Kick Back

Twelve

When she was gone Hobba raised an eyebrow and said, ‘So, Wyatt, what do you reckon?’

‘About what?’

‘About what?’ Hobba threw up his arms. ‘Her. Anna. I like your chances there, pal.’

Wyatt watched Hobba coldly. He refused to be drawn, had no time for it, couldn’t understand how anyone lacked focus when they had a job on. Finally Hobba gave a self-conscious shrug and said, ‘Okay, how do you see the job?’

‘We’ll use a van, something that won’t look out of place. We drive up, go in as tradesmen, lock the doors, disarm the phones, crack the safe. Max, Chubbs are easy, right?’

‘Some of them,’ Pedersen said. He’d been playing with the zip on his japara. ‘A van,’ he said, ‘some sort of disguise. Going to cost a fair bit. Guns too?’

‘Yes,’ Wyatt said. ‘But no shooting.’

‘I got a gun,’ Hobba said. ‘Wyatt, you got guns.’

Wyatt shook his head. ‘I’ve never used my own on a job and I’m not going to start now. We get new ones.’

Wyatt waited, watching him. Hobba liked to play devil’s advocate. It was how they ironed out the wrinkles. ‘Where from?’ Hobba said. ‘They put Payne away last week for shipping M16s to Fiji, and I wouldn’t want to be caught with something that fell off the back of a truck in the saloon bar of the Kings Head.’

‘Max, what have you heard? Who else is supplying?’

Pedersen tugged back and forth on his zip again, thinking. Eventually he said, ‘There’s this guy near Burnley Station. Somebody Flood.’

Wyatt nodded. He knew of Flood.

Hobba got to his feet and stretched, getting the kinks out of his massive back. He lit a cigarette and began to circle the small area between the bed and the door to the corridor. ‘What with?’ he said. ‘I haven’t got any spare cash. Max here hasn’t.’

Wyatt had withdrawn his final cache that afternoon. It would do for the guns and incidentals and his hotel bill, but that was about it. He said, ‘I’ll take care of the guns.’

Hobba looked at him shrewdly but said nothing. Pedersen removed his japara at last. The fawn shirt under it blended with his sandy colouring, making his features even less distinct. He folded the japara over his knee and said, ‘Okay, you buy the guns. But where do we get the cash for a van and the other stuff? I mean, this is pretty central to the whole deal.’

‘We bankroll it,’ Wyatt said. ‘Pull a couple of small jobs.’

Hobba sat down again, his bulk disturbing the surface of the bed. ‘Ivan Younger is good for any of the stuff we need.’

Wyatt grinned. ‘Yeah, well that’s a long story.’ He told them about Sugarfoot and Ivan and the dead housekeeper.

‘Was that you?’ Pedersen said, amazed. He looked troubled, as if Wyatt had come down in the world. ‘Ivan Younger’s someone you buy from. He’s not someone you work for.’

Hobba began to wheeze like an accordion. He was laughing. ‘You got out of it lucky. Young Sugar is going to find himself in a shallow grave one day.’

We could go on like this all night, Wyatt thought. He said, ‘So we can’t use the Youngers. Who else is there?’

He knew the answers to most of these questions, but the scene changed quickly, so it was important to double check. Hobba said, ‘Eddie Loman.’

‘Eddie Loman’s good,’ Wyatt said. ‘You go and see him in the morning and order a van.’

‘He won’t come through unless we pay him up front.’

‘The way to deal with the Eddie Lomans of this world is let them see some cash, say a thousand. He’ll come through then.’

‘A thousand? I bloody haven’t got a thousand.’

Silently Wyatt pulled out his wallet and counted out one thousand dollars. ‘Give him this. I’ll see about the guns. Meanwhile, I want a stake-out on the target over the next few days. Max, you’ll take the first shift tomorrow.’

Pedersen nodded. He seemed pleased to be working again.

Hobba was still looking for hitches. ‘We can’t use our cars for the stake-out. We’ll have to use rentals. That means fake ID.’

Wyatt opened his wallet. ‘This is my passport photo. You get yours taken tonight, use one of those machines, and ask Loman to fix us up with ID. As for the bankroll, there’s one scam I know of, but it won’t bring in enough cash. We need a second scam.’

A slow, wide smile formed on Hobba’s face. ‘Ivan Younger runs a couple of call-girls over in Fitzroy. How would you like to get back the five thousand he owes you?’