Garry Disher - Death Deal

That was all she said. They got to the prison at twelve-fifty-five, timed to coincide with a shift change at the gate. He pocketed Van Fleets keys and tucked his gun under the front seat of her car. She signed him in and he clipped a visitors pass to his shirt. They went through the metal detector, a door was buzzed open, and they were in.

Library, Van Fleet said.

Wyatt bounced on his toes as he walked. He wore the cap at a jaunty angle. At a couple of places in the corridor, posters had been pasted to the wall, advertising a workshop in the library, 1 pm sharp. He hoped that Anna had done her part.

The prison library was a broad, glass-walled room at the end of the corridor. The books were in grey metal stacks, their spines colour-coded according to subject area. Most were yellowfictionand most of these were fantasy novels. There were three large tables and a couple of computers. Posters and book jackets were taped to the glass between the shelves.

The room was occupied: Anna Reid and a brisk, efficient woman wearing an ID card bearing the words Education Officer. The woman said regretfully, I hope for your sake a few of the other inmates show up. It was such short notice, you see.

Wyatt gave her a careless grin. Im used to it.

Right, well, Ill leave you to it, shall I? This is my lunch break.

She bustled out, glancing amusedly at Wyatt, nodding at Van Fleet.

A moment later, three inmates slipped into the room. Annas friends. They were jittery, grinning, curious about Wyatt. Doesnt look your type, one of them said.

They moved quickly. A powerful woman nodded at him and stationed herself at the door. Her job was to dissuade anyone who thought the notices advertising the workshop were genuine. Wyatt could feel her scrutiny, her black eyes trying to penetrate him. His sex didnt interest her. His life lived in risk and walking in shadows did.

The other women took Van Fleet behind a protruding bookstack. He heard the snap and scrape of clothing against flesh. It took the women five minutes to get Anna into Van Fleets suit, blouse and stockings, shape a wig around her head, cake her face in make-up, fit the glasses to her face.

She came out looking like Van Fleet, carrying Van Fleets clipboard and satchel. Van Fleet was behind the bookstack, trussed and gagged.

Then the three women were gone. They touched Anna as they went and the lithe woman whod guarded the door said, Send us a postcard. They ignored Wyatt.

Wyatt followed Anna to the main gate. The time was ten minutes past one and the afternoon shift paid no attention as Anna scrawled in the book and Wyatt handed back his visitors pass. The gate clanged shut when they were halfway to Van Fleets car. Anna stumbled a little as though shed been shot and Wyatt heard a moan, low and relieved, in her throat.

They had checked all along Broadbeach and Surfers Paradise. Stolle wasnt playing Jupiters or the Monte Carlo. That left the Flamingo, a place that didnt feature in the tourist brochures. Small, practically anonymous, the Flamingo was a casino with a hotel attached, fifty suites starting at one thousand dollars a night. Five levels, ten suites to a level, one ordinary gaming room on the ground floor and something for the high-rollers called the International Room. They learnt that Stolle was paying one thousand dollars a night for suite 306, and losing between fifty and one hundred thousand dollars a night in the International Room.

They checked in. Later Anna said, He won a million in the first week, and lost most of it two nights ago.

Wyatt ran his fingers the length of her spinal column. After a week in prison, she looked thinner. Her backside was small, tight and youthful, and as he stroked it she raised her hips from the bed.

The girl at the front desk told you all this?

With the help of a fifty dollar note. Theyre not well paid here. Management told them theyd get rich on tips but the big spenders dont like to tip.

What story did you give her?

Anna laughed, twisting her head around to look up at his face. I got the idea from Stolle himself. I said I was a private detective hired by his wife to gather proof about his level of income and spending for a divorce settlement.

Some expense account, accommodation at the Flamingo.

They had less than a thousand dollars left of the money that Wyatt had pocketed in Nurses vault. They had left Brisbane with three thousand and spent one thousand quickly buying a haircut for Anna and the kinds of luggage and clothing that would get them into the Flamingo. And a thousand for suite 506, two floors directly above Stolles. The balcony looked out on cliffs, marinas and curving yellow sand, but they werent there for the view.

Wyatts hand was ceaseless, down her long, supple spine to the backs of her thighs and slipping between them. Anna raised her rump and arched her back and reached under with her hand to find his. She clamped it where she wanted it until their hands were moving together, a ten-fingered hand pressing and probing. She said she wanted him inside her, straightaway, as she was, and he moved around on his knees, then forward and it was easy, a kind of gliding release.

She was the first to speak afterwards, leaning over him on her elbow when he was close to sleep: He doesnt keep it in his room.

He snapped awake. She saw his open eyes and went on: The hotel provides safety deposit boxes. The girl on the desk said Stolle was always going to his to buy more chips. Are you up to another raid, guns blazing?

He shook his head.

She flopped onto her back, fitting her flank to his. How are we going to do it, then?

They drifted into sleep. Wyatt woke again and this time he was clear and focused. We get him to take the money out for us.

She mumbled. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly. Not all of the strain had left her face, and her hair was very short now, like a cap on her skull, so that she looked small and drawn. He showered and dressed, letting her sleep.

She awoke while he was examining the lock. What are you doing?

He didnt answer. He poked his head into the corridor, saw that it was deserted, and began to work at the mechanism with his locksmiths picks. He gave up. The Flamingo had installed tricky locks in its doors, a deterrent to hotel thieves. It would take too long to break into Stolles room. He shut the door, Anna watching, thinking it through with him.

The balcony.

He nodded.

It was almost 5 pm, the sun sliding toward the hinterland horizon. They took a bus several kilometres to the Oasis Shopping Resort in the most garish part of the Gold Coast and bought leather work gloves, latex gloves, one pair of overalls, rope and a climbers harness.

At the hotel again, Wyatt waited in their room while Anna talked to her informant. She came back. Stolles in the International Room and has been most of the day. Apparently thats been the pattern all week. Hell stop for dinner at eight, and resume playing again at nine.

Dinner, a few drinkshell be sluggish by nine.

What now?

He picked up the phone. We type the note.

Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door and a maid delivered a portable typewriter in a carrying case. Anna typed while Wyatt dictated.

You bastard, he said. I saw Mostyn before he left and he told me what the deal was. We need to talk. Im at the Sunset Strip, on the Esplanade in central Surfers. Room 101. Whitney.

Her fingers clacked over the keys. Will this work?

It will seem plausible. Mostyn and Whitney used to work together, then Whitney cleared outStolle told me so himself. Hell think Whitney followed Mostyn up here, saw what happened, and decided to put the squeeze on him. Stolle pulled a chancy hijack that happened to pay off, but he left too many loose ends behind and now hes losing and he feels far from home. Im betting hes skating close to the edge. Hell run.