ThornyDevils (20 page)

‘Slugger’s. I saw him there.’ Peter paused, thinking of how Sam could ever be considered a honey trap. ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

‘Two blokes turned up after lunch. Tough. Hairy. Like bikies, you know the sort. They looked like trouble.’

‘See or hear what they were up to?’

‘Too busy working. I couldn’t hear anything, but they looked pretty matey with Robbie.’

‘And?’

‘They left after an hour.’

‘I know I don’t have to tell you how important it is for you to be careful. If you feel that you’re in danger, get out of there, pronto.’

‘These blokes are pretty bad,’ Sam remarked.

‘Drugs and death: I reckon that’s their business. Just keep your wits about you,’ Peter added. ‘You’re not James Bond.’

‘No. I’m better.’ Sam laughed as he dished up dinner. ‘I’m the black James Bond.’

***

Peter rolled from one end of his saggy bed to the other, cuddling two flat pillows. Something had woken him up, but he didn’t know if it was Sam’s shrill snoring coming from the other room or Dave, who occasionally cried out from night terrors. Peter needed noise to sleep, just not that kind of noise. He remembered once lying on a trolley in an accident and emergency cubicle at the Royal Melbourne for six hours with a broken hand and having the best sleep of his life. Of course, the liberal supply of morphine might have been a contributory factor.

He needed the hum of the traffic and the chatter of people on the street to sleep, but it wasn’t working tonight. He checked the alarm clock. Twelve-thirty. He fell back onto the pillows and stared at the
ceiling. He had an idea why he was clock-watching: It was the story, rattling along in the back of his mind. The rattling had become so loud that it had woken him up in the middle of the night. He always got like that with big stories. They took over his life and enveloped him in a battle between self-doubt and elation. At that moment, he was definitely in doubt mode. He wondered if this was how soldiers felt when they were about to go into combat.

He sat up again, pressing his eyes with his palms, sufficiently awake to contemplate whether he needed something to send him back to sleep. A beer perhaps, or something stronger? He rolled out of bed and was drifting towards the kitchen when his eyes were drawn to the glass pane in the front door. Was that a shadow? Then a gentle rap on the door. Peter stopped dead. Another gentle rap. He bent double so he couldn’t be seen from outside and crept towards the door. Should he wake the boys? Although he couldn’t make out the identity of his midnight visitor, there was something familiar about the outline. He unlocked the door quietly and peeled it open.

‘Stella?’ Peter whispered. What was it with these surprise home visits?

She had already started walking back down the stairs, but she turned when she heard Peter’s voice. ‘Sorry. I thought you might still be awake but when I realised you weren’t…I decided to leave. Shit. You know what I mean,’ she murmured.

‘I was awake. Couldn’t sleep. Do you want to come in? I was going to have a drink,’ Peter opened the door wider.

Stella peered in through doorway and caught a glimpse of Dave sleeping on the couch. ‘I shouldn’t.’

‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’

‘We have to talk,’ she stammered. ‘In private. I need to tell someone otherwise I won’t be able to sleep.’

‘You’ve got sleeping problems too.’ Peter yawned. ‘Okay. Meet me down at the Stag. It’s parked out front. We’ll talk there.’

Stella was leaning against the Stag, her arms crossed tightly against a chilly wind blowing off the bay. Peter had thrown on an old tracksuit and slippers. He held two Milos in faded mugs.

‘You Aussie guys really know how to impress, don’t you?’ she smiled as Peter unlocked the passenger door.

‘If you’d phoned to say you were coming I’d’ve worn a better
tracksuit.’ He crossed to the driver’s side and unlocked his door. Once inside the cabin, Peter turned over the engine, flicked on the heater and the overhead light. It flickered into life and bathed the cabin in a faint glow.

‘Brilliant,’ Stella remarked as she looked up at the light. ‘I can barely see anything in here.’

‘Your eyes will get used to it,’ Peter replied, handing her a mug. ‘This will make you feel better.’

‘It’s warm,’ Stella flinched as she reluctantly took a sip. ‘But what the hell is it?’

‘You’ve never tasted Milo before? It’s a little like cocoa, I guess.’

‘I was expecting something stronger.’

‘I’m trying to cut back,’ Peter admitted, taking a sip. ‘Ran out of milk, so it’s a bit watery. Sorry.’

‘I think I’ll stick to bourbon,’ Stella grimaced.

Peter took another drink. ‘Is this about your date with McCracken?’

‘In a way,’ she replied. ‘At least, that’s how it started out. It’s not how it ended.’

‘What do you mean?’ Peter revved the engine. The heater fan sped up and the light grew brighter.

‘Do you mind if I turn that off?’ Stella clicked off the light and the fan sped up again. ‘Makes me feel a little like we’re on show. Well,’ she began, ‘I went on the date with McCracken. I don’t know why. It was the Dale McCracken appreciation show. My God, that man has an inflated view of himself.’ She took a tentative drink. ‘I guess I might learn to like this if I live here for another twenty years.’

‘Did he disclose any gems of information, apart from himself?’

‘He actually said something complimentary about you,’ she smiled.

‘Sure he did. I’d make good road kill, or something like that?’

‘In his own words: you’re a tenacious prick.’

‘I like that!’

‘I got nothing out of him about the investigation. He was very evasive. I reckon he thought the great Dale McCracken would be able to get me into bed.’

‘And?’

‘Not that I’d ever tell you, but he only managed to give me a sloppy kiss in the car park.’ She sighed with relief. ‘I got out of there as fast as I could.’

‘You woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that?’

‘But it’s what happened afterwards,’ she continued. ‘That’s when it all went down.’ She shifted around to face Peter. ‘McCracken went off all angry. I was about to start the car and drive home,’ she fell silent and looked past him out the window.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’ve been in this kind of situation before,’ she resumed. ‘I started the car and next minute this guy jumps in the front seat, reaches across me and pulls the keys out of the ignition. It was frightening.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘He was wearing a ski mask. He was a big guy. That’s all I could tell about him. And he had an Australian accent.’

‘Did he try to…’

‘Thank God, no, he didn’t,’ she replied. ‘He wanted to give me information about McCracken.’

‘What information?’ Peter sat up straighter.

‘All he said was that McCracken’s on the take. And he has the evidence to prove it. He gave me this.’ Stella clicked the light back on and wedged the mug between her knees. She took a folded manila envelope out of her handbag and handed it to Peter.

‘It’s a photo,’ he said as he took it out of the envelope. He held it up to the light. ‘Shit!’

‘I know McCracken’s there,’ she resumed as she looked across to study the photograph. ‘I’m not too sure about the other guys. Those women look like hookers.’

‘They do.’ Peter held the photograph closer and rotated it. ‘I suppose the other blokes could be Tommy O’Leary and Tony Donarto.’

‘If you’re right then it sure is interesting company he keeps.’

‘I guess cops have the right to as much kinky sex as the next guy,’ Peter surmised. ‘It’s who they fuck
with
that’s the real problem.’

‘The ski mask guy says he has more. Much more. He says that this is just the tip of the iceberg.’

‘Did he say when he would see you again?’

‘He just said he’d be in touch.’

‘Have you told Bob?’

‘Not yet. I didn’t want to wake him.’

‘Thanks,’ Peter began, ‘but you don’t mind…Ah, forget it.’

‘That’s what teamwork is all about, buddy,’ Stella laughed. ‘I know you’re not used to working with a partner, but this is what teams do.’

Peter gave a wry grin. ‘Do you think it is safe to go back to your place tonight?’

‘Concerned for my welfare, Clancy? Are you inviting me to stay in your flea-ridden apartment?’

‘If you feel frightened,’ Peter replied. ‘You’re welcome, of course.’

‘I’m fine—all in a day’s work,’ she rejoined. ‘I’d feel a lot safer with my handgun and can of mace but they wouldn’t let me bring it into the country. But I can still handle myself without them.’

‘I’m sure you can. Shame about the gun, though.’ Peter rolled his eyes.

‘You don’t like guns?’ Stella observed.

‘I’m not a fan. In my experience they’re big, noisy things that put holes in people, sometimes for no apparent reason.’

‘We’ll have this argument another time. Better get some sleep.’ Stella handed Peter her mug, shoved the envelope back into her handbag and opened her door.

‘Good luck with that.’ He switched off the engine and watched as Stella disappeared down the lane.
Thanks a lot. How the hell am I supposed to sleep now, Stella?

Peter had already been at work for a half hour before Stella arrived, bleary eyed and unusually dishevelled. He was congratulating himself on his self-restraint, when the urge to ask Stella whether she’d been able to get any sleep got the better of him.

‘You look like a train wreck,’ he blurted.

‘Thanks. Right back at you.’

They sat together in Peter’s cubicle, too impatient to start any work. Stella fidgeted with the envelope, occasionally looking up the corridor.

‘Hurry up, Bob,’ she muttered, ‘where are you?’

Peter stared at the blank sheet of paper in his word processor while sipping a cup of coffee. ‘I think I can hear his wheeze coming up the steps.’ He cocked his head to listen.

‘That’s Bob? I thought that was a vacuum cleaner. My God, Bob. Stop smoking!’ Stella exclaimed. Everyone assumed those few steps were going to kill Bob sooner or later.

Please don’t let it be today, Bob
, Peter thought.
We really need you today.

‘What’s wrong? Looks like neither of you have slept a wink,’ Bob gasped as they loitered about the door to his office.

‘Too much happening to sleep. It’s party time, Bob,’ Stella said, grimly holding up the envelope and flicking it across Bob’s desk. ‘McCracken, Donarto, O’Leary. Only this time, we’re invited.’

Bob tipped the photographs onto his desk and raised his brows. ‘What do we have here?’ he said as he studied them. ‘Well, it certainly looks like them.’

‘Do you want to run with it now?’ Stella asked.

‘Too soon,’ Bob grumbled as he gathered the photographs together and put them back into the envelope. ‘Let’s see how far this goes.’

‘It might be all we get.’

‘Let’s see if this bloke turns up again. Don’t be too hasty.’ Bob leaned back on his chair, deep in thought. ‘Meanwhile,’ he resumed, ‘where do you want to keep these?’ He handed them back to Stella. ‘I suggest they be put somewhere no one would suspect, under lock and key.’

‘Peter can have them,’ Stella said as she gave the envelope to Peter.

‘Are you sure?’ Bob asked.

‘Yeah?’ Peter added. ‘Why me?’

‘I trust you,’ Stella smiled. ‘And that apartment of yours will be perfect. Three men living in two rooms. No one would think of breaking into a place like that.’

‘Don’t lose them,’ Bob warned pointing his index finger, ‘or I’ll cut off your nuts and feed them to you.’ He watched Peter squirm. ‘I mean it.’

‘What about Stella’s safety?’ Peter asked. ‘This bloke could be a psycho.’

‘Stella can handle herself. I’ve seen her in action,’ Bob chuckled, imitating a karate chop.

‘Stella’s fine,’ she looked at Peter. ‘I’m no dainty little princess.’

‘All right,’ Peter said, holding up his hands, ‘I hear you loud and clear. Won’t mention it again.’

He just got the last syllable out when the scanner in Stella’s hand started to screech.

Report of a single shot heard at 15 Acacia Drive, Templestowe. All cars in the vicinity…

‘Hey,’ Peter exploded, ‘that’s Tony Donarto’s.’

‘See what comes of speaking of the devil?’ said Stella, fumbling with the scanner. ‘Do you want me to go, Bob?’ She bounced out of her chair throwing the scanner into her handbag.

‘Yeah, go.’ Bob snapped. ‘The Donartos are yours. Go. Peter, you stay here, with me.’

‘I’ll take your car, Bob,’ Stella blurted as she rushed to the door.

‘And take Dave with you.’

‘Yeah. Yeah. Got it.’ She swung open the door.

‘One more thing, Stella.’

‘Yeah, Bob? I’m in a goddamned hurry.’

‘Remember, we drive on the left side of the road.’

Stella slammed the door but not before flicking Bob the bird.

‘Sorry, Peter, we needed to talk. Did Sam get the job?’ Bob asked, still grinning.

‘I don’t know how he did it, but he’s working a forklift for the O’Learys.’ Peter said. ‘Now we wait for Sam to pass on any information.’

‘I half wish he hadn’t got the job,’ Bob exhaled.

‘You mean that?’

‘Well, think about it. If we get caught we’re in a big shit. Really big shit. And anything could happen to Sam.’

‘Sam’s willing to take the risk. I’m willing to take the risk. If you are, Bob…’

‘I don’t have too many more years of this, so what a way to go out. A story that could take us to the top. It would make the other papers really take notice of
The Truth
. Isn’t that what we all dream of?’

‘You reckon that deep down all journos are either really insecure little creatures or total egomaniacs?’

‘Mostly both,’ Bob laughed.

‘Or just FITH,’ Peter returned with a snort.

***

Peter stared at the same empty page on the word processor. He typed a sentence, then stopped and backspaced over it.
This teamwork stuff sucks.
Peter tore the paper out of the processor and threw it on the floor.
I’m in the office typing empty words while Stella is out gathering the juicy details. What justice is there in that? Teams usually play ball at the same place at the same time. But not us.