Wyatt - 01 - Kick Back (20 page)

Hickey looked searchingly at Wyatt.
He was slight, quick-looking, with a face and manner inclined to sarcasm. Thats
nice, he said. Just popped around, did you?

Wyatt shrugged. Well

Whats your name, sunshine?

Lake, Wyatt said. Look, sorry if
I barged in on something. Ill just

Lake. You got form, Lake?

Me? No way

Didnt get acquainted with the old
Hobba in Pentridge, by any chance?

Not me, Wyatt said. Whats going
on?

You tell me, Hickey said. He stood
back and motioned for Wyatt to enter the flat. In the kitchen, he said. Dont
touch anything. I mean anything.

Wyatt was prepared to see Hobba
sprawled on the floor, but the kitchen was empty. Every surface had been dusted
for fingerprints. Doors and drawers hung open and dirty plates were heaped in
the sink. The contents of the refrigerator were scattered over the floor. Wyatt
stopped just inside the door, consciously positioning himself so that both cops
would have to stand beyond the table, but Hickey prodded his shoulder and said,
No, sunshine, other side.

Wyatt walked around the table. Whats
going on? he said. I just came around to say hello. He was playing the
indignant, seedy pal, but the situation threatened to turn bad so he stood
loose and alert by the table, gauging distances and angles.

Was he expecting you? Hickey said.

Wyatt shrugged. Talked to him
during the week. Said I might come over tonight.

You didnt see him earlier today?

No. You looking for him?

Im asking the questions. Were you
around the place earlier, maybe giving it a spring-clean?

No. I told you, I just dropped by
now to have a few beers.

Have you got the key to this flat?

Wyatt looked from one man to the
other. The young policeman was guarding the doorway. Hickey stood opposite
Wyatt, his hands loose at his sides.

A key? No, why?

Watch my lips, Hickey said. Im
asking the questions.

Wyatt made a cowed, sulky face,
playing along with this. Hickey watched him for a moment. You dont look right
to me, sunshine, he said suddenly. He turned. Does he look right to you,
Constable?

The young policeman straightened. No,
Sergeant.

Hickey swung back to Wyatt. There
you have it. Two votes against you. Got any ID, Mr Lake?

Wyatt said, Not on me, no.

Not on you, Hickey said heavily. No
drivers licence, no credit cards, no video library card?

Wyatt frowned, concentrating, then
shook his head. Sorry, no.

How do you get by? Hickey said,
throwing up his hands. This day and age you cant go anywhere without ID.

The young cop was grinning at the
performance. It was a mistake: it made him too relaxed. His arms were folded
and he was rocking back and forth. His reaction time would be slow. Wyatt
concentrated on Hickey. Hickey was enjoying himself but Wyatt knew he would
move in an instant if he had to.

Then Hickey changed tack. What kind
of car does your fat mate drive?

Wyatt tensed. He said, trying to
stay ahead of Hickey, Last time I heard, he was between cars.

Hickey scowled. Did you know hed
hired one?

No, Wyatt said. I didnt.

From the doorway came the young
constables voice: A Corolla from one of them cheap places.

Hickey turned, regarded the
constable for a moment, then faced Wyatt again. Hired yesterday, in fact.

Fake ID, the young cop said. The
details dont check out.

Hickey said, Im really grateful to
you for filling us in, Cuntstable. Now perhaps youd like to continue your
doorknocking?

The constable blushed deeply and
left the room. A few seconds later, Wyatt heard the front door squeak. He
shifted position slightly. Can I go? I cant help you, dont really know the
bloke.

Sit down, Hickey said. Im not
finished with you yet. He waited while Wyatt, his gloved hands in his pockets,
hooked out a chair with his foot and sat in it.

What I wonder is, why hire a cheap
car when youve got enough to buy three new ones.

Wouldnt know.

Wouldnt you? Would you know where
old Rob got that kind of money?

Wyatt said, Like I told you, I didnt
know him that well. Just to have a quiet beer with now and then, type of thing.

Hickey nodded. So you wouldnt know
what he did for a crust?

No.

Hes been inside for armed robbery,
did you know that?

No.

Dont know much, do you, sunshine?
What were
you
inside for?

Wyatt said truthfully, Never been
in. Got a clean record.

Hickey took out his notebook. Maybe
you could just give me your full name and address and occupation and phone
number. He curled his lip. Unless, of course, youre between jobs and places
at the moment?

Nothing like that, Wyatt said. He
gave his name as Tom Lake and recited a false address and phone number. Storeman,
he said.

Storeman. Used to shifting things
around, are you?

Wyatt wished that Hickey would get
to the point, about Hobba, or Finns safe, or both. Whats going on? he said.
Is Rob all right?

Robs doing badly, Hickey said. You
could say he got too close to some nylon rope.

What do you mean? Did he hang
himself?

Hang himself? Hickey said. He
laced his fingers together and looked up at the ceiling. I read somewhere once
what the human body is worth. Any idea?

Wyatt said nothing.

Bugger all, in fact, Hickey said. Were
mostly water and a handful of cheap chemicals. In old Robs case, very cheap.

Wyatt kept silent, watching Hickey.

This afternoon we got a report
about your mate pulling a gun on some kids outside the lifts, Hickey said. We
found him with a rope around his neck and ankles like he was a Christmas
turkey. If he struggles, he strangles himself. Hickey smiled. He struggled.

Wyatt looked at Hickey neutrally,
thinking that Sugarfoot Younger had been learning some nasty habits and was
cleverer than he thought. Christ, he said.

Oh, I dont think so, Hickey said.
I think it was someone else. He leaned forward across the table. What
interests me is, why go to that sort of trouble if not to extract information?
You wouldnt know anything, I suppose? Didnt give his place the once-over?

Wyatt said nothing. This was taking
too long. Hickey was watching him sharply, registering his face. I only know
him to have a beer with, Wyatt said, shifting back in his chair.

Keep still, Hickey said. Hands
cold, are they?

Pardon?

I want to see your hands. Then I
want you to open your coat. Then I want you to empty out your pockets.

Why? Wyatt said.

Dont fucking prevaricate. Just do
it.

Wyatt pushed back in his chair as if
to make it easier. Hickey was standing a metre back from the table. He snapped
his fingers. Get a move on.

Wyatt kicked out. The table slammed
into Hickeys thighs. He cried out and fell forward, and Wyatt seized his
collar, pulled back, and pounded his face down on the table top. A bone
cracked. Hickey groaned and slid onto the floor.

Wyatt waited, listening, expecting
the young cop to come running. When nothing happened, he pocketed Hickeys police
radio, cut the telephone lead and walked quietly to the open front door. The
young cop was questioning an elderly woman farther down the corridor. She had
seen nothing, knew little about Mr Hobba except that he kept to himself and was
never noisy, not like some she could mention.

Wyatt was judging how hed disarm
the young cop when he heard heavy shoes clopping along the corridor and into
the stairwell. He heard them climb to the floor above. He stood at the door.
The corridor was clear. He crossed to the stairwell, listened at the entrance,
then plunged into the fetid air. He ran down the eight flights. At one point he
shouldered through a knot of children apparently buying amphetamines from a
teenage supplier. He heard a faint, alarmed in-drawing of breath behind him.

He slowed at the bottom, emerged
casually onto the forecourt, and dumped the police radio in a rubbish bin. He
paused. No one was paying attention to him. His car was where he had left it.
But there was a police car all right, an unmarked Commodore parked beyond a
builders skip. It was not the kind of detail he could afford to miss again.

But the thing now was, had Hobba
tried to trade his way out of danger, given up Anna Reids name in exchange for
his life?

* * * *

Forty

Wyatt
drove the Hertz Falcon hard along Royal Parade, working it out.

Hobba had been tortured for
information, but what did he know that Sugarfoot could use? It wouldnt occur
to Hobba to mention the safe houseas far as he knew, it was finished with. Hed
give Pedersens address and explain about Rossiter, but Sugarfoot would already
know all that.

That left Anna Reids involvement.
Sugarfoot would know about her by now.

Wyatt spurted through gaps in the
traffic. There was a chance that Sugarfoot would be staking out Pedersens, but
hed lose patience eventually, or fade away when the cops arrivedas they
would, they would check on all Hobbas associates. Either way, Sugarfoot would
go after Anna Reid.

Wyatt turned off near the University
and entered a maze of side streets. Anna lived in a small Victorian house on a
street of similar houses. He drove by slowly. Her house was in darkness. He
drove the Falcon four blocks down, parked, and got out. The misty rain
continued to fall. Water drops beaded on his clothes and soon he felt damp and
cold for the second time that day. He remembered that he hadnt eaten. He
stopped at a milk-bar, bought a meat pie, coffee and a bar of Swiss chocolate,
and gulped them down as he walked back to Annas street. The hot food and drink
revived him. He told himself the chocolate would give him energy.

He crossed the first intersection
bordering the block that Annas house was on, then circled around to walk
across the intersection at the other end of the block. He looked down Annas
street each time. He didnt see any unusual activity.

He fastened the silencer to the
Browning and entered the street, holding the gun inside his coat.

He did what he always did in these
situationschecked every garden and the back seat of every car, and
touch-tested for engine warmth. Three cars were warm, a small Mazda and two
Holdens, but that didnt mean much because there was a rowdy party at a house
five doors from Annas. A stereo throbbed and several lights were on. Otherwise
the street was quiet, almost deadened. The night air seemed to sit, sluggish
and heavy, just above the rooftops. It smelt of the citys toxins. The only
movement Wyatt saw in any of the gardens was a cat flattening itself along a
fence rail as he passed it.

He didnt know how good Sugarfoot
was at this kind of thing. Sugarfoot might have got lucky with Ivan and Hobba.
But he was in none of the cars, and Wyatt couldnt imagine him waiting outside
in the cold, so if he had come he would be inside Annas house.

Wyatt had no wish to tackle him in a
confined space. He decided to work on his nerves. He began pacing up and down
on the footpath outside the house, pausing to gaze up at the front door and the
windows on either side of it. He hoped Sugarfoot would notice him. He hoped to
rattle him and force his hand. If he could entice him out of the house, even
better.

After a few minutes of this he
opened the gate in the picket fence and entered the little garden path,
slamming the gate behind him. There might have been a twitch at a curtain, he
wasnt sure. He stepped onto the verandah and prowled heavily over its creaking
boards, regularly knocking on the front door and both windows.

There was no response but the
certainty grew in him that someone was inside the house. He stepped off the
verandah and into the garden. He could see another reason why Anna wanted
money. Where her neighbours had graduated to bark chips and Japanese maples,
she had neglected, weed-clogged garden beds and lumpy gravel paths that went
from the front yard to the back. Wyatt circled the house twice, gravel
complaining under his shoes.

The next stage called for absolute
silence. He wanted the contrast to shake Sugarfoot enough to make a move. He
waited for ten minutes, crouched in darkness by the trunk of the fig tree at
the back of the house. Annas cat came by at one point, purring, flexing his
body back and forth against Wyatts legs. Wyatt said
psst
softly and
Masher flicked his tail and stalked away.

Wyatt pictured the layout of the
house, calculating where Sugarfoot might hide himself. The dark interior, the
mocking noises outside, then the silencewould these be enough to drive him
into a small, enclosed space, such as a corner in a small room? Would he stay
out of the bigger rooms, their large empty spaces filling with imagined shapes
and sounds?