‘Rosito?’
Montefiore shook his head. ‘Gabe’s got plenty of money. More than the rest of us put together. All he’s interested in is cunt. They knew they couldn’t get to him.’
Montefiore said he didn’t know how it was done but the plan went through. Master was nabbed and convicted. He presumed that Rivages got his shipment through and that everything was hunky-dory.
‘Question one,’ I said. ‘Who was this mastermind?’
‘I don’t know his name.’
‘Tell me everything about him you can think of.’
‘Jeez, I wish I had a drink.’
‘Later. You’re doing well. You’ll be able to afford a few.’
‘Okay. Australian, mid-thirties, medium-sized, maybe a bit bigger. Not that fit. Ordinary looking, mousy hair, nothing unusual except… I’d swear blind he was a cop. He had the manner, you know? Sort of special in his own fuckin’ head.’
I nodded. ‘Scars, mannerisms, habits? Come on.’
Montefiore scraped at his stubble as if the rasping sound would trigger a memory. ‘Didn’t smoke. Drank mineral water in the pub. Jesus, yes, he had BO. He was scrubbed clean, shaved close, short back and sides, fresh shirt and daks, but he still had this whiff of BO.’
‘Good. Question two. Why’re you still around and in this dump?’
Montefiore had taken a bad beating and was down on his luck, but he wasn’t a man without self-esteem. From the look on his face I could tell he’d have hit me if he’d been able and he wanted to tell me to go to hell because he couldn’t. ‘I ran out of money and this is the best I can do. At least Rivages doesn’t know where I am.’
‘Why does that matter?’
‘I reckon he’s still making up his mind what to do with Reg and me. He doesn’t like us knowing what we know. He’s got fingers in lots of pies-property, gambling, politics. We could damage him if we talked. Equally, if we went missing like Rory it wouldn’t look good.’
‘Can’t he buy the cops?’
Montefiore shook his head and looked tired all of a sudden. ‘No. Not here. He’s obviously in with that Australian cop so I don’t know if we’d even be safe back at home. If I get out of this I’ll take off for somewhere else as quick as I can. New Zealand maybe, Fiji, Bali
‘Okay. You’ve earned some money, but I’ve thought of something else. If Rosito’s not in on it, why did he get in touch with Rivages so quickly?’
‘Just playing safe. Silly fucker reckons Pascal can help him with the widow. Like I told you, he-’
‘Yeah. What about you and this Kiwi? Let’s get back to her, and you and her.’
‘I’m crazy about her. She’s amazing. She’ll go with me if I’ve got money.’
I grinned. ‘That doesn’t sound like a match made in heaven.’
‘Get stuffed. See this?’ He grabbed at his hair. ‘I’m not a kid any more. I’ve led a weird, rough life and I don’t expect to make old bones. I want to grab what I can while I can.’
‘Fair enough. So, this photograph?’
‘She’s got a Polaroid of the cop. Not good, but good enough.’
I sat quietly and thought it over. Montefiore went out of the room and he seemed to be moving more easily all of a sudden. Hope’ll do that to you, I guess. But it could’ve been something else. He came back with two mugs.
‘Instant coffee. No milk. Best I can do. What’re you thinking about, Hardy?’
‘One of the things I’m thinking is about how everyone I meet in this bloody thing seems to be lying to me. My client told me none of Master’s associates spoke French. You do. Rosito told me Rivages didn’t speak English; he does. He also told me Penny was trying to sell his boat. He says he won’t. See what I mean?’
‘About the languages, everyone does that here-pretends not to speak or understand. It can give you an edge. Hey, there’s a guy on the local TV, speaks good English. He asked the station to pay for some language training. They wouldn’t. So now he won’t talk a word of English. Uses an interpreter on the program, costs the station dough, and everyone knows he understands just about every word that’s said to him in English. See?’
I sipped some of the coffee. For black instant it wasn’t bad. French Nescafe? ‘What about you, Montefiore? You’re lying about something. I know you are but I just can’t put my finger on it.’
It was his turn to drink coffee and ponder. He shook the hair out of his eyes, put the mug down on the floor and let his arm slip out of the sling. He extended the arm and flexed his fingers. He thumped the heel of his cast on the floor a few times while keeping his eyes locked on mine.
‘I’m coming good, Hardy. I was the light-heavy kick-boxing champion of Queensland. Two men held me while Sione went to work. I’m hoping to get a shot at him, man to man.’
11
I wasn’t interested in tackling Sione myself, but that was Montefiore’s problem. I agreed to pay him fifteen thousand for his information as well as the photograph. If for some reason we couldn’t get the photo, I’d scale it down to an unspecified level. Had to keep him on his toes because, although I now had a story to tell Lorraine Master, some physical evidence would make it a lot more convincing. I gave some thought to the possibility that this could be a set-up. The Kiwi woman could be holding a photograph of no one in particular who matched the description Montefiore had given me. Easy money. But it seemed unlikely that anyone could’ve anticipated me and my offer.
I went to the bank to draw more money and bought a few things for Montefiore on the way back-a shirt, shampoo, deodorant, shaving tackle and such; a six pack of the local beer, milk, fruit, bread and cheese. When I returned he’d made an effort to clean up the flat. The rubbish was in plastic bags stacked outside and the floor had been swept. If I’d bought fly spray the place would’ve been almost habitable.
The big surprise was that Montefiore had taken the cast off and was massaging his leg, flexing his toes and going through a gentle rehab procedure. He seemed to know what he was doing and I was inclined to believe him about his martial arts prowess. He showered, washed his hair, shaved, put on his clean shirt, white jeans and sneakers and looked pale but capable of fending for himself.
I showed him the money and he nodded. ‘You’re a fucking life-saver.’
‘I was, once.’
We had a beer and ate some of the food and tried to get on level terms. Not easy. We were wary of each other and both suspicious by nature.
‘You didn’t ask for cigarettes,’ I said.
‘I don’t smoke, except the odd joint.’
I sniffed the air.
‘Fay smokes. I can’t stand the bloody things, but what can you do?’
He went out of the room again and I heard a few drawers open and close. When he came back he had a light blue linen jacket over his arm and was carrying a fair-sized overnight bag. ‘Might have to move quick,’ he said.
‘What about the rent?’
‘Fuck it.’
Just to make conversation, I said, ‘You mentioned the plan to drop a small amount of heroin on Master. Turned out to be a couple of kilos and he went for ten minimum.’
Montefiore drained his can. ‘No fridge,’ he said. ‘We either drink ‘em or I put ‘em in cold water in the sink.’
‘I could go another one. It’s pretty light. Keep two in hand. What d’you reckon about the drugs?’
We took cans from the pack and he went out to the kitchen and ran water. ‘How could you trust those bastards?’ he said when he came back. ‘They double-cross everyone on principle.’
I cracked the second can and thought about it. ‘How well did you know Master?’
He opened the can and put it aside. ‘One’s enough for now. I’m still thinking about getting a few head shots on Sione. Stewie? I’d never met him before. Gabe introduced him. I dunno. He’d clearly been around a bit. Couple of tatts that looked like gaol jobs, I noticed. Pretty quiet. Young looking, but I wouldn’t have liked to mess with him. Seemed like he had something on his mind. Why?’