Peter Corris: Taking Care of Business

Back to Goulburn for another night and at about the same time the next day I was tooling along near where we’d turned off the day before. Sure enough, Bobby’s 4WD appeared. I followed him again, this time to the Golden Grape Cellars. Bobby was involved in something big.

It left me with a nice problem. If I got in touch with the people who collected the taxes from tobacco and they wound the operation up, it was odds on Bobby would finish up in the bag. Bang goes the career, the PhD and my friendship with Spiro. Not an option. If I slid him out somehow and caused the operators some grief, the finger pointed straight at Bobby. I’d pulled off the road to think this through and to drink some water, eat some fruit and stretch. The long walk had worn me down a bit and I took my time about it. As I was doing a few knee bends Bobby’s car cruised by on the way back to Goulburn. Evidently the Golden Grape enterprise didn’t require so much of his valuable time.

I let him get ahead and followed at a distance wondering if he had other points of call to the east or south. Not so. He drove into Goulburn like a man who knew where he was going and pulled up outside a block of flats. I parked within eyeshot. After ten minutes he appeared in the company of a blonde woman-Carly Braithwaite from Hillcrest.

They held hands, went to a coffee shop, kissed and did some more hand-holding. Back at the flats, he went inside and stayed for an hour. Long enough. When he came out he had that look about him people get after good sex. Just for now, it says, all’s right with the world. I followed him far enough to make sure he was returning to Sydney and then I headed back to the flats. Carly’s name was on her letterbox with the flat number. No security. I went in and knocked. Carly came to the door in a dressing gown and wearing that same look. No door chain.

‘Yes?’

‘You don’t recognise me?’

She shook her head.

‘I bought some wine out at Hillcrest the other day.’

‘Oh, yes, now I’ve got you. Is there a problem?’

She was relaxed and it was easy to push past her and close the door behind me.

‘Hey, you can’t-’

‘Shut up!’ I took out my PEA licence and showed it to her. ‘I’m a private detective hired by Robert Gravas’ father to find out what his son’s been up to.’

The fear that had sprung into her stance and expression fell away. She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ she said.

We were in a short hallway leading to an open plan area and I shepherded her, unresisting, ahead of me. The flat was well furnished and appointed with a big flat screen TV, elaborate stereo system with a wall of CDs and an air-conditioner keeping everything cool. She slumped into one of the leather armchairs and I perched on the arm of the couch, looming over her-broken nose, hooded eyes, unshaven.

‘Wh… what are you going to do?’ she said.

‘I don’t know. You know what’s going on with the chop chop and all that, right?’

She nodded. ‘We only…’

‘You only want to get enough out of it to buy a house.’

Her big blue eyes opened wide. ‘No, to start our own winery. Bobby’s a brilliant-’

‘Bobby’s an idiot. If I can get on to the operation as easily as I did, how long d’you reckon it’d take the competition, or the authorities?’

‘We’re getting out after the next crop.’

‘How?’

‘We’re going to get married and go overseas for a while, till everything cools down.’

‘After committing how many jailable offences-revenue violations, tax avoidance…?’

She was recovering fast. ‘Victimless crime.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with you, but it’s still a very dangerous game you’re playing. When’s the next crop due?’

‘Why should I tell you?’

‘Because I can bring your little plan down with one phone call.’

‘Not yet.’

‘You might have to bring your elopement forward a bit.’

‘We won’t have enough money until-’

‘Stiff. You look to be doing all right, and Bobby’s driving a forty grand car.’

A pained look came over her face. She clenched her fists and brought them up to her mouth. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ she said and raced out of the room. I heard doors slam and a toilet flush. I wandered around the room looking at the CDs and the books. I hadn’t heard of many of the bands and singers, and most of the books were about wine.

After ten minutes or so she came back. She’d dressed in jeans and a shirt and brushed her hair and put on some make-up. She was very attractive and I was sorry to be giving her such a hard time.

She managed a smile. ‘Where were we?’

‘I was telling you to bail out of this business right now and get Bobby clear as well.’

The smile stayed in place. ‘Oh, yes. We’re supposed to pass up seventy-five thousand dollars.’

‘Cut your losses.’

‘I don’t think so.’ She moved to the stereo and pushed a button. Music flowed all around the room.

‘You don’t have a choice. I-’

A man stepped into the room. The music had stopped me hearing him open the door. He was small and not young and I wouldn’t have had too much trouble with him except that he was pointing a pistol at my chest.

She’d made the call while pretending to be sick. Dumb of me.

‘He’s a private detective, Roger,’ Carly said, her voice shaking and her eyes wide at the sight of the gun. ‘He’s on to us.’

‘Shut the fuck up. Let’s see the ID, and take it easy.’

I handed him the licence folder with slow, studied movements. He held the gun very steadily and seemed able to glance at it while still looking at me. He dropped the folder on the floor at my feet. ‘How come?’ he said.

I was careful not to look at Carly but I could sense the tension and fear in her. I shrugged. ‘That’d be telling, but you’d be pretty dumb if you didn’t know you had competition in this business.’

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Fuckin’ Costellono.’

I grinned. ‘Talking about the Treasurer?’

Carly gave a nervous laugh which distracted Roger just for a split second. It was enough. I went low in a dive and took him out at the knees. I had a lot of weight and muscle on him and he bounced off the wall and lost his grip on the gun. I rolled away and came up balanced as he floundered, torn between trying to get upright and finding the gun. I caught him with a roundhouse right to the temple that sent a numbing jar up my arm but dropped him like a kite with a broken string. Carly stood, a woman mesmerised, as I picked up the pistol.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Are you? You called a gunman over to help you.’

‘I swear I didn’t know he’d have a gun. I thought he could talk to you, offer you money.’

I remembered how she’d reacted to the pistol and was inclined to believe her. Resourceful, but out of her depth maybe.

‘What’re you going to do?’

I scooped up my licence folder and took a look at Roger. He was breathing okay and his eyes were flickering. Mild concussion. Still one of my best punches, even if he was out of his division. ‘Get me some plastic bags, six, eight of ‘em, and stay away from the phone, any kind of phone.’

She hurried out and came back with a handful of plastic bags. I knotted them together and got two lengths, one to tie Roger’s wrists together behind his back and another for his ankles. I propped him up against the wall. ‘Water.’

She brought it in a cup. I splashed some on his face, tilted his head back, dripped some into his mouth. He spluttered and came back to us.

‘Too old, too slow,’ I said.

‘Fuck you.’

I gestured for Carly to follow me out of the room. ‘I’m going to give you a chance. I don’t know why. I’m giving you and Bobby a couple of hours.’