Sydney was warmish but it felt cool after Queensland. The air was lousy. Clive gave me my mail and said that no-one had tried to burgle my house. He sounded disappointed not to have had a chance to use his lead pipe. The mail was routine stuff and there was nothing pressing in the answering machine messages. There were a couple of small jobs on offer and I could deal with them while still pursuing Clinton Scott. I phoned Harry Tickener at The Challenger and asked him if anyone connected with sport had been killed in the last week or so.
‘Not that I’ve heard of. A few should have been, of course, if there was any justice.’
Harry, a green baize fanatic, would be talking about professional snooker players who interested me about as much as synchronised swimmers.
‘No gymnasium types, personal trainers, people like that?’
‘What a weird question. Tried to call you a couple of days ago for a drink. Where’ve you been?’
‘Queensland.’
‘That explains it. They’re all a bit light-sensitive up there.’
I felt like arguing. There was nothing deficient about Roger, Beth, Tommy or Ranger Lewis, but I didn’t bother. We arranged to meet for a drink in two days. I admired my tan under the shower and washed some clothes. I spent the evening cleaning my Rossis and knocking out an interim report on the word processor for Nickless. I still hadn’t spent all of his money and I suspected that Clinton was in the same boat. I felt an odd bond with him. I told Nickless about the inflammable Land Rover and said that I’d picked up a few leads to pursue in Sydney. Half-true. Among my ragtail collection of books were a couple of paperbacks, acquired when I was a disenchanted law student thinking about switching to anthropology. I never made the switch. Kinship systems bored me as much as contract law. I browsed through A. P. Elkins’ The Australian Aborigines, reading up on ‘revenge killings’ and ‘revenge expeditions’.
The next morning, early, I presented myself at Wesley’s gym. I took my program card from the rack and winced when I saw how long it had been since my last workout. Riding around in a 4WD in Queensland and drinking Bundaberg rum wouldn’t have done anything for my fitness. I started off on the bike at a lower grade than when I’d last been and after fifteen minutes I was dripping. I moved onto the machines and, even though I reduced the weight stacks and the repetitions, I struggled.
The gym was busy with most of the machines in use and the basketball players occupying a lot of space. I saw Wesley emerge from the massage room but it was a while before he saw me. I was battling with the leg press and had to reduce the weight to get through the set. Wesley noticed and almost cracked a smile. I was a ruin when I finished but I didn’t stint. I spent the full time on the most boring part of the business, stretching, looped my damp towel around my neck and approached Wesley. He was rubbing the shoulder of a footballer, a big area.
‘Hello, Cliff. Been a while.’
‘Every muscle in my body says so.’
‘Yeah, man. You’ve softened up a bit.’
‘I’ve got some news, Wes.’
His big, oiled hands stopped moving. ‘Good news?’
‘I think so. Yes.’
Wesley slapped the meaty shoulder. ‘You’ll do, Vince. Go easy for a week or so.’
Vince got up and worked the shoulder. ‘Feels good, Wes. Thanks.’
Wesley nodded. ‘Come inside, Cliff.’
We went into the massage room and he said, ‘What?’
‘I’ve met some people, Aborigines, who saw Clinton alive and well about seven weeks ago.’
Wesley sat down abruptly, almost missing the chair and having to fight for his balance. Clumsiness like that was unlike him. ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Where was this?’
‘In North Queensland.’
He reached for a towel to wipe his hands. ‘I don’t understand. You reported a dead end…’
I sat on the massage table and rotated my stiff, aching shoulders. ‘Some more information came my way and I followed up on it. It led me to Queensland.’
‘I thought you’d just quit on me.’
‘I know you did.’
‘I’m sorry, man. I’ll pay you…’
‘That’s the tricky part, Wes. Someone else who wants to find Clinton hired me after I did a bit of poking about on my own. He went south at first, to Bingara. That’s where Angela Cousins’ mother’s people come from.’
‘Why is someone else looking for him?’
I intended to give him an edited version, but when I tried to hedge he was shrewd enough to ask the right questions and I ended up giving him the complete story. No names though.
Wesley cracked his knuckles with a noise like firecrackers. ‘You believe this guy only wants Clinton to make some sort of statement?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I doubt he’d do that, Clinton.’
‘Me, too. But would you have thought he’d be part of a blackmail scam?’
Wesley shook his head. ‘This guy, maybe he really wants to put Clinton in gaol? That’d really put the screw on his wife.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Wes. Maybe. I’ve got a conflict of interest here.’
‘Not so. I don’t care if he has to go to gaol for a while. Couldn’t be that long. No-one got hurt if what you say’s right and I can give back the money. But this payback stuff, that sounds dangerous as hell to me. You say he thinks the girl got the stuff in Sydney?’
I let out a long breath. Wesley had just resolved my dilemma. It looked as if I could have the luxury of playing straight with both him and Nickless. How Clinton would react was another matter. ‘Right. And I’ve got a bit of a lead there that you can help me with if we can agree…’
‘Hang on. I’ve got to ring Mandy. She’s been in a very bad way over this. Me too, and Pauline. You imagine the worst bloody things
… ‘ He grabbed the phone and made the call. There was a strength in his voice and confidence in his delivery. It must have communicated itself to his wife because there was a smile on his face when he hung up. ‘Mandy says to thank you.’
‘Okay, but it’s a bit early for that.’
‘You said you had a lead.’
‘Yes, but it’s sort of in your area of expertise, maybe. And I want you to agree to let me handle it, right up until I ask for your help.’
‘Butt out in other words.’
‘Not exactly. In fact I’m going to need some assistance right away.’
Wesley scratched at the bristle on his face which, I noticed, had a lot of grey in it, like mine. ‘You know I paid the rent on that house in Helensburgh and the kid came up and thanked me. He got his degree all right. He also returned Clinton’s car. I put it up on blocks in the garage at home. I guess that was a vote of confidence or something. You’ve given us hope, Cliff, and we’re grateful. I’ll do what you say, but I sure as shit wish I do get the chance to help you. I’m serious, man. Not being able to do anything is the worst part.’
It was time to take a stab at it. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Here’s where it starts. Do you know someone nicknamed Tank?’
‘Of course I know him. Everyone in this game knows him. He’s an American, ex-marine, ex-pro wrestler. Runs a gym in Zetland.’
‘That right? I thought there were only factories in Zetland.’
Wesley shook his head. ‘A few houses, mostly owned by Tank. And then there’s his gym.’
‘I need to talk to him. Mark Alessio had him down as someone who might know where Angela got the steroids. There’s a chance Clinton might be on the same trail’
‘I hope not.’
‘Why’s that? You think he could be source of the stuff?’
‘No, he’s not that dumb. But Tank Turkowitz is one of the nastiest bastards you’d ever hope to meet, or hope not to meet. He married an Australian girl to get residence and the word is he killed her a bit later. Nothing proven.
