fluid.
A junkie, Wyatt said. He hated them. They had changed the face of crime. They were invariably desperate, vicious and unpredictable. Hed never work with one.
But Mostyn was shaking his head vigorously. No way. Its a knockout drug. Sometimes the people weve been hired to find dont want to come home.
A slow, cold smile appeared on Wyatts thin face. Mostyn saw it and knew what it meant. Hey, come on.
Wyatt smacked the cosh across the bridge of the mans nose. It came just short of cracking the bone. What do you prefer, a painless sleep or the bashed-over-the-head kind?
Wordlessly Mostyn stuck out his arm.
Do it yourself, Wyatt said.
For several seconds, Mostyn didnt move. Then, his movements small and spiderlike, he removed the syringe, and upended the vial over the needle. Holding it up to the light, he drew liquid into the barrel. Finally he test- squirted the plunger, pulled up his sleeve, and tapped the vein in the crook of his elbow. Both men watched the needle depress the skin, slice gently into the vein. Mostyn pushed the plunger with his thumb. The vein swelled a little. Mostyn slid the needle out, put a finger on the puncture, bent his hand to his chin.
Not long now.
They waited. The first signs were unfocused eyes, an unsteadiness in Mostyns trunk. Then his head dropped, his shoulders and arms slumped. Wyatt pushed at him experimentally. He fell sideways onto the bed.
Wyatt opened the mans wallet. He found credit cards, drivers licence, a card saying that Mostyn was licensed as a private inquiry agent in the state of Victoria, and two hundred dollars in cash. From three hundred thousand dollars to twenty thousand to two hundred, Wyatt thought, pocketing the money.
It was time to move on. Hed paid in advance for the motel room, so no-one was going to call the cops if he wasnt around in the morning. He also didnt think the man called Whitney would be back. But when the cleaners found Mostyn in the morning, the police would be alerted. This was a lonely corner of the country. There werent many roads out of it. Theyd stop Wyatt on one of them soon enough, once they knew he was here.
His only chance was to get rid of Mostyn. There was a 24-hour Caltex station and roadhouse next door to the motel. Heavy long-distance rigs had been snarling in and out of there all night. Wyatt went out the back way, Mostyn slung over his shoulder. It was easier than hed expected. A car transporter bound for Adelaide in a shadowy corner. Five Honda Legends on the tray. A comfortable back seat ride for Mostyn through the night.
Wyatt walked back into the town. The sky was very black, cloud over the moon, wind gusts agitating the solitary traffic light suspended above the intersection. It was Saturday but everyone was in bed. He found the shire council depot next to a Mechanics Institute and opposite the war memorial, a Great War soldier in leggings, bayonet extended, pigeon shit streaked down his back. The shires vans, utilities and road maintenance trucks were locked in a yard behind the office. Wyatt hot-wired a Falcon ute. It wouldnt be missed before Monday morning, if then.
Two
Wyatt drove east, the road unrolling through pine forests then farmland. Sometimes the clouds broke up in unheard winds and he caught sight of the sea under moonlight. In the small fishing towns, spiny jetties poked darkly into the silver water. The night and the road were long and empty, encouraging in him a detached sensation, as though he didnt inhabit his skin and bones but rode along with them.
A few hours ago hed been portable, mobile, sustained and protected by technologythe gun, the radio scanner, the cellular phone. Hed had money enough to hide for a few months or to bankroll a hit against the Mesics, the people who now had the money from the payroll heist that had gone so wrong in the red dirt country of South Australia. Now? Now he had two hundred dollars, a set of lock picks and the clothes hed been sleeping in.
He passed through Portland, Warrnambool, towns with banks, building societies, Medicare branches. Some other time. Hed find something in Melbourne, a place where he had contacts, if not friends. Only a mug would try to hit a bank at night, alone, unprepared.
The headlights drew him over the curve of the earth and an edge of anxiety settled in him. Solitude was his natural state. He got things done that way, especially the sorts of things that he did. Wrapped in silence, he could thrive, away from the noise and confusion that other people created around themselves. He never felt lonely loneliness was an illusion. He knew all these things about himself, but, still, in this tunneling shire council ute on this dark plain, he began to feel unconnected to the world. There had been other times when hed lost everything, been forced to move on, build up funds again, make a new home for himself, but this time the task seemed enormous. It occurred to Wyatt that he didnt necessarily want to do it alone, this time.
Then he was back in himself, feeling concentrated and alive. He was driving directly into the suns rays; he couldnt afford an accident now, not with a price on his head and his hands on another mans steering wheel. The introspective mood lifted and he put his mind to the next stageacquiring some more cash.
It was eight-thirty in the morning when Wyatt reached the outskirts of Geelong. The city had the shutdown air of Sunday morning and he felt confident that he could stop for petrol, breakfast and phone calls without drawing attention to himself. Two hundred dollars. He put fifteen dollars worth of fuel in the tank, consumed coffee, toast and eggs in a roadhouse for five dollars, and saw a motel on the other side of the highway: Rooms $35. Theyd be costlier in Melbourne, and Melbourne was an unknown for him now, things had gone wrong there recently.
Room eighteen was at the back of the building and he parked the ute in a corner, the shire council logo on the drivers door shielded by a brick wall. The ute wasnt a problem yet, but it would be tomorrow, Monday. By then hed have another set of wheels and be somewhere else.
Nine oclock. He called Rossiter first. Rossiter had been his main contact in the past, before hed lost everything. Rossiter passed information to him, put him in touch with people, warned him when cops or hardheads with a grudge were looking for him.
Eileen, Rossiters wife, answered. Yeah?
Its Lake, Wyatt said. Lake was a name he used from time to time. He used it in motels and whenever he thought there might be a tap on a phone line.
Eileen Rossiter wasnt concerned about a possible tap on her line. Wyatt? Youve got a bloody nerve.
Wyatt said nothing.
You hear me? My old man almost got strangled because of you.
Sugarfoot, Wyatt said, naming the last punk to have come looking for him.
Exactly. He came round wanting your address. Ross had no choice. Permanent rope burns on his neck.
Im sorry about that. Look, is Ross there? I need to talk to him.
You must be joking.
Wyatt was left with a dead connection and an angry crash sounding in his ear. He tried Loman next. Hed used Loman in the past whenever he needed vehicles, explosives, people to drive or crack a safe for him. He didnt know the voice that answered.
Get me Loman.
There was a pause and the voice went hard and suspicious. Who wants him?
A friend.
Hes not here.
When will he be back?
Tell me what this is about and maybe I can help you.
It was Wyatts turn to pause. He didnt like what was happening. I need him to put me in touch with someone.
Like who?
Forget it, Wyatt said. Ill try again later.
Who will I say called?
Wyatt thought about it. The STD beeps at the beginning of the call meant he could have been calling from anywhere in Australia. To see what it would precipitate, he gave his real name. Wyatt.
A hard knowledge came into the other mans voice. Waddya know. Arent you the popular one. Top of everyones hit parade.
