Kick Back

Three

Ivan watched Wyatt go, feeling vaguely dissatisfied. He’d backed him down on the five thousand dollars, but it was a hollow victory. Wyatt wasn’t someone you’d normally cross. He told himself he did it because of the guy’s arrogance and the way he’d thumped Sugar.

He leaned down and twisted his brother’s ear. ‘Get up.’

Sugarfoot patted at him feebly.

‘Get up. I want to know what happened tonight.’

Sugarfoot put his weight on his hands, then his knees, and finally stood. He swayed groggily, touched his face and took his hands away. They were sticky with blood. ‘Look what the cunt did to me.’

‘I’ll do worse if you don’t fucking tell me what happened.’

Sugarfoot shrugged, his loose, pouchy face growing sullen. ‘The maid, whatever. One minute she’s all right, the next minute she carks it.’

‘Jesus H. Christ.’

‘Must’ve had a dicky heart.’

Ivan stared at his brother. ‘You didn’t help her along, of course?’

‘No. I swear-’

‘Ah, fuck off, I don’t want to hear about it.’

Ivan leaned against the workbench, concentrating hard. Wyatt wouldn’t talk. But the insurance clerk would have to be sweetened in case he developed a conscience.

Fucking Sugar. A grade-A fuckwit. That Whiteley painting could have put them all in Pentridge.

He stiffened. ‘Listen-you take anything else?’

‘Nothing,’ said Sugarfoot. ‘Look, I’m sorry, right?’

Ivan regarded his brother sourly. Sugarfoot: a joke name, yet he was proud of it, the moron. He’d been charged with his first offence at the age of twelve. That was followed by ten stretches inside for periods ranging from four days to eighteen months: indecent assault, extortion, social security fraud, possession of cannabis resin.

He grabbed Sugarfoot’s face in a pinch grip. The eyes looked okay. Whenever Sugar was on coke or angel dust or whatever, his pupils shrank.

Sugarfoot shook him off. ‘Leave us alone.’

‘Ask you to use your brains,’ Ivan said, ‘and look what happens. I’m putting you back on collecting.’

Sugarfoot dabbed at his face with a handkerchief. He shivered in the chilly air of the storeroom. ‘Yeah, well I want a change. I’m going freelance.’

‘Oh really? Doing what? Mugging old ladies?’

Sugarfoot flushed. ‘Wyatt’s bankrolling something. I’m gonna-’

Ivan jerked him by his shirt front. ‘If he is and he sees you hanging around he’ll wipe you out, no questions asked. Stay away from him.’

Sugarfoot looked down at his brother’s hand. With great dignity he removed it, gratified to see Ivan wince. He said, ‘See my face? I’m supposed to just let him get away with it?’

‘He’s bad news,’ Ivan said. ‘Look, take the weekend off. We’ll see what we can find for you next week.’

Not all that much, he told himself. Their existing set-up ticked over nicely. Sugar did the minding, he did the thinking. He was fucked if he could see Sugar doing business with Bauer and the Sydney outfit, for example.

‘Sugar?’ he said. ‘Think about it, all right? Take a couple of days off. See the girls in Calamity Jane’s, get your end in, and we’ll talk about it on Monday, okay?’

The best solution, he thought, would be to give Sugar the sort of muscle work he’d respect. Maybe Bauer could use him.

He walked Sugarfoot out of the shop to the street. Sugarfoot’s Customline was parked outside the takeaway joint. He clapped his brother on the back, returned to the storeroom, went out the back door and got into the Statesman.

His car phone was top of the range. He tapped out Bauer’s number in St Kilda. Placida or whatever her name was answered in her Manila whorehouse accent: ‘Who is speaking please?’

‘Get me Bauer.’

The handset clattered in his ear. Bauer’s raspy voice came on the line. ‘Ja?’ Amazing the way Bauer still said ‘Ja,’ even though he’d left South Africa fourteen years ago.

‘It’s about Calamity Jane’s,’ Ivan said. ‘Are you delivering the take to Sydney on Monday?’

‘Ja.’

‘Tell them I found out who’s been skimming off the top.’

‘Who?’

‘One of the shift supervisors. Ellie.’

There was a pause. Ivan went on: ‘Want me to handle it?’

‘No. They’ll tell me in Sydney what to do. I’ll deal with it when I get back on Monday.’

‘Whatever it is, take my brother along. I need him to pick up a few clues so we don’t have to keep bothering you.’

‘Your brother,’ said Bauer repressively.

‘Sugarfoot,’ Ivan said. ‘He’s okay. He just needs someone to show him the ropes.’