Cross Kill

Twenty-eight

Napper rolled off her and flung himself onto the carpet. Eileen had been with him three times now and knew to expect nothing better. She poked his chest. ‘I feel cold.’

Making a performance of it, he rolled over onto his knees and turned on the heater. It was a narrow electric thing with fake coals glowing in a fake grate. A smell of burning dust spread through the room.

‘I’d like a blanket,’ Eileen said.

Napper planted a smacking kiss on her neck. ‘For you, anything.’ He turned it into a song, crossing the room naked and bulbous, singing, ‘Anything at all, doo doo doo, anything at all.’ At least he was singing now. When he let her in the door an hour ago he’d been tense and snappy with her, as if something had been getting to him.

The blanket he returned with was crusted with stains she didn’t want to think about. Her skin cringed, but rather than offend him she drew it around her shoulders and sat cross-legged looking into his cheap, nasty fire. ‘What’s the story on Niall? He’s been in five days now.’

‘Yes, thanks Mrs R, the sex was fantastic for me too.’

‘Don’t be sarcastic. Just tell me.’

‘These things take time, Eileen.’

‘It’s all been one-way so far, Napper. I’ve given you Wyatt, you’ve had three fucks off me, and for what? I want my boy out.’

Napper hefted her left breast in one hand. ‘Perfection. Look, what’s your rush? You weren’t exactly complaining just now.’

Inside, she’d been cringing just now. ‘I’m not expecting miracles, I’d just like some idea.’

Napper grinned at her, got up, and crossed the room again. As she watched, he lowered his white behind and dangling genitals into the squashy vinyl beanbag chair, the sight and sound of it carnal and ripe, and flipped open the clasps of a cheap briefcase. He removed a folded document, waved it at her, and rolled sideways out of the clammy embrace of the chair. When he came back he stood and probed her shoulder with a knee. She looked up, the pungent centre of him just centimetres from her face, and took the document. ‘Release notice,’ Napper said, the knee pressed hard against her. ‘Just waiting for my signature.’

Eileen drew her shoulders in and leaned over the stapled sheets. Niall was committed for trial early in the new year; meanwhile, though, he would be released on bail. She muttered.

‘Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that?’

‘Thanks.’

Napper slithered down under the blanket with her. She wondered why it always had to be the floor. Maybe the bed was sacred for his girlfriend. Maybe the floor was dirt, she was dirt, and he liked to wallow now and then. After a while he wanted to see what she looked like from behind. She got on to her hands and knees, drawing comfort from the sensation of her large belly and breasts swinging free beneath her, and let him peer and poke. She blamed Ross for all this. He’d made no effort to help their son. ‘You’re a good-looking woman,’ Napper said as he began to thump against her.

Eileen knew that Niall had a second crossbow hidden away in his room somewhere. God, she’d give anything to shoot Napper with it, right this minute. When the fat policeman was finished with her she huddled, leaking, under the blanket before the fire while he plugged in the electric kettle. He came back with two cups of weak Maxwell House. ‘So Wyatt was worth trading my son for?’ she said.

Napper got a kick out of talking police work. His mouth became a thin slash in his heavy face. ‘Did some homework on him.’

‘And?’

‘It’s mostly rumour, he’s never been caught, but he’s hard all right.’

‘I told you that. What did you learn about him?’

Napper started to count on his fingers. They were short, blunt fingers, the nails bitten back to the quick. ‘One, he’s an old-style crim. He specialises in armed robbery. Two, he puts a team together for each job, he doesn’t work for anybody. Three, apparently some crowd in Sydney wants him dead, he poked his nose in where it wasn’t welcome. Sound pretty right so far?’

Eileen said, ‘I told you all that.’

‘I had to be sure.’

This Napper wasn’t very bright. ‘Don’t underestimate Wyatt,’ Eileen said. ‘He’s hard. My old man reckons he’s hard. He’s been known to kill if he’s crossed or cornered or provoked.’

‘Yeah, sure. What else does your old man say?’

Eileen had been over all this before. She wondered if Napper had a short attention span, or took a while to grasp things. ‘He’s single-minded. You can’t get at him through his family because as far as anyone knows he hasn’t got one. If there’s a woman, no one knows about it.’

‘How did he get started?’

Eileen remembered an old story of Rossiter’s. She didn’t know how true it was. ‘He started ripping off stuff in the army. Equipment, a payroll.’

Napper looked away, concentrating, putting together a profile of a man who had skills and compulsion and hadn’t been stopped. It amused Eileen to see the policeman disconcerted. She rocked playfully against him. ‘So, does he sound like someone who’ll hit the Mesics?’

Napper jerked his shoulders away. ‘Fuck off.’ He looked at her. ‘It’s not his style. He’s never been known to hit other crooks.’

‘I told you, he reckons they ripped him off last year.’ She rocked against him again. ‘Can you stop him?’

Napper stared moodily at the fire. ‘Tell me about his friends.’

‘You think you can get a handle on him that way? I wish you luck. He hasn’t got any.’

‘Your husband gave you a second name.’

‘Jardine,’ Eileen said. ‘He’s not a friend, he’s someone Wyatt’s worked with before. Sydney based.’

‘And you say they both showed up in Melbourne yesterday? Could mean they’re already setting it up. I hope your old man’s got sense enough to stay out of it.’

‘He’s strictly in the background. You lay off him.’

Napper grinned. ‘It would help if I knew their movements.’

Eileen stood up, throwing off the foul blanket. ‘I’ve paid my dues.’

Napper said, staring at the fire, ‘Wouldn’t it be a funny thing if new information came to light about young Niall. It would mean I’d have to cancel his release order. Wouldn’t it be a shame if your old man heard you were talking to the cops? That would really stuff things up.’

Eileen waited but Napper wouldn’t turn his head around to look at her. She went to his bathroom, a region of cracked tiles, grout mould and soap-scummed water-lines, sponged all traces of him from her skin, and returned to her clothes heaped on the dusty carpet. She dragged them on, the comfortable feline grace gone from her movements. She said savagely, ‘I’ll see what I can find out.’

‘Good on you, Mrs R.’