ThornyDevils (30 page)

‘Seems to be working out that way.’

‘Bloody hell. What’s with you blokes from up north? Weren’t there enough women up there to keep you satisfied?’

‘It’s a hard way to gather the information,’ Peter grinned, ‘but someone has to do it. We’re like honey-pots. We get the information.’

Bob drained his glass and leaned back on his chair, looking up at the ceiling. ‘If we don’t get caught we’ll have awards and accolades
flowing out of our arses. We’ll be the toast of Melbourne. But if we get caught…’ his voice trailed off, ‘we’re well and truly fucked.’

‘It just seems how it worked out,’ Peter observed.

‘At least Dave’s keeping it in his pants,’ Bob said. ‘He’s the quiet one.’

Peter smiled. ‘You didn’t know? Dave’s seeing Shazza.’

‘Shit,’ Bob remarked, stroking his head. ‘What’s wrong with me? I would have known all that once. Bugger.’

‘You’ve had a lot on your plate lately, Bob.’

‘I guess so,’ he sighed. ‘For the first time in a long time, I feel I need a break. But I can’t until Stella comes home and this story is put to bed.’

‘Do you have any news on Stella?’ Peter asked.

‘Seems there are an awful lot of Ruskies running businesses in Sydney. She’s trying to narrow the field.’

‘We have to be optimistic.’

‘If anyone can find that bloody haystack needle, she can.’

Peter postponed his restorative for an hour or so by popping into the Tote for a recuperative.
I need a Victor Bravo or two
. Dave and Sam would be expecting him for dinner but he was fed up with having to be places at certain times. To be honest, he was sick and tired of living with blokes. It was better when he lived by himself. No one to answer to. This had never been his style. Although perhaps he was more stray cat than lone wolf.

It was over his third VB that he seriously considered what it might be like to live with a woman. He had only ever lived with his mother and that had been a disaster. Just the thought of it had sent cold shivers down his back and made him slightly bilious. A couple of years ago, Michelle had pestered him to try it. He had nearly succumbed, but then she had gone all gushy and announced she was going to totally makeover his flat. Peter began to shiver. Enter the Monet print and scatter cushions. Then he gave Michelle a lame excuse that he needed time. How long, she had asked.
Is eternity too much?
He told her they had to be really certain, as this was the first stage of something that could lead to marriage and babies. He’d painted such a gloomy picture that even Michelle had started to baulk. He had described living together as if it was going to be the start of a virulent, infectious disease. Mission accomplished. Soon after that they had broken up. Exit the Monet picture. And the scatter cushions.

He had felt safe until now. Of course, Peter was probably getting
ahead of himself. He and Poppy were still at the let’s-have-sex-at-every-opportunity-and-anywhere stage. Yes, it was only early in the relationship. More wild sex was needed before the possibility of cohabiting could really be considered.
I can handle that.
But this time, he didn’t feel like he was having post-traumatic stress at the mere thought of it, and that was a major step forward. Was he cured?
My hands aren’t shaking.
Peter finished his third VB and headed home.

He didn’t notice anything unusual when he entered the flat until he saw Sam and Dave sitting at the kitchen table, bolt upright, as if they had been tied to their chairs. A look of dread was painted all over Sam’s face. Peter looked around the immediate area. No signs of imminent danger. He was about to speak when he saw Dave. He wore the same look as Sam.

Dave said nothing except to flick his eyes from Peter to Peter’s bedroom and back in rapid succession. A rustling noise came from the bedroom. Wardrobe doors slammed. Furniture was turned over.

Peter asked in a whisper, ‘Who the hell is that?’

Before Dave could answer Dale McCracken thumped back into the kitchen.

‘McCracken!’ Peter exclaimed.

‘Not expecting to see me?’ McCracken chuckled as his eyes darted around the flat. ‘I was in the area and thought I’d drop in for a friendly visit.’ He reached down, opened a kitchen cupboard and pulled out the contents. ‘You’ve got a real shit pile here, haven’t you? Poking your nose around everyone’s business doesn’t seem to pay much. Why would you bother?’

‘Have you got a search warrant?’

‘I don’t need one,’ McCracken smirked. ‘See any signs of forced entry? The boys invited me to stay. We’re good friends and this is only a social call. For the moment.’

‘So I can come over to your house, or hovel or whatever rock you crawled out of, and do the same thing,’ Peter retorted.

‘That’s uncalled for, Peter. Why don’t we have a friendly chat?’ McCracken beckoned him to sit. ‘Take a seat, here, next to your friends. They’ve been missing you.’

Peter’s eyes narrowed. He studied McCracken. For all his bravado, he detected McCracken was nervous.
Unless it’s very well concealed, my hunch is he’s unarmed
. So why hadn’t Sam and Dave thrown him out?

‘Why are you really here, McCracken?’ Peter asked. ‘It’s not for the stimulating conversation.’

‘Must be really draining being a smartarse all the time. If I were you, and thank Christ I’m not, I’d be thinking about my future. It doesn’t look so bright at the moment.’

Peter frowned. ‘Get to the point or get out, McCracken.’

‘Where do I start? Peter Clancy, investigative reporter from
The Truth
, can’t get a break in his story. Boo hoo. Peter Clancy isn’t afraid to bend the rules to keep ahead of the pack. He has that reputation. How can he get information on the O’Learys? No, he’s not going to use traditional means of news gathering, is he? No. His mate Sam, over there, is going to go undercover and do it for him. Very clever. But not really. Fucking idiots!’

‘Actually, I thought it was pretty clever,’ Peter mused.

McCracken thumped the table. ‘Shut the fuck up!’ He stared at Peter menacingly. ‘You didn’t see that in your efforts to fill that paper of yours with lies and half-truths, you put a major police operation in jeopardy?’

‘Bullshit! There’s no police operation happening on South Dock. Apparently the O’Leary brothers can spot an undercover cop from a mile away.’

‘Sorry the police commissioner didn’t run it past you first, Clancy. Police have other means of infiltrating the O’Learys’ operation which you haven’t thought of.’

‘Their coffee importing business?’ Peter smiled.

‘Don’t be a fucking idiot,’ McCracken snapped back. ‘Clancy, you’ve overstepped your mark and I’m shutting you down.’

‘You do whatever you want, McCracken, but you’ll soon realise you can’t do a thing,’ Peter spat out. ‘The press is mightier than you.’

‘Well, I’m shutting down your little covert operation. It’s the least I can do.’ McCracken smirked. ‘If you or any of your mates go back to the docks for any reason, I’ll know about it. I’ll make sure the O’Learys are told exactly who you are and why you’re there. Consider yourself lucky. I could have you arrested for interference in a police operation and I could also report you to the press council for unethical behaviour. You’d have to find another job. Maybe one that suits your level of skill. How about a bottle shop attendant?’

‘You’re an arse, McCracken. You can’t do this.’

‘So sad isn’t it?’ McCracken laughed. ‘Life’s shit, then you die.’

‘If the police are holding all the cards as you say, Detective Senior Sergeant, then why are you here?’ Dave piped up. ‘Why would you guys be worried about some blackfella—sorry Sam—sleeping with his boss? Seems to me we might just have something you don’t.’

McCracken shifted uneasily.
This is personal
, Peter reflected.
Nothing to do with any police operation.

‘Can’t see how we’re threatening anything. If you let us keep the story,’ Dave said, ‘I’m sure Peter’d give the police a good rap as a bonus. I’ve seen it work.’

‘Think yourself brighter then these other two?’ Wouldn’t be hard,’ McCracken observed.

‘I was in the Queensland Police. I know a thing or two.’

‘Is that so?’ McCracken sneered. ‘Well, we like to think we’re a bit smarter in the State of Victoria. So I’m going to pass on that offer. And, for the record, you are as big a fucking idiot as the other two. What is this? The Three Stooges?’

Peter had been thinking of offering to share information with the police but changed his mind.
I’d like to shove my fist down his throat. Fuck him
. He headed for the bathroom.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ McCracken asked.

‘For a piss. Want to watch?’

The contents of the bathroom cupboard were spilled across the floor. A bottle was on its side, cap ajar, slowly leaking cologne. Peter picked it up and crossed to a large stack of dirty laundry that lay in a musty pile in the corner of the bathroom. It reached nearly to his waist.

He inspected the washing pile and sighed with relief. It hadn’t been touched.
I guess no normal human being would, not even Dale McCracken
. He reached into the dirty clothes tentatively, like he was reaching into a radioactive slagheap.

‘What are you doing in there?’ McCracken called from outside the closed door. ‘Hurry up or I’ll come in.’

‘I’m coming,’ Peter called.
Yes, still there.
Two envelopes were lying towards the bottom of the laundry pile, on top of some women’s underwear.
Is it that how long since I’ve done a full wash? Irmgard’s underwear.
He picked up one of the envelopes, opened the door and returned to the kitchen, where McCracken was making himself a cup of coffee.

‘What’s this all about?’ McCracken asked as he watched Peter take out a set of photographs.

‘What in the hell are you doing?’ Dave whispered, ‘You’re bloody crazy.’

‘We’re buggered,’ Sam shook his head.

‘I don’t know if you’d call them party snaps,’ Peter grinned, ‘but it looks like everyone was having a good time. Especially you. The look on your face is priceless.’

‘Give me a fucking look at them,’ McCracken put his coffee on the table and attempted to snatch them out of Peter’s hand.

Peter anticipated him and sidestepped. ‘Careful, Dale. You don’t want to damage them before you have a look.’

‘Give me a look, you cunt,’ McCracken roared, ‘or I’ll give you the flogging of your life.’

‘You can have a look, Dale,’ Peter responded calmly, ‘but if you tear them up I have another set deposited in a bank safe. For emergencies. You just don’t know what’s going to happen. Have a careful look at these photographs, as they could be career changing.’

‘Fucking prick!’ McCracken glanced at the photographs. He dropped them on the floor and grabbed Peter around the throat with both hands and squeezed.

Dave pulled McCracken off and pushed him into a chair. Peter picked up the photographs with one hand, coughing and holding his throat with the other. He laid the photos in front of the deflated McCracken.

‘Now, tell me if I’m wrong,’ Peter coughed again. ‘That’s definitely you. Look! See: the guy having doggie sex with the woman wearing the leather mask.’

‘Can’t tell,’ McCracken grunted as he looked away.

‘These photographs are reprints. Maybe they look a little grainy to you, but I think they’re a good reproduction. The originals are clear as a bell. What do you think, Sam?’ Peter handed the photo to Sam.

‘Do people do that?’ Sam reeled. ‘That’s bloody crook.’

‘Don’t worry about the content,’ Peter said. ‘Do you think that’s Detective Senior Sergeant McCracken in the photo?’

Sam took another look at McCracken, slumped over the table with his head in his hands, and then looked at the photograph. ‘I reckon it’s the same person,’ he said softly.

‘The girl, I presume, is a prostitute. Dale? Are you there?’

‘She’s nothing,’ McCracken murmured.

‘And that’s Tony Donarto snorting white powder off her back. He must wear a corset when he’s dressed, because he looks a lot fatter naked.’

‘Where did you get these, you piece of shit?’ McCracken asked quietly.

‘Someone gave them to one of our journalists. Stella.’

‘A fucking pervert with a camera!’ McCracken replied. ‘You really are a piece of work, aren’t you, Clancy? You fucking belong in the gutter with that trash paper of yours to keep you warm.’

‘I’m just doing my job. Society expects their police officers to be uncorrupted, don’t they? We don’t want to have a crooked police force running around like they did in Queensland for years. Do we?’ He picked up the next photograph and dropped it in front of McCracken. ‘This is my favourite,’ Peter commented with a chuckle.

Dave stood up to take a look. ‘That’s gross.’

Sam turned away in disgust.

‘I didn’t know you could do that,’ Peter continued. ‘But the girl wearing the leather mask’s pretty nifty. Is that cocaine she’s snorting off your erect penis? Yep, seems like it’s your dick, Detective Senior Sergeant. I’m very envious.’

McCracken took a deep breath. ‘What in the fuck do you want? If this stuff gets printed I’m fucked.’

‘I know,’ Peter patted him on the back. ‘I’m not here to destroy you, Dale. I just want your co-operation. You let me have this story without any interference from the police and we’ll give you what we know.’

‘We know the O’Learys aren’t importing coffee from Asia. You haven’t got anything we don’t already know. We just need to catch them moving it,’ said McCracken.

‘But, Dale, you’re not in a position to argue. We’ve got the upper hand, remember?’ Peter grabbed the photographs and slipped them back into the envelope. ‘Plus we’ve got the benefit of pillow-talk.’

McCracken looked at Sam with a bewildered look.

‘He’s a real stud,’ Peter commented. ‘Hot stuff.’

‘He’s not sleeping with one of the boys?’ McCracken asked. ‘I didn’t think they were gay.’

‘Not them,’ Peter laughed. ‘Their clerk, Babs.’

‘Babs Bell?’ McCracken shook his head. ‘She doesn’t know shit. She’s an old pro with a retard grandson who deals dope out of the front parlour on the side. She does the clerical stuff at the docks. We know all that. We’ve questioned her before.’