Salmon got finished checking behind us for pursuit, he settled down and enjoyed the drive.
‘Nice night.’ he said.
‘Yeah, where’re we going?’
‘Whale Beach.’
‘Jesus, why?’
He gave a short laugh, one of the very few I’d heard from him. ‘Not for a swim.’
The traffic stayed light on Barrenjoey, all the way past Newport to the Whale Beach turnoff. The Falcon handled the drive well, but Salmon only grunted when I commented on it.
‘Fords are junk.’ he said.
It was true that Fords weren’t in abundance in the drives and on the road in front of the big houses. I saw Mercs and Jags, Celicas and the like, all looking good in the moonlight like the houses themselves. Salmon was concentrating on the terrain and when we reached a sign that said ‘Public Pathway to Beach’, he told me to stop.
‘What’s here?’
‘Me cabin. Not too many know about it.’
We started down a steep and long flight of steps. I could see the water gleaming out ahead and heard the big surf crashing on the beach. About half of the houses were in darkness and the whole area was quiet and still apart from the sound of the sea and a few night birds calling. Halfway down the steps Salmon stepped over the rail and took a look into the blackness.
‘Shoulda brought a torch,’ he muttered.
‘Don’t you know the way?’
He glanced at me sharply. ‘Sure, but it’s been a while.’
We pushed through the bushes following a rabbit track until a squat shape loomed up in front of us. Salmon had taken his jacket off because the path ran slightly up and it was sweaty work on a mild night. He fumbled in a pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys. He handed me the jacket.
‘Wait here, Hardy.’
I stood in the shadows holding the jacket and feeling like a five hundred dollar-flunky; then I remembered that it was a thousand dollar-flunky and felt better. Salmon went up some wooden steps and took a long time selecting a key and getting it into the lock. Then he opened the door and took a long time turning on a light. The jacket felt heavy because there was a. 45 automatic in one of its pockets. It was a long time since my army days when we practised stripping guns in the dark but I found I could still do it. I kept an eye on the light in the cabin while I ejected the bullet from the chamber, turned the top bullet in the spring-loaded magazine around and effectively jammed the thing as tight as a seized piston.
When Salmon came out of the cabin he was carrying a small canvas bag and wearing a look of satisfaction. I handed him the jacket.
‘Want me to carry the bag?’
‘Sure.’ He gave me the bag and we pushed our way back to the path. The bag felt full of something but light; maybe it was toilet tissue for his trip.
Back at the car, Salmon shrugged his jacket on and took the bag from me. I looked up at the starry sky out to sea.
‘Nice place,’ I said.
‘Yeah.’ He was waiting impatiently for me to open the car.
‘Changed a bit in the last year or so though.’
‘Yeah.’
We drove back to Erskineville in virtual silence; it was an easy drive which gave me plenty of time to think. As far as I knew, nothing had changed much in Whale Beach for years-the affluent and trendy locals wouldn’t permit it.
Salmon stowed the bag away in the bedroom and we had a Scotch before going to our respective beds.
‘What time’s your flight?’ I was contemplating another Scotch, mindful of the hardness of the sofa.
‘Eleven in the morning.’
‘All fixed up?’
‘Yeah. Goodnight, Hardy, and thanks,’
I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake thinking about it and trying to figure what was going on. I felt sure things weren’t what they seemed but that didn’t take me far. I dozed and jerked awake with the same doubts and confusions crowding my mind. I didn’t care about Harvey Salmon one way or another; as far as I knew he hadn’t ever killed anybody, and in the world of organised crime his speciality was more in the organisation than the criminality. Still, I didn’t like being so much in the dark. Around 7 a.m. I called Harry Tickener, who writes on crime and politics for The News. He was grumpy about being woken up so early and I had to keep my voice low which made him even grumpier.
‘What can you tell me about Harvey Salmon, Harry?’
‘At 7 a.m. nothing.’
‘Come on, I need something. I know what he looks like, six foot two, fourteen stone; what about habits and so on?’
‘Shit, Cliff, I don’t know. Wait’ll I get a cigarette. Okay… Well, fourteen stone’s a bit heavy. I can’t think of much, except that he’s a tennis nut.
‘What?’
‘Tennis, played it all the time, had his own court and that.’
‘Thanks, Harry.’
‘Any other time, Cliff. Not 7 a.m.’
He rang off and I put the phone down carefully. I was trying to digest the information when my flatmate came through the door wearing striped pyjamas and pointing the. 45 at me.
‘Heard you on the extension.’ he said. ‘Careless.’
‘You’re not Harvey Salmon.’
‘No, but I’ve got this and you’re still going to do what I say.’
He didn’t tell me his name but he told me about the deal over the next few hours as he packed his bags and we waited to go to Mascot. As he understood it, an elaborate arrangement had been arrived at between Salmon and the State and Federal police. Salmon wanted two things-a new identity and a new life in South America (that was one) and a chance to pick up a bag of money from Whale Beach. The Federal police wanted information; the State cops wanted convictions. Harvey Salmon was released on licence in return for certain information; he didn’t trust the police and he knew about a look-alike who was doing time in Grafton jail for fraud. The deal was that the look-alike would move around Sydney for a few days under police protection so that the real Salmon could get an idea of how effective that might be.
‘What about the bag of money?’
‘Salmon was dead keen to get hold of that. The State cops okayed it; the Federals don’t know about it.’
‘Why would the cops make a deal like that? Salmon’d sung already.’
‘Not the whole song.’ Harvey Salmon said. ‘He keeps the last few notes until he gets his tickets and the bag at the airport.’
‘What d’you get?’
‘Some money and my freedom.’ He grinned. ‘And Lulu. Christ!’
‘You can go back for more.’
He shook his head. ‘Deal is, I leave Sydney for good.’
‘Tough.’
‘Yeah, now give me that gun you flashed outside the club.’
I gave him the gun, he took the bullets out and put them in his pocket before returning it. That made two inoperative guns and quite a relaxed atmosphere as far as I was concerned.
‘What do you know about the cops who were tailing us?’ I said, just to pass the time.
He grinned again; he was getting more relaxed by the minute and if he kept on grinning he might turn from a sad spaniel to a happy kelpie. ‘I’d guess they were State boys the other night.’ he said. ‘Didn’t care too much if
