Garry Disher - Death Deal

She flushed, her nostrils flaring.

Wyatt clasped her shoulders. Youre taking it personally. Dont. If were going to work together you have to be as good as I am. Im teaching you what I know, not criticising you. Do you understand?

After a while she nodded abruptly.

Okay. Think of a place.

She looked away, then swung back to face him again. The Londona down-market motel, a place where no-one asks questions.

Where is it?

Out on the Ipswich Road.

Arrange it with the others. Ill see you there at eight.

He watched her walk away. He sat in the sun for a while, then went back across the river and moved his things from the Victoria Hotel to the YMCA.

At seven oclock that evening he hailed a cab, getting out several blocks short of the London Motel. He walked the rest of the way and for the next forty-five minutes watched the place from a bus-stop on the other side of the street. The three men arrived separately and alone. Anna let them in.

At ten minutes past eight he crossed the street. The motel room was square and functional, a double bed dressed in shades of brown, thick curtains, two cigarette-scorched orange vinyl chairs.

Wyatt shook hands with each man, assessing them mentally. The man called Phelps was built like a wardrobe but he moved easily. His size would come in useful for what Wyatt had in mind. Riding was different: small, sinewy, his eyes wary. He looked quick; hed have good reflexes, a dangerous heat.

Know anything about guns?

Riding nodded.

Shotgun or handgun?

Riding seemed to understand the question. Depends what youve got in mind. For crowd control, a shotgun. It scares people, it makes a loud noise and scatters a lot of damage around if you do have to use it. For close, fast work Id use a handgun.

Good.

Wyatt turned to the third man, Pike, and saw a problem. Pike had dead white skin, lifeless brown hair badly cut, and fleshy red lips that he liked to lick. There was an air of smothered misery about him.

Im told youre good with cars.

Pike winked. He moulded the air with his hands. Like I was sleeping with them.

What were you in for?

Pikes jaw dropped open. He shut it with a click, opened it again. What are you on about?

At a guess Id say you were doing time somewhere until a week ago.

Pike looked uncomfortable. Might have been.

Its written all over you, Wyatt said. You havent seen proper sunshine for years. Where were you?

Pike shrugged. Up north. Cairns.

What were you in for?

Pike waved it away with his hand. He said rapidly, in a mangled, slurring voice: Ah, it was piss-weak. Nothing to do with driving getaway. They wont come looking for me for that.

What were you in for? said Wyatt flatly.

I tell you, it had nothing to do with holding up a bank, whatever it is you got in mind.

Wyatt shook his head. Youre not listening. I said, what were you in for?

Pike looked to Anna for help. She nodded. He looked at Wyatt. Friggin sex with a minor, all right? I mean, she looked eighteen at least.

Wyatt shook his head again. Anna should have known about this. How long were you in for?

Five.

Years? Out of how many?

Eight.

Youre on parole?

Pike nodded.

You report every week?

Not me, pal. When those doors opened I was gone, fuckin A.

Wyatt said, Wait outside a minute.

Hey, come on, Im good with cars, all that caper.

I said wait.

When he was gone, Wyatt said softly, Hes skipped parole, meaning hes wanted. We cant use him.

Anna looked angry with herself. Sorry.

Wyatt ignored her. How about you other two?

They looked at one another and then back at him and said simultaneously, Im clean.

Have you any idea what this job is? He jerked his head. Did she tell you?

Riding said, No. Phelps shook his head.

So we can unload Pike without having to do anything drastic to him, Wyatt said. He looked at Anna. You brought him in, you pay him off.

He could see the struggle in her face as she tried to tell herself that this was work. She went outside. They heard her talking to Pike. Her voice was soft, full of warmth and regret: You mustnt take any of this personally, okay? Its just one of those things. Youre best out of it anyway. They are very hard men in there. How are you off for cash?

Pike muttered something.

Heres two hundred. No, make it two-fifty. Im sorry about this. Now, take care of yourself.

She put plenty of feeling into it and the men in the room could picture her comforting hand on Pikes arm, her warm, perfumed breath close to his befuddled head.

She came back into the room. Wyatt knew things were okay for now but Pike would feel cranky later, when hed spent the money and had time to think. By then it would be too late. They wouldnt be returning to this motel and Pike had no idea what the job was.

Meanwhile Wyatt hoped he could pull this job with two other men instead of three.

Lovell banked the Beechcraft steeply as he came in over Goroka, levelled out and touched down on the Highlands airstrip. Wednesday, 1400 hours. There was no cross-wind: the airsock drooped like a condom and the smoke from the jungle villages hung motionless above the dense trees.

He taxied around to a forgotten corner of the airfield and stepped down from the cockpit. At once perspiration broke out on his skiri, sticky under his clothing. Some children gathered around him, waiting. He dug into his satchel, tossed brightly coloured gobstoppers above their heads. The children shrieked and scattered, snatching the sweets from the air and scrabbling for them on the ground.

As usual, Pius Agaky was waiting for him by the Nissen hut where empty drums and out-of-date spare parts were housed. As usual he was shoeless, dressed in shorts and a white T-shirt. His beard, moustache and hair were close-cropped, black on skin the colour of cinnamon. He extended a massive hand. They shook, and Lovell handed over the satchel.

Pius, he said, Im afraid I couldnt scrape all the money together for this consignment. Ill have to owe you the balance, okay? You know my moneys good.

This changes things, Pius said.

He looked over Lovells shoulder, and Lovell turned, thinking Agakys men had started packing cannabis resin into the Beechcrafts hold and he was signalling them to stop. But the place was empty. The children were running away and a pig had wandered onto the landing strip but otherwise the field was deserted.

Then Lovell saw Saun, Taiang, Daru, the men who always loaded the Beechcraft, watching and waiting in the shade of nearby trees. They were all but invisible, some distance away, but he knew that if he made a run for it theyd get to the Beechcraft before he did.

Come on, Pius, we can sort it out.

Pius called something and his men came at a run from the trees. They took Lovells arms and led him toward a hangar while Pius drove away on a scooter. No-one spoke to Lovell. He sat on an overturned jerry can and flipped pebbles into the jaws of a wrench lying in the dust. For ninety minutes nothing happened, only an old DC3 rumbling in from the coast, banking over the jagged green ridges that surrounded the airfield.

Then Pius returned. Someone want a word with you.

Who?

Youll see.

They went around to the rear of the Nissen hut. A black Mercedes was parked there. A costly car two years ago, it was now mud-spattered, sideswiped, pocked with dents. The man who got out said hello, said Lovells name. The accent came from New Zealand. Turn over a rock in PNG, Lovell thought, and youre sure to expose an expat.

The New Zealander introduced himself as Hughes. He was ruddy and mild-looking, with receding sandy hair that grew thickly behind his ears, as though hed pushed his scalp back like a hat. Lets sit in the car and talk.