Garry Disher - Death Deal

Felix was waiting for Lovell outside the hangar. Hed rolled a joint and was smoking it, a solid, slow-moving, lazy-lidded Melanesian whose forefathers had been dragged to Queensland by blackbirders. Felix got paid in cash and some of the New Guinea Gold that Lovell flew in.

Put it out, Felix.

First one of the day. Im one cool kanaka.

Put the fucking thing out. I want to die in my bed, not blow up on the ground or run out of fuel halfway across the Strait.

Felix shrugged. Youre the boss. He nipped the burning end and put the joint in his shirt pocket.

Lovell looked out across the pocked and empty field to the scrubland beyond. He hated it. Lets roll.

They filled from a 10 000-litre underground fuel tank fitted with an electric pump and a 100-metre retractable hose. The Baron always needed a boost when starting from cold. Felix kept a battery cart at his house, the batteries permanently on a trickle charge. Both men lifted the cart down from the tray of Felixs rusty Hilux and dragged it across to the plane.

By 1500 hours that Friday, Lovell was ready for takeoff. He waved at Felix, who had the joint in his mouth again, and taxied to the end of the strip. Conditions were still clear, the north-easterly moderating a little. Lovell released the brakes, pushed hard down the strip, felt the Baron lift off the ground. He felt good. Levelling off at 10 000 metres, he fixed the course hed follow until he reached the Highlands.

Some time later he crossed the coast at the north-western tip of the Cape. Seven thousand kilometres of coastline from Cairns to Port Hedland, and in Lovells particular corner of it there was fuck-all law to worry about. Queensland and Federal police on Thursday Island, and a minimal customs presence on Thursday and Horn Islands. The poor bastards spent all their time chasing Islanders, who transported the odd gram or two in banana boats and aluminium dinghies, while the big hauls flew in unmolested.

He switched to automatic pilot. This was his fourteenth trip this year. It wasnt always New Guinea Gold. Twice now hed flown in two hundred and thirty kilos of buddha sticks from Thailand worth three hundred thousand bucks a time. Hed also hauled cocaine and heroin that had originated in the Golden Triangle. It made its way overland and then by fishing boat and steamer to PNG, and he transported it the rest of the way. Finally, couriers like Danny took it to the Gold Coast, Sydney, Melbourne, and Lovell funnelled the money back to Mr Bone.

But flavour of the month right now was the PNG cannabis. Last week the radio claimed twenty-three thousand kids in Queensland alone smoked it on a daily basis, eighty thousand on a weekly basis. Users in Sydney couldnt get enough of the stuff and were prepared to fork out two hundred bucks a gram for it.

Meanwhile the demand for heroin and cocaine was undiminished, and skyrocketing for crack. The problem there was that the legal penalties were a lot stiffer. That had given Lovell his great idea. Now when he flew in PNG cannabis, compressed in bales the size of a couple of house bricks, there was cocaine or heroin inside each bale. If the Feds nabbed him, the charge would be conspiring to import cannabis, not cocaine or heroin. The cannabis bales would be incinerated and the hard stuff would go up with it.

Far beneath him a fishing trawler was working. Then again, maybe it was carting drums of compressed cannabis across the Strait to the mainland. Everyone was doing it. Lovell adjusted direction two degrees east. That would put him on course for Goroka and touchdown sometime late in the afternoon. He wondered how Nurse was going.

They sat in dim light at the Monte Carlo main bar and after five minutes of idle talk the mark said, Call me Danny. He tried to conceal the gold band on his pudgy finger.

Sonia, Carol said. She turned her knees toward him.

Sonia. Lovely, said the mark. It suits you. He brushed her forearm with the tips of his fingers and Carol thought Got you.

Im celebrating, Danny said. He looked at her, waiting.

Let me guess, Carol said. Youve had a run of luck tonight.

Dannys eyes flickered over her. So far.

He began snapping his fingers. The barman moved toward them from the other end of the bar.

Apart from croupiers and barmen, Danny was the only man in the gaming room dressed in a dinner suit. His bow tie was a clip-on, nudged by the folds of flesh at his neck. There were spots on his pink scalp. He was about forty-five and a prime candidate for a heart attack.

What about you, you been winning?

Carol assessed him rapidly. If she said she had lost badly he would be sympathetic and generous, but hed also expect a return on it. On the other hand, if she coolly mentioned a sizeable win he might be impressed, more gratified with his conquest. In fact Carol had not been gambling at all. She had been watching arid waiting for a winner like Danny to come along.

A thousand, she said modestly.

Danny whistled. Not bad, not bad at all.

He looked at her, his head on one side. Carol wore a simple black cocktail dress, sheer stockings, and black court shoes. She wore little make-up and carried a plain Italian leather clutch-bag. Her blonde, sun-streaked hair was straight and fine, cut to brush her shoulders.

The barman brought their drinks. Cheers, Danny said.

She knew how it went with men like Danny. The typical mark didnt like to think he was picking up a tramp. When he was winning, he thought he deserved the best. He thought he was irresistible. It flattered him, gave him status, if a young, good-looking woman was attracted to him.

Carol began to concentrate. Danny was explaining his system to her. I cant tell you the fine details, Sonia, but I can say its been pretty kind to yours truly over the years. He winked.

Prick, Carol thought. What else do you do?

Me? Danny shrugged and looked around the room. Im in banking, securities, things like that. You?

The typical mark also exaggerated his status in the world. And he liked it if you had apparent wealth and standing. Carol looked at her watch, a Piaget fake from Singapore, and said, I run my own business. Interior design.

Danny whistled again. Carol said, Can that really be the time?

Hey, youre not going? The night is young.

He leaned toward her. Lets have another flutter at the tables. For luck.

It shouldnt go quite like this. By now the mark should be suggesting a drink somewhere more comfortable. Carol frowned at her watch.

Just for half an hour, Danny said. Then well celebrate. Im staying next door, at the Tradewinds.

Carol appeared to weigh the issues and capitulate. She laughed. Ive always admired an optimist.

They crossed the smoky room to the roulette tables. Carol had seen rooms like this in strong light, the drink stains and cigarette scorches revealed on the carpets and furniture. The casino was packed with package-tour bus trippers up from Sydney, housewives down from Brisbane, the occasional hard case. At her side, Danny was bouncing oddly on his toes. Carol realised that he was attempting to add centimetres to his height. What a prick.

He placed his bets and immediately began losing. Not badly, but badly if you think youre onto something good and dont want to blow it. He had a habit of rubbing his cufflinks between his fingers after each bet.

Oh, thats a shame, Carol said from time to time. She sat shoulder to shoulder with Danny and held his forearm, which he seemed to like. People were watching them, which he also seemed to like, and she thought that expressions like sharp-looking couple were probably running through his head.

If she didnt hold him to his thirty minutes he might soon be broke. She rested her cheek against him and let their thighs touch. He left an impression of perspiration, panic and greed. He turned his face to her and she smiled and wrinkled her nose. Id love that drink now, she said, putting a low, throaty quality into it.