Two-Way Cut

almost said the targets name before he could stop himself. Sometimes van Wyk wanted to sit his clients down and slap them about the face and demand to know how serious they were. Emotions don’t come into it when the decisions been made, he wanted to say. Names are personal things, they denote feelings. My job is impersonal. I hit targets.

Plus, the wrong people might be listening in.

When and where?

Ten minutes ago, a Coles Supermarket carpark in Leighton Wells.

Is she still there?

No. Shes with another woman, theyre driving a white 1970s Holden panel van, heading west along the Borung Highway.

Did your man make contact?

Not exactly.

What do you mean, not exactly?

Theres another player involved.

Don’t stuff around. Spit it out.

Two other players, to be exact. They tried to jump the target and her friend in the carpark but they got away.

Your man saw it?

Yes.

Who are they?

Don’t know. They headed after the panel van in a black Range Rover. My guy ran the plates: they belong to a Volvo station wagon.

Are you sure theyre not after the other woman? Do we know anything about her?

Nothing.

Wheres your man now?

Somewhere behind them.

Keep me informed, van Wyk said, breaking the connection.

He bought muesli bars for the hunt. Outside he agreed with the young guys that yeah, it was a cool bike.

chapter 11

Fifteen minutes on the other side of Leighton Wells, Leah and Tess came to a sign bolted to a fencepost: Ingleside Bed and Breakfast 5km, and a bold red arrow. Leah turned off and they found themselves on a well-maintained side road that led toward the foothills of a small, grassy range blotted here and there with lonely stone reefs and the ashen tree trunks left by some long-ago bushfire. A few minutes later, they came to a dam, a barn and a signposted track: Ingleside 1 km. The track wound along a cypress avenue, opening onto a shrubbery, a sloping lawn and a stone cottage with a bright red door, flower boxes, curtains, a TV antenna, a satellite dish. Leah drove on, following arrows past sheds, stockyards and a dense stand of fruit trees, coming eventually to a large stone farmhouse. As she pulled up between a sundial and a set of concrete steps to the main house, a man in khaki work clothes stepped out onto the verandah. Leah called through her open window, Do you have a vacancy?

He had a wry, weather-beaten face. We do.

I’m sorry we didn’t phone you first. We just happened to see the sign and thought a bed-and-breakfast would make a nice change from a motel.

Travelling around, are you?

Thats right.

He nodded, smiling pleasantly, tiredly. Theres only one problem. Normally a gourmet dinner is part of the deal, but the wife and I have to go out tonight, and its too late in the day for her to start cooking. We wont be back till after midnight.

Leah smiled at him. Thats okay.

But Ill check with the chief cook-and-bottle washer. She could have something in the freezer that you can heat up.

That would be fine.

Ill have to ask for payment now, you understand.

Of course. Leah paid, and again found herself giving a false name and address.

The farmer scribbled her a receipt, noted the registration number of the panel van, and handed her a key. Here you go. Settle yourselves in. Ill be along directly.

Leah parked next to the cottage and they got out. It was late afternoon now, the air crisp and scented by gumtrees, dusty grasses, diesel fuel, horses in a nearby yard.

Tess stopped for a moment to look out over the valley and the lengthening shadows. A good place to chill out, she said.

Leah glanced at her. Tess seemed smaller, more vulnerable, less bratty and petulant. Leah hugged her briefly. You can have the room with a view.

As if touched by the antic spirits of kids arriving at a beach house, they trooped into the cottage, hungry for experiences. There were two bedrooms, a well-appointed kitchen and bathroom, a sitting-room with a luxurious sofa and matching armchairs, coffee table, TV and DVD.

Leah showered and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. Shed been carrying the clothes in a shopping-bag since Prospect and shook them out first, thinking: So much for buying a new backpack. For all she knew, it was still lying on the ground outside the supermarket in Leighton Wells.

At 6.30 the farmer knocked on their door with a covered tray. One beef Wellington, one chicken curry, take your pick. Its the wifes cooking, mind you, restaurant quality. Theyll thaw in the microwave.

Tess gave him a delighted smile. Thank you.

The wife and Ill be off now. Youll be okay? Got everything? Theres bread, croissants, butter and milk in the fridge, tea, coffee, jam, Vegemite, cereals etcetera in the pantry.

We found them, Tess said, still smiling.

The farmer winked. Well, see you in the morning then.

See you.

Ten minutes later he was back, shyly offering them a bottle. To make up for the frozen dinners.

Leah was touched. Thank you.

Heres my mobile number if anything goes wrong. Bushfire, bushrangers…

Earthquake, aliens

Youve got the idea.

When he was gone and the farmyard was quiet they microwaved the frozen meals, heaped the food onto plates and settled onto the verandah. The sun was low, the shallow valley below them striped and stippled by light and shade. There was no wind, only birds settling in the trees and the rubbery snort of the horses behind a tractor shed. Cars crawled across the valley floor, headlights probing the half-light here and there. They heard the distant snarl of a motorbike, and the rumble of an airliner thousands of metres above their heads.

Tess toasted Leah with her glass. To us.

To us, Leah responded, adding, Tell me about the drugs.

chapter 12

Tess went very still. What drugs?

Leah indicated the little daypack at Tess’s feet. The drugs that didn’t burn up in Mitchs car. The drugs in