cassie scanned the apartment. The thing she'd always loved most here was the way the moving lights from the skyline danced around on the massive rug in the living room. She'd always liked the purple spots of brilliance the best; they seemed to sparkle most when the cocaine level was just right. She stared at the carpet. Nothing moved. Suddenly, her mum's image materialised, standing at the stove in the kitchen, patiently cooking up endless rounds of salami and cheese toast. It was when they were kids, of course; no one ate with that kind of enthusiasm after Jill came home. Then little Lilly, her niece, took her place on the rug – was she four or five now? Perfect little thing, eyes as infinite as the universe, staring up at her in awe. And then – was that? Yes, Fisher, her cat! Well, Jill's cat actually. Gone forever now, dead just before Christmas. Ancient, he'd been. He'd been Jill's until That Day. After that, Jill had never really looked at him again. Or her. Well, not properly, anyway.

'What's wrong with you, Cass?' said Christian. 'You want some wine, or something?'

Or something.

'Silly! I'm fine, baby!' she said. 'It
is
three o'clock in the morning. What did you say? Tell me again, I'm just sleepy. What'd I miss?'

'Sleepy? You're drug-fucked,' he said.

Rub it in, she thought.

'What I said,' he answered, 'is that when I saw you and Seren together, I couldn't help but think of you two . . .
together
. You know.'

'Oh, I know,' she said. Which is what he wanted her to say, after all.

'When that fucking Neanderthal saw you two together he must've spoofed in those tracksuit pants,' he said.

'Must've,' she said.

'So, you'll do it, Cass? Should I call and set it up?'

'If Seren will be there, I'll be there,' she said.

'One more thing?' He smiled that good-boy smile. The one that probably worked with his mummy and had been melting women ever since. The one that used to work with her. 'I was thinking,' he continued, 'that it might be best for you to carry the gun. You know, just in case he wants to pat me down?'

'So I carry the gun.'

'What do you think?'

'What the hell. Let's just get this done.'

'You see, baby, that's why I love you,' said Christian, reaching over to kiss her.

'Excuse me, sweetie,' she said. 'I'm going to be sick.' She rose from the bed. 'I've had a little too much.'

He pouted and blew her a kiss. 'Poor baby,' he said. 'Feel better.' He snuggled down into the pillows and rolled away from her.

Cassie got out of bed and went to the bathroom to vomit.

De rigueur.