Wyatt - 04 - Cross Kill

Wyatt, a hold-up man, is in trouble. The Mesics have his money, the
Outfit wants him dead. He goes to Sydney and hits the Outfit where it
hurts, buying himself some time and freedom. But he doesn't reckon on a
cop on the take and an Outfit lieutenant with a gun in her hand and
revenge on her mind.

* * * *

Cross Kill

[Wyatt 04]

By Garry Disher

Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

* * * *

One

The
stranger appeared just after lunch on day one of Wyatts operation against the
Mesics. He was driving a red Capri, soft top down, and Wyatt watched him park
it against the kerb, unfold from the car, stride to the compound gates and bend
his face to the intercom grille in the brick pillar.
MESIC
was spelled
out in shiny red tiles above the intercom and Wyatt saw the stranger touch the
name as though to draw luck from it. Then the gates jerked, swung open, and the
man stepped through the gap. He was about thirty, and he had the raw-nerved,
hole-and-corner look of a man who exists on coffee and whispers. Wyatt put that
together with the car, the costly jacket and jeans, and speculated that here
was someone who made a profit for the Mesics and profited by them.

The Mesics were small-scale
racketeers with ambitions, and Wyatt was watching their place through the rear
window of a rented Volvo. The Volvo was a good touch. Hed faced it away from
the compound gates and was sitting in the back seat so this wouldnt look like
a stakeout to casual eyes. But the car looked right anyway, so he wasnt
expecting trouble. The citizens of Templestowe, crooked and otherwise, ran to
Volvos, Saabs, cars like that.

This was Wyatts second stakeout of
the Mesics. Ten months ago hed sat outside the compound gates like this,
burning
to hit the place, but hed been a marked man at the time, with every gun-happy
hoon and policeman in Victoria after him, so hed fled the state. Then, in Queensland,
hed robbed a bank and killed a man and given up a small fortune to help
someone run for her life, and it had all added up to ten months of
hand-to-mouth waiting.

But now the heat was off and he was
back in Melbourne again, watching the Mesics. The place still looked brash and
new, a hectare of land that had been stripped bare and turned into a family
compound: raw landscaped terraces, young trees, shiny lockup garages and a
couple of blockish cream-brick houses that could have featured in a travel
brochure from some sunny, dusty spot on the Mediterranean coast, the whole lot
protected by a wire and girder perimeter fence three metres high.

Wyatt saw a door open in the first
house. A young woman appeared at the top of the steps. She looked expensive and
dissatisfied, restlessly touching herself hips, thighs, chest, sleeves,
collar, the hem of her dress. Thick auburn hair was piled over her head and
shoulders, catching the sun as she explored her body. As the visitor approached
her up the steps, she seemed to relax. She touched his arm and led him into the
house.

There was no one else around. A
contract cleaning service called Dustbusters had come and gone before lunch,
but so far Wyatt had not seen any guards, children or servants who might get in
his way. He didnt want to have to send in an army against an army.

So the place looked easynot that it
had ever been a question of whether or not Wyatt would pull this job. He was
only interested in the how and when. After all, the Mesics had his money in
there. They didnt know they had his money, but that was no consideration of
Wyatts. A little over ten months earlier hed been putting together an easy
payroll snatch in the red dirt country of South Australia, only to be cheated
of the take by a man who owed a lot of money to the Mesics. There had been a
few deaths and a lot of aggravation because of it and Wyatt wanted his money
back. It was big money. Over three hundred thousand. It would set him up again,
enable him to buy a place, live in comfort while he concentrated once more on
the big jobs, the way it had been for him before it all went sour.

Wyatt rolled his head a few times to
ease his knotted muscles, then reassessed the Mesic place. The advantages were
clear. First, it had more than one exit. He never hit places where he ran the
risk of boxing himself in. Second, the big houses of Templestowe sprawled
behind hedges and trees, meaning a lower risk of snooping neighbours. Third,
the streets were broad and fast, and the freeway was easy to get to. He could
be well clear of the area before the local law showed. Thats if they did show.
It wasnt likely. The Mesics were crooked. They didnt want the law poking
around. Their security system wouldnt be wired to the local cop shop.

Wyatt went still. Something was
happening. The electronic gates were swinging open again. Just then a shadow
passed across the Volvos side windows and he sank in his seat as a black Saab
turned into the Mesic place.

He raised his head to watch,
thankful that the creeper being trained along the security fence was still
sparse and patchy. He saw the gate close and heard a faint snarl as the Saab
rounded the curving gravel drive and stopped outside the first house. As if on
cue, the front door opened and the woman and her visitor started down the
steps.

Two men got out of the Saab. Wyatt
could see a facial resemblance between them and guessed that they were
brothers. Other than that, they were not alike. The passenger, dressed in jeans
and running shoes, was a tall, solid, slow-moving man of about thirty who hung
back as the driver walked fast toward the house.

The driver was about forty, and
slighter, shorter and sharper than his heavy younger brother. Draped in a
double-breasted bone-coloured suit over a tieless black shirt buttoned at the
neck, he was a Hollywood version of a new-wave Mafia hood. His hair was thick
and black, curling to his shoulders, and Wyatt saw it toss as the man began a
dance of anger, pointing, shaking his fist and apparently yelling at the woman.
Her visitor seemed to laugh in his face. The woman scowled.

Wyatt turned away. Who ran the Mesic
operation? Who would give him the most trouble? Where were the weaknesses? He
couldnt plan this job until he had that kind of information.

Rossiter would have the answersthats
if Rossiter felt inclined to help him. Rossiter had once been his go-between,
but now there were good reasons why Rossiter might wish him dead. When everything
had gone wrong for Wyatt the year before, others had been affected too,
including Rossiter.

Wyatt peered out at the Mesic place
again and what he saw made him duck in his seat. He messed his hair with his
fingers, tugged his shirt out of his waistband and pulled down the zipper at
the front of his trousers. He reached for the Scotch bottle on the floor and
drank deeply from it. He splashed a little around the inside of the car and
down his chest. Finally he rubbed his face hard with his hands, reddening the
skin, and sprawled out along the back seat.

Even with his eyes closed he sensed
that someone had come to stand next to the Volvo, blocking the light. The door
by his head opened. A hand smacked him hard on the cheek.

Get out.

Wyatt blinked his eyes, grunted,
tried to turn over on his side. He recognised the solid character from the
passenger seat of the Saab.

The hand smacked him again. Come
on, pal, move it.

Wyatt opened his eyes and kept them
open. He sat up by degrees, exhaling over the big man.

The man jerked back. Jesus Christ.
Come on, out.

Im over point-oh-five, Wyatt
slurred. Let me sleep it off.

Bullshit, the man said, reaching
in a massive arm.

Wyatt let a drunken look of cunning
grow on his face. They cant book you if youre sleeping it off in the back
seat and youve got the keys in your pocket.

Dont fuck with me. I dont know
who youre working for but you can tell them the Mesics are not for sale.

Wyatt blinked and frowned. What?

The big mans face twisted. He had
short hair that kinked like wood shavings on his overheated scalp and Wyatt
could smell fury and perspiration on him. Spittle sprayed onto Wyatts face as
the man said, Tell your boss the Mesics are reorganising. Were not rolling
onto our backs for anybody.

Wyatt muttered that he didnt know
what the man was on about and got out of the car. He was rocky on his feet,
bleary and unappealing, someone who didnt belong in Templestowe.

A furrow of doubt appeared on the
big mans face. If I see you here again youll find yourself in the Yarra.

Muttering, Keep your shirt on,
Wyatt got into the drivers seat of the Volvo. He ground the starter. The
engine caught. He crunched the gear lever into first and pulled away from the
kerb, the engine howling. He steered along the centre of the road, loudly,
inexpertly, like a drunk, and all the while he was thinking that if there was
trouble in the Mesic camp he should hit them as soon as possible.

* * * *

Two

They
stood there silently, watching Leo Mesic send the Volvo away. They saw him
stand by the gates until it was out of sight, then labour up the gravel
driveway toward them. Bax waited tensely. Hed noticed the Volvo on the other
side of the street when hed parked the Capri earlier, but hadnt thought to
check it out, and that was the kind of mistake he couldnt afford to make. If
the dogs from Internal Affairs were snooping around him, he was finished as a
copper. Who was it? he said.

Leo was red faced, breathing
audibly. Either a drunk or some geezer playing drunk. Ten to one he was
playing drunk.

Stella Mesic said bitterly, Its
started. The hyenas and the vultures are moving in on us.

Bax watched as she touched her hair,
her breasts, ran her hand down the front of her binding skirt. She was Leos
wife and she was the hot core of Baxs erotic imagination. He wondered how
calculated it was, all that narcissistic touching. He wondered if Leo ever
noticed it. And he wondered if the big man ever thought twice about the fact
that Bax was there when he came home sometimes, like today. Well do some
damage control, Stel, he said.

He smiled as he said it. He could
feel his tension draining away. It made sense that the Mesics were the target,
not him. It made sense that hyenas and vultures would start sniffing around now
that the old man was dead and the Mesic empire was up for grabs.

Then the third member of the family
spoke. Victor Mesic was quivering inside his fancy suit. You still here, Bax?
Youve been paid off. Get on your bike.

Bax wanted to smack the overdressed
little prick in the mouth. Shut up, Vic

Victor fronted up to him. I come
home from the States and find the organisation splintering, guys going solo,
the firm disappearing down the gurgler, and you three nerds talk damage
control! He smacked his forehead with his open palm, an American gesture that
Bax assumed hed picked up along with his accent.

Victors voice began to rise. Forget
about damage control. I told you, were moving out of the car rackets, out of
Mickey Mouse crap. He lifted a hand. So long, Bax, we dont need a cop on the
payroll anymore.

Bax looked at the ugly twin houses,
the struggling shrubs and lawns, and thought about the five hundred bucks a
week hed become accustomed to. He turned back to Victor. You want my advice?
Stay with what the firm has always done best. Youre treading on dangerous
toes, the direction youre headed.

What would you know?

Bax knew. He glanced at Stella and
Leo and wondered if they would give in to this creep. Victor Mesic had been in
the States for the past three years, shipping stolen Mustangs, Thunderbirds,
Cadillacs and other classics to Melbourne. More recently though, hed put in
some time with mob connections in Las Vegas, and hed come back for his fathers
funeral full of big talk about the future of the Mesic family.