Garry Disher - Death Deal

Then her eyes snapped open and she freed herself. Got any good books, lawyer lady?

Anna sat down. I havent got a thing.

You can have a loan of my Dragonspell Saga.

Thanks.

Evie said, I got Dean Koontz.

Thanks.

They were silent. Anna could feel the force of Lauris above her, the womans fearlessness and her black eyes.

Hey.

Anna looked up. Yes?

When we write letters and that, appeals, would you help us?

Official letters?

Lauris nodded. You need the right words. We dont know the words. A dictionarys no help.

Anna said, Ill see what I can do.

It works both ways. You help us, we help you, Lauris said.

Anna looked at each of them. They were watching her. Ive already had offers of help.

Blaze said, By Van Fleet, I bet.

Anna nodded.

Lauris said, If youre in with Van Fleet, thats it, finito. She made a slicing motion with the flat of her hand.

I told her to fuck off.

Blaze giggled. Bad news. Youll be cleaning dunnies the rest of the year.

Anna said lightly, Well, we can always escape.

They went still. Eventually Blaze said, You could, maybe. Youd manage on the outside. We couldnt. Where would we go?

Anna looked up. Lauris was watching her. She was like Wyatt, a mind prober. Then Lauris said unexpectedly, Well help you survive in here.

Survive, Anna said flatly.

Your looks, youre dead meat, fuckin A. Lauris reached out her hand and Anna willed herself to keep still. She felt Lauriss fingers pluck at her hair; the touch was gentle. Thisl have to come off.

Blaze giggled. You fem it up around here you wont last five minutes.

Lauris grinned. Im the hairdresser in here. Doing my certificate.

Anna weighed her up. All her senses were alert. The women made her feel wary but they were potential allies. She gave a short, abrupt, reluctant nod.

Blaze and Evie went with her to the little hairdressing salon the next morning. Lauris and one other woman worked there, hours 9 am to 10 am. Anna heard the scissors at the back of her neck, saw her hair fall until she was transformed.

After that, she wrote letters for them. She gave legal advice. She helped in other ways. Whenever she went anywhere, one or other of the three women stayed at her side. It was not a claiming gesture or an explicit warning-off, but the message was clear enough: Anna Reid is with us.

It didnt always save her. On Thursday she was standing in the refectory queue with Evie. A group of inmates jostled Evie, said, Where you going, boong? one eye watching to see what Anna would do.

The leader was a tall woman who called herself Petra, an athlete busted for supplying steroids. She wore a gym-slip, bottle-blonde hair cascading around her shoulders. Anna targeted her, ignoring the other women. Grinning broadly, she stuck out her right hand. This flustered Petra, who frowned, made to shake hands with Anna. What Anna did then was textbook smooth. She turned her right shoulder to Petra, simultaneously dropping, bending and reaching around with her other hand.

If Petra had been a small woman, it might have worked. Instead, Anna staggered and fell, and Petras crowd moved in, their feet lashing. Custodial officers broke it up but Anna was bruised and shaken and for hours afterwards she could hear Petra, feel the spittle on her face: Youre history.

She stayed in her cell. Lauris, Blaze and Evie had advice for her, not comfort. You didnt back down, thats the main thing. Youll get your chance.

Then, on Friday, a custodial officer sought her out. You got a visitor.

Anna had grown up in Brisbane but there was no-one from that part of her life that she wanted to see. She went because she was curious, expecting a journalist, a legal aid lawyer.

What she got was Wyatt, dressed as a priest. And the look he gave her was not a killers look but one youd expect with the words, Ive come to get you out.

Wyatt heard her say softly, I didnt cross you.

I know.

She was sitting opposite him, a high flush to her cheeks, a shine to her eyes. Her whole face was alight, as though he were food and water to a dying woman.

Stolle?

Yes.

You know for sure?

Wyatt told her about Mostyn. Stolle got away.

The cops have photographs of us. Stolle must have been watching us the whole time and saw a way to intercept the changeover and dob us in.

Wyatt felt himself stiffen. Photographs. What photographs?

He saw Anna check for curious ears in the visiting room. A dozen small tables and chairs, some armchairs, posters of rainforests on the walls. A couple of custodial officers joking with visitors and inmates nearby. Chairs scraping, laughter, kids running around. He was the only man but he was a priest so no-one looked twice at him. No-one was listening.

Anna touched his sleeve. Dont worry. They dont know who you are, and the pictures of you are blurred. You interest the cops, though. They know Phelps and Riding couldnt have put this together.

Wyatt stared at her hand. He remembered her bare skin, its colour and pliancy. Then he looked up. She wore an oversized T-shirt that concealed and flattened her body. It was torn here and there, a washed-out shade of black. Loose, worn, faded tracksuit pants hid the rest of her. Shed done something to her hairor had it done to her. A brush cut on top, shaved close to the scalp on either side, woven tendrils reaching down between her shoulder blades. It was a tough jailhouse outfit and she looked coldly sexual in it.

What did you tell them?

Frown lines appeared between her eyes and she pulled away. Nothing. I resent it that youd think I would tell them anything. Thats why you came back, isnt it? Not for me. You wanted to know how much they knew about you. You thought I might be a liability, might swing a deal with them or something.

Wyatt didnt answer. He said, I want to get you out. Are you okay for the time being?

Ive got friends.

His stare was flat so she elaborated. Im not prison pussy, if thats what youre thinking. All this she plucked at her T-shirt and touched her hairmakes sense in here, thats all. And I kind of like it.

Wyatt said nothing. He changed the subject. What did the cops tell you about the character who tried to jump us at the bank?

They asked, did I do coke? Did I smoke the dreaded weed? His name was Ian Lovell and he was a dealer.

Stolle wouldnt have sent him into the bank, not when he intended to grab everything at the university.

Some kind of wild card?

Wyatt played back the fiasco at the bank. He remembered the pointed way in which Nurse had emptied the banks revolver into Lovell, as if something very, very personal was going on. I guess so. It doesnt matter.

Wyatt, Im sorry.

Wyatt gave a short head jerk of irritation. You didnt apologise for stuff-ups you hadnt caused. And the stuff-ups you did cause should always have good reasons behind them. He said, We have to get you out.

Again that frown, looking for his motives. I hope this isnt just so you can silence me for good.

You want to stay in here?

Dejection showed in her face. He realised that she was losing her natural colour, gaining a prison greyness. Her voice soul-sick and low, she said, Ill wither up and die in here. Its privately-run, but that doesnt mean much. Ive got friends but I cant watch my back all the time. She looked fully at him. I cant bear it, Wyatt.

Careful. Father Kennedy.

They both glanced around the room. No-one was paying them any attention. It brought back her humour. Some priest.

Wyatt looked too weather-beaten and rough around the edges to be a scholarly priest or an ambitious one or an ingrate in a wealthy diocese. The effect he had aimed at was prison visitor, a long-faced, stoop-shouldered man who probably grew vegetables and devoted his time to the kind of heartache cases that no-one else would touch. There had been priests like that around in his childhood.