Sugarfoot cleared his throat. ‘In my belt, under my coat.’
‘Give it to me later.’
They approached the grimy, massive columns at the base of the nearest block of flats. Ten o’clock, and no one around. Sugarfoot said, ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Shut up,’ Hobba replied.
‘Ivan knows I come here this morning, if anything happens to me.’
Hobba jabbed with the gun. ‘I said shut up.’
‘Ivan’s got contacts. Anything happens to me, you’ve had it.’
‘Sugar,’ Hobba said wearily, ‘your brother thinks you’re a fuckwit.’
‘Yeah, well he was pretty riled when he saw what you did to me the other day.’
‘But he told you to stay away, right? If he knew you were here he’d say, “Go ahead, waste the little prick”.’
Sugarfoot fell silent, suspecting it was true. They were under the building now, in a cheerless region of wind gusts, crumbling damp stucco and drifts of food scraps. Suddenly, no-one was about, not even a building supervisor, not even a Turkish widow going to the shops.
‘Stop there,’ Hobba said, and Sugarfoot felt an arm go around him, find the.25 and release him again. ‘Okay, over to the lift.’
‘Where we going?’
‘The roof.’
They stood and waited for the lift to come down. Sugarfoot looked sidelong at Hobba, taking in the plump left arm protectively clasping a soft black weekender bag. Hobba’s right hand was in his coat pocket and Sugarfoot saw the clear outline of a gun there. Hobba’s large head was set determinedly. Sugarfoot remembered the earring and the ponytail. He felt his heart begin to pound.
Get him talking, take his mind off it. ‘The news said ten thousand bucks, but it was more, right? Wyatt only goes for big jobs.’
Hobba ignored him. He had pushed the button to call the lift and was standing where he could shoot if Sugarfoot turned on him or tried to run. Sugarfoot said, ‘Look, be reasonable, let’s work something out. What say you and me hit Pedersen and Wyatt?’
‘You’d be better off praying,’ Hobba said. Then he seemed irritated with himself for responding and his face closed up.
‘I only wanted to be part of the original deal,’ Sugarfoot said. ‘That’s all.’
Hobba went up on his toes, back on his heels, waiting for the lift to come down.
‘People on the top floor will hear the shot,’ Sugarfoot said, wondering if there would be anyone at home on the top floor, then realising Hobba had something else in mind, like his outline in chalk on the ground.
The lift was coming down now, non-stop, no passengers.
‘Look, please,’ Sugarfoot pleaded.
He heard it at the same time as Hobba did, teenage kids in stretch jeans and moccasins shouting in the stairwell, pouring out of the building. They resembled apes in the zoo but just now Sugarfoot was pleased to see them. He charged, yelling, arms windmilling, flinging them onto and around Hobba.
Five seconds later he was around the corner and crossing the car park. Behind him, curses, cries of ‘Out of my fucking way’ and ‘Gis a look in the bag, mate.’
Sugarfoot fumbled open the door of Tina’s Kombi, got in, and floored it, rocking back and forth in his seat as if urging greater speed, wishing he were in the Customline, leaving snakes of rubber at every stop light between here and Bargain City.
No way was he going home.
Thirty-four
The woman had said two o’clock but Bauer got to the Caribbean Apartments at one o’clock. He drove slowly past the entrance, parked in a nearby street and walked back.
He stood for five minutes on the footpath at the fenceline, where he could not be seen, and watched and listened. Sala had not drawn his curtains. Bauer saw him pass from room to room, singing, occasionally standing as if in doubt about something.
The fence was a low one and Bauer stepped over it and crossed the lawn to the side of the apartments, to a shaded area under an ornamental tree. He took out the.22, checked that the clip was full, and fastened the silencer to the barrel. He felt sharp and alert. He hadn’t eaten, and knew that his blood was pumping fast on his empty stomach.
He crouched and circled the building, straightening only to make a rapid inspection at each window. In Cher and Simone’s apartment the curtains were closed, but he could hear voices. They’ll be getting ready for their afternoon clients, he thought, and knocked on their door.
Cher opened it. She wore a close-fitting black dress and light make-up. Her feet were bare. She recognised the thin lips, the gaunt, tense frame. The colour drained from her face. ‘I didn’t know it was you,’ she said. ‘All I had was a number.’
Bauer entered and locked the door behind him. As Cher turned away to precede him into the flat, his arm went around her neck and he pressed the pistol against the base of her spine. He began to probe with the barrel, as if seeking her anus, then spun her around and pushed her against the wall.
‘Tell me what you know,’ he said. He watched her closely. Then he began to twist her breasts with his free hand. It was a studied act of loathing.
She swallowed audibly and grimaced in pain. She whispered, ‘Someone robbed Ken on Tuesday, and he thinks the same ones did that job in South Yarra.’
‘Where is Simone?’
Cher jerked her head. ‘In there.’
‘We will join her’
Cher led him into the lounge-room. Simone was standing on the rug in the centre of the room, staring at the burning logs in the fireplace. Without turning around to face them she said, ‘If that was Ken I hope he had something good lined up for a change.’
‘Not exactly,’ Cher said.
Something in the voice made Simone turn around. She saw Bauer with the gun pressed under Cher’s jaw, paled, and stepped back. ‘What’s going on?’
Bauer pushed Cher forward, saying, ‘Over there by your whore friend.’
When they were standing together on the rug he said, ‘Now, tell me everything. Everything.’
Simone, less frightened than Cher, laughed briefly. ‘I suppose this means we dip out on the reward, huh?’
Bauer stepped forward, taking a knife from his pocket. He touched the point to her earlobe. At first she didn’t realise that he’d nicked her with it; but then she felt blood pool in a hollow at the base of her neck and run down onto her breast. She stood stock still. ‘You dirty bastard,’ she said, in a low, passionate voice. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’
‘Talk,’ Bauer said.
‘Someone robbed Ken. The Youngers came over and roughed him up as if it was all his fault. They tied him up so he nearly choked. He’s been good to us. They didn’t have to do that to him.’
Bauer frowned. ‘What has this to do with anything? Are you lying? I was paid as usual. Nothing was said about a robbery.’
‘Maybe, but the Youngers are covering up. Someone hit Ken, the Youngers know who it was, and Ken thinks it’s got something to do with that other job, the reward one.’
Bauer began to feel his control slipping. Confined spaces made him nervous, and Simone’s blood made him think of AIDS. He had the sensation of a creeping corruption in his bloodstream. He pushed her away. ‘You will say nothing. You will behave as if nothing has happened,’ he said, backing out of there, his face twisted with disgust.
Once outside again, he breathed in and out deeply and walked around to Ken Sala’s door and pressed the doorbell.
Inside he heard Sala call, ‘Who is it?’
Bauer said nothing. He pressed the bell again.
This time Sala stood close to the door. ‘Who is it?’
‘Open the door,’ Bauer said.
He didn’t wait for the door to open fully before pushing through. Sala fell back against the wall. ‘You,’ he said. He was puffy-faced and he’d been drinking.
Bauer took out the.22 and pushed Sala into the bedroom, grinding the end of the silencer under his jaw.
‘Tell me what happened.’
Sala focused slowly. ‘Did the girls tell you? We were ordered to keep it quiet.’
‘You may tell me,’ Bauer said coldly.
‘On Tuesday I’d just collected the take when these two guys came bursting in and roughed me up and took the lot.’