Gunshine State Page 5

  ‘With you as the bait?’

  Her hand lashed out. He felt a sharp sting on his cheek, recoiled, surprise more than pain. She glared at him from under her sodden fringe.

  ‘Don’t let Curry fool you. He may come across as a harmless old man, but he even gets a whiff you’re shaky he’ll kill you, or have Dormer do it for him.’

  Chance remembered the clipping he’d read about the murder in the pub in 1971, Curry’s casual response when asked about it.

  ‘Dennis needs money badly. He’s made some bad business decisions, invested heavily in a new apartment complex, now there’s a property slump. He owes money he doesn’t have. Dormer is as keen as mustard, too. They’ll do this job with or without you.’

  ‘Tell me.’ He massaged his cheek as he spoke. ‘What do you get out of this?’

  ‘Money, plus I owe Dennis. This pays him back.’

  ‘What about Curry’s flatmate, Kerrigan, what’s his role in this?’

  ‘Not much. He’s a friend of Dennis’s, shares his chequered past.’

  Chance knew there was more to what she was saying, decided against pressing her on it.

  Amber dropped the remains of her cigarette on the asphalt. ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘It stinks worse than a turd on a hot summer day.’ Chance dragged on the last of his rollie, threw the butt into the darkness. ‘But I need the money, same as you, so what the hell.’

  She rolled her shoulders, yawned, looked at her watch.

  ‘Christ, it’s early. I need to get some sleep. Drive me back to Curry’s. We’ve got a busy day ahead.’

  ELEVEN

  Chance grabbed a couple of hours of fitful sleep, was awakened by his mobile phone, Dormer telling him to get to Curry’s house as soon as possible.

  He showered, dressed, was about to leave, when he paused to rummage through his possession for the brown paper bag he’d been given the first day he arrived in Queensland. Chance tipped the contents onto the unmade bed, a loaded .38 snubnose revolver in a leather ankle holster, license papers. He slid the gun out of the holster. It was new, not like the scarred, battered pieces he usually worked with.

  His eyes burned from lack of sleep. He thought about last night’s conversation, strapped on the holster.

  He was the last to arrive, a familiar sensation as he scanned the room, fear laced with adrenaline. Everyone knew about Gao’s change of plans, wanted to know what was next.

  Dormer sat on the couch in the same grey suit.

  Sophia wore tracksuit pants and pink T-shirt, ever-present cigarette smouldering in one hand.

  Curry sat swaddled in his maroon dressing gown. His eyes were bloodshot, the white stubble on his face reminded Chance of mouldy fruit. Mal sat on the couch next to him.

  Amber looked good despite the dark circles under her eyes. She flashed him a quick half smile when he entered, a lingering trace of last night’s shared confidence.

  On the glass-topped table sat an overflowing ashtray, coffee plunger, half full cups, and a road map of the Gold Coast, a large piece of paper with a sketch in blue biro pen. Chance poured himself a coffee, looked at the sketch, a crudely drawn floor plan.

  ‘We have to go ahead with the plan tonight,’ said Curry, his eyes diamond hard. ‘There’s no telling when Gao will be back or if he’s coming back at all. This could be our last opportunity to bag him.’

  Dormer spoke next in what Chance was sure was a choreographed performance.

  ‘The basic plan is sound. We just need to think through all the angles, make a few new adjustments for the new scenario we find ourselves in.’ He turned to Amber. ‘What has Gao told you?’

  ‘Only that he was cutting his trip short, going to Sydney for business. He flies out tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘He’s got plans today, business of some kind. He wants me to meet him at his hotel tonight for dinner, then the side game, then back to his suite.’

  ‘What kind of business?’ A hard edge crept into Curry’s voice.

  ‘And why isn’t Jacobi driving him?’ added Dormer.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Amber looked between the two men. ‘He doesn’t talk to me about that stuff.’

  ‘Whatever the reason, it’s not a good sign,’ Curry said calmly. He looked at Amber, forced a smile. ‘The other members of Gao’s entourage, let’s go through them again.’

  ‘Nelson is the muscle. He sleeps in the second bedroom in Gao’s suite. He’s always armed. The only time he ever leaves Gao’s side is when I’m with him.’

  ‘The American, Tavener?’

  ‘Some sort of business adviser, helping Gao with a deal he’s got cooking. He has a suite on the floor below.’

  ‘The money, where is it?’

  ‘There’s spending money in a briefcase carried by Nelson. The rest is in a safe in Gao’s bedroom. Only Freddie knows the combination.’

  Dormer touched the tips of his fingers together, made a cathedral and rested his chin on it.

  ‘We’ll hit the suite tonight, after Amber and Gao return from the side game. Jacobi, you wait an hour after you’ve dropped them off at the hotel, call me. We both go in. Sophia will be on duty at reception, she’ll give us a copy of the pass card that’ll allow us to access Gao’s suite. We’ll get the combination out of Gao, get the money, and get out.’

  Chance sipped his coffee. The brew was lukewarm and bitter. He put the cup on the table. ‘And what happens if Gao doesn’t feel like cooperating?’

  ‘He’ll cooperate because I’ll give him no choice. Don’t worry, if it’s one thing I learned in the army, it’s how to get information out of people who don’t want to give it.’

  Curry rubbed his meaty paws together. ‘Shock and awe, right, Dormer?’ Chance looked at the stub of his missing finger. Despite all the bullshit in the movies about people holding out under torture, the reality was that there was very little someone wouldn’t do when faced with the threat of serious physical pain. Gao would fold.

  ‘What about the police? What are our plans for a getaway?’

  ‘We’ve already discussed this, he won’t go to the cops,’ said Dormer, irritation in his voice.

  ‘He’s right, Peter,’ interjected Amber. ‘He’ll want minimum publicity to avoid his father and wife finding out. If the cops do get involved he won’t cooperate.’

  ‘I’m not as convinced as the rest of you.’

  ‘Once we’ve got the money, we walk out, leave in the Volvo,’ said Dormer, ignoring Chance. ‘We’ll drive to the farmhouse we’ve rented near Beaudesert, do the split there, sit tight until we figure it’s safe then go our separate ways. Never see each other again.’

  ‘Farmhouse? This is the first I’ve heard of any farmhouse.’ Chance grabbed the road map, located Beaudesert, a town about seventy kilometres inland from the Gold Coast.

  Curry sat forward, put a hand on Chance’s knee. ‘Peter, we’re telling you now.’

  ‘If it’ll make you feel any better, we can go there after we’re finished here, you can check it out for yourself,’ said Dormer.

  ‘What about her?’ Chance looked at Sophia. ‘If the police do get involved, first thing they’ll want to know is how the bandits got the pass card.’

  She lit a cigarette off the butt of the current one. ‘I don’t plan on turning up for my next shift at the hotel. I’ll join you at the farm. When it’s safe, I’m out of here, kiss Surfers Paradise and this whole fucking country goodbye.’

  ‘So if everyone is decided—’ Dormer glanced at the people sitting around the coffee table, ‘—let’s go through things again.’

  TWELVE

  The farmhouse was an old weatherboard, peeling paintwork, sagging front porch, freestanding barn that could easily accommodate two vehicles. Most importantly, it was remote, one road in and out, no other dwelling as far as the eye could see.

  Curry had approached Chance after the meeting, put an arm around his shoulder. ‘It’s natural to be edgy before someth
ing like this, son. Used to happen to me all the time. Just keep your head down, do the job, make some money.’

  Chance had nodded, unsure whether Curry was trying to be fatherly or threatening.

  The plan was for Chance to check out of the hotel, leave his car and possessions at the farmhouse, and drive back to Surfers with Dormer. The directions took him through a seemingly endless stretch of new suburbs, rows of semi-identical houses. After three quarters of an hour, the dwellings became more sporadic, the landscape slowly transformed into rolling pastures, green with all the rain.

  Dormer was waiting, directed him to drive his car into the barn. Chance did as instructed, rolled a cigarette and watched the cloud of smoke mix with dust motes in the shards of light that came through cracks in the wooden walls. Under other circumstances, he wouldn’t have minded spending a few days here. But the prospect of being cooped up with Dormer and Lekakis filled him with dread.

  Chance had taken part in around half a dozen jobs like this one. Some, like the one in Port Pirie, had fucked up, but most had gone down okay. All of them had involved a degree of danger and risk. But tonight’s enterprise, now little more than a simple smash and grab, had more loose threads than a cheap shirt.

  He didn’t like the people he was working with or the speed with which events were moving. He was used to nerves, the sharpness in his gut before a job. But what he felt now, more like a dull ache in the pit of his stomach, told him to walk away.

  Only problem: where would he go? The Chinaman had taken him back after Port Pirie, thrown him this job, screwed him on his share as punishment for trying to go independent. Even so, Chance needed the money, a stake to take him somewhere far away where he could plan his next move on his own terms.

  ‘What do you think?’ Dormer stood in the entrance to the barn, his outline framed against the sunlight.

  ‘It’ll do.’

  ‘Rented the house for a song and no questions asked from a bloke whose business was about to go under, needed money fast.’

  ‘Seems to be a lot of that going around.’ Chance walked past Dormer, into the daylight.

  ‘Sophia will be around later with supplies.’

  Dormer stood, eyes partly closed, a crooked smile on his face, as if savouring something.

  ‘You got that feeling, Jacobi, like someone’s tugging at your balls, the dryness in your throat? I used to get it something fierce in Iraq and Afghanistan, the hours leading up to a patrol. Will there be contact? How bad will it get? I’ve got it now and I love it.’

  Chance realised what he disliked so much about the man standing in front of him. Dormer was what was known as a gladiator digger, the kind of soldier who sunbathed in tactical positions, hit golf balls into Taliban territory, posed for photographs next to bloodied, cowering prisoners. They enjoyed the glamour and machismo of war, revelled in the everyday acts of random ugliness and brutality that were part of it.

  He’d always avoided them. They were dangerous, the kind of people who could get you killed.

  THIRTEEN

  Two in the morning and the street outside Gao’s hotel was still busy, young people in various states of intoxication taking advantage of a break in the rain to party. Chance leaned against the Volvo, watched the revellers flow by.

  Almost an hour since Gao and Amber had disappeared arm in arm through the double doors. He finished his cigarette, took out his phone.

  Dormer answered on the third ring.

  ‘Ready?’

  Dormer hung up, materialised on the street next to Chance a couple of minutes later carrying a canvas bag.

  ‘Let’s do this.’

  Sophia Lekakis was alone at reception. Without shifting her eyes from the screen in front of her, she slid two pieces of white plastic across the counter to Chance and Dormer.

  When the elevator doors closed Dormer laid the bag on the floor. Both men put on latex gloves and balaclava hoods. The wool felt prickly on Chance’s face. He wriggled his nose and mouth in an attempt to get comfortable.

  Dormer reached into the bag, withdrew a pistol, the barrel fitted with a silencer. Chance undid the clasp on his ankle holster, took out the snubnose. The elevator stopped on the fifth floor. Dormer got out to look for Tavener. Chance continued to the next and final level. His job was to deal with Gao’s bodyguard, wait for Dormer to bring up the American, so that everyone was in one place.

  The elevator door opened onto a red-carpeted hallway, a set of double doors at the end. Chance slid the piece of white plastic into the slot on the double doors. The light flashed green and he turned the handle.

  The room had a sunken lounge area, corridors leading to bedrooms on either side. Along one wall, a sliding glass door to a large patio. A flat-screen TV, the volume loud, provided the only light. It was tuned to an all-night news show, images of wild looking men firing guns, bodies in the street, a voice-over with an American accent. Share market information ran along the bottom of the screen.

  Nelson slept on a couch facing the TV. A pistol grip protruded from the holster strapped to the bodyguard’s broad shoulders. A book lay open on his chest, ‘Holy Bible’ in embossed gold letters on the cover.

  The Filipino opened one eye and was on his feet within seconds. One hand shot out, gripped Chance’s neck.

  Chance felt Nelson’s fingers dig into the soft flesh under his jaw. Tiny dots of light swarmed his vision and he started to feel dizzy. His arms flailed for a moment, before he brought the butt of the snubnose down hard against the side of Nelson’s head. Nelson’s grip loosened. Chance repeated the action. Nelson let go and fell backward onto the couch.

  Chance rolled the balaclava up over his face, gulped air. No sign of movement from the bedroom. The noise from the TV had drowned out the fight.

  Nelson was out cold, a bloody gash on one side of his head. Chance tucked the snubnose into the waistband of his pants, withdrew the bodyguard’s pistol from its shoulder holster, ejected the clip onto the floor. He secured the bodyguard’s hands with plastic cuffs, patted him down, found a handkerchief, wadded it up and stuffed it into the man’s mouth.

  Chance crept down the corridor on the left. A crack of light was visible from underneath the door.

  The balcony was almost as big as the lounge room. The hotel’s swimming pool was directly below, a large kidney shape of shimmering aqua. Chance massaged his neck while he watched the white line of surf break in the distance, wanted for a cigarette, knew he didn’t have the time.

  He heard someone move about in the lounge room. He took out the snubnose, went inside, gun first.

  Dormer had an aluminium suitcase open on the couch next to the unconscious bodyguard, was checking the contents. There was no sign of Tavener.

  ‘Where the hell is the American?’ hissed Chance.

  ‘He wasn’t there but I found this in his room.’ Dormer moved aside to allow Chance to see that the suitcase was filled with neat bundles of money. It was the same suitcase Chance had seen on the floor next to Nelson at the side game the previous night.

  ‘We’ve got the money, why don’t we piss off?’ said Chance.

  ‘More where that came from.’ Dormer looked in the direction of Gao’s room, gestured at Nelson with the barrel of his pistol. The bodyguard was now semi-conscious. ‘Bring him.’

  Chance refitted his balaclava over his face, picked up the bodyguard by the scruff of the neck. The big man teetered for a moment before standing up straight, glared at Chance. Muffled sounds escaped through the fabric stuffed in his mouth.

  Chance poked the gun into Nelson’s stomach, nudged him toward Gao’s bedroom.

  Gao lay alone in the tangle of sheets on the bed, stared wide-eyed at the strangers who had suddenly appeared in front of him. On the bedside table sat a silver ice bucket with a bottle of champagne, two half-empty glasses. A sliding glass door, partly open, looked onto another million-dollar view. A white curtain billowed in the breeze. The Bee Gees played from a wall-mounted CD consul.

  Chance p
ushed Nelson onto the bed next to his boss.

  Dormer reached over Gao and turned off the music. Gao glanced in the direction of the bathroom. There was a flushing sound and the door opened to reveal Amber in a white terry towelling dressing gown.

  ‘Where’s the heroin?’ said Dormer.

  ‘The floor to ceiling wardrobe in the other bedroom,’ she said, scrambling out of the dressing gown and into her underwear.

  Chance looked from Dormer to Amber. ‘Heroin?’

  Amber looked away, picked her black cocktail dress from where it lay on the floor and slipped it on over her head.

  ‘Shut up, Jacobi, and keep them covered,’ Dormer said as he left the room.

  An alarm bell went off in the back of Chance’s mind. They’d agreed beforehand not to use names in front of Gao. And what heroin was Dormer talking about? Chance didn’t fool himself, knew he couldn’t do what he did without sometimes bumping up against drugs. But he avoided them whenever he could. They made people greedy and careless.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he hissed at Amber.

  ‘Just do what you’re told,’ she said, still not meeting his eyes.

  Gao had regained his composure, sat up in bed. The sheet only covered his lower half, his upper body plump and untoned. ‘Hello, Peter,’ he said calmly. ‘When my father hears what you have done, you are dead. He will hunt you down, every member of your family, kill them all.’

  Chance ignored Gao. ‘What is Dormer talking about?’

  ‘I told you, don’t ask questions,’ Amber said. ‘Please, just do what Frank says.’

  Dormer returned with an aluminium suitcase identical to the one he found in Tavener’s room. He lifted it onto the bed, snapped it open. It was full of white bricks wrapped in plastic.

  Dormer shut the case, smiled. ‘That wasn’t so hard, Freddie, was it?’

  Gao watched, a mournful look on his face.