Pay Dirt (16 page)

In other circumstances he might have
enjoyed his flight across the forgotten back country. They said land like this
was blandblindness, Wyatt thought, taking in the purples and greens, the
tortured shapes. The sun was mild on his back. The spring wildflowers were out
and the sky was cloudless. He risked another glance over his shoulder. The
farmhouse and sheds were out of view. There was no helicopter yet.

But the reversals of the past hour
wouldnt let him alone. He thought about Leahs STD call to her contact, her
trips away from the farm. Snyder puzzled him. Snyder had been too keen to go
back to the farmhouse. He felt more certain about Tobin. Given that the other
aspects of the plan had been duplicated, it was reasonable to suppose that Tobin
had been used to shift the van. And it was Leah whod brought Tobin into the
team. Hed find her. Hed find both of them.

He began to pick a way out of the
worst of the stone reefs and hidden gullies. Before him lay undulating
farmland. It was fenced, immense paddocks of grassy slopes dotted with ancient
gum trees. Sheep had spread across one end of the closest paddock, several
hundred of them grazing head down in the long grass. He opened a gate, closed
it behind him and set out across the paddock, mindful that snarls of fencing
wire might be caught in the grass. There was a gravel road at the far end of
the paddock. He intended to travel along it for a few kilometres then cut
across country again.

Something passed across the sun
behind him. It threw a shadow that was gone as suddenly as it was there. Wyatt
didnt look back or increase speed. He changed direction slightly. A few
seconds later he was wobbling in low gear at the leading edge of the sheep.

Wyatt had built his life on blending
in so he wouldnt be noticed. It was automatic. Now he was doing it again. He
steered in and around the sheep, stopping occasionally, waving an arm. Hed
never done anything like this before. He didnt know anything about sheep. But
they seemed to be doing the right thing. They were fat, their bellies full, and
they moved hurriedly a short distance and appeared to forget about him again,
yet bit by bit they were bunching up. Now and then some of them streamed away
from the mob, wild-eyed and mindless, but he had no trouble heading them off.
He hoped it looked right from the air. He lacked one essential prop, a dog, but
he hoped he looked as though he belonged here.

Then he did something hed seen a
farmer do a few weeks earlier, when he was pipe-laying north of Belcowie.
Standing the bike on its stand, he charged into the mob, wrestled a sheep to
the ground, and leaned down to examine its hindquarters.

When the Brava helicopter stopped
circling, dropping to just above the ground fifty metres away, the pilot and
passengers saw a farmer start in surprise, a sheep propped butt down against
his knees. The surprise changed to anger. He shook his fist at them. Bugger
off, he seemed to be saying. Youre spooking the sheep.

Wyatt saw faces grin at him. Then
the rotor tilted, the tail lifted, and the chopper left him in peace.

* * * *

THIRTY-ONE

It
was the longest afternoon of Raymond Triggs life. Four hundred thousand bucks
sitting there in the repair shop and it couldnt be touched until knock-off
time.

He spent the hours until then
answering his phone, paying bills and biting his nails. He thought the girls in
reception looked at him oddly but he couldnt be sure. Happy was okay, Happy
had valves to grind and punctures to mend. The problemapart from the
waitingwas Tobin. Tobin stuck out like a sore thumb in his shorts and singlet
and orange shades. The girls knew who he wasthe man who delivered or picked up
parcels from time to timebut Trigg didnt want them asking why he was hanging
around.

I dont know why we dont just take
the lot and disappear, Tobin said. Hed been saying this since they got back. Thats
why I told you about the job in the first place.

You dont know the Mesics, my son.
Theyd track us down and wed be found in little pieces. Im not going to
debate about it. Three hundred thousand will get the Mesics off our backs, and
we split the rest. Except you still owe me twenty grand for the last few
consignments.

Yeah, well, that pisses me off. It
should be sale or return. Im expected to fork out twenty thousand bucks for
pills and videos, but no ones buying, the economys too fucked.

Look, Im busy, okay? Why dont you
take in a movie?

It took Tobin a moment to absorb
this. A movie?

We got a twin cinema, Trigg said.
He was leafing through the
Mid-North Gazette.
Cinema OneThree Men and
a Baby.

Seen it. Heap of shit.

Cinema TwoTwins.

Never heard of it.

Trigg peered at the advertisement. Arnold
Schwarzeneggers in it.

Tobin scratched his jaw and screwed
up his face. Might be all right.

Gets out at five, Trigg said. Maybe
if you had a beer or two after, by the time you get back here the girls wouldve
gone home and we can start cracking the van.

Tobins face narrowed in suspicion. You
wouldnt be pulling a swifty?

Dont be a moron. We cant do
anything till knock off time.

Tobin flushed. Yeah, well, he
said, and he headed off down the street to the mall.

When he was gone, Trigg thought
about the Steelgard van and the money. The doors wouldnt be a problem. The
thermal lance and jaws-of-life gear would take care of the doors. After the
money was removed, Happy would dismantle the CO cylinder, hose and tap hed put
in place when the van was last serviced.

Venables had been anxious about the gas.
Hed wanted to know what sort it was. Trigg told him sleeping gas. Then hed
wanted to know how come it was necessary. We dont want the guard seeing any
faces, hearing any voices, Trigg said. Venables frowned, hunting for holes in
the story. When should I turn on the tap? he asked. As soon as youve left Vimy
Ridge, Trigg told him.

Still Venables hadnt liked it. Was
Trigg sure it would work? Was he sure the cops wouldnt think it was an inside
job?

You trying to chicken out? Trigg had
demanded. You want to go on paying me interest for the rest of your life? Do
this little thing for me, old son, and all your debts are cancelled.

Stupid prick.

All that remained now was to clear
up a few loose ends, get rid of the evidence, deliver the money to Melbourne.

Trigg was looking forward to that
part of it. Hed rung to say he was coming over. He had a plane ordered for
seven that evening. Goyder Air Service didnt run to Lear Jets but theyd
assured him they had a turbo-prop Beechcraft that was fast and comfortable. Get
him to Melbourne before ten oclock, they said. Well, the local graziers did
this sort of thing all the time, flew interstate to the ram sales wearing their
moleskins, Akubras and R. M. Williams elastic-sided boots, and Trigg didnt see
why he shouldnt pose a bit too.

Except your average grazier these
days doesnt carry three hundred grand around with him.

Trigg thought about how it would go
at the other end. He could take a taxi to the Mesic compound, but something
about that seemed low-class. He reached for the intercom.

Liz?

Yes, Mr Trigg.

I want you to get on the blower and
see if you can arrange a limo for me.

Pardon?

Doesnt have to be a stretch limo.
An ordinary one will do, like a Jag. So long as its black and theres a
chauffeur and hes waiting when I touch down in Melbourne tonight.

There was a long pause. Trigg
waited. He knew the locals were a bit slow. It took them a while to take on
board new notions like stretch limos, even though they saw them on TV all the
time. Got that? he asked.

Yes, Mr Trigg.

Good girl.

Drive up to the compound gates in
the limo, wait while the guy at the gate calls ahead for permission to let him
in, then creep slowly through the compound to the main house.

The compound. Trigg had never seen
anything like it before. The Mesics had bought up an entire suburban block in
Melbourne, knocked down most of the houses except one for the servants, erected
two mansionsone for the old man, the other for Leo Mesic and his wifeplanted
a few trees, built a high fence around it, put in the latest alarm system and a
few armed guards, and no one could touch them.

That was the way your top boys did
it these days.

This time tomorrow, Trigg thought,
the Mesics will be three hundred grand richer. Theyll also be off my frigging
back.

At five-thirty he left the office
and went through to reception. Marg, as usual, had slipped away early. Liz was
staring into space. How did you go? he asked her.

Sorry?

It was always the same. He said it
again, slowly, carefully. The limo. Were you able to line up a limo for me in
Melbourne?

Liz beamed. Sorry, yes, something
called an SEL.

Mercedes, Trigg thought. Nice.

But I couldnt arrange one this
end.

Now it was Triggs turn to look
perplexed. Sorry?

I asked around. No one does
chauffeur cars in Goyder.

Trigg counted to ten. Thats okay.
Ill drive myself. Youve done a good job. He looked at his watch. Well, if
youve finished for the day you might as well toddle off home.

Liz got into a muddle over that but
by five-forty he was alone. He went across to the service bay where Happy was
greasing a Volvo. All set?

Happy didnt reply. He usually didnt.
He put down the wrench he was using, wiped his hands and together they crossed
the lot to the panel-beating shed.

It was crowded in there. When the
good folk of Goyder were asleep in their beds on Sunday evening, they intended
to dump the truck with the van still aboard it into Hallam Gorge, but until
then they had to edge around each other, avoiding the old-fashioned mechanics
pit in the floor. Next to the pit was a new hydraulic hoist, still in its
packing case. Bags of cement were stacked against one wall.

Trigg and Happy dragged cutting
equipment to the rear doors of the Steelgard van and started work. They had
just cut out the lock on the Steelgard van when Tobin found them. He was beery
and flatulent, wavering on his feet as he watched Happy prise open the doors.
He burped. Wasnt your usual Arnie.

This was too much for Trigg. He
turned and snarled, What the hell are you on about?

The movie. Nothing like your usual
Schwarzenegger.

Trigg turned away from him in time
to see the doors spring open. The guard lay sprawled on the floor of the van.
There were steel cabinets built into the floor and walls. Thats where the
money would be.

Trigg thought he might as well do it
now. In a single motion he picked up a steel mallet and swung around with it,
adjusting for Tobins height. The metal head was swinging upwards when it
smacked under Tobins jaw. Tobin dropped as if all the elasticity had gone out
of him. Trigg hit him again to make sure, then tumbled him into the pit. He let
Happy do the guard.

* * * *

THIRTY-TWO

Wyatt
spilled off the bike sometime in the middle of the afternoon. It was a bad
fall, leaving him bruised and winded. Partly it was the change in the terrain.
As he pushed farther south the grazing land gave way to cultivated landwheat,
oats, barley, peas, lucerne, all tightly sown in coarse, ploughed furrows. The
Suzukis front tyre hit irrigation piping concealed in thick lucerne. The
handlebars were wrenched out of his grasp, and he was off. He landed heavily on
his side, one leg twisted under the bike frame. He lay there for a minute,
thinking how quiet it was without the engine screaming under him. The stubby
lucerne, crushed and tangled under his cheek, smelt fresh and clean. He longed
to stay there, but the exhaust pipe began to burn through his overalls.

He struggled free and stood up. It
was more than the change in terrain, he realised. Hed been rough-riding the
Suzuki for almost three hours and he was tired, his body so jarred that he didnt
trust his judgement any more.

The spill helped him decidehe
needed to rest, and he needed to find a car. He looked around. The farmland
here was more closely settled. There was a town in the distance. A bitumen road
went through it. Wyatt counted the traffic. There seemed to be a vehicle every
minute or so.

There were other reasons why he
should dump the bike. The cops would have found bike tracks at the farm by now.
Sooner or later theyd compare notes with the chopper crew and realise that the
figure theyd seen looking at his sheep hadnt been a farmer. Theyd also got a
good look at his face, so hed have to do something about that soon as well.
And he could smell petrol. Some had spilled onto the ground. He shook the bike:
there wasnt much in the tank. He would rather steal a car than a tankful of
petrol for the bike.

He uprooted clumps of lucerne,
covered the bike and set off across the paddocks on foot. He felt exposed. The
sky above him was open, the flat land benign under the afternoon sun, but he
knew it could turn bad quickly. Two men shot to death, signs of occupancy in an
abandoned farmhouse nearby; a missing security van with up to half a million on
boardit all added up to crusading cops, trigger-happy farmers and nervy
civilians all over the state. The search would be big and thorough and there
wouldnt be any second chances once theyd found him.