Peter Corris - Casino

The Honda moved up closer as I passed the nursery, hoping for houses and getting instead another high fence-a research facility of some kind. I could see now that there were two men in the car. I picked up speed but the Honda was going to be faster. I still had bush on one side, no bends, and up ahead I could see yellow-and-black barriers, aluminium sheds and scraped earth-roadworks, another carriageway being constructed. The tan car was almost alongside me; the windows were tinted and I could only see shadows. I was sweating and gripping the wheel as the Honda pulled out and began to turn to cut me off. I let it go, touched the brake and then floored the accelerator. Now I was the one on the outside and the Honda was slowing down, the driver realising he’d screwed up.

I rammed him, not hard, just at the door pillar, catching it perfectly. The Honda shot through a wooden barrier splintering it as the driver fought for control. I concentrated on getting the Commodore back on a straight track but I saw the Honda out of the corner of my eye, bumping and throwing up dust as it ploughed through the bed of the new road. The work must have been suspended, because there was nobody about- maybe a stop-work meeting was on. I wasn’t out of the woods. The driver had lifted his game; he had the car under control and was heading back towards the road. I’d spent too long watching. Then the Honda wobbled and lost speed as its wheels dropped into some kind of a shallow trench. Broken axle territory. It stopped. I wasn’t more than thirty metres away. A man jumped from the car, levelled what looked like a military carbine, and pumped bullets at me. A window cracked and I heard two rounds tear through the body of the car, entering and exiting. I hit the gas. Not heroic, but if there’s a way for an unarmed man to get the better of one with an automatic weapon I don’t know it. Pity really, because I recognised the guy with the gun-Baldy from the park in Rozelle, and he had one score against me already.

The directory had fallen to the floor. I was unsure of where I was and had no idea of how to get to Joe Galvani’s. I just wanted to keep moving. I became aware of a scraping sound and I pulled into a quiet street and got out to look. I’d crumpled the front panel when I’d hit the Honda and it was rubbing against the tyre. I kicked and pulled it clear. There were two bullet holes in the back window and the back seat had some small pieces of glass on it where the bullet had punched through. I examined the interior and found that the slug that had broken the window had lodged in the dash a few centimetres from me after passing through the seat. Close.

That set me thinking about the timing of Julian Clark’s death. It had happened within two hours of my finding out about his role in the scheme of things. That couldn’t be accidental. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone had lost their life after coming within the scope of one of my investigations. It wasn’t something I liked to think about but I had to. How could it happen? I hadn’t spoken to anybody. I’d just sat in the car, read the transcripts, listened to the tape, made a few phone calls- the car!

Finding it didn’t take long-there are only so many places you can plant a bug in a car and get good reception. The motor noise and the electricals are the problem. This was a state of the art number, located in the roof near the interior light. The fabric where it had been inserted was invisibly mended, almost. I thought back over the phone calls, trying to remember who’d I rung with what results. What names had been mentioned? Clark. I hadn’t got through but I’d announced my interest in him loud and clear. Joe Galvani? I hadn’t got through the first two times and when I had the chances were the passing truck had blotted out the sound. I dismantled the car phone, not being tender with it, but found no device there.

Unpleasant hi-tech thoughts. Then I wondered just how much hi-tech I was up against. I crouched down and stuck my head under the car, locating it almost immediately. The transmitter. Good planning. They knew the car they were looking for and the area to find it in but took no chances. I was about to pull the thing out when I had second thoughts. If they had a backup car they could be here, homing in on the signal pretty quickly. Best to be sure. The short street ran into a grid with a good number of outlets. I could hear the hum of fast-moving traffic but it was a fair way off. Once your quarry was out of that street, no telling where he was. There were houses on one side-big, deep-garden-in-front jobs with lots of trees and shrubs. One the other side was a park with swings and slides and a rollercoaster-style track for BMX bikes. No kids for another half hour or so. A stand of casuarinas behind the park filled in the space between it and a couple of public tennis courts.

I scooted over to the park and ducked into the casuarinas, three deep. I was sure the shadow was sufficient to keep me hidden, especially if I kept dead still, as I intended to do. I waited, squatting. A couple of cars came down the street, moving on through to the highway. A dark Ford Fairmont had the right look but it turned into one of the driveways and a woman got out, pulling plastic shopping bags after her. Never can tell. I had decided to wait for half an hour, before any kids arrived, and was about to move when they showed up.

Another tan Honda. Three men-Baldy and Runty from the park and a driver-tall, wearing dark clothes and a peaked cap. They parked behind the Commodore and approached it carefully. Baldy’s carbine was hidden inside his loose jacket and he moved slightly awkwardly. He looked around a lot, including one piercing gaze straight in my direction. It was like a photographer telling you stand still-you immediately become aware of a gentle sway and of an itch you just have to scratch. I was in range of the gun and it could probably have chopped through the two trees between me and it. I froze.

At a word from Peaked Cap, Baldy stopped surveying the field and joined the others by the driver’s door. It had taken them long enough to get there. At a guess, they might have feared I was inside, wounded or dead. They’d drop that idea when they saw there was no blood. They’d notice that I’d located the bug, then what would they do? What would I have done? I wasn’t sure and neither were they. The decision was made for them by the arrival of a couple of kids, boys, who threw their canvas school bags under the slide and commenced to give the playground a working over. They also displayed some curiosity about the men clustered around the car. Would have been more if they’d been able to see the punctured window and the bullet holes, but it was enough for my threesome. In a move I hadn’t anticipated, Peaked Cap hopped into the Commodore, started it up and drove away. The other two went back to the Honda and followed. Smart move, Cliff, leave the keys so they’ll think you walked or ran away. Didn’t think they’d pinch the bloody thing did you?

That left me stranded somewhere in the back of Lindfield, unarmed except for a Swiss army knife, up against well-armed enemies and needing to get to Joe Galvani fast. I came out from behind the trees and walked along the edge of the park towards the road. The boys stopped playing and looked at me as if I was one of the bad guys. I tried to give them a jaunty wave with my left hand, forgetting about the crook shoulder. It probably looked something like a Nazi salute and they stared after me all the way until I was out of sight. Cabs don’t cruise those kinds of streets and telephone boxes aren’t numerous. I plodded along, moving west. The sun was slanting low and bothering my eyes. The pavement felt hard and the gradient seemed steep.

I spotted a phone box and broke into a jog, sending a bolt of pain through my side, worse than a stitch. I swore and slowed down, praying that a phone box in a nice, middle-class neighbourhood like this would work. It apparently did because a young woman was using it. She stood relaxed with the door open, blowing out smoke. I fretted, pacing around the box, jiggling coins, looking at my watch. Just when I was about to haul her out, she hung up and stepped from the box, gave me a sweet smile and strolled away. I clawed out some money and was about to put it in when I saw that the box worked by phonecard only. I sagged and looked at the instrument, tempted for the first time in my life to vandalise a telephone. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened the door they were there, all three of them.