Cochrane was described on the website as the ‘Personnel and Training’ manager. The obvious ploy was to inquire about the possibility of employment. The big security firms were swallowing the small ones continually and there was every reason for a senior personnel guy at Sterling to believe I was looking for a lifeline. I’d been head-hunted a few times in the past and had declined offers. That would have been known around the traps.
Sterling’s HQ was in Rosebery, fairly close to the airport. Handy enough for the eastern suburbs dwellers, long drive from Blacktown. The building was an example of 1950s brutalism-a three-storey red cube set on a major road with no landscaping or trimmings-just a large bitumen parking area, a high cyclone fence and a manned security gate.
I drove up to the gate and told the guard my business. He consulted a sheet of paper on a clipboard, presented me with a visitor’s pass on a lanyard and directed me to a parking slot. I parked, slung the lanyard round my neck and followed white arrows painted on the blacktop to a set of double glass doors. The doors slid open, admitting me to a foyer. A woman sat behind a desk working at a computer. She was young and good-looking. Her long nails clattered on the keys.
She looked up. ‘Mr Hardy?’
‘Right,’ I said, ‘to see Ralph Cochrane.’
She pointed to an elevator. ‘Second floor, room twelve.’
I thanked her and waited for the lift. The decor was functional-a few generic posters, a couple of citations for Sterling’s creditable performance as an employer, a scale model of a projected new HQ. I rode the lift to the second floor and followed a corridor to room twelve. I could hear activity behind the closed doors-telephones ringing, machines humming. There were noticeboards along the wall bristling with pinned paper. Cochrane’s name was on the door. I knocked.
‘Come.’
I’ve never liked that response. Bad start and it got worse. There were three men in the room-one sitting behind a desk and two flanking it. As I entered one of the men moved behind me, closed the door and stayed there. The other standing man sat in the only other chair in the room apart from the one behind the desk. Not a friendly reception. The man sitting was Arthur Pollock of Blacktown, the smallish guy with the wispy hair. I didn’t think I’d have too much trouble with him. I turned and looked at the man at the door. Much bigger, much younger. It’s hard to judge the size of a man behind a desk but this one didn’t look puny. He was in his thirties, dark and tanned. Maybe just back from his holidays, maybe a spray job. None of the men was bearded.
‘I’m Ralph Cochrane, Hardy,’ the man behind the desk said. He pronounced it ‘Rafe’. ‘This is Arthur Pollock and Louis Salter you know.’
‘Do I?’
‘Well, not exactly, but you saw him when you staked him out in Clovelly a few days ago. More to the point, he’s seen you. Arthur seems to think there might have been a crappy blue Falcon like the one you drive outside his house, too.’
‘Arthur’s right,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think he’d noticed.’
Pollock smiled. ‘Subliminally,’ he said.
‘So you’ve shown a very great interest in us and we’re wondering if we should be flattered or worried.’
‘Flattered,’ I said. ‘I was considering trying to join your organisation and I was just checking a few of you senior people out before making an approach. That’s why I made this appointment. I have to say I’m having second thoughts.’
I heard a movement behind me but I was too slow. A punch hit me hard in the kidneys, drove the wind out of me and buckled my knees. I had to grab at the desk to keep my feet. Salter looked pleased with his result as he should have. The punch was expert, placed in just the right spot and with just the right force. Deep bruise but no rupture, probably. I fought for breath and almost gagged at the foul taste filling my mouth.
‘Let the man sit down, Arthur,’ Cochrane said. ‘He needs the chair more than you do.’
Pollock stood and I collapsed into the chair and concentrated on sucking in air. It felt thin and insubstantial and as if it wasn’t going to last.
‘You’ve got a reputation as a tough guy, Hardy,’ Salter said. ‘I thought you’d be able to take it a bit better than that.’
My voice was a thin wheeze. ‘We’ll see how it goes next time, when we’re face to face.’
‘I’m off,’ Pollock said. ‘You can handle it from here. Let me know what he tells you.’
Cochrane nodded. Pollock took a step and I stuck out my foot. He stumbled and fell flat on his face. Pretty pathetic taking on the little guy but I had to do something. Salter stepped forward but Cochrane stopped him.
‘Cool it, Louis. You okay, Arthur?’
Pollock got up, straightened his clothes and gave me a look meant to be venomous but it’s hard to be venomous when your tie’s crooked and your comb-over’s been disturbed. He pushed past Salter and left the room.
‘Let’s start over again. Why’re you so interested in us?’
I’d recovered my breath and straightened myself up in the chair. My kidneys had the ache that suggests blood in the urine. I’d been there before in my boxing days. My brain was working well enough though.
‘I’ve got a question first,’ I said. ‘Your reaction is way over the top for spotting a little surveillance. What’s got you so upset, Ralph?’
Cochrane and Salter exchanged glances and Cochrane nodded.
‘You were seen having lunch with that fat aresehole O’Grady the other day,’ Salter said. ‘Someone passing by your table caught the name Sterling. You weren’t discussing the fucking swordfish and O’Grady wouldn’t be advising you to join this firm.’
‘You’re right there,’ I said. ‘He told me not to have anything to do with you but I decided to go ahead and see for myself. And I’ve seen all I want to see.’
‘And what have you seen?’ Cochrane said.
Something interesting that I’ll keep to myself , I thought. I said, ‘I’ve seen a couple of stupid guys worried about a fat man.’
‘He’s a journalist and he’s never forgiven Phil for sacking him. You’re snooping on his behalf.’
I tried to force a laugh but the action hurt too much. ‘You’re wrong. He says he never had it so good. He’s enjoying what he does now. He reckons he owes Phil.’
They exchanged glances again.
‘I suppose we could be wrong,’ Cochrane said slowly.
I levered myself out of the chair suppressing a groan. ‘Is that an apology?’
‘Fuck you,’ Salter said.
‘You’ll keep,’ I said. ‘I wonder if Phil knows how you’re handling this?’
Salter looked worried; Cochrane didn’t. He said, ‘Phil’s much too busy to worry about a nobody like you.’
Cochrane stood and put his hands on the desk. He leaned forward, so close I could smell his aftershave. ‘You’ve wasted some of our valuable time, Hardy. You’re a loser from way back and now you’re scratching around trying to make a living. Well, don’t scratch around here. Now piss off!’
He pressed a buzzer on his desk and an answering knock came on the door within seconds.
‘Come,’ I said.
Cochrane growled. The door opened and a woman stood there with an inquiring look on her face.
‘Show Mr Hardy out,’ Cochrane said.
I followed the woman down the corridor, into the lift and we went down to the foyer without a word being spoken. The glass doors slid open.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
She pointed to my chest. ‘The pass, please.’
‘I’ll hang on to it as a keepsake.’
I glanced back at the building as I opened the car door. I thought I could see a figure standing at a window on the second floor about where room twelve would have been. I put the pass in my pocket and drove to the gate. The guard stopped me.
‘Where’s the pass?’
‘I gave it to a woman inside.’
‘No you didn’t. She just called me.’
I nodded. ‘Good security.’