Ecstasy Lake (22 page)

33

I retrieved my car and drove to the marina, following Bert's instructions on how to make sure I wasn't being followed. It was another hot, sunny, cloudless day. There was a light but persistent breeze and the boats in the marina were rocking, glinting, chiming. Tasso's launch was the biggest boat there and also the glintiest and least chimey. The tender was tied to the stern.

Melody looked surprised but not disappointed to see me. She was mopping the deck in a T-shirt and cut-offs.

‘When I first saw you at White Pointer you looked like you'd never done a day's work in your life,' I said. ‘Now look at you.'

‘Up yours.'

‘And I never knew that mopping could be a spectator sport.'

She came at me and used the mop to pin me against the railing.

‘Take your perving eyes below.'

‘By below you mean …'

‘The galley. Go make coffee.'

It was my third coffee for the day, and the best. We sat in the shade of the awning.

‘I think you're worrying unnecessarily,' said Melody. ‘I can't see how Harlin can possibly know I'm here.'

‘I can think of several ways. Goldsworthy's surveillance team, for example. It only takes one of them to be a mate of Harlin's, and that's not impossible. The security business is infested with gang members and wannabees, if you believe the
Advertiser
. Also, you haven't exactly been cringing below deck. Someone might have spotted you. Maybe there are people here who have made their millions in the drug trade and know Harlin. And now your photo's all over the paper, it's even more likely that word will get out.'

‘Maybe.'

‘Anyway, me being here is a win-win.'

‘How's that?'

‘You get more protection, so that's a win. And you get the pleasure of my company. Win-win.'

‘And you get to perv at me in shorts.'

‘Win-win-win.'

After a while I phoned Tasso and he said he didn't need me for anything and to take as much time as I wanted ‘protecting' Melody.

‘Eventually Harlin will be caught and everything will settle down,' I said to him.

‘We should go for a cruise,' said Tasso. ‘Why don't we go to Perth, spend a few days there, go to Rottnest, maybe go north a little way. Of course, we'd need to hire a proper captain.'

‘Are you saying you're not a proper captain?'

‘Yeah, sure.'

‘I risked my life those times?'

‘I know what I'm doing.'

‘Melody would love to go for a cruise. Let's do it.'

I relayed the idea to Melody and I was right—she loved it. She spent a large part of the rest of the day studying charts of the Great Australian Bight while I lay in the shade and dozed and thought about Harlin and where the hell he could be.

We took a chance and drove into Port Adelaide for dinner. We found an Italian place that looked decent and, as far as Melody knew, didn't have any gangland connections. We both ordered squid-ink pasta and laughed at each other's black lips and teeth.

‘Stop smiling,' she said. Which only made me smile more.

Towards the end of the meal, as we waited for the waiter to bring dessert for us to share, there was a lull in the conversation.

‘Oh dear, you've turned serious,' she said.

‘I just remembered Harlin.'

‘
Please
let's not talk about him.'

‘I think we have to. I don't like just waiting for him to show up. I should be more proactive.'

‘Proactive?'

‘Yes. I should take the initiative, go and look for him. You know him. Where would he hide?'

‘The problem is, there are a lot of things about Harlin I don't know. He's secretive. I knew he was involved in drugs because he always had drugs when I needed them, but I really didn't know anything about the business. He kept me away from it.'

‘Think he has a lair somewhere?'

‘Probably.'

‘Any idea where?'

She thought about it. ‘No. Sorry.'

We ate our dessert, clashing spoons more than once and fighting over the last of it. By the time we left the restaurant we were smiling again. And the black was gone from her teeth.

The marina was next to the Port River and in the light of a squinting moon we walked to the groyne and looked out over the river's still water. The Torrens Island power station stacks were black against the sky, navigation lights blinking. A pleasure cruiser motored past, lit with party lights and noisy with laughter and music. The air was humid and the stars were dim.

‘Thunderstorms are forecast,' said Melody.

‘Maybe we should stay onshore tonight, just in case.'

‘The ship is safer than a hotel.' She put her arm around my waist. ‘But you're welcome to stay ashore if you want.'

‘I'll risk a lightning strike.'

We went on board, and with silent mutual agreement we ended up in the same bed. We were still dressed. For a long time, we kissed and snuggled. The thunderstorms didn't materialise but there was electricity and everything I touched felt live. The moon was strong. In its light I could see her face and her hair and her deep eyes. Then I had the bright idea of unbuttoning her shirt, but she stayed my hand.

‘Don't be in such a hurry.'

‘I have some urgent business.'

‘Tell me why you love me.'

The question had a significant assumption built into it, but I let it ride. I gave her a list of what I thought were compelling reasons. She kissed me and broke away.

‘Aren't those fairly shallow?'

I listed a few more compelling reasons. She kissed me and broke away again.

‘Tell me more.'

I told her she was bloody greedy and then gave her a couple more reasons. I must have nailed it, then, because there was no more resistance. I re-attempted the first button but struggled, and she helped me with it and did the others herself.

‘You're very proactive,' I said.

‘You're very incompetent.'

‘I have certain skills.'

‘Show me.'

‘Alright.'

I woke with a gun at my head.

I think you can react in one of two ways to waking with a gun at your head. One way is to shit yourself but otherwise freeze in fear, and the other is to shit yourself and lash out. You can't choose which; one or the other just happens. For me, it was the second way. As I woke I yelled and lashed out, knocking the gun. It went off. The noise was frightening and the flash blinding. I didn't feel the bullet. I jumped up as Melody screamed. She lunged across the bed at a dark figure. Harlin.

‘Leave us alone you arsehole.' She hammered him with her fists. He hit her with the gun, knocking her back. I grabbed his wrist to stop him aiming the gun, and we struggled.

‘Fuck my girl, will you?' he said. His head was near mine. I butted him. It didn't seem to hurt him. He tore his gun-hand free and took another shot at me as I overbalanced. There was pain in my side. Harlin grabbed Melody by the hair and dragged her off the bed towards the cabin door. But as she hit the floor she grabbed the axe handle. With a two-handed grip she swung it at him, backwards over her head, and hit him in the forehead. The blow stunned him and he let her go. Melody stood and raised the handle at him again. He backed away and pointed the gun at her. There was a moment when I thought he would fire, the two of them poised in silent mutual hate. Instead, he turned and left the cabin. Melody followed him out, screaming at him. There was another shot. She came back.

‘He shot at me,' she said.

‘You okay?'

‘He just wanted to scare me.' She was holding her head where Harlin had hit her with the gun. ‘What about you?' An outboard motor started. ‘I don't think he would've minded if he'd killed
you
.' She switched on the cabin light and knelt next to me. She was still naked, and her face was swelling. I was holding my side, and blood was oozing between my fingers.

‘Show me,' she said. She eased my hand away from the wound. ‘It doesn't look bad. It's only a graze.' She grabbed the first aid kit and applied a wad of gauze. She held it in place by wrapping a long bandage tightly around my stomach. She grabbed an icepack from the freezer and put it to her face.

Someone called from outside. ‘Anyone on board? Ahoy there.'

We dressed and went on deck. A security guard was on the boardwalk, flashing a torch at us.

‘Everything alright? I thought I heard gunshots.'

‘We've been attacked.'

‘You hurt?'

‘Not really. The guy got away.'

‘Is that him?' The security guard pointed into the darkness. I followed his arm and made out a small boat.

‘The arrogant prick,' I said. He's waiting for me, I thought. He's daring me to follow. ‘Call Tasso,' I said to Melody. ‘Call Tarrant, call Bert.'

‘What are you going to do?'

I ran to the tender, jumped in and disengaged it from the launch. Melody yelled from the boardwalk.

‘You're not going after him?'

‘I am.'

‘Don't be stupid. You don't know a thing about boats.' The first thing I had to do was get the propeller into the water. ‘He will kill you.'

I could still make out Harlin's boat in the darkness, but it had started to move away. The propeller was in the water now. I started the motor and tested the throttle. The tender did a three-sixty.

‘You don't know what you're doing,' Melody said again. ‘Let him go.' I wrestled with the steering and managed to go in a straight line. I turned the tender and brought it back close to the boardwalk. Melody and the guard were looking down at me.

‘I think I've got the hang of it,' I said.

‘Steve,
let him go
,' said Melody.

‘And then what? Wait for him to come back?'

‘Let the cops deal with it.'

‘Hey mate,' I called to the guard. ‘Lend me your gun.'

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, no can do. I'd get sacked.'

‘Tell them I grabbed it from you.'

‘I'd still get sacked.'

‘The guy is a murderer.'

‘Then let him go. Let the cops deal with him, like your girlfriend said.'

‘I'm not sure they can. I'm going after him, with or without a gun.'

‘Do you know the paperwork I would have to fill in to report a missing firearm?'

Melody put her hand on his arm. ‘
Please
. I know the guy out there. He'll kill him. I know Steve, too. He's idiot enough to go charging off after him, with or without a gun.' The guy didn't stand a chance. She was rubbing his arm now. He looked left and right and behind him and then up at the sky, sighed, and unclipped his pistol from its holster. He reached down and dropped it into the tender.

‘I'll tell 'em you nicked it while I was making love to your girlfriend.'

‘Don't forget I have a gun.' He laughed. ‘If you lose your job I'll get you one in mining,' I said. ‘It'll pay better. What's your name?'

‘Ray.'

‘You work for Goldsworthy?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Then don't worry. He works for us.'

‘I know.'

I picked up the gun and put it in the waistband of my shorts.

‘Don't let him kill you,' said Melody. The last I saw of her, she was dialling a number on her phone. I gunned the motor and headed off after Harlin, who was no longer in view.

34

Tasso's launch was berthed towards the back of the marina and to get out of it I had to navigate almost its full length between two rows of expensive moored boats. I motored past the clubhouse and into the Port River. No other vessel was in sight, and I turned northward, for no particular reason except that was what we had done on my two voyages with Tasso. Then I caught sight of Harlin. The moon was low in the sky now, but its reflection was still glimmering on the water. Harlin was in what looked like an ordinary tinny. Maybe he saw me, too, because he accelerated.

We were in the middle of the Port River, Harlin about two hundred metres ahead. The Torrens Island power station loomed, silent and somehow sinister. I pulled out Ray's gun and looked at it. It was a Glock, and I knew I could use it if I needed to. I worked the slide a little to check that a round was in the chamber.

I should have turned back. I should have realised the stupidity of pursuing Harlin, but the gun in my hand made me brave. Harlin also had a gun, and he had much more skill on the water. He knew the river better than me, and he was almost certainly a better shot. But the gun in my hand gave me a sense of power. It made me stupid.

Below Torrens Island the river divides. One arm continues straight along the western edge of the island and then doglegs to the south past Outer Harbor to the gulf. The other arm, called Barker Inlet, heads east and then north; it leads into a mangrove forest, behind which lurk the saltpans and the Bolivar sewerage treatment works. For a while I thought Harlin was going to stay on the straight arm, but once he was clear of the breakwater he turned abruptly east. I followed him around, a minute or two later. We passed another channel to our left, cleared its rip and continued east, passing under the Grand Trunkway Bridge and along the southern flank of Garden Island.

It was not a James Bond kind of boat chase. For a long time we didn't seem to move much. I didn't gain on him and I didn't fall behind. We turned towards the north. The wound in my side was hurting. We were among the mangroves now. It was high tide and they were flooded, but there was a clear main channel, with minor channels to the left and right. We stuck to the main channel as we passed under the power lines that fed Salisbury and Elizabeth with power generated at Torrens Island. They were the same lines that passed over Harlin's fortress. Harlin steered towards the eastern edge of the main channel and swung into the mangrove mass along one of the minor channels. I followed him in.

The faint light of the dying moon made little impression here. Mangroves closed in overhead. The tops of their crowns were only three or four metres above the water, but that was high enough to cast the water into gloom. I slowed. Harlin could ambush me simply by leaving the channel and lurking nearby. I cut the motor and drifted. I could hear Harlin's boat ahead. I restarted the motor and chugged forward. The channel narrowed and split two ways. I cut the motor again and followed the sound of Harlin's boat. The channel was now only ten or fifteen metres wide. It bent to the north. I cut the motor for a third time, and this time I couldn't hear Harlin's boat. I couldn't hear anything. There was no light and no sound, but somewhere close lurked Harlin. The boat drifted. The Glock was in my hand. I lay on my stomach with my elbows propped on the side of the tender and the pistol pointing into the fearful dark. I was ready to kill. For a long time I listened. The water was still and the boat was still and I was still. Once I thought I could hear Harlin breathing. A couple of times I thought I could see the glint of his tinnie. But I held my fire.

The tide started to turn, tugging at the boat. It wanted to drag it out of the mangroves and back to the main channel. The boat bumped the trunk of a mangrove. It made a deadened noise that sounded a bit like a death knell. A motor started nearby and revved, shattering the night. I saw a flash of aluminium and shot at it. In my exhilaration I got to my knees, but I had lost my night vision in the flash of the gun. I fired again, and felt the jolt as Harlin's boat rammed mine. I rebalanced and raised the gun again, but not quickly enough. Harlin fired, and there was a smack on my shoulder, forceful enough to twist me. I dropped the gun and fell against the side of the tender. Harlin rammed me again. The tender tipped, violently, and I fell into the black water of the mangroves and went under.

For a while there was only darkness, a sucking blackness that might have been a womb or a nightmare. It made me think, later, that nightmares were not much more than memories of the womb, because you want to cry out and you cannot, and you want to move and you cannot. I sucked for breath and the sea rushed in. I could not move and I could not scream. Then somehow I was back on the surface and coughing up seawater and fighting for air, and I only knew I was still alive because of the burning in my throat. I went down again, but again I came back up. I could move my legs enough to stay afloat, but not to swim.

The water was cold. My shoulder was starting to hurt, but the cold dulled the pain. I wondered, with the detachment of the dying, if sharks liked to feed in mangroves at night and decided they probably did. Sharks can smell a drop of blood a mile away, so the myth said. It was probably true. I was pretty sure I was bleeding more than a drop of blood. I was probably bleeding enough to attract sharks from South Africa. I could move the fingers of my right hand, but not my arm. I was weak. I supposed I would get weaker as I lost more blood. It was harder now to keep my head above water. I wondered if I should stop struggling.

I heard a motor and thought Harlin might be coming back to finish the job. It was still dark. Torchlight stabbed at me and a boat sidled up. I felt like going under. Someone grabbed me by the hair.

I must have blacked out because the next thing I knew I was lying on solid ground and Harlin was tending my shoulder. Later I worked out he was using the bandage Melody had used to strap my side. When he finished the bandaging he put his face over mine, very close. There was a grey light in the sky now.

‘Does it hurt?'

‘Like a son of a bitch.' I wanted it to sound nonchalant, but it came out as a raspy whisper.

‘You'll survive.'

‘You gotta stop grabbing people by the hair, Harlin.' I don't know if he heard or understood. His unreachable, unknowable eyes looked at me from another planet. ‘Listen to me, West. I didn't kill Hiskey. Tell the cops. I didn't kill him. Tell them that, West.'

‘Who did?'

‘How the fuck would I know? It wasn't me. I didn't kill him.'

‘You shot me.'

‘You shot at me first. You can't shoot for shit.' The bags under his eyes were purple; they looked like rotten plums. There was a bruise on his forehead, perhaps where Melody had hit him with the axe handle. ‘I heard the hammer was in your car. Who gave you the hammer?'

‘Don't you know?' I was finding it difficult to remain engaged in the conversation.

‘I want to hear it from you.'

‘Your fingerprints on it.'

‘Of course it had my fingerprints on it.'

‘Hiskey's blood.'

‘Of course it had his blood on it.' I could see nothing but exhaustion in his face. It was more than the exhaustion of a sleepless night. It was much deeper than that. ‘Who gave you the hammer?'

‘Don't know.'

‘Bullshit.'

‘Leave Melody alone.'

‘I'm over her. I'm over you. I'm over it all.'

He stood up and was gone, leaving me staring up at a dirty sky.

I tried to move. It wasn't easy. I felt like resting. I rested.

I came to, some time later. The sun was up. I managed to sit, but someone tugged on the red-hot cable that was threaded through my shoulder and I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain. After a while I managed to open them again. I was on a sorry mud beach on the edge of the clinging mangroves. Pneumatophores reached up like fingers, and there was a stench of rotting organic matter. Harlin's tinny had been pulled onto the beach, but there was no sign of the tender. I tried to stand. I made it to my knees.

I decided to crawl. I clawed the mud with my left hand. I made progress. A turtle would have been proud. I was thirsty. Eating mud didn't help. I tried to stand again and this time succeeded. I made it to the top of the beach. There was a road, a dirt road. It looked as if a car would drive along it every year or two. I got to the middle of it before collapsing.