‘What’re you going to do about him?’
‘Dunno.’
Jacko insisted on paying me a fee and paying for the repairs on the Pajero. He got the community bank set up and it’s doing fine. Kevin’s working in it and plans to marry his girlfriend. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bank’s helping Bruce Perkins to survive. Jacko’s that sort of bloke.
‹‹Contents››
CHRISTMAS SHOPPING
Brian Morgan was a worried man. He was the CEO of a firm that controlled several major suburban shopping complexes. Despite the flat economy, these enterprises were doing okay-all except one.
‘Petersham Plaza,’ he said. ‘Not the biggest of our shows, but margins are tight in this business and every centre has to pay its way. If the big ones have to subsidise the smaller one the leaseholders’ll scream.’
‘What’s wrong in Petersham?’ I asked.
‘Everything.’
He crossed his legs, not bothering to protect the creases in his expensive suit pants, a sign of extreme agitation, I suspected, because this was a very image-conscious man. He was about forty, with a tan, a disciplined figure, carefully tended hair and well-chosen clothes. My diagnosis was confirmed when he took out a packet of cigarettes and looked at it with disgust.
‘I gave this up five years ago. But I’ve lapsed.’
‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Play with them. Suck on them, break ‘em in half but don’t light them. It’s like standing in the road waiting for a car to hit you. Might not, but probably will.’
‘You’re right. It doesn’t help anyway. To answer your question-there’s a gang of shoplifters at work. That’s one thing. Then there’s a pickpocket. It could be the same people. I don’t know. Two ram-raids in the last month. It’s like the place is a target.’
‘Who for?’
He shrugged, stripped the cellophane from the cigarette packet and crumpled it. He threw it and the packet into my wastepaper basket which, along with the desk, a filing cabinet, two chairs, a phone, fax and a bookcase, completes my office hardware.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s never popular with the local shopkeepers when a shopping centre opens up. Some of them go to the wall. Market forces. But I can’t believe they’re behind this.’
‘What do the police think?’
‘They’re stretched. They put some people in for a while and nothing happened. They say these things come in cycles, but that’s no use to me. We’re hurting; and with Christmas a month away it couldn’t be worse. We started off well but there’re signs the place is fading and it’s hard to win back customers. You’ve got to hold on to every one you’ve got.’
I knew the feeling. I’ve got my regulars, too-people who need company when they’re carrying money, people who need information and some who have information and need people to sell it to. Bread and butter stuff. I nodded understandingly but was unsure of what he wanted me to do. I’ve tried to stay out of shopping centres ever since Wade Frankum cut loose in a Strathfield mall coffee shop.
‘The police were obvious,’ Morgan said. ‘I need someone experienced to hang around unobtrusively and see if he can spot anything-like a pickpocket or a shoplifter, or anyone who seems like they might be looking the place over. You know.’
‘Well, I could do that, I guess.’
‘If you catch anyone we can find out if there’s anything more behind it-angry locals, the competition, whatever. And do it on the quiet. We’re gearing up for a big Christmas push. Lots of giveaways and that. We’ll get them in, but we’ll lose them if there’s any more of this bullshit.’
He signed a contract committing to pay me a retainer, expenses and a week in advance. I agreed to devote myself exclusively to this problem for that period initially and to report at forty-eight hour intervals. He gave me his card and that of the manager of the Petersham Plaza-Tabitha Miles.
‘Tabby’s the best,’ he said. ‘She’ll give you all the help she can. Jobs are on the line here.’
I shook hands with him, grateful for the work but also grateful that I was working for the corporate sector rather than in it.
The Petersham Plaza was built on disused railway land. In the old days there must have been a goods yard, multiple tracks and points, shunting space and loading docks. Now the suburban lines were all that was left. The shopping centre was the standard late nineties job-three levels of steel and glass, air-conditioned interior with a water garden in the centre, escalators to the specialist shops on two mezzanines. The ground floor held the chain supermarket and the usual array of necessity shops-hardware, newsagent, pharmacy, liquor etc. There was also a medical clinic on that level, an NRMA office and a Medicare branch.
The administration centre was on the top level and Tabitha Miles’ office was in a corner of the building with a view towards Iron Cove. Ms Miles was an impressive-looking woman in her mid-thirties. She was tall and straight with thin features that missed being pretty by a long way but succeeded in being attractive. Her dark hair was drawn back severely and in her black suit and white blouse she looked ready for business at any hour of the day. She’d inspected my card, dealt with my refusal of coffee and had me seated while I was still catching my breath from the two substantial flights of stairs. My trainer has instructed me to avoid escalators except when drunk or severely wounded.
A flash of even white teeth. ‘Well, Mr Hardy. I’m glad to see that Brian has done something at last.’
I showed my own less even, less white teeth in a grin. ‘Are you suggesting he’s been slow off the mark, Ms Miles?’
‘Snail’s pace. I’d have had someone in weeks ago. But, I have to admit, probably from a bigger firm.’
‘Mr Morgan’s concerned about publicity. With me, you don’t get any.’
‘I see.’ She got as much scepticism into that as it’s possible to get. ‘And what do you propose to do?’
‘Look and listen. What security firm do you use?’
‘Braithwaite.’
‘They’re okay. I’ll need a pass to identify myself to any of their people and not be hampered.’
She made a note. No rings on her capable-looking hands. Shortish nails, clear polish, a no-nonsense gold wristwatch. ‘That’s easy. And
…?’
‘A list of leaseholders and their current status with you; a rundown on your staff, like cleaners, car park attendants…’
‘That’s all contracted out.’
‘Of course. A list of the contractors then.’
‘You’re suggesting this is an inside action.’
‘Am I?’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Inside, outside, a bit of both or nothing at all. Just a heap of unrelated incidents. What d’you think?’
‘I’m not paid to think like that.’
‘I’d have thought it was your area of responsibility.’
She bit her lip. ‘I have limited authority and limited responsibility.’
It hurt her like hell to say it and I decided to let things lie there. I arranged to collect the pass that evening when I came back to see how the Petersham Plaza was doing on a Thursday night a month and a bit from Christmas.
Four days later I’d made a couple of friends, several enemies, and was none the wiser about the shopping centre’s troubles. I’d scouted the shops in the vicinity that were likely to be hurt by the competition. Some had closed up already and the rest seemed to be battling on well enough with a captive market among the ethnic
