Peter Corris - Casino

Baldy opened his coat just wide enough to let me see the gun. ‘Nice try, Hardy,’ he said. ‘Now I think you’d better come along with us.’

Peaked Cap had a cosh in his hand, meaning they had a noisy and a quiet way to get me to do what they wanted. I didn’t fancy either, so I got in the car. Peaked Cap drove, Runty sat beside him and Baldy got in the back with me, on my right. He took an automatic pistol from his pocket and put the carbine on the floor between his feet.

‘Empty your pockets,’ he said.

I looked at him. ‘Or what?’

He tapped the driver on the shoulder and the cosh was passed back to him. Good teamwork, not much room to swing the cosh in but probably enough. I emptied my pockets. Baldy passed the contents to Runty who shoved them in a plastic bag. Then he swivelled around and gestured for me to hold out my hands. I glanced at Baldy who looked as if cosh-swinging might be one of his specialties along with shooting, and he wasn’t too bad at that either. I stuck my hands out and Runty clamped on a pair of chrome-plated handcuffs. Stone end of the idea of opening the door and jumping or falling out-I couldn’t reach it in time manacled, and even if I could, the fall would be so clumsy I was likely to break my neck.

‘Where are we going?’

Baldy dug me in the ribs with the cosh, a leather-wrapped length of lead pipe or hardwood-it was difficult to tell and it really didn’t matter much.

‘Shut up,’ he said.

I leaned back against the seat. Might as well be comfortable. ‘Abduction’s a serious offence. Ten years I’d say. Make you an old man. You won’t have a hair on your head when you come out.’

He reached across and hit me on the left bicep. I moaned and he did it again.

‘Thought that might hit the spot. You’ve been carrying that shoulder I notice. Now I told you to shut up and I meant just that. Shut up!’

Convincing. We were on the highway now, heading back to the city. My throat was marginally drier than my mouth-fear and anger combined. I had to admire the way they’d done it. Must have had a couple of cars on the job, patrolling the streets. Peaked Cap must have handed the Commodore over to someone else. Organisation. I looked at the other vehicles on the road-taxis, trucks, cars, motorcycles. Drivers and riders without a care in the world except mortgages, redundancy, kids, divorce proceedings, dodgy prostates. I’d have gladly taken on a few of their burdens. Baldy was humming tunelessly under his breath. Irritating, but I didn’t feel in a position to make him stop. I was hoping they’d produce a blindfold. A blindfold means they care about you knowing where they’re taking you. No blindfold means they don’t care, and that means…

We were in North Sydney, approaching the bridge or the tunnel. I stared ahead, wondering. I was aware of a movement from Baldy and turned towards him. Slow, slow, slow. He was much quicker. The syringe glinted and the needle bit into my leg through my pants. He pinned me back with his big left arm and I heard him counting.

‘Ten, nine, eight, seven… ‘

I had time to wonder whether a needle was the same as a blindfold. I knew it was better than a bullet. Then everything went black and my last thought was, Tunnel But how was I to know?

Panic struck me as soon as I became conscious. I was lying on a trolley, a hospital-style gurney, tied down to it by straps that ran around my wrists and ankles. Thick webbing straps, and there was another across my chest and one across my legs just above the knees. The room was dark and smelled of antiseptic. Little chinks of light showed around a doorway. My mouth had been taped shut or I would have yelled my lungs out. I suppose the room was quiet, but there was so much throbbing and booming going on inside my head it was impossible to tell.

I lay very still and tried to get past the panic. After a time it eased and with it the pounding in my skull. Lying still wasn’t much of a problem. I could have lifted my head a few centimetres but I didn’t want to. I could wiggle my fingers and toes, but that wasn’t a very useful thing to do. I concentrated on slow, deep breathing-hard through the nose alone but impossible. I closed my eyes and tried to let a calming tune take hold of me, a folk song or something from the classics:

Dook, Dook, Dook

Dook of Earl, Earl, Earl

Dook of Earl…

It’d just have to do.

I don’t know how long I lay there, but it was long enough for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. I was in an infirmary or clinic. I could see the outline of a sink; the faint light gleamed on polished chrome and the smells were of disinfectant, rubber, bleach. Not reassuring, especially for a hospital-hater like me. I could see heavy gauge pipes overhead indicating that I was well below the surface in a large building. The air-conditioning whispered, the pipes hummed slightly and there were occasional muffled noises coming from far away.

My stiff shoulder and the arm that had been coshed screamed to be eased; prolonged nose breathing was becoming difficult and I was a mass of itches and tics that needed attention. The panic started to rise again and I tried to chew at the tape across my mouth. I pushed at it with my tongue and turned my head, attempting to rub it against the hard surface I was lying on. No luck. All I managed to do was get a foul taste in my mouth and sink a tooth into my bottom lip. I wriggled my fingers and toes and didn’t seem to be getting much wriggle at either end. Sweat broke out on my forehead and ran down into my eyes. Things ere getting worse and it was all my own doing. I struggled for breath and for one second I thought I was going to swallow my tongue. I also thought I was going to shit myself and lose control of my bladder. Couldn’t have that. I’d never done that, not even in Malaya when the bullets were shredding the undergrowth around me.

Dook, Dook, Dook…

The door opened and two men walked in. I recognised one of them-Runty-before the light came on. The light blinded me for a few seconds and I recognised the second man by his voice.

‘I wish I could just slide him into the fucking water, just the way he is.’

Ken Galvani. I blinked and looked at him- a porker, black receding hair brushed back, aftershave on his blue jowls, tuxedo.

‘Yeah, you know me, Hardy. You fucking nuisance. You interfering prick. What did you have to stick your nose in for? You could have told Gina to forget it. Hysterical bloody woman. I told Scott he was a fucking idiot for marrying her. Women belong at home, in the house, in the kitchen, in the fucking bedroom!’

He was working himself up and I hoped it wasn’t to do something I’d regret. I closed my eyes.

‘Christ, what’ve you fuckwits done to him? He’s not going to fucking die, is he?’

The most hopeful sounds I’d heard in how long? Minutes? Hours? Days?

‘Nah,’ Runty said. ‘We never touched him hardly. Just shot some dope into him. He’s all right. Supposed to be pretty tough.’

‘Rip the tape off. I have to talk to the bugger.’

Rip it he did, taking some skin with it. The pain brought tears to my eyes.

‘I dunno about tough,’ Galvani said. ‘Looks to me like he’s crying.’

‘Untie me, get rid of Runty and let me get my circulation back,’ I croaked. ‘Then we can see who’s tough.’

‘What did you call me?’

Galvani thumped the smaller man’s shoulder with a meaty fist. ‘It’s as good a name as any, unless you reckon Fuck-up would be better. Get him some water, I can hardly understand what he’s saying.’

Galvani undid the straps holding me to the trolley, still leaving me tied hand and foot. Slowly and painfully I lifted myself up and swung around so my legs were hanging over the edge. The blood rushing to places where it hadn’t been for a while caused shooting pains and jumping nerves but the movement was still a relief. Runty went to the sink and came back with a plastic cup of water. I tipped my head back and he poured it in, too fast, but I got it down in a couple of gulps.