Hayes seemed to give the idea some consideration, then he shook his head. ‘We haven’t got the time. Ray’s on the move, and Christ knows what’ll happen if he gets to Collinson first. If he’s as crazy as his bird says he is, he could kill him, or they could take off for Aca-fucking-pulco or somewhere. Besides’, he looked at Catchpole, who was propped back against the sink where I’d been, ‘you reckon you can put the scarers on Hardy?’
A lot of the stuffing had gone out of Catchpole since I’d last seen him. His reputation was more for slipperiness than gutsiness, but neither was apparent now. His face was tense and pale, acne-pitted, and he was pushing back his lank, oiled hair with nervous flicks. There was a brown scuff mark across the toe of his right, white shoe.
‘I could if I had Tiny here’, he muttered.
‘Forget it’, Hayes said. That should have been good news for me, but the trouble was it sounded as if he was saying forget Williams, forget Catchpole, forget Guthrie, forget Hardy. Forget everything except Hayes and Collinson. His obsession was strong, maybe stronger than his ability. I had to hope for that, hope for a chance or half a chance.
Hayes finished his drink and put the photograph in his pocket, where it made a dark blur behind the crisp, faint-lined material. ‘Where are we going, Hardy?’
‘South. Thirty miles or so.’
‘Cautious, eh?’
‘That’s right, eh.’
‘You’re being a smart-arse again, and I was trying to like vou.’
‘Don’t bother. Do we have to take them?’
Hayes retrieved his gun and put it away in a holster he wore at the back and on the left-hand side. He was right-handed, and slid the automatic back and away smoothly.
‘Yes’, he said. ‘Dottie, would you go and get my jacket from the front room?’
She went out, and Catchpole fidgeted by the sink, very unhappy with it. I consulted the New South Wales road map I keep the phone books and postcode list.
‘Where’s Parker?’ he snapped.
‘He’s off with the bird who lives here, probably up her by now.’ Forgive me, my friends, I thought.
Williams came back with the jacket, and Hayes shrugged into it. He adjusted his cuffs and the set of his tie that didn’t need attention.
‘Want to guess at my fee for this job, Hardy?’
I shook my head.
‘Course there’s expenses, Liam and Dottie are in for a cut. But the fee’s half a million dollars. Sort of motivates a man.’
‘It would’, I said.
‘Right. Now, I’ll go with Hardy, and you two can follow us.’ He lifted his chin, drawing the loose flesh under there tighter. ‘Go ahead, Hardy. Make me rich.’
17
Hayes pushed the magazines and other junk in the back seat of the Falcon aside, and settled himself there. I tried to comfort myself with the thought that I had a. 38 Smith amp; Wesson Chiefs Special an arm’s reach away under the dashboard, but no comfort came. Guns are confusing things; I was no match for Hayes with a gun, I knew that, and in a way I was a better match for him without one. That’s highly theoretical, and the theory wasn’t any comfort either.
Hayes positioned himself directly behind me. ‘Any way of locking the driver’s door?’ he said.
‘No.’ I showed him how it opened however the door lock was set.
‘Great’, he said. “Try that and I’ll blow your brains out.’
I was about to start the engine, but I held off and half-turned to almost face him. ‘Would you? Where would that get you? You’d still be in the dark about where Collinson is. It seems to me you need me.’
‘You’re half right, Hardy, but that isn’t right enough. I need you for a quick result, that’s true. But I can get a result other ways-I could get Mrs Guthrie to tell me about the private detective she used, and set about finding him. There’s the bloke in Parramatta your cop friend Parker is working on. I might do some good with him. Ray Guthrie might be worth twisting. All slower, but Collinson’s not leaving the country while he’s all hung up about his flesh and blood. I’d get to him sooner or later.’
‘You said you were under pressure.’
‘Impatient people’, Hayes said moodily. ‘Let’s go.’
I turned around and started the motor. ‘I still don’t see why Collinson isn’t in Rio.’
Hayes cleared his throat; it’s true that my car is a bit vulnerable to engine fumes. ‘Collinson’s not finished yet. He’s still trying to hang on and save his skin. He must have some people onside still. On the other hand, he’s worth half a million dead to some others.’
‘Impatient ones.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you sure you’ll get the money?’
‘I’ll get it.’
The roads were clear going south; we went over Tom Ugly’s bridge and I had to watch not to be taken off to the coast too early. Everything south of Rockdale is foreign territory to me. A pair of headlights sat squarely and unwaveringly behind me all the way. I played around with the idea of a wild goose chase on which I could lose Catchpole and Williams, and provoke Hayes into some kind of mistake. There were two things against it: I didn’t think Hayes would make any mistakes and my job was to protect Ray Guthrie. I was going where I had to go anyway. That Ray was going looking for a man who was worth a half million dead, and that I had the gun that might do the job pointing at the back of my head was just bad luck. Deep stuff, Hardy.
As I drove, I thought about Helen Broadway and how she’d react to the call from Jess Polansky. If she was going to have anything to do with me she’d have to get used to such things. Was she going to have anything to do with me? Hi, Mike. How ya doing? I switched to thoughts of Parker and Hilde. Would Parker have displayed my calm, calculated resolve? No. But then, people might be dead who weren’t dead yet, including me. Thinking was getting me nowhere. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be having regrets.
It was a very uncomfortable drive: the big man sitting behind me didn’t fidget, didn’t talk; I couldn’t hear him breathing. I must have slowed down unconsciously, trying to gain time, hoping for a miracle. He might have fallen asleep.
‘Step on it, Hardy. This bomb’ll do a bit more than that.’
The traffic thinned further along, and the road widened- there was no excuse not to pick up speed. We started to reach dark, ill-lit stretches and curvy sections where a sharp braking might shoot him forward… He seemed to read my mind.
‘Undo your seat belt, Hardy.’ He jerked at the fastening above my shoulder. ‘Any fancy stuff, and you’ll go first.’
I undid the belt. ‘I thought we were sort of in this together now. Our interests are pretty much the same.’
‘Bullshit. My interests have never been the same as anyone else’s.’ He gave a short, unpleasant laugh. ‘Ask my wife.’
It was his only venture into humour, and there was nothing warming about it. I drove, trying to interpret his remark. Was he satisfied or dissatisfied with that state of things? It occurred to me that he might be something of a psychologist-here he had me interpreting his cryptic remarks rather than thinking about my own survival.
I ignored a few signs to Sutherland and Cronulla, hugged the middle lane and thought some more about the. 38 and its five cartridges and two inch barrel. A close range gun. I tried to stop thinking about it, in case he really could read my mind. He stirred in his seat.
‘Lose them!’ he rasped.
‘What?’
