one side-big, deep-garden-in-front jobs with lots of trees and shrubs. One the other side was a park with swings and slides and a rollercoaster-style track for BMX bikes. No kids for another half hour or so. A stand of casuarinas behind the park filled in the space between it and a couple of public tennis courts.
I scooted over to the park and ducked into the casuarinas, three deep. I was sure the shadow was sufficient to keep me hidden, especially if I kept dead still, as I intended to do. I waited, squatting. A couple of cars came down the street, moving on through to the highway. A dark Ford Fairmont had the right look but it turned into one of the driveways and a woman got out, pulling plastic shopping bags after her. Never can tell. I had decided to wait for half an hour, before any kids arrived, and was about to move when they showed up.
Another tan Honda. Three men-Baldy and Runty from the park and a driver-tall, wearing dark clothes and a peaked cap. They parked behind the Commodore and approached it carefully. Baldy’s carbine was hidden inside his loose jacket and he moved slightly awkwardly. He looked around a lot, including one piercing gaze straight in my direction. It was like a photographer telling you stand still-you immediately become aware of a gentle sway and of an itch you just have to scratch. I was in range of the gun and it could probably have chopped through the two trees between me and it. I froze.
At a word from Peaked Cap, Baldy stopped surveying the field and joined the others by the driver’s door. It had taken them long enough to get there. At a guess, they might have feared I was inside, wounded or dead. They’d drop that idea when they saw there was no blood. They’d notice that I’d located the bug, then what would they do? What would I have done? I wasn’t sure and neither were they. The decision was made for them by the arrival of a couple of kids, boys, who threw their canvas school bags under the slide and commenced to give the playground a working over. They also displayed some curiosity about the men clustered around the car. Would have been more if they’d been able to see the punctured window and the bullet holes, but it was enough for my threesome. In a move I hadn’t anticipated, Peaked Cap hopped into the Commodore, started it up and drove away. The other two went back to the Honda and followed. Smart move, Cliff, leave the keys so they’ll think you walked or ran away. Didn’t think they’d pinch the bloody thing did you?
That left me stranded somewhere in the back of Lindfield, unarmed except for a Swiss army knife, up against well-armed enemies and needing to get to Joe Galvani fast. I came out from behind the trees and walked along the edge of the park towards the road. The boys stopped playing and looked at me as if I was one of the bad guys. I tried to give them a jaunty wave with my left hand, forgetting about the crook shoulder. It probably looked something like a Nazi salute and they stared after me all the way until I was out of sight. Cabs don’t cruise those kinds of streets and telephone boxes aren’t numerous. I plodded along, moving west. The sun was slanting low and bothering my eyes. The pavement felt hard and the gradient seemed steep.
I spotted a phone box and broke into a jog, sending a bolt of pain through my side, worse than a stitch. I swore and slowed down, praying that a phone box in a nice, middle-class neighbourhood like this would work. It apparently did because a young woman was using it. She stood relaxed with the door open, blowing out smoke. I fretted, pacing around the box, jiggling coins, looking at my watch. Just when I was about to haul her out, she hung up and stepped from the box, gave me a sweet smile and strolled away. I clawed out some money and was about to put it in when I saw that the box worked by phonecard only. I sagged and looked at the instrument, tempted for the first time in my life to vandalise a telephone. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened the door they were there, all three of them.
Baldy opened his coat just wide enough to let me see the gun. ‘Nice try, Hardy,’ he said. ‘Now I think you’d better come along with us.’
20
Peaked Cap had a cosh in his hand, meaning they had a noisy and a quiet way to get me to do what they wanted. I didn’t fancy either, so I got in the car. Peaked Cap drove, Runty sat beside him and Baldy got in the back with me, on my right. He took an automatic pistol from his pocket and put the carbine on the floor between his feet.
‘Empty your pockets,’ he said.
I looked at him. ‘Or what?’
He tapped the driver on the shoulder and the cosh was passed back to him. Good teamwork, not much room to swing the cosh in but probably enough. I emptied my pockets. Baldy passed the contents to Runty who shoved them in a plastic bag. Then he swivelled around and gestured for me to hold out my hands. I glanced at Baldy who looked as if cosh-swinging might be one of his specialties along with shooting, and he wasn’t too bad at that either. I stuck my hands out and Runty clamped on a pair of chrome-plated handcuffs. Stone end of the idea of opening the door and jumping or falling out-I couldn’t reach it in time manacled, and even if I could, the fall would be so clumsy I was likely to break my neck.
‘Where are we going?’
Baldy dug me in the ribs with the cosh, a leather-wrapped length of lead pipe or hardwood-it was difficult to tell and it really didn’t matter much.
‘Shut up,’ he said.
I leaned back against the seat. Might as well be comfortable. ‘Abduction’s a serious offence. Ten years I’d say. Make you an old man. You won’t have a hair on your head when you come out.’
He reached across and hit me on the left bicep. I moaned and he did it again.
‘Thought that might hit the spot. You’ve been carrying that shoulder I notice. Now I told you to shut up and I meant just that. Shut up!’
Convincing. We were on the highway now, heading back to the city. My throat was marginally drier than my mouth-fear and anger combined. I had to admire the way they’d done it. Must have had a couple of cars on the job, patrolling the streets. Peaked Cap must have handed the Commodore over to someone else. Organisation. I looked at the other vehicles on the road-taxis, trucks, cars, motorcycles. Drivers and riders without a care in the world except mortgages, redundancy, kids, divorce proceedings, dodgy prostates. I’d have gladly taken on a few of their burdens. Baldy was humming tunelessly under his breath. Irritating, but I didn’t feel in a position to make him stop. I was hoping they’d produce a blindfold. A blindfold means they care about you knowing where they’re taking you. No blindfold means they don’t care, and that means…
We were in North Sydney, approaching the bridge or the tunnel. I stared ahead, wondering. I was aware of a movement from Baldy and turned towards him. Slow, slow, slow. He was much quicker. The syringe glinted and the needle bit into my leg through my pants. He pinned me back with his big left arm and I heard him counting.
‘Ten, nine, eight, seven… ‘
I had time to wonder whether a needle was the same as a blindfold. I knew it was better than a bullet. Then everything went black and my last thought was, Tunnel But how was I to know?
Panic struck me as soon as I became conscious. I was lying on a trolley, a hospital-style gurney, tied down to it by straps that ran around my wrists and ankles. Thick webbing straps, and there was another across my chest and one across my legs just above the knees. The room was dark and smelled of antiseptic. Little chinks of light showed around a doorway. My mouth had been taped shut or I would have yelled my lungs out. I suppose the room was quiet, but there was so much throbbing and booming going on inside my head it was impossible to tell.
I lay very still and tried to get past the panic. After a time it eased and with it the pounding in my skull. Lying still wasn’t much of a problem. I could have lifted my head a few centimetres but I didn’t want to. I could wiggle my fingers and toes, but that wasn’t a very useful thing to do. I concentrated on slow, deep breathing-hard through the nose alone but impossible. I closed my eyes and tried to let a calming tune take hold of me, a folk song or something from the classics:
Dook, Dook, Dook
Dook of Earl, Earl, Earl
Dook of Earl…
It’d just have to do.
