Peter Corris - Casino

‘Not long to go now, Cliff. Sure you won’t reconsider and stay on?’

There’s nothing like a single malt at 3 a.m. I rolled it around in my mouth. ‘No thanks, O.C. I’ll miss the cheques and your smiling face, but it’s not really my scene. I’ll break your new boy in and then I’ll get back to gum-shoeing.’

He sighed. ‘You’re a romantic’

‘That’s me,’ I said.

I bade him goodnight and went off to find something to get the smell of the whisky off my breath. I was meeting Ralston and I didn’t want to make it any harder for him than it already was and always would be, forever and ever, amen.

He was making a last check of the monitors, clear-eyed, skinny from the long drying-out process, pale from the night work. “We’ve got a bloke off sick,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to stick around for another hour or two.’

I kept my voice down, although there was no-one else in the room. ‘Won’t give you much time to sleep. We go at eight-thirty.’

‘I wasn’t planning to sleep. I’ll be ready.’

‘OK. See you then.’

We’d arranged to meet at the Spit Bridge at 8 a.m. sharp. He gave me a thumbs-up and turned back to the bank of monitors. Grey shapes drifted down empty corridors and disembodied hands shuffled cards and threw dice. I shivered without knowing why and got out of there.

Our plan had the virtue of simplicity and the element of surprise. We were to roll up to the big double gates, Ralston in his Hiace van and me in the Commodore. Ralston was confident he had a gizmo that would open the gates. That was the surprise. Lewis, who I still thought of as Runty, would have to cope with two armed and determined men. The simple thing for him to do would be to give up.

I’d had a few hours sleep but I hadn’t shaved and I wore jeans, a T-shirt and an old denim jacket. Ralston had shaved and wore a suit, although he’d dispensed with the tie. I’d heard of this before- reformed drunks have to keep themselves spruce as a reminder of what awaits them if they fall off the wagon. We met at the bridge and Ralston produced two balaclavas.

‘What d’you think?’ he said.

I shook my head. ‘I want Gina to recognise me instantly so there’s no frigging around. We want to be in and out before Barbour shows up. What’ve you got that goes bang?’

He threw the balaclavas into the van and invited me to look through the window. On the floor I could see a pump-action shotgun with a barrel not much longer than a stick of cabanossi.

‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘Are you any good with it?’

‘Yes.’

‘All right, Keith. Let’s do it!’

The street the Galvanis lived in was wide and the property was so big that our area of operations would be well away from the nearest neighbour. A plus. A quiet Sunday morning. Kids don’t play in the street any more, they watch television. No cars parked in the road, of course-this was multiple-garage territory. Ralston took the lead and swung his van into the driveway. I saw his arm go up and the big wrought-iron gates swung open. The van shot through, up the raked gravel drive, and he executed the fastest three-point turn I’ve ever seen. Smart move but I wasn’t expecting it and didn’t have the time or space to do the same. I’d have to back out.

We jumped from the vehicles. Ralston slid open the van’s door and we raced for the back of the big house. I had my. 38 in my hand and was praying I wouldn’t have to use it. Ralston ran briskly ahead of me with the pump in one hand. Joe had told me that the front door was kept locked and was protected by a heavy security screen. The back door was the go. Ralston jerked it open and jumped into the kitchen with the shotgun held low. I had the layout of the house from Joe and we’d agreed on our initial roles. Me to get Gina and the kids, Keith to scare the shit out of Lewis.

As it turned out, the two things happened more or less simultaneously. I ran up the stairs and could hear Ralston pelting through the downstairs room. I opened Gina’s door and found her looking out the window down at the driveway.

‘Gina, it’s Cliff Hardy. Don’t be scared. Where’re the kids?’

She was scared. She was also pale and listless. It seemed to take forever for her to recognise me, but she did and pointed to a door. ‘In there.’

‘Good, get them quick. No clothes, no toys, just get them and we’re going.’

‘But he’s just…’

I heard a noise outside and spun around, bringing the gun up. There was a thud and Ralston showed himself, waving his hand to bring my gun down. ‘Got him,’ he snapped. ‘Let’s make it fast.’

Gina was wearing pyjamas and a light dressing gown. She was barefooted. The babies were in twin cots. She gathered them up, almost dropping one. ‘I’m so weak,’ she moaned.

I took one of the infants and tucked it under my arm.

‘Come on!’ Ralston hissed. ‘I don’t want to have to hit him again.’

I shot a quick glance at Runty as we dashed for the stairs. He was sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out. There was blood running down his face from a gash on his forehead but he was stirring. Both babies started to yell as we hit the stairs and Gina would have stopped if I hadn’t shouted at her to keep going. She stumbled, but kept moving. The kids screamed their heads off and Ralston’s feet thumped on the carpet as he took the last six steps in a jump. We rushed through the hall and dining room and kitchen and out onto the tiled area at the back Ralston was in the lead, bent low with the shotgun amazingly steady as he ran.

We rounded the house and saw a green car come bucketing through the gates. It skidded to a stop a few metres through the gates. ‘Shit,’ Ralston yelled. ‘Get them in the van.’ I bundled Gina and the twins in and slid the door closed. Barbour was out of his car and the stubby carbine was in his hands. I fired at him, knowing I wouldn’t get him at the range. I heard the bullet thud into the brick wall. There was a boom as Ralston sent a shell into the front of Barbour’s car. The bonnet and grille collapsed. Barbour jumped aside and raised his gun. I snapped off another shot and missed again. Ralston had run forward and was close now. He aimed low and fired. Barbour jumped in the air and fell, his gun falling free. Ralston was getting into the van. I ran up to the window. ‘It’s all gone wrong. We can’t leave him.’ Ralston grinned at me as he started the engine. ‘He’ll be OK I loaded every second shell with light birdshot. Let’s get the hell out here.’

Barbour was sitting up now, clutching at his legs. His trouser pants were turning dark but he was swearing and getting ready to crawl across the grass for his gun. The Hiace shot down the drive, swerving around the mangled green car, and I followed. Trying to reverse fast and avoid an obstacle while your hands are shaking isn’t easy, and I clipped the brick pillar on the right-hand side as I went through. As I straightened up I saw that Barbour was on his feet with his gun in his hand. Runty was staggering towards him down the drive. I hoped Baldy wouldn’t blow him away out of sheer disappointment.

I glanced at the dashboard clock as I pulled away and saw that the whole thing had taken eight minutes. We’d allowed ourselves ten. Barbour had arrived about two minutes early, just soon enough to get a couple of dozen pellets in his legs. Tough.

I’d nutted the whole thing out with Joe Galvani in the pub eight days back. We drove directly to the airport where we met up with Joe, who had clothes for Gina and the twins as well as tickets on a flight to Perth. He had people standing by there to take care of them. The kids were still screaming but they calmed down when Joe produced heated bottles. Gina was slowly getting her bearings and taking stock of things. She dressed in the back of the van and got the twins togged up. Joe had a double stroller unfolded and when they were installed with their bottles they looked as if nothing unusual had happened.