Peter Corris - White Meat

Penny shot me a look that could have been triumph, then the impact of the whole thing reached her.

“Who did Ricky kill?” she said softly.

“The boy at Bare Island, to give him the cover for this big play.” I waved my hand to take in all of us, including Bert, and the truck. “Only it’s gone a bit sour, eh Ricky?” I turned to look at the older man.

“How about you Albie, who have you killed today?”

He put the shotgun down, leaning it on the running board of the truck which was an old Bedford, and began to roll a cigarette from makings he kept in a tin. He glanced across at Ricky.

“Might have to be you,” he growled.

Ricky looked puzzled, glanced at the man smoking and then stared at him as if trying to find answers to a hundred questions in his face. Noni was standing by the bench, only a few feet from me now, and running her hand over the smooth, artificial surface of the airline bag. The money bag.

“You’ll never spend it Noni,” I said quietly, “not now.”

“Shut up,” Ricky snapped. “Fuckin’ shut up. You can’t tell the bloody future. We’ll spend it, we’ll go…”

“You won’t go anywhere, even if you got this rig fixed up.” I pointed at the Bedford. “You’re blown. There’s half a dozen people in Sydney know about you now. How far do you think you’d get, you and her? You’d have to live in a cave, what good would money be then?”

Ricky was looking agitated. He shifted the weight of the rifle in his hands and looked speculatively at me. It was dodgy talking to him like that. If he felt too hopeless about his prospects he might feel like going out in a welter of blood. Why not? I wanted him desperate, off balance, but not crazy desperate. I had to offer him something.

“I suppose you might get away somehow. Up north you could get a boat perhaps. Risky as all hell…”

Ricky clutched at it. “We’ll make it. Shit, there’s boats leaving Australia all the time. We’ll make it.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” James wailed, “not a word. Noni, you can’t go off with this… killer. I love you, you’re mine.. .”

The words must have sounded ludicrous, even to him. Noni let out a hoot of derision. She spun around and advanced on James waggling a finger in his face.

“Poor Saulie,” she crooned, “poor baby Saul.”

It didn’t throw James, he must have been used to it.

“You’re sick Noni,” he said sharply. He’d said it before – maybe it had worked. Not this time. She broke into a crazy, jerky dance.

“Ricky, oh Ricky baby,” she sang, “we’ll go to Thailand, we’ve got enough money there for a thousand fixes, ten thousand fixes, big fixes, lovely fixes.”

James put out his hand as if to steady her, help her down from her perch, but she slapped at him, skittered away. She slammed into the side of the truck and crumpled, sliding down to the oily garage floor. James moved towards her but Ricky’s rifle came up sharply.

“Leave ‘er,” he rapped out.

James stopped and looked helplessly at me. I shook my head gently.

“She doesn’t understand,” I said. “She thinks she’s in it with him but she isn’t. He’s got no use for her.”

“I still don’t understand all this,” James said. He seemed less pathetic, sensing that his nursemaid role might have a little longer to play. That’d be enough for him. I looked across at Penny but it didn’t seem to make any difference to her. She was looking at Ricky in a way that chilled me. It evoked a memory and I placed it. She was looking at him the way she’d looked at the corpse at Bare Island. For her, he was dead already. That was a pity, but probably sound judgement. I just wanted to be sure that he didn’t take any of us with him on his second exit. James, frail reed that he was, looked like my only certain ally. Some knowledge might steady him. Besides, I had only one card to play and I had to prepare the game so that it would count decisively.

“Since we’re all here, more or less, and nobody’s going anywhere until night time, I might as well tell it the way I see it.” I raised my eyebrows at Ricky. “OK, Ricky, you’re the one with the gun and the money?”

“Watch him Rick, he’s a smartarse,” Perce said. “I’m going to finish off the wiring.” He started to get into the truck. The Bedford had been spray-painted grey and bars had been welded onto the front of it. A light metal frame had been welded up over the tray and I could see a couple of petrol drums on the tray just behind the cab. A tarpaulin that looked big enough to fit over the frame was lying on the floor beside the truck.

“I’ve got a couple of bottles in my car Albie,” I said. “Be a bit warm but…”

He got down and looked at Ricky. “Jeez, Rick, I could use a drink.”

“No,” said Ricky. “Why do you keep calling him Albie mister?”

“That’s his name, Albie Simmonds.”

“Percy White’s my name, smartarse.”

“You can call yourself Joh Bjelke-Petersen for all I care, but your name’s Albie Simmonds and you robbed a bank in 1966 with Joseph Berrigan.”

“I knew it,” Ricky said softly. “I knew you was him.”

“It’s bullshit,” Albie muttered. “I didn’t know Berrigan.”

“He ever let Berrigan get a look at him Ricky?” I asked.

“No, no he kept right out of the way.”

“Berrigan would have known him, even after all this time. There’s a woman in the hospital here that knows who he is.”

Albie’s sullen face showed some interest.

“You see ‘er? How is she?”

“I didn’t see her, the girl did.”

He turned towards Penny, the shotgun forgotten, the rifle forgotten, everything forgotten but the woman. I was seven feet from the shotgun. I’d have to step over Noni who was slumped down by the running board. I looked at Ricky. He was angry and puzzled but he wasn’t careless. I’d never make it.

“I saw her,” Penny said. “She isn’t well. She was badly hurt but she thinks there’s something else wrong with her. From the look of her she could be right. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and climbed into the truck.

“How long Perce?” Ricky asked.

“Coupla minutes.”

Not long, not long enough. Noni pulled herself up and limped over to the bench. A handbag was lying beside the airline bag and she reached into it and pulled out cigarettes. When she had one lit she struggled to regain the arrogance that was ninety-nine per cent of her style. It was a real struggle and she didn’t quite make it.

“What’s that about Ricky and me?” she said shakily. “What would you know about it? Who the fuck are you anyway?”

“He’s a private detective, Noni,” James put in.

“Don’t tell me you hired him, baby? Not to get little me back?” She tossed her head and puffed smoke. She was still trying.

“No, not me, your father.”

“Him. Fuck him.”

Oh Ted, how much sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is.

“He cares about you, Noni,” I said quickly. “With the trouble you’re in he’s your only hope. Ricky’ll drop you off at Oodnadatta crossing.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she said wildly. “He wouldn’t.”

“He’s been planning to from the word go. Look, I’ll tell you how it is. Ricky was looking for his father. Some kids who get dumped are like that, can’t think of anything else.” Albie quietly got out of the truck and stood listening. Ricky made no move to interrupt me so I went on.

“He found out a bit, got a line on his father and Berrigan and the b ank job. Then he met you and found out that you were connected with that Macleay scene. I think he probably had the kidnap idea planned first but I can’t be sure. When Berrigan contacted you Ricky saw it as a chance for the bank money if it was still around. He killed the boy at Bare Island to give himself a cover. God knows where he found him, and he stuck close to you and Berrigan, up here and back. When there was nothing doing on the bank money he hit on the idea of Berrigan fronting for the kidnap. You put Berrigan up to it, Noni, at Ricky’s suggestion. It worked, more or less, and he killed Berrigan. I know I didn’t because I fired low – ballistics will prove that – but Ricky didn’t care. He reckoned he had enough red herrings dragging around to get clear.”