The Easy Sin (13 page)

“The bulletin board is full, Headquarters told me. We've got more strike forces than they had in World War Two. While you were out today, they tried to hand us three more homicides. I told ‘em the locals had to handle ‘em themselves. The point is, the dead maid, Juanita, has become unimportant. But if we get two more murders on our hands, Mr. Magee and his girlfriend . . . Okay, I'll try again. I'll ring Greg Random and see what he can do.”

“That superintendent's job can't come soon enough.”

“Bullshit,” said Clements and went off.

Malone stood alone in the suddenly deserted lobby, wondering what life would be like out there in the comfort zone, wondering if that was what he really wanted.

III

“Phoenix Briskin?” said the woman from Centrelink; she was new and had not interviewed him before. “Phoenix? You made that up yourself ?”

“No, me mother give it to me. It was her favourite song.” He hummed a bar or two. “By the time I get to Phoenix—” He broke off, gave her his cowboy's smile. “She liked ‘Wichita Lineman,' too. All them Glen Campbell songs.”

“Why didn't she call you Phoenix Wichita then?”

He knew the bitch was taking the piss out of him. All these fucking people who worked for the government were the same. He'd show ‘em when he got his share of the Magee ransom.

“You're going to have to pull your socks up, son,” she said, looking at his papers. “Two jobs in
three
weeks. We don't run a place where you takes your choice. What happened?”

He hadn't even turned up at the first job. “The manager, he was gay. He kept wanting to feel me up.”

“Why didn't you come back and complain?”

“How could I? You know, that whatdotheycallit? That Anti-Discrimination thing.”

She sighed, not believing him; it was written all over her face. “Okay, what about the second job? The brickie's labourer? That should've suited you. You're built like—like—” She wasn't supposed to insult those who came here, but sometimes it was difficult not to.

He helped her out: “Like a brick shithouse? Yeah, that's what me brother says. I stayed three days, that job, but I hadda leave.”

“Why?” She sounded as if she had asked this question a thousand times.

“Sun cancers. I was out in the open air alla time, I get sun cancers.”

“Where'd you get that tan, then?”

“It's natural. Me father's half-Tongan.” Clyde had come from a long line of Yorkshiremen. “He's related to Jonah Lomu.”

“Who?” She knew nothing about football, of any code. She had her own sporting problems, she was a dysfunctional synchronized swimmer, she always put up one foot too many when she was under water. She sighed, wondering why she hadn't taken a job down a coal mine. “I don't believe a word of it, Phoenix. Here. You walk out on this job and we cut off your welfare cheque.” She sorted through papers on her desk, extracted one and handed it to him. “You can start today.”

He looked at the piece of paper. “Lavatory attendant?”

“You've got the build for it,” she said and looked out at the other hopefuls. “Next!”

Phoenix Briskin was blind with fury when he walked out of the Centrelink office. He stepped on to a pedestrian crossing right in front of a Range Rover driven by a woman with six kids in the vehicle.

IV

“
Mum, for Crissakes, there's a police car coming up the road!” Corey had been sitting out on the cottage's narrow front verandah, wondering if he would retire to the bush, on a bigger spread than this, if and when he got his share of the five million bucks. He liked the peace and quiet, he had come to recognize the different types of trees, he even knew some of the bird calls. If he could find a decent bird, of the human kind, to settle down with, there would be worse ways of living.

But at the same time he was despondent, wondering what they would do if nobody came up with the ransom money. Then he looked down the distant road and saw the police car creeping up towards them like a stalking blue-and-white dog.

Shirlee came to the screen door, but didn't come out on to the verandah. “Go down to the gate and see what they want. I'll take care of His Nibs.”

She went back into the kitchen, donned one of the blue hoods, took a long carving knife and went into the bedroom where Errol Magee, half-asleep, sat slumped in his chair. He blinked and looked up as she came in, holding the knife in front of her as if about to use it.

“You open your mouth and I'll cut your throat.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if suggesting she might give him a slice of roast beef.

He was so tired and despairing he was almost beyond fear. “You would, too, wouldn't you?”

“Try me. Now shut up!”

Outside Corey had gone down from the verandah and, forcing himself not to hurry, walked the fifty-yard path down to the battered front gate where the police car had just come to a stop. Two cops got out, a stout, grey-haired sergeant and a tall young constable who looked uncomfortable. The Briskins had never had any dealings with the local police and Corey had never seen these two before.

“Mr. Briskin?”

Corey nodded, keeping himself together. If they wanted to search the house, he was not going to fight them; while their backs were turned he would make for the timber and Mum could look after herself. He would not be deserting her, he knew she would tell him to run.

“I'm afraid we've got some bad news. Not tragic news, but bad news.”

“
My sister?” He had always been protective of Darlene.

“No, your—brother?” The sergeant looked at his notebook, then looked again. “Phoenix? That his name?”

“Yeah. We call him Pheeny or Nix. What's happened to him?”

“He stepped off the footpath, far's we can gather, right in front of a four-wheel drive. He's in St. George's Hospital in intensive care.”

“How'd you find us here?” Had Pheeny been babbling while unconscious?

“The Hurstville police went to your home. The next-door neighbour said you hadn't been there for a coupla days, you were probably down here at your weekender. They phoned us and Constable Haywood here, he remembered seeing your car when he drove past here this morning.”

Corey wondered why Constable Haywood would have driven up this deserted road this morning, but he wasn't going to ask him. “I'll go up straight away, see my brother. Anyone else hurt?”

The sergeant looked at his notebook again. “Everybody but the woman driver of the vehicle. Evidently after she hit your brother, she went up on to the footpath and hit a pole. There were—” he checked his notebook again, “there were six kids in the vehicle, none of ‘em wearing a seat-belt. All six are in hospital with broken noses, smashed teeth, concussion. Quite a mess, evidently.”

Just like you, Pheeny, We want things fucked up, leave it to you
. “Okay, I'll go up. Thanks for the info.”

“You got someone here with you? Constable Haywood said he saw a woman out the back when he drove past this morning.”

Bloody Hawkeye Haywood
. “My mother. She's laying down right now. I'll tell her.”

“You want any help? Case she, you know, collapses or something. It's pretty shattering news for a mother.”

You dunno my mum
. “No, she'll be okay. We'll go up straight away. Thanks.”

“We'll wait and give you an escort out as far as the main road. Take your time.”

All at once Corey, irrationally, wished Pheeny was here so that he could kick his dumb arse.
Jesus,
you couldn't trust him to cross the road . . . Then he saw his mother coming down from the house, minus the hood and the knife.

“Some problems?” She was wiping her hands on her apron, ready to deal with any problems.

“Yeah, Mum—” He explained what had happened. “Pheeny's in hospital, in intensive care.”

“And six children,” said the sergeant and looked at his notebook again. “All under eight years old. In hospital. Not intensive care, fortunately.”

“Oh, the poor dears!” Shirlee sounded as if she had devoted her life to the care of children. “Well, we better get up there, Corey.”

“The police are gunna escort us as far as the main road, Mum.”

If Shirlee was fazed by the complication, it didn't show. “No, sergeant. I have to get things for Phoenix—pyjamas, things like that. I wouldn't think of holding you up. Thank you for bringing us the news. We'll let you know how my son is when we get back. Come on, Corey, I need some help.”

She turned and went back up the path; the general had despatched the troops. Corey looked at the police and shrugged. “That's Mum. She'll run the hospital when we get there.”

The sergeant looked after the disappearing Shirlee. “Yeah, well—” Then he, too, shrugged. “Okay, give us a call when you get back, let's know how things are. Drive carefully.”

They got back into the police car, it swung round and went back down the road, raising a little dust as if that was what all police visits did. Corey looked after it, cursing, then he ran up the path and into the house.

“You stay here—” Shirlee had a suitcase on the kitchen table, was folding a pair of Phoenix's pyjamas. “If they pull me up down the road, the police, I'll tell ‘em you stayed behind to tell Darlene what happened.”

“How's she gunna get back from the station? When I dropped her off this morning I said I'd be there to meet the train. Four o'clock, I dunno, something like that.”

“She's got her mobile. Call her, tell her to meet me at the hospital. I wish Pheeny'd listen to me. I told him to buy a dressing-gown. How's he gunna look, walking around the hospital in this?” She held
up
a plastic mac.

“Mum, for Crissakes, stop worrying about how he's gunna look! He's in intensive care, he's not gunna be wandering around the fucking hospital!”

“Wash your mouth out.”

She closed the suitcase, pulled on a light coat. She was neat and professional, a hospital visitor. She would have Pheeny out of his coma in no time.

“Look after His Nibs.”

“You look after yourself, Mum.”

“I always do.”

She picked up the suitcase. Brisk now as a regimental sergeant-major, a breed more practical than generals; they are close, not to the big picture but the small picture of war, which is where you are wounded or die. She went out by the screen door and down to their car, a light-grey Toyota (“if you're gunna hold up a service station,” Clyde had advised, “you always wanna have a car that's hard to identify, no fancy colours”). A minute later Corey heard the car drive away.

He put on one of the hoods and went into the bedroom. Errol Magee looked up at him, shifted uncomfortably in his straps. “What's going on? You heard from anyone about the ransom?”

“No luck, sport. I'm beginning to think you're expendable. They've got to the bottom line and you don't add up. At the end of the day.” He had taken to reading the financial pages once they had planned the kidnapping.

Magee slumped in his chair. After a while he looked across at Corey, who had sat down in a chair. The blue hood faced him impassively.

“You ever give up hope?”

“I dunno,” said Corey. “I was never the hopeful sort. I just took things as they come.”

“I read something once. Hope is the prayer of fools.”

“I dunno nothing about prayers. You must of been pretty hopeful when you first started out. You weren't a fool, were you?”

“
Do you care what I was?”

“I dunno. Maybe I do. You must of had a life like I never dreamed of.
Hoped for.
What happened, sport? You got greedy?”

“I guess so.” He would never have talked like this to Kylie or Caroline or any of the other women in his life. But they had never been threatening . . . “Are you going to kill me?”

“I dunno. I'd keep hoping, sport. Or praying.” Corey stood up. “You wanna a leak or something?”

V

The police car was parked on the main road, just south of where the dirt road entered. Constable Haywood nudged his sergeant as the Toyota came out of the side road. “The mother's on her own. Why isn't her son going up to see how his brother is? I would.”

“Jack, never interfere in a family, ‘less you have to. He might hate his brother's guts, for all we know.”

“I still think I might go up there later, after I've dropped you off back at the station. Just a social call.”

“Please yourself. In the meantime we're supposed to be looking at semi-trailers doing more than eighty along this stretch. Here comes one now. He looks a sucker for a ticket.” He raised the speed camera, aimed it at the truck came towards them. “How about that! Ninety-seven. Let's go and give him an Easter card.”

5

I

“YOU HAD
lunch with Romy today,” said Malone. “What did you talk about?”

“World politics,” said Lisa. “Women's rights. Public transport.”

“Neither of you ever travel by public transport.”

They were in the kitchen, she at the stove, he sitting at the table sipping a light beer. It was a very modern kitchen, refurbished a year ago at what was, by Malone's standards, great expense; but it was a workplace, not a sterile display of kitchen furniture. Lisa's touch, that of
home
, was in every room in the Federation house. The house was a hundred years old and year after year it had survived, under various owners, as a
home
.

“Did Russ ask you to ask me what we talked about?”

“No. I left him at the Aurora building—they've got a stake-out there. What
did
you talk about?”

“Stupidity. Men's. Open the wine, give it some time to breathe. Why on earth did Russ risk all that money?”

“He's admitted it. Greed. What are we having?”