Peter Corris - Matrimonial Causes

‘I think it’s going to rain,’ a voice I didn’t recognise said. Mario?

‘Good. Make the fuckin’ ground softer.’ That was Teacher.

A match flared and I smelled tobacco smoke. ‘Let’s just get on with it, eh?’ Ian Gallagher was nervous. Maybe it was his first time at a coldblooded execution and interment. If so, I had to hope he wasn’t the one to do the job. A pistol shot at close range can go terribly wrong. I was feeling calm now, registering every little thing as if my system was working frantically for the short time it had left to function, but resigned. My feet were grabbed and I was pulled out of the van without any regard for my well-being. I lost skin, suffered wrenched joints and my head banged painfully as it crossed the gap between the van floor and the flap of the bottom half of the door. A final heave and I collapsed onto cool, damp, sweet-smelling grass.

I fell on my face and struggled to roll over. It hurt everywhere, but I managed it. I looked up into the pale, troubled eyes of Ian Gallagher. One part of my brain was telling me that it was better they should leave the tape across my mouth. It meant they weren’t going to get out the bolt-cutters. I was worried about that clank from the roof rack. But I didn’t want to die like a dumb animal, I wanted to speak. Gallagher drew on his cigarette and looked away.

‘Here?’ Mario said. He glanced at the sky. It had been him worrying about the rain. I would have welcomed a few drops. I was hungry for sensation, experience, touch and sound as my time ran out. I wanted to stretch the moments, suck just a little more of the juice of life, even though it had turned sour and scary.

‘Why not here?’ Teacher said.

The next sound I heard was a familiar one- my. 38 cocks smoothly and softly if you know how to handle a weapon. Teacher did. I kept my eyes open even though the blood pounding in my head threatened to burst through my eyeballs. I wanted to see things, hear things! Mario was holding the torch and in its glancing beam I saw what he held in his other fist-a short-handled shovel. That’s when I closed my eyes and said my goodbyes to Cyn and my sister and Joanie Dare and everybody else I’d loved and hurt.

When the heavy, booming shots sounded I knew the bullets weren’t for me and I experienced sheer joy. Teacher was hit twice. He jerked the gun up and fired wildly but another shot got him somewhere vital and he crumpled and lay still. Mario was hit too. He yelled, dropped the shovel and the torch and started to run towards the trees. Two more bullets stopped him in his tracks. He groaned, fell awkwardly and twitched. I heard him scratching at the ground. The torch was on its side, still throwing light. I twisted my head around to see Gallagher. As I did a voice came from the darkness:

‘One fuckin’ move, Ian, and you’re off.’ Another light showed and Colin Pascoe came slowly forward carrying a carbine and a large flashlight. The beam reached Gallagher, who stood white-faced and shaking. His jacket was buttoned. He hadn’t tried to reach his pistol.

‘I knew you were a gutless wonder,’ Pascoe said. He walked up to Gallagher and clouted him hard in the face with the metal flashlight. Gallagher reeled back and hit the open door of the van. He grabbed at it for support. Blood trickled down his face. ‘Col, I…’

‘Shut up, prick! Put your weapon on the ground.’ Gallagher eased the pistol out slowly and dropped it on the grass. It landed only a foot or so from my head and the sound reawakened my fears. Three enemies out of action, but what about Pascoe? I squinted up at him but the light wasn’t on him and all I could see was a big dark shape. Then I was blinded by the strong beam and I heard Pascoe’s rumbling laugh. ‘I wondered why your big mouth wasn’t working, Hardy. Now I see.’

The light danced away again. Pascoe picked up Gallagher’s gun and shoved it into a pocket of his combat jacket. He had to juggle the other things he was holding but he did it deftly. This was the moment for him to swing the carbine around and make it a hat trick, if that was what he had in mind. Gallagher was fumbling for a cigarette.

‘Light me one, too, Ian,’ Pascoe said. ‘You should be able to manage that.’

Pascoe put his torch on my chest. Gallagher passed the lit cigarette over. They were virtually on top of me and Pascoe’s rifle was only inches from my head. He drew on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke, when he leaned the rifle against the ute. It was very quiet. Mario’s dirt-scratching had stopped. Gallagher and Pascoe smoked. I shivered and the torch jiggled.

‘Chalky’s where he belongs at last,’ Pascoe said. ‘Who’s the other cunt?’

Gallagher’s voice was strangled and shaky. ‘Name’s Mario. He works for…’

‘Henry Wilton. I was watching. You might have a fuckin’ law degree but you’re a dumb bastard, Ian. I knew you were bent. I’ve been watching you ever since you got into this. I heard your little chat with Hardy in his office.’

Jack the rat, I thought, and he isn’t going to kill me.

‘What… what’re you going to do, Col?’

‘Do? I’ve already done what Bob Loggins asked me to do.’

‘Loggins. What d’you mean?’

‘Oh, me ‘n Bob go back a long way. He told me what was going on and I agreed to keep an eye on you and Hardy. It worked out pretty much the way he hoped it would, eh?’

I was seriously cold now, trembling with it, and my various cuts and bruises were stinging and stiffening up. I made an effort, heaved and flipped the torch off my chest.

‘Shit, I forgot about you, Hardy. Cut him loose, Ian, and see if you can find something to keep the poor bugger warm.’

I knew enough to lie still for a minute after Gallagher cut the rope. A sudden movement could’ve given me a crippling cramp. He ripped the tape from my face roughly, taking skin and beard bristles with it. I swore at him as I slowly tested the mobility of my arms and legs. He made no reply. He went to the ute and came back with my clothes which he dropped on top of me. I turned slowly and painfully to look at Pascoe who was squashing out the end of his cigarette with his big, blunt fingers. He dropped the butt into his pocket.

‘Thanks,’ I said. My voice sounded like a frog with its throat cut. ‘Where are we?’

‘Out Campbelltown way,’ Pascoe said. ‘You were bloody lucky, Hardy. It was tricky following them in the dark with no lights, and if they’d got on with the job instead of pissing around you’d be under by now.’

I pulled the crumpled clothes on, making small, careful movements, glad of the warmth, even gladder to get the feeling that I was still the same man, still alive and likely to see the night out. ‘You sound almost sorry they didn’t do it.’

Pascoe laughed, picked up Mario’s torch and walked across to look at the dead men. He barely glanced at the neat dark shape that was Teacher, but he studied the crumpled form of Mario closely, playing the torch beam on different parts of the body. He straightened up and ambled back. ‘I got him twice with the carbine but he got another nick as well.’

‘From Chalky,’ I said. ‘With my gun.’

I stood up. My joints creaked. I’d almost dislocated my shoulder when I’d fallen out of the van and it was aching savagely. Ian Gallagher was chain-smoking, staring out towards the stand of trees. His pale face was set in lines of despair and his usually carefully arranged fair hair had flopped down over his forehead, giving him a defeated, puzzled look. My keys, watch and tobacco were in the side pockets of my jacket. My pistol holster was missing. I looked at my watch. It was close to 10.00 p.m. I rolled a cigarette, one of the worst I’d ever made, and got it up to my mouth. My lighter, Cyn’s present, was missing and I never found it. Gallagher lit the smoke.