Peter Corris - Saving Billie

'Billie, you can't flake out now.'

'What about something to get me up and running?'

'Maybe,' Thomas said, looming over her. 'But let's make this quick. Hardy's right about Jonas. He's dangerous. He hates me, hates his old man, hates everybody and particularly women who give him a bad time. Here's what I want to know. It's likely what got Eddie killed. Don't you make the same mistake. Where's Peter Scriven?'

So that's what it was all about-Peter Scriven and his missing millions. If McGuinness was right, Clement knew where he was and was blackmailing him and Greaves wanted in on the action. On that analysis, it looked as if Clement Junior was being kept in the dark by his dad and planned to change things in his favour. Poor Clement Senior, betrayed on all sides. 'It's always about the money' someone said, and they were just about right.

I was absorbing this when the door swung in and Jonas Clement came barging through.

'I've had enough of this shit. What's she saying…?' Thomas took a pistol from his pocket and shot Clement twice in the chest at close range. I was never going to get a better chance. I took three long strides and hit Thomas with a haymaker right that caught him on the hinge of his jaw. It had all my weight and forward movement behind it; bones grated and separated and skin split as he sagged, dropped his gun and collapsed in a heap.

Sharon was standing stock still, and Billie had fallen back on the bed. I shook Sharon hard. 'Pick her up. She's just skin and bone. You can carry her. We're getting out of here.'

'Is he… dead?'

'Yes. Move!'

Thomas had cracked the back of his head on the floor and was unconscious. I bent over Clement, avoided the blood soaking his shirt and flipped open his jacket. The silenced gun slid out of the holster smooth as a snake. Then I picked up Thomas's pistol. Sharon shook her head, wiggled fingers in her ears to clear them after the loud reports in the confined space, and grabbed a rigid Billie under the armpits. She raised her easily and slung her over her shoulder in a fireman's lift, taking a sheet with her. She got her balance and looked at me.

The door stood open and I heard movement outside. Kezza, with a piece of metal piping in his hand, was moving cautiously down the passage. I stepped out and pointed Clement's gun at him.

'Down. Right down. Drop the pipe and don't move a muscle.'

He kept coming and I fired, aiming at the ceiling just over his head. The pistol made a muted pop but a detached chunk of plasterboard showered him.

'It's Jonas's quiet gun, Kezza. But I think it's pretty effective. Want to see?'

He dropped the pipe and stood there.

'Down!'

He lay flat on the floor, face down.

'Good. Jonas is dead and Rhys is out of action. What you do next is up to you, but I'm leaving with the women and you don't stir until we're gone. Agreed?'

He nodded, hitting his chin and swearing.

I leaned back into the room and waved Sharon forward. 'We're off. Put Billie in your car and follow me.'

'Where're we going?'

'I'll think of somewhere.'

The traffic had slowed and there was no sign that Thomas's shots had attracted any attention. Kezza certainly wouldn't be calling the cops. Sharon's car was parked ahead of mine and I helped her to load an unresisting Billie onto the back seat. I got to my car and drove past her, moving slowly until I was sure she'd picked me up. I'd shoved both pistols inside my shirt where they sat, cold and slick with sweat, sticky with blood, above my belt. I drove without any thought of a direction while I turned things over in my mind. Who would Kezza contact? Depended what side he was really on and there was no way of telling that, but the odds were he'd get to Clement Senior first to tell him about the death of his son. He'd know from the wounds I hadn't used his son's small-calibre silenced gun and that the killer had to be Thomas, but would he and whoever came to help leave it that way?

And what ofThomas? He could claim I'd flattened him, taken his gun and used it on Clement. That's if he could talk. It'd be a thin story but Thomas was smart, smarter than Kezza, that was for sure.

Sharon, almost tailgating, flashed her high beam lights at me, worried about where we were heading. I needed somewhere safe to go to think through this maze. It came to me as I had to decide to turn towards the city or go north. I made the decision, took the turn and raised a fist in a determined gesture to indicate a purpose.

Sharon got the message and dropped back to a comfortable position.

Clement knew where I lived and worked and so, no doubt, did Barclay Greaves. Greaves also knew where Sharon lived and about Billie's sojourn in Liston. I used to have a good bolt-hole in the Rooftop Motel in Glebe where they'd let me put my car out of sight and didn't bother about registering me. But the Rooftop was up for redevelopment and was closed. Always best to stick as close as you can to your own turf. I drove on automatic pilot until I pulled up outside Mike D'Angelo's projected Lilyfield dream home. A single light showed inside. Tommy was doing the right thing, minding the store.

I told Sharon to wait in the car. I put the guns under the driver's seat, handling them carefully, and went through the gate that opened easily now that it wasn't weed-entangled. There was a strong, pleasant smell of slashed fennel and the cat-piss stink of cut lantana in the yard. I went to the front door and knocked quietly. The door opened cautiously.

'Hey, Tommy.'

'Cliff, my man. Watcha doin' here?'

'A bit of trouble, mate. I need a place to lie low for a day or so. Me and two women.'

Two women. Wow! I could do with one.'

'Not like that. Okay by you?'

'Sure, there's plenty of space and I've cleaned the place up a bit. Not real comfortable, but.'

'Doesn't matter. Thanks, Tommy. I'll get them.'

We helped Billie from the car. She was weak but she wanted to walk and managed it with some support, although Sharon practically had to lift her up the steps.

Tommy had turned on a few lights and we went into the wide hallway typical of the best Federation houses.

'She sick?' Tommy asked.

'Yeah,' I said, 'but getting better. Is there a bed?'

'Sort of, a sofa, like.'

I explained to Sharon about Tommy's job and how he'd been useful to me out at Liston. She helped Billie onto a sofa in the room Tommy showed us. It was big; polished board floor, high ceiling and double doors standing open led through to the kitchen. I could see that he'd swept the floors and wiped the surfaces. Cobwebs hung thickly in the corners of the rooms.

'I eat in the kitchen or out on the back porch. There's four bedrooms with ratty mattresses. I've only cleaned one out.'

'We'll manage. Anything to drink?'

'Tea, coffee, coke.'

'Nothing stronger?'

He shook his head.

'I've got some brandy in the car,' Sharon said. 'I thought it might be needed.'

'It is,' I said. 'Tommy, is there any way I can get my car out of sight?'

He pointed to the dirt and stains on his once-white overalls. 'I cleared all the shit away that was blocking the gate to the drive this arvo. Fuckin' hard work, too. You can put it in there. Out of sight from the street.'

Sharon, squatting by the sofa, and Billie were talking quietly.

'How is she?' I said.

'Not bad. Coming down from the sedation. I'm a bit worried about how she'll be when she hits bottom.'

'I've got a doctor friend who'll give her something but probably not till morning.'

Billie mumbled something and Sharon shook her head. 'She could be bad by then.'

'I've got some Panadol somewhere,' I said. 'Might knock her out with the brandy.'

'She a junkie?' Tommy asked.

'Sort of,' Sharon said. 'Yeah, she's been getting treatment but she's had a shock tonight. We all have.'