Peter Corris - Open File

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ I said.

He was groaning and grabbing at his ear with one hand and his forehead with the other. The skin had split from the impact with the car, which added to the blood flow. Still holding the pistol, I kicked the door shut and he yelped as it closed a few inches from his head. He was game; he tried to get up but a fairly gentle push put him back down.

‘You weren’t quite up to it,’ I said. ‘Did Sharkey tell you it’d be easy?’

‘Fuck you.’

A car that must have been parked further down the street with the engine running came slowly towards us. I let the driver see the gun.

‘This’ll be your mate,’ I said. ‘Not much use, was he?’

The car drew abreast of us and I gestured for the driver to get out and help his fallen comrade. He did it with very bad grace, getting blood on his trousers, swearing, fumbling. The injured guy abused him. I gave each of them a searching look while I held the gun in position. Standard hard types-bitter eyes and mouths, emotionally undernourished, mixtures of fear and hate.

‘I’ll know you both,’ I said, ‘don’t come back.’

The car roared away with a squeal of tyres and whiff of burning rubber. I didn’t know how long I’d been holding my breath, but I let it out now, slow and easy. I knew I’d been lucky, and luck was something you just couldn’t rely on. I went to the end of the street, walked the block to the water and threw the pistol in. The last thing I needed was to have in my possession a gun that could’ve been used in shootings. I also didn’t need the enmity of a heavy character like Sharkey Finn, but there was nothing I could do about that.

I went inside, filled a bucket with water and splashed it over the car to clean off the blood. I poured a solid scotch and sipped at it as I changed my pants and put the bloodied ones in the wash. I kicked off my shoes, which would need cleaning as well, and sat down with a second drink to think things over.

You didn’t front up to a government minister, even one suspended and on bail, the way you did to his chauffeur. I didn’t have any useful contacts in the political machine and Ireland was probably licking his wounds and conferring with his lawyers somewhere away from his usual haunts. O’Connor had said he didn’t know where that might be. He’d wanted the money too much to risk a lie that I might trap him in. Ireland had a lot of problems and the only card I had to play was the information that he’d been involved in corruption by helping to provide a false passport-if he had. It wasn't an ace and I couldn't think of a way to play it. Hated to admit it, but I needed help. I rang Tania.

'Cliff, darling. I hope you've been busy.'

'I have. How's Sarah?'

'She's fine. Some news, I hope?'

There was no help for it, I had to tell her about Justin having seen Ireland and my need to talk to Ireland about it. It was risky-with Tania you never knew what use she might make of information. But this time she had her eye firmly on the game.

'That's good,' she said. 'Might give us a strong lead to Justin's whereabouts even after all this time.'

'Yes.'

I could almost see her chewing it over and, as I'd have predicted, she came up with the kind of strategy that was so dear to her heart: 'You could threaten to expose him as corrupt. He has to talk to you.'

‘To use your expression, that’s where you come in. You say you got to talk to him in the past even though it didn’t go too well. I never heard that he was keen on the media. How did you manage it?’

You could always appeal to Tania’s vanity. She allowed a dramatic pause before she spoke. ‘I met Damien, his son, at a party and we had an affair. He’s some kind of apparatchik in his father’s office-sucking on the government tit. Damien set it up for me to get an interview with his father and that’s why Wayne thought he could make me a father and son double. They’d done it before. Didn’t quite get there, as I told you. They’ve got a weird relationship in that family. Damien idolises his dad and his mother. Is that a complex? Is there a name for it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think it’s because they’re Catholics with only one child. Sort of fixated on each other.’

‘Still in touch with the son?’

‘After the blow-out I had with his old man we’re not exactly close, however he still had the hots for me last time I saw him. But I know something not too many people know.’

‘Which is?’

‘Where Wayne Ireland and son Damien go to do their rooting. I went there with Damien a time or two, and I’ll bet that’s where Wayne is right now.’

‘Tell me.’

‘No way. I’ll show you.’

‘Come on, Tania. It could get rough-the man’s a drunk and probably desperate and he’s killed one person already. And maybe another.’

‘Who?’

‘Perhaps the kid I’m hunting for. Anyway, you’re supposed to be looking after Sarah.’

‘We’ll bring her along.’

‘You’re crazy. This isn’t a film script you’re writing.’

‘Isn’t it? Why not?’

I argued with her, threatened to turn the whole deal over to the police and to contact social services to say that she was an unfit person to be the carer of a vulnerable minor. She laughed at me.

‘You’ve got it wrong, baby. She’s turned sixteen. You know and I know the police’d never question Ireland on this matter the way he needs to be questioned. I mean pressured. You want the Justin enquiry to dead-end here? Sarah would thank you for that, I’m sure.’

She held the cards and she won the pot. The best chance for Sarah, financially and emotionally, was to resolve Justin’s disappearance one way or the other. I went along with Tania’s proposed arrangements with a few provisos of my own.

‘No film crew along,’ I said. ‘Any sign of something like that and it’s all off.’

‘Okay. It we get to a movie we can always reconstruct. But I’m taping. No way I won’t.’

That was reasonable and necessary. We haggled about a few details and eventually came to an agreement that made me unhappy. Still, it was the best I could do. I only scored one win-Sarah was to stay put. Tania fought it but, as everyone except Rocky Marciano found out, you can’t win them all.

Tania insisted on driving her own car-a sporty 4WD Mitsubishi.

‘That rust-bucket of yours’d never make it,’ she said.

‘So we’re going up-country?’

‘Wait and see.’

She’d left Sarah in the charge of a friend of hers who was also a lawyer. They’d talk over legal matters-plenty to sort out there.

‘Fiona’s very smart,’ Tania said. ‘She’ll be a big help to Sarah and she can give her pointers on quite a few things.’

I didn’t even want to know what that might mean. Tania wore her almost uniform of black pants and white blouse with a paisley scarf. The day had dawned cloudy with rain threatening, so she had a hooded parka. She also wore flat-heeled shoes, not her usual style, so I gathered there was some roughish ground to cover. Her leather bag carried various items, including a reporter’s tape-recorder.

‘With backup batteries,’ she said when she showed it to me.

‘And a camera, eh?’

‘You never know what can pop up. I hope you’ve got your gun.’

‘Wait and see. You reckon I could need it?’

‘I told you, Ireland has some tough friends. Who knows who he’s hanging out with now?’

I did have the. 38, in a shoulder rig under my denim jacket. I had on drill trousers and boots so I was equipped for the country stuff. I’d never thought the Irelands would have

their fuck-pad in the CBD.

Tania drove the way she behaved-recklessly, aggressively, with no consideration for others. She gunned the car through the traffic like a rally driver and had just enough experience and skill to avoid disaster. I hated to be a part of it and asked if we could have some music.