Saving Billie

'I need another drink.'

'You'll be too high to drive.'

'I can walk. I live here. Get me a drink while I think this over a bit.'

I kept my eye on her while I got the drink, wondering whether she might do a runner. But she sat, apparently doing what she said-thinking. I glanced out of the window at my car and thought Lou Kramer must be frantically trying to call me on the mobile. Given the way she'd been playing things I didn't mind the ball being in my court for a bit. I put the drink down on a coaster near the ashtray.

'Not having one?'

'I'll be driving.'

'You're going to have to tell me a bit more about this woman you're working for.'

I'd been very sketchy on that and a few other matters and now I filled in some details.

'How much money's she making out of this?'

'I don't know, but a good deal. Clement's a high profile figure, a big poppy. When they come down there's always a lot of interest. Plus he's got connections to other people who're even more interesting than him.'

'Like?'

If I mentioned Peter Scriven and the lost millions she'd know who I was talking about-every news magazine in the country had run articles on him and his face was as familiar as Ian Thorpe's. But I wasn't quite ready to go that far, talking that kind of money, which, anyway, Lou had said wasn't her main interest. I pushed some chip fragments around the wet table top.

'Look, Sharon, we're fencing here. You're playing Sam's whereabouts close to your chest and I'm inclined to do the same from my end. How about you tell me a bit about yourself, your connection with Billie and Sam and Eddie, and we can take it from there.'

She was half drunk by now. 'You're a careful type, aren't you?'

'Middle name.'

She sighed and suddenly looked tired and every day of her age. She fiddled with an unlit cigarette and went into a rambling account of her life, almost from day one to now. Connected narrative wasn't her strong suit and the grog wasn't helping. She and Billie were only two years apart and they'd been very close as kids. Both tearaways, drop-outs, broken home products. In her twenties Sharon had slowed down, married but it didn't last, had a child, gone to art school and now earned her living as a children's book illustrator and giving painting lessons. Billie had stayed on her original track with Sam being about the only good thing that had happened to her.

'Certainly couldn't call Eddie that,' she said, 'or Yoli. I got Sam away from Billie a few years ago. I know where he is, she doesn't.'

'What about your child?'

'She's fine. I was lucky. Her dad's supportive, sort of. She's in her first year at uni. Flats in Campbelltown, comes home a lot.' She raised her glass, snapped the cigarette in half with her other hand and dropped the pieces into the ashtray. 'You probably won't believe me, but this is the most serious drinking and smoking I've done in years.'

She hitched at the neck of her top. 'And I don't normally dress like this. I'm usually in pants and T-shirts, and Billie can't stand to see it. She reckons I'm just proving I've got some qualifications and a real job and that all she's ever been any good at was screwing. So I bought the fags and tarted up, went blonde again even, to try to get her approval and get her away from that place. Didn't work.'

I was finding her impressive and credible, but that alone put me on the defensive. I couldn't count the number of times people, women in particular, had presented one face to me only for me to find that they had quite another. And she'd presented two quite convincing faces already.

'Look, Sharon, why don't I drive you home and you can get some coffee inside you and straighten up. I'll call my client and talk a few things over with her. I think there's a way forward from all this.'

She nodded and looped her bag onto her shoulder. 'And you'll want to see some of the books so you can see I'm not lying.'

I grinned at her. 'Wouldn't hurt.'

'Suspicious bastard.'

I reached for the cigarettes.

'Leave 'em,' she said.

Sharon went to her car and retrieved a few folders and a cloth bag, locked the Golf and got into my Falcon.

'Don't spend up big on maintenance, do you?'

'It's what's under the bonnet that matters. You wash 'em, they just get dirty again.'

We buckled up. 'Where to?' I said.

'Keep going and I'll tell you. I'm out of town a bit, in the hills.'

A bit turned out to be the best part of ten kilometres with a good deal of it on a narrow, climbing, twisting dirt road. I wouldn't have fancied her chances of staying on it unless she could carry her liquor a lot better than it seemed. The hill country had a soothing effect on her and she gradually looked more comfortable, less strained. I'm a coast man myself, trees don't do a lot for me unless they're Norfolk Island pines fringing a beach, but I had to admit the quiet had an appeal. I wound down the window a bit further and sniffed the scents of an Australian bush summer in the making.

As if she was reading my mind she said, still slurring a little, 'Where d' you live?'

'Glebe.'

'Jesus, I lived there a while back. Couldn't hack the pace and the stink now.'

'Where did you grow up?'

'Liverpool-worse.'

'I spent some time there when I worked for an insurance company.'

'Your lungs must be lead coated. Righto, round here and you'll see a track leading off to the right. Careful now, it's narrow and there's a sort of ditch you have to creep over.'

I slowed down and made the turn. The ditch gave my suspension a workout and then we were climbing steadily again with the trees and scrub close on both sides, almost brushing the car.

'I found this old miner's shack a few years ago. I'm leasing it now but hoping to-Oh, Jesus!'

The shack was in view in the middle of a small clearing, but so was a 4WD, parked right by the dwelling. Massive John Manuma was standing with his back to the car and arms folded, looking straight at us.

9

I hit the brake hard. 'What the hell does he want?'

Sharon had sobered at the sight of him. 'The same as you-Sam, to put pressure on Billie.'

Manuma must have recognised my car because he came forward, bent to pick up a solid bit of tree branch and snapped it to a handy length over his knee.

'Oh, God,' Sharon said. 'Back up! Go!'

'No chance.' The track was narrow and trees grew close in on both sides. There was enough space, just, but not the time to do a three-point turn and I didn't fancy reversing at pace on the loose dirt. I left the car in neutral with the motor running, reached into the glove box and unshipped the. 38.

'What're you doing?'

'Sit still. It'll be all right.'

I got out and let Manuma see the gun. He was about twenty metres away, swinging his waddy. I raised the gun and sighted on his huge chest.

'Stop there!'

He did, but he was poised to come on. 'You won't shoot me.'

I lowered my aim. 'I won't shoot you in the chest, you're right. But I'll put a couple in your legs and what if I miss, go a bit high? I mean it… Johnny. Put down the fucking stick, take out your car keys and drop them on the ground or I swear I'll cripple you. I've done it before.'

'I just want to talk to her.'

'Sure you do. Well, we might arrange that, but not here, not now.' I moved the pistol a fraction. 'Do it… Johnny.'

He hated me addressing him that way, but he reached into his pants pocket, took out the keys and dropped them without taking his eyes off me. This guy had been in tight situations before and knew how to behave. Me too, but his size and composure were impressive and I knew I couldn't control him without shooting for much longer. Praying she could drive a manual, I gestured at Sharon to turn the Falcon around: my waving fingers said do it slowly.