Tobin was about to nod when I scored my first real hit on him. “Hope you’re getting all this on tape, Rhino.”
Tobin’s eyes popped. Veins stood out in his forehead as he turned to look at Jackson. “You’d better have turned that fucking thing off…”
Jackson looked flustered. “It’s OK, Barry. I can wipe it. I…”
“He’s taking out some insurance of his own Bazza,” I said.
“Shut up, Hardy,” Tobin growled. “Rhino, I…”
“What the hell’s that?” As intent as he was on the confrontation with Tobin, Jackson couldn’t ignore the noise outside. I heard shouts and a splash and then the blue, blinking light of a police beacon flashed in the window. “Shit,” Jackson said, “there’s some fuckin’ D and a couple of uniforms down there.”
That was enough encouragement for me. I slung myself out of the chair as far as I could, which wasn’t far but enough to get a kick at the table Tobin was sitting at. His ashtray and glass went flying through the air and I nearly tore every ligament in my arms when I wrenched at the back of the chair, trying to pull the handcuffs clear. I broke the plastic part away from the metal part and was almost loose. Tobin roared something and I swung around, kicking at him, shouting myself and trying to create as much uproar as I could. I swung back the other way and was free, apart from having my arms pinned behind me being attached to a small section of chair and having cramp in my legs. I bullocked my way across the cockpit and butted Rhino Jackson in the midsection. He was holding a gun at the time, which I hadn’t known or I mightn’t have done it. The gun went off and the noise in the confined space was like a rocket launch. A window exploded.
After that, time and certain other things became very confused. Maybe there was an answering shot from a nervous trigger finger below, maybe not. Both Jackson and Tobin made for the door and fought to get through it and down the steps. I followed, although I didn’t know why. I was slow and clumsy. Jackson turned and fired at me, but I was falling downstairs at the time and he missed. When I hit the bottom I struggled up and out through the open door onto the back part of the deck where I’d hidden when I first came aboard.
I fell again, unable to grab at any support. I felt my head hit something hard and warm blood flow down into my right eye. It would’ve been a perfect moment to shoot me. But no one did. I was lying on the hard, wooden deck with my blood flowing, my arms sending up pain messages to my brain and only one eye working. From this low vantage point, I saw a uniformed policeman present himself in front of Jackson, who had somehow got ahead of Tobin, and shout at both of them to stop where they were. Tobin shoved Jackson forward and the cop shot him in the chest. Moving with an agility I could hardly believe, Tobin swung his legs over the side. The cop was standing stock-still, shocked at what he’d done. I expected to hear a splash, but instead there was the roar of an engine firing and a churning noise as a boat took off across the water, away from flying bullets and falling bodies and flowing blood.
12
“You must be Hardy. Is that right?”
The big man bending over me was breathing heavily and sweating. I’d seen him before-in Arundel Street in the company of the widowed Mrs Glover and her unpleasant son Clive.
I wriggled up into a sitting position. I had an aching head, a closing eye and pain almost everywhere. “And you must be Detective Sergeant Meredith. I’m very pleased to see you.”
“Yeah, I bet you are. Could you tell me what the hell’s going on here? I came looking for you and…”
“For me? Why?”
“You left your name at the morgue. I wanted to know why you were interested in Glover. Then I saw the sheet from the Woolloomooloo station that you were on the scene when another guy died, and in sight of the bridge. We have to talk, Hardy.”
“Sure. But how did you know to come here?”
“I put out a marker on your car. A cruiser spotted it up the road and called in. We’re pretty well organised these days.”
The flashing blue light had been turned off, but there was still a lot of commotion on and around the jetty and on the houseboat. The sorts of protesting voices that I’d heard before were being raised again and the cops were talking in their quiet, emotionless way. I’d really spoiled some folks’ night. Meredith took a look over my shoulder at the handcuffs.
“Can you locate a guy named Arch?” I said. “He should have the key to these bloody things. How come you piled in like this? I thought you just wanted a chat.”
“If you mean Arch Bailey, we’ve got him in custody. He’s wanted. That’s what I mean. I arrived and found all these bloody crims swarming around-Bailey, Fred Murdoch, Sammy Camarella. Couple of them ponced up in red jackets like they were in Las Vegas. All on the wanted list. I called in for support. What’s going on, Hardy?”
I grinned at him. “You just raided Barry Tobin’s gambling boat. You’ve probably got the odd magistrate and MP in chains down there.”
“Shit.” Meredith pushed his lank fair hair back from his eyes. He was younger than I’d thought, at least ten years younger than I. His bulk had misled me. In the dim light he looked almost boyish. “Who cares,” he said. “Those old pricks have had it coming for years. Their protection’s just about run out.”
“Good,” I said. I jiggled the short chain on the cuffs. “Arch?”
Meredith’s eyes went suddenly shrewd. “Still, I could be in the shit over this. You wouldn’t have anything else to tell me, would you, Hardy?”
“A lot, on this and the bridge business. But first you should send someone up to get a tape from the wheelhouse.”
“The what?”
“Up there!” I jerked my head to indicate the direction and then I saw Rhino Jackson. Two men, one in uniform, one in a dinner suit, were bending over him in attitudes that suggested he was a lost cause. Meredith gave urgent commands to a couple of the cops, and one returned with a key to the handcuffs. When I was free I moved across to where Jackson lay. They’d put a blanket over the lower part of his body. The policeman who had shot him was young, pale-faced and scared. He looked up and saw me.
“You saw it, didn’t you? You saw what happened.”
“Yes,” I said. “I saw it. It wasn’t your fault. Don’t worry, son.” I looked at the man in the dinner suit.
“I’m a doctor,” he said. “I’m afraid he hasn’t got very long. The bullet must have hit something vital.”
The young cop turned away, and I bent over Jackson. His eyes opened. “Hardy?” he whispered.
“Rhino.”
“Tobin.” The voice was a harsh whisper with no force behind it. “Get Tobin… kill Prue Harper.”
“Tobin’s going to kill her?”
“Has to. She knows…”
“Where is she?”
Meredith was beside me now. “What’s this?” he said.
“Shush. Where is she, Rhino?”
A trickle of blood came from Jackson’s mouth and his eyes closed.
“He’s going,” the doctor said.
Jackson’s lips pursed as if he was about to spit. I bent my head down. I could feel his breath, the faintest, sour smelling whisper, on my face. “Budget…”
“Budget…” I repeated.
The bloodless lips trembled, pursed, relaxed, then firmed up again. “Back… packer.”
“I know it,” Meredith said. “Budget Backpacker. Victoria Street. The Cross. Hardy…”
“I think he’s gone,” the doctor said. He checked Jackson’s pulse, shook his head and pulled the blanket up over the white, still face with the dark trickle running from the slack mouth.
The young cop jammed his hands in his pockets and stood like an actor on stage who didn’t know his next line. Meredith touched his shoulder. “Go and have a cigarette, constable.”
“I don’t smoke, sir.”
“Then go and have a bloody drink.”
“I don’t…”
He was almost in shock. I steered him along the deck. “There must be a kitchen in this boat somewhere. You can probably get a cup of coffee or something. Hang on, son. You’ll be all right.”