‘Hello, Cliff. Been a while.’
‘Every muscle in my body says so.’
‘Yeah, man. You’ve softened up a bit.’
‘I’ve got some news, Wes.’
His big, oiled hands stopped moving. ‘Good news?’
‘I think so. Yes.’
Wesley slapped the meaty shoulder. ‘You’ll do, Vince. Go easy for a week or so.’
Vince got up and worked the shoulder. ‘Feels good, Wes. Thanks.’
Wesley nodded. ‘Come inside, Cliff.’
We went into the massage room and he said, ‘What?’
‘I’ve met some people, Aborigines, who saw Clinton alive and well about seven weeks ago.’
Wesley sat down abruptly, almost missing the chair and having to fight for his balance. Clumsiness like that was unlike him. ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Where was this?’
‘In North Queensland.’
He reached for a towel to wipe his hands. ‘I don’t understand. You reported a dead end…’
I sat on the massage table and rotated my stiff, aching shoulders. ‘Some more information came my way and I followed up on it. It led me to Queensland.’
‘I thought you’d just quit on me.’
‘I know you did.’
‘I’m sorry, man. I’ll pay you…’
‘That’s the tricky part, Wes. Someone else who wants to find Clinton hired me after I did a bit of poking about on my own. He went south at first, to Bingara. That’s where Angela Cousins’ mother’s people come from.’
‘Why is someone else looking for him?’
I intended to give him an edited version, but when I tried to hedge he was shrewd enough to ask the right questions and I ended up giving him the complete story. No names though.
Wesley cracked his knuckles with a noise like firecrackers. ‘You believe this guy only wants Clinton to make some sort of statement?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I doubt he’d do that, Clinton.’
‘Me, too. But would you have thought he’d be part of a blackmail scam?’
Wesley shook his head. ‘This guy, maybe he really wants to put Clinton in gaol? That’d really put the screw on his wife.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Wes. Maybe. I’ve got a conflict of interest here.’
‘Not so. I don’t care if he has to go to gaol for a while. Couldn’t be that long. No-one got hurt if what you say’s right and I can give back the money. But this payback stuff, that sounds dangerous as hell to me. You say he thinks the girl got the stuff in Sydney?’
I let out a long breath. Wesley had just resolved my dilemma. It looked as if I could have the luxury of playing straight with both him and Nickless. How Clinton would react was another matter. ‘Right. And I’ve got a bit of a lead there that you can help me with if we can agree…’
‘Hang on. I’ve got to ring Mandy. She’s been in a very bad way over this. Me too, and Pauline. You imagine the worst bloody things
… ‘ He grabbed the phone and made the call. There was a strength in his voice and confidence in his delivery. It must have communicated itself to his wife because there was a smile on his face when he hung up. ‘Mandy says to thank you.’
‘Okay, but it’s a bit early for that.’
‘You said you had a lead.’
‘Yes, but it’s sort of in your area of expertise, maybe. And I want you to agree to let me handle it, right up until I ask for your help.’
‘Butt out in other words.’
‘Not exactly. In fact I’m going to need some assistance right away.’
Wesley scratched at the bristle on his face which, I noticed, had a lot of grey in it, like mine. ‘You know I paid the rent on that house in Helensburgh and the kid came up and thanked me. He got his degree all right. He also returned Clinton’s car. I put it up on blocks in the garage at home. I guess that was a vote of confidence or something. You’ve given us hope, Cliff, and we’re grateful. I’ll do what you say, but I sure as shit wish I do get the chance to help you. I’m serious, man. Not being able to do anything is the worst part.’
It was time to take a stab at it. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Here’s where it starts. Do you know someone nicknamed Tank?’
‘Of course I know him. Everyone in this game knows him. He’s an American, ex-marine, ex-pro wrestler. Runs a gym in Zetland.’
‘That right? I thought there were only factories in Zetland.’
Wesley shook his head. ‘A few houses, mostly owned by Tank. And then there’s his gym.’
‘I need to talk to him. Mark Alessio had him down as someone who might know where Angela got the steroids. There’s a chance Clinton might be on the same trail’
‘I hope not.’
‘Why’s that? You think he could be source of the stuff?’
‘No, he’s not that dumb. But Tank Turkowitz is one of the nastiest bastards you’d ever hope to meet, or hope not to meet. He married an Australian girl to get residence and the word is he killed her a bit later. Nothing proven. He trains some athletes and footballers and basketballers but his big thing is training fighters for smokos-you know, the all-in bareknuckle brawls they hold in out of the way places.’
I’d heard of these events-brutal, no-holds-barred affairs that attracted the worst elements in the community of violence-washed-up boxers and footballers, street fighters, standover men, bouncers and the drug-pushers, gamblers and pimps that circled around them.
‘It sounds like the right scene.’
‘Man, you got it right,’ Wesley said. ‘If you’re going to talk to Tank Turkowitz you need my help right now!’
‘I don’t want to fight him. I just want to talk to him.’
Wesley flicked the towel at me. His spirits were definitely up. ‘With Turkowitz, Cliff, talking and fighting is much the same thing.’
16
Wesley said he’d ring Turkowitz to set up a meeting and would get back to me with the where and when. The workout had left me stiff and sore. I went to the Leichhardt squash centre and spent half an hour in the sauna and spa and, as always, couldn’t decide afterwards whether I felt better or worse. I drove to the office, made a neat package of the report, the annotated maps and the receipts and mailed the lot off to Rex Nickless. After doing the arithmetic I discovered that there wasn’t as much left of his money as I’d thought. Somehow, that made me feel better.
I spent the day attending to the minor matters that only took phone calls and faxes to deal with-a surveillance of a factory to be arranged a month hence, a subpoena to be served and a promise to meet a journalist to talk about a case I’d handled three years ago, a promise I probably wouldn’t keep. While waiting for Wesley to call I brought my personal case doodle up to date. This is the diagram I draw which shows the names of all the people involved and the connections between them and sometimes stimulates thought and questions. I added Tank Turkowitz to the picture, connected him to Mark Alessio with an arrow and to Clinton Scott with a dotted line that indicated a possible connection. It all looked very nice. In theory, Turkowitz would tell me who’d supplied the steroids to Angela and I’d somehow find Clinton sniffing at the same trail and stop him. In theory. When I’d finished I was sorry that I’d made the diagram-I had to add too many question marks to feel confident about any of it.
Wesley phoned late in the afternoon to say that he had lined up a meeting with Turkowitz at his gym for 6.30 that evening.
I said, ‘Should I bring my gun?’
‘Don’t joke. Bring your patience and forebearance and your capacity to be insulted without having to retaliate.’
‘I always do that.’
‘Hah. How’s the body?’
‘Sore.’
‘Teach you not to neglect it. I’ll meet you there. Here’s the address.’
He gave it and I jotted it down. Zetland wasn’t even a place to drive through in my experience, let alone one to visit unless you need something of a light industrial nature. On my way home I stopped at the library, looked it up in Ruth Park’s guidebook to Sydney and discovered that it was named after an undistinguished aristocrat, the Earl of Zetland, who was a mate of one of the nineteenth-century governors. Undistinguished was appropriate.