Kick Back

Thirty-five

The Kombi was gutless but Sugarfoot made the distance from Hobba’s to Bargain City in eight minutes. He parked in the alley, came in the back way, and stood in the showroom, catching his breath. Leanne was there, this time with a whole family of ethnics looking at kitchen chairs.

He forced himself to be casual. ‘Ivan in?’

She looked up. ‘He went home to meet someone. Are you all right?’

‘I’ll be in the storeroom,’ Sugarfoot said.

She shrugged, turning away to play peekaboo with one of the ethnic kids.

Sugarfoot shut himself in the storeroom and began to walk among the junk, feeling on edge, wondering when Ivan would get back. It was probably stupid, coming here. He’d be safer at Ivan’s house, that high wall and all that hi-tech security stuff.

Then it struck him-don’t run, go on the offensive. Hobba is alerted now, so go for Pedersen. He picked up the storeroom phone and dialled.

‘Yeah?’

Pedersen, flat and wary.

‘Home at last, eh?’ Sugarfoot said. ‘Got your pockets full?’

No answer. Sugarfoot said, ‘You listening? You know who this is?’

‘Hobba called me,’ Pedersen said.

There was no inflexion in his voice. He sounded more preoccupied than surprised. Sugarfoot felt sour about that. ‘Thought you might like to do a deal,’ he said.

He heard rustling in the background, and then a complaining zipper. ‘Sounds like you might be counting your take. Am I right?’

‘I’m busy,’ Pedersen said. ‘What do you want?’

‘Mate. Think about it. I can ruin your day.’

Pedersen said, ‘I seem to remember we ruined yours. We can do it again. Fuck off.’

Sugarfoot had the upper hand. He wasn’t fazed. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll just go and have a word with the jacks, what do you reckon? Or maybe that bloke you hit, that lawyer. I mean, if you won’t cough up for me, I bet he’ll be happy to.’

A pause. Then, ‘Get to the point.’

‘That is the point. You give me a percentage, or I dob you in.’

Another pause. ‘How much?’

‘That’s better,’ Sugarfoot said. ‘They reckoned on TV ten thousand, but the take was bigger, am I right?’

Pedersen replied warily, ‘Maybe.’

‘Well, what are we looking at?’

After a while, Pedersen said, ‘Around fifty thousand.’

‘Your cut’s what, sixteen, seventeen?’

Pedersen grunted.

‘So if I got, say, ten thousand off each of you, you still wouldn’t be out of pocket,’ Sugarfoot said. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want all of it.’

There was a pause, then Pedersen said clearly, ‘And we come after you and blow your miserable brains out.’

Sugarfoot was enjoying this. ‘Not if there’s this envelope, it gets opened if anything happens to me.’

‘You been watching too many films,’ Pedersen said.

Sugarfoot straightened, his feet firm and set apart on the cement floor. ‘You’re in no position to fuck with me, pal. You collect the other two and meet me now, with the money.’

‘Can’t.’

‘What do you mean, you can’t? Do you want me to put the cops onto you?’

‘I mean we physically can’t make it. It will take a while to track Wyatt down.’

Sugarfoot considered. ‘All right, two this afternoon.’

‘I could need more time.’

‘Jesus. Four o’clock, no later.’

‘Where?’ Pedersen said.

‘I don’t trust you bastards. Somewhere nice and open. There’s a footbridge over the Yarra at Abbotsford, at the end of Gipps Street. Be on the middle of the bridge at four.’

‘On the bridge.’

‘Right in the middle,’ Sugarfoot said, ‘where I can see all three of you.’

See your faces, that look when you realise I’m picking you off from high ground somewhere.

He hung up. He was going to need something a bit gutsier than the Kombi.

Like Ivan’s Statesman.