Peter Corris - The Big Score

‘Haxton didn’t mention anything like that.’

‘Directors live in a world of their own. He probably wasn’t in the country when it happened.’

‘Did he work on one of Haxton’s pictures?’

‘I think so. I could check.’

‘Did he have an affair with Cassie?’

‘Who didn’t?’

I’d given him my card and he looked at it to refresh his memory of my name. ‘I’d like to help you with this if I can, ah… Cliff

‘Why?’

Peter Corris

CH32 – The Big Score

‘For the most selfish of reasons-to get material for my book.’

‘Not to get back at Haxton?’

‘Wouldn’t hurt, but no. It was that producer bitch that dudded me. As I said, I’m over it.’

I finished my beer. ‘I admit I’m a bit out of my depth with this-not the crime, if there is a crime, but with the relationships of the people. I’d be grateful for any help I could get.’

Crabbe nodded and held up a hand in a comradely gesture. ‘I wonder how I would’ve gone up against you.’

‘I’d back you,’ I said. ‘Ten years ago it might’ve been even money. This Corbett, reckon you can track him down?’

‘Yes.’

He made some phone calls, explained to Wendy that he had to go out, said goodnight to Chloe and we were on our way.

‘Which d’you reckon makes the better impression, my SUV or your clapped-out Falcon?’ Crabbe said after I’d pointed out my car.

‘Depends whether we want to be frightening or comforting.’

‘Frightening.’

‘We’ll take yours.’

Crabbe drove expertly but without flourishes. ‘I’m told he’s living under a shop in Marrickville, probably selling dope and speed. He had a bikie period, not sure if he’s still into that.’

The shop in Addison Road was boarded up but lights were showing in the flat, more or less underground, below it. There was a ramp to the door.

‘Bit weird,’ Crabbe said.

We went down and Crabbe knocked on the door. After a short wait we heard a sound inside and then the door opened. If this was Ben Corbett, he wasn’t doing any kidnapping in person because he was in a wheelchair.

‘Hello, Ben,’ Crabbe said.

‘Fuck me, big Tom Crabbe and a mate come to do me harm. I heard you was on your way.’ He produced a pistol from under the blanket over his knees.

Crabbe’s move was as quick as I’ve ever seen. Almost like a conjurer, he plucked the pistol from Corbett’s grasp and pointed it back at him.

‘No need for that, Ben. I think we got the wrong end of the stick. Sorry to see you like this. What happened?’

‘Come off me bike, what d’you reckon? What do youse want then?’

‘Nothing.’ Crabbe activated the safety on the gun and handed it back.

‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘Mr Corbett, I’m a private detective looking for Cassie Haxton. I understand you-’

Corbett may have been a cripple but there was nothing wrong with his lungs. He threw back his head and let out a roar of laughter.

‘Bugger me. Cassie. You want me to tell you about her?’

‘Anything you can.’

‘Take a while. Come in. Truth is I’d be glad of the company. You’ve got no fuckin’ idea how many people avoid you when you’re crippled. Got anything to drink, Tom?’

‘I think there’s some rum in the car.’

‘Why don’t you go and get it while

‘Cliff Hardy,’ I said.

‘… him and me get comfortable.’

Corbett swung the chair around and I followed him into the flat-just a sitting room and bedroom as one space and a kitchenette tucked in a corner. If Corbett was selling dope as Crabbe suggested, he wasn’t doing very well at it. He looked as if he could have been passably handsome at one time, but confinement in the wheelchair had put flesh on him and blurred his looks. He sported a bikie ponytail, but the hair was thin and receding at the temples.

I heard the door close and Crabbe came in with a half-bottle of Bundy. Corbett had things arranged so as he could reach them. He got ice and a carafe of water and some glasses from the bar fridge and set them out on a battered pine table.

‘Pour us a strong one, Tom, and youse can have what you like.’

Crabbe obliged, half filling a glass and adding two cubes of ice for Corbett and making us two heavily diluted versions. Corbett took a long slug.

‘Jesus that hits the spot. These legs are fuckin’ useless but they hurt like hell sometimes. Nothing like a bit of Bundy to dull the pain. I remember when-’

‘We don’t need any of that, Ben,’ Crabbe said. ‘When did you last see Cassie?’

Corbett laughed. ‘That means when did I last fuck her-same thing.’ He brought his left fist down hard on his knees. ‘Before this. That’d be when I was in LA. She was hot, like always, and she reckoned she was going to take that stuck-up prick Haxton for fuckin’ millions. Crazy bitch had this plan-that what youse want to hear about?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Cost you.’

‘How much?’

I moved around the table, reached under the blanket and grabbed the pistol Corbett had tucked down beside him. I checked the load, jacked a shell into the chamber, and pointed the gun at the side of Corbett’s head.

‘You’re depressed, Ben. Drinking hard. It all got too much for you not being a king of the freeway. You ran yourself off the road one last time. It’s easy to arrange.’

Corbett lost colour. ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘I would,’ I said. ‘I’ve done it before.’

Corbett shot a desperate look at Crabbe, who shrugged. ‘He’s a hard bastard and there’s a lot of money at stake. But he doesn’t seem to want to share any of it with you.’

Corbett steadied himself with another belt of rum. ‘All I know is, she had this idea to show him up as a cheap bastard and then blackmail him. Said she’d lop an ear off like that fuckin’ mad painter if she had to.’

I cleared the magazine and breech and put the gun and the shells in Corbett’s lap. ‘Did she say anything about having an accomplice-a helper?’

‘I know what an accomplice is, you prick. Yeah, some dyke who has it in for Haxton.’

Crabbe and I left Corbett the rum and we drove back to Newtown, barely exchanging a word. He backed carefully into his parking bay.

‘Has to be Emily-Jo Taplin,’ he said.

‘You mentioned a female producer in uncomplimentary terms.’

‘Got it in one.’

We stood in the street and I thanked Crabbe for his help.

‘I can handle it from here,’ I said. ‘Don’t quite understand it but I expect I will.’

We shook hands. ‘I believe you. That was nice work of yours back there with Ben. Very scary. Have you ever offed anyone like that?’

‘No.’

‘Good bluff. Can I ask you to let me know how it works out? Could be very useful.’

I agreed.

If this scenario was the real one, and instinct told me it was, it seemed to me that the pressure was off. Wouldn’t hurt to let Haxton stew a bit, and Cassie wouldn’t come to any harm. I went home to sleep and to think about how to play out the last act-the whole thing now seemed like a bad movie script. The modified voice was a clue, suggesting that Haxton knew the real voice. Can that modification make a woman sound like a man? Why not?

I drove home. It was a night sans Lily, which is okay as long as there aren’t too many and they’re well spread out. There was a message from Haxton on the answering machine. He complained about my mobile being off and said the caller had been in touch again.

‘It’s fucking weird. He asked how I’d feel about a hundred grand and I said okay. Then I got a bit pissed off and said things about Cassie that I shouldn’t have. There’s something else. Ring me.’

So much for a good night’s kip. I called him and told him I had the mobile off because I was dealing with dangerous characters. A true egotist, he didn’t even register what I said.