Peter Corris - Follow the Money

I got moving again and things came back to me. Just before I joined the army I decided to get myself super fit so as to be a star recruit. I'd been told that rowing was the best aerobic exercise of the lot, so I joined a rowing club. There were a lot of chaps from private schools but one or two roughies like me. I was put through my paces in a gym first, and I just qualified to be allowed in a boat. I rowed in fours and eights on the Parramatta River for a couple of months. I'd never done anything as strenuous before and never since, including basic training. A hard row takes everything out of you, breaks you down to your fundamental physical capacities. I remembered the area around Mortlake-a complex of jetties and wharves to do with some industrial concern-coal, or was it gas? It then looked, if not derelict, neglected. I wondered how it looked now.

The suburbs were quiet; the residents of Concord and

Mortlake went to bed early or were glued to their flat-screen TVs. Hilly Street took me to the ferry. A sign said it ceased operation at six fifteen pm. Two cars were parked in front of the locked, three-metre high gate. One was May Ling's silver Peugeot; the other was the red Mercedes I'd seen in the garage at the Nordlung house. The ferry was drawn up to the dock and there was no sign of movement.

I had my answer to the changes since I was last here. Where the industrial operations had sprawled, there were blocks of townhouses. One set flanked the river and on the opposite side of the street, with a less expensive view, another was in a late stage of construction. Fairmild Cove was a small sandy beach beside the ferry wharf. A boardwalk ran away to the left, between the townhouses and the river. The moon was high and bright and I could glimpse a jetty poking out into the river a hundred metres away. A sign at the beginning of the boardwalk announced that it was on private property. The public had access, but the sign listed all the things that were banned along its length-almost everything. You could walk a dog on a leash. Forget the dog and it was Habib's milieu all right-waterfront residence with boat facilities.

The boardwalk was well lit but I grabbed a torch from the glove box before setting off-a big torch with heavy batteries. A useful weapon if needed. There were lights on in some of the townhouses and in the warmer months there would probably have been people out on the balconies sipping drinks and taking in the moonlit view. Not tonight, with a cold wind. The water slapped against the rocks at the base of the boardwalk and spray hit the chain that served as a handrail. It had a cold, clammy feel.

I rounded a bend and saw a series of jetties arranged in a rough H pattern. A few boats were tied up, not many. It looked like a perfect place for a marina but as if the idea hadn't yet occurred to anyone. Or maybe the money wasn't in the right pockets yet. I moved forward straining to see or hear anything that might tell me what was happening. The dull pulsing in my damaged ear that I'd grown used to was sharper, affected by the wind.

You're too old for this. Who'd said that? I couldn't remember.

'Hardy!'

May Ling rose up from a crouch near a point where the jetties branched and there was some kind of sculpture providing cover. She grabbed my arm and pulled me down as she pointed.

'They're on that boat,' she whispered. 'I don't know what to do. Help me, help her.'

It was possibly the first time in her life that May Ling hadn't known what to do.

'I saw her,' she said. 'Just a few minutes ago. She looked so wild, so mad. She had a gun.'

'What d'you mean, a pistol, a handgun?'

'No, something bigger, longer…'

'Like a rifle or a shotgun?'

'I don't know! I don't know! She's capable of anything. I'm so scared. She hates me, she hates herself, she…'

'Stay here.' I gave her my mobile. 'Stephen Chang's number's listed. Call him. Tell him what's going on.'

'I've got his number. I don't need your phone. What are you going to do?'

I didn't answer because I didn't know. I moved forward, keeping low and out of the pools of light until I reached the short dock where the boat was the only one moored. Under the moonlight I could read the name -High Five. It was big, not as big as some, but big enough, with a long mast waving in the wind and several satellite dishes mounted around the superstructure. Lights showed in the body of the boat. I crept closer until I could sort out where the lower deck began and how to reach it. There was an opening near the front where the rail had been folded back and pinioned. The boat was rocking gently; it was securely fastened, but a tide was building, running towards the harbour.

I stepped onto the boat and worked my way back to the deck where there was light. I could hear the faint hum of a generator. I moved clear of the raised section and peered around the corner to the awning-covered space. I couldn't see anything but I heard the unmistakable sound of people fucking-the creaking, the panting. A short set of steps led down to what had to be cabins and a living area.

The action heated up and then stopped abruptly. Sun Ling's voice, breathless, alarmed, disappointed, was an almost hysterical screech.

'Richard, no! Don't stop! Fuck you. I-'

I heard a heavy slap. 'Shut up, you stupid bitch.'

I was crouched at the top of the steps with the pistol in my hand staring down into the dimly lit space. Suddenly it was flooded with light. A man stepped out holding what looked like a machine pistol. He was naked and still half erect.

He looked like the Richard Malouf I'd met but not quite like him. His hair was lighter and the shape of his nose was slightly different.

'William Habib,' I said.

'Hardy, put down the gun.'

'You won't shoot me. You don't have to. Ali's under arrest. You've still got a shot at a deal with Inspector Chang.'

'The gun.'

There are killers like Lester Wong and Yusef Talat but Habib wasn't one of them. He wasn't cruel enough or frightened enough. I tossed the pistol over my shoulder and heard it hit the deck.

'We should talk,' I said.

Habib was only in his middle thirties and he'd been an athlete in more ways than one. I'd thought him vain on our meetings and he'd looked as though he'd taken care of his face and figure. Now, naked, with his penis slackening and holding half-heartedly onto a weapon he didn't want to use, he looked older and diminished.

'You trust Chang?' he said.

'As much as I trust anyone. He just now stopped Ali from killing me.'

'God, I never thought it'd come to this. You can set something up with Chang?'

'I can't guarantee everything you might want, but I'll tell you this-you'll have a better chance with him than on the run with Houli and Talat after you. Is Sun Ling all right?'

The grimace was almost a smile. 'When I called her that she almost bit my head off.'

'She's a troubled woman. Her sister-'

'OK, OK. Gretchen's probably pissed off with me. I seem to have that knack with women.'

He hesitated for a second and then put the machine pistol down. 'I'll put some clothes on and we'll talk.'

He stepped back into the cabin. It seemed too easy and I stayed alert, wishing I had the pistol within reach. I had the torch now feeling like not much of a weapon.

When Habib re-emerged he was a different man. He wore a dark silk shirt, white trousers and white deck shoes. His hair had been swept back and tidied. He bent, picked up the machine pistol, and made a beckoning gesture at the cabin. Sun Ling came out wearing a blue silk dress and what Germaine Greer called 'fuck me' shoes. She tottered, holding a hand up to her face. Habib steered her towards the steps.

'She's insurance,' Habib said. 'She seems to matter to you, Hardy. I'll kill her if I have to, to save myself. You have to understand that. The only person in this whole fucking world I care about is me. Got it?'