Kick Back

Thirty-six

They dressed again and had coffee and set out for the beach on foot. Wyatt could feel his heart and lungs working. The black soil was carpeted with winter grasses, scored here and there by plough lines and the mud eruptions of bogged farm vehicles. They skirted a chain of crisp puddles. The roadside grasses, starred and bearded with frost, reflected light from the mid-morning sun. By the time they reached the beach they could hear water dripping.

It was a windless day, grey with low clouds. But the sea must have heaved in the night, dumping seaweed and kelp along the shoreline. There were prints in the sand: a horse, a man with a crazy dog. They exchanged waves with a fisherman on the rocks.

Mostly they walked in companionable silence. Wyatt wondered if it was living alone, always in the present, that had made him unlucky. Love for him had become a brief release with women who would never know or understand what he did. The rest of the time he waited for treachery from people he was obliged to trust, and never could he relax his guard against the death dealer he’d never see, never meet. He felt that he’d almost lost the swift cleanness of his life, but things had changed now, he was in a position to see that it didn’t happen again.

They were watching a coastal freighter, their arms around each other, when Anna said, ‘What will you do now?’

Wyatt stirred. ‘Stay here. Keep a low profile.’

‘You said you usually travelled after a job.’

‘If it’s a big enough earner.’

‘Seventy-five thousand isn’t exactly peanuts.’

‘Until recently,’ Wyatt said, ‘I’d pull two or three jobs a year. One job alone netted me enough for the farm and six months in France. Things have changed.’

Anna was silent. Then she said, ‘I wondered if I’d feel guilt or remorse or fear or have second thoughts, but I feel neutral.’

Wyatt nodded absently, and said, as if thinking aloud, ‘That’s a good sign, the sign of a pro. Next time you won’t even examine your feelings.’

Anna positioned herself in front of him so that he was forced to look at her. ‘What do you mean, next time?’

Her tone was more demanding than mystified. Her expression was quizzical, as if she knew the answer, but he also saw a brief, puzzling, hunted look on her face. He touched her breasts, so briefly he might never have done it, and said, ‘It’s the pattern.’

‘What are you saying? That I’ll want to do it again?’

He watched her. He had her attention and he knew she wouldn’t run or laugh or play dumb.

‘Does it suit you,’ he said, ‘doing what you do?’

‘It’s not boring. You meet an interesting class of person, if you know what I mean.’

‘It’s not boring yet,’ Wyatt said flatly.

‘You think I’ve got a taste for crime now. Work won’t satisfy me any more, is that it?’

Wyatt said, ‘Often a good job comes along but I have to cancel it because the key role belongs to a woman, and I don’t know any who are good enough.’

She rested her stomach against his and looked at him sleepily. ‘And all I have to do is cross the line.’

‘You’ve already crossed it,’ Wyatt said. She tensed, very briefly.

Rainclouds were blowing in so they walked back to the house. The telephone rang soon after they got there. Rossiter, reading out a Melbourne number and saying it was urgent.

It was Pedersen. ‘Sugarfoot’s been sniffing around again,’ he said. ‘He tried to jump Hobba, and when that didn’t work he contacted me.’

‘What does he want?’

‘A meeting. This afternoon at four.’

Wyatt said nothing. Pedersen went on, ‘He says either we cut him in or he goes to Finn or the cops.’

‘He knows about the job?’

‘Yes. Don’t ask me how.’

‘What else does he know? Does he know about Anna Reid?’

‘I don’t know. He only mentioned you, me and Hobba. Jesus Christ, Wyatt. You know what he’s like. What if he decides to play us and Finn. You should’ve wasted him when you had the chance.’

That’s when Wyatt told him to sit tight, he would deal with it. ‘Get hold of Hobba,’ he said. ‘Go to the safe house-you’ve still got the key?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll meet you both there when it’s over. Do you know where Sugarfoot lives?’

‘No.’

‘Rossiter will know. Now, details: where and when does he want to meet?’

Pedersen told him, then said, ‘You want to watch him. He’ll try something.’

‘Yes.’

Wyatt broke the connection. Anna Reid was watching him, one expression following another in her green eyes: pleasure, alertness, calculation. She said, ‘Trouble?’

He told her about Sugarfoot Younger. ‘I let it go too long,’ he said.

She was angry suddenly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before? This affects me just as much as it does you. He could be talking to Finn this very minute-or the police. Jesus, I thought you were a professional.’

‘Shut up,’ Wyatt said, so hard and sharp she stepped back.

‘What does he want?’ she said.

‘Money. Revenge.’

‘You’ll kill him, I suppose. So much for my simple safecracking job.’

‘Listen to me! His brains are fried. He’d just as soon kill you as me.’

She breathed in and out. ‘Does he know about me? Has he been following me?’

‘No. But if I miss him and he comes here, you’ve had it. I want you to stay in the safe house with the others.’

She rubbed her upper arms as if she felt cold. ‘Suddenly it’s all escalated.’

‘I’ll deal with it. Go and pack your things.’

She flushed with annoyance and left the room. Wyatt made the fireplace secure and opened the front door. He took out one of Flood’s.38s and waited, listening and watching, until Anna appeared, stuffing clothes into her leather bag.

He said, ‘I didn’t mean to be abrupt.’

‘I know’

‘Here’s the key to the safe house. You’d better go now.’

‘Aren’t you coming with me?’

‘It’s best if we go separately. We can’t afford to be linked in any way if something goes wrong.’

She held her arms around herself against the chilly wind. ‘When will I see you again?’

‘When it’s done. I’ll keep in touch by phone.’

‘What if something happens to you?’

‘Think about yourself, not about me. Here’s a gun, just in case. Do you know how to use it?’

Anna weighed the gun in her hand. She seemed to be speculating. It was an odd look, as though she were repelled by the gun, but fascinated and keen to use it. ‘I just point and pull the trigger, right?’

‘That’s the general idea,’ Wyatt said.