Pay Dirt

THIRTEEN

The next morning when the commuter traffic had eased they took the winding freeway through the hills and down into the city. Leah’s driving was smooth and fast, no messy braking or swerving. Once they were out of the hills, Wyatt watched the traffic, the everyday commerce of the suburban streets. He did it automatically. It was as though these banks, payroll deliveries, office safes and jewellers existed only for him.

At Victoria Park racecourse he was reminded of a job he had on hold, to snatch the gate receipts at a big sporting event someday, some place where the security had been allowed to get slack. Leah skirted the vast parklands of the city. Boys were jogging around the playing fields of Prince Alfred College. Schools like this were never called by their full names. They were always Prince’s, King’s, SCEGGS, PLC, and it was always assumed that you understood the reference.

Wyatt’s self-possession and control, his height and grace, had fooled people in the past. They mistook it for arrogance and good breeding. He’d once been asked, ‘Were you at Scotch?’ These schools, the people who sent their kids to them, spelt money, and Wyatt had set out to get some of it. It wasn’t anything personal with him. He had no time for hatred or envy. Emotions like that used up energy and warped judgement. With Wyatt it was simply this: they had money, he wanted it, so what was the best way of getting it?

Leah turned onto Main North Road in Enfield and the city turned ugly. Sunlight blazed from windscreens and chrome in the used-car lots, and massive plastic chickens, hamburgers, tennis racquets and spectacles were bolted above the shopfront verandahs. Leah braked hard, swearing as a kid in a panel van swerved in front of her. The bumper sticker read ‘Don’t Laugh-Your Daughter Could Be In Here’. That’s an old one, Wyatt thought. In fact, the whole city seemed to be about five years behind the rest of the world. Leah braked again, for a bus this time. Diesel exhaust hung in the air behind it and soon the oily fumes were fouling the air in the car.

‘I always forget how shitty it is down here,’ Leah said. ‘I’m spoilt living in the hills.’

‘Bushfires,’ Wyatt said. ‘Developers. Feral cats. Herbicide on the blackberries.’

‘Ha, ha.’

A few blocks before Gepps Cross she turned left into an industrial park. 50% lease! screamed the signs along the fenceline. Grass grew to chest height around the empty buildings. Wyatt counted four stripped cars on the forecourt. Airconditioning ducts, packing cases and empty pallets were stacked along a steel-mesh fence.

‘Here?’ he said.

‘It’s the address I was given.’

Leah followed the main drive past the large front buildings and around behind them to a block of six smaller sheds and wholesale outlets. Three were vacant. The others were a hose and tap supplier, a cane furniture manufacturer and a small transport business. The transport business was at the end of the row and there were two vans parked outside it. A prissy script on the door of each van read ‘KT Transport, Express Service to Country Areas’.

‘Keith Tobin, esquire,’ Leah said. ‘No job too small.’

She parked the car and they got out. A man was on his back under one of the vans. He wore desert boots. He was tapping metal on metal and the soles of the desert boots twisted and turned in sympathy.

‘Mr Tobin?’ Leah said.

The boots were still. A muffled voice replied, ‘Who wants him?’

‘You got a phone call from a mutual acquaintance. You were told to expect us.’

Tobin was not sharp. The boots appeared to be taking in what Leah had said. After a while, the man slid out from beneath the van and stood up. ‘Got you now,’ he said.

Wyatt watched all this, hoping it didn’t mean that Tobin was bad at his job. He saw a vigorous man aged about thirty, dressed in overalls. There were small blue tattoos on his forearms. His hair was cropped short, and a bushy moustache sprouted under his pitted nose. He was loud and cheerful, had vacant eyes in a lively face, and looked, Wyatt thought, exactly like a test cricketer. As he watched, Tobin stripped off the overalls, revealing brief green shorts, a blue singlet and long stretches of healthy-looking skin. Then Tobin put on sunglasses with mirrored orange lenses and said in a rapid mumble, ‘Come in the office.’

Wyatt looked around once before following Tobin and Leah. If there was anyone who didn’t look right hanging around, he’d pull out immediately. He saw no one. He went in.

The office was a mess. Ring-folders and crumpled invoices and receipts littered the desk and floor. There were beer cans on the window ledge. Wyatt didn’t want to waste time. He didn’t wait for Leah but said, ‘Have you got form?’

Tobin took off the sunglasses. ‘Sorry?’

Wyatt waited. It was the only thing to do. The seconds ticked by while Tobin got the question worked out in his head.

‘Not me, mate,’ Tobin said finally. A sullen expression replaced the open, empty look he’d started out with. ‘What’s it to you, anyroad?’

‘You can drive heavy vehicles?’

Now Wyatt was speaking Tobin’s language. ‘No worries.’

‘A low-loader, car transporter, something like that?’

‘Yep.’

‘Are you booked up this week?’

‘Why? What’s this all about? I was told you had a job on.’

‘What about next week? Got any work on that can wait till later?’

Tobin looked sulkier. ‘I’m not exactly swamped.’

‘What about family, friends?’ Leah asked. ‘Anyone who’s going to wonder where you are if you’re away for a few days?’

‘Nup. You better start fucking telling me what the job is pretty soon or you can fuck off, okay?’

Leah seemed to know what she was doing. Wyatt let her handle it. ‘What are you doing this Thursday?’ she asked. ‘Any chance you can make a run up north?’

‘Suppose. What’s it to you?’

‘We want to show you something. Do you deliver to Burra?’

‘Every week. There’s a bloke there owes me for a case of Scotch, five hundred smokes, videos…’

Leah nodded. ‘We’ll meet you there. Thursday, ten o’clock.’

‘Listen, I’m getting pissed off with this. Time’s money. If you want a pro you got to pay for it, and I want something up front.’

‘Nothing up front,’ Wyatt said. ‘All your expenses will be paid and you get a cut on the take if you come in on this. Same terms for everybody.’

‘How much?’

‘Between fifty and a hundred grand.’

‘Each?’

Wyatt nodded.

Tobin whistled. Then he jerked his head, indicating Leah. ‘Is she in this?’

‘Have you got a problem with that?’

‘Well, I mean, you know.’

Wyatt turned and walked to the door. ‘Okay, that’s it, we find someone else.’

‘No, hang on, mate, hang on,’ Tobin said. ‘No offence. Never worked with a bird before, that’s all.’

‘One thing,’ Leah said. ‘I’m not a bird.’

‘Gi’s your name, then.’

We’re pushing him too much, Wyatt thought. He feels that he’s giving but getting nothing in return. ‘Take it easy,’ he said calmly. He gave Tobin their names and described the job. ‘Okay?’ he said. ‘Are you in so far?’

‘Security van?’ Tobin said, making a click of awe with his tongue. Then he made a show of frowning hesitation, as if he was a pro and the job had holes in it. ‘The paint job’ll have to look right.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, look no further,’ said Tobin expansively. He pointed through the window. ‘See them vans? Painted them myself. Duco, lettering.’

Wyatt inclined his head admiringly. ‘Classy.’

Tobin thrust out his hand. ‘Count me in,’ he said.

Wyatt shook it, thinking there was muscle here and not much else. But the job demanded muscle too, and if he could run the operation so it was tight, the weaknesses wouldn’t matter.