TWENTY

‘Where we’re going there are no shops,’ Wyatt said. ‘If you need anything- toothpaste, work clothes, whatever-get it now.’

‘I could do with some Scotch,’ Snyder said.

Wyatt looked at him. Snyder had the red, creased face and heavy belly of a boozer. ‘Absolutely no way. I don’t care what you do afterwards, the next few days no one drinks.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Snyder said, making a face at the windscreen. Wyatt was driving painfully slowly through the town. So was everyone else, but that didn’t make it any better to Snyder. ‘Where we going, anyway?’

‘Abandoned farmhouse about half an hour away. We stay there till the job’s over.’

‘The whole time?’

Wyatt caught a hint of alarm in the voice. He hoped it didn’t mean that Snyder got the shakes if he was away from the bottle for too long. ‘Ideally, yes. I’ll say it again, if you need anything, get it now.’

‘Well, I mean, what’s this place like? We got beds? Bathroom? Is the power on?’

‘That’s all taken care of. Army cots, sleeping bags, towels, food, gas stove and lanterns…’

‘Who paid for it?’

‘I did.’

‘You’re taking it out of my cut, right?’

‘No.’

‘Mr Generosity,’ Snyder said. He opened the aluminium case. Wyatt had no idea what a jammer looked like, but the radio itself looked impressive. ‘All modes,’ Snyder went on, ‘plus band scanning. I want you to know I paid top dollar for this stuff.’

‘You’ll be reimbursed.’

‘Someone bankrolling this?’

‘I am,’ Wyatt said.

‘From that Melbourne job, right?’

Wyatt stiffened. Loman should have warned him about Snyder. He let it go. There was an agricultural supply place ahead and he slowed the dusty Holden, allowing a farmer to cross the road. The farmer was carrying a small drum of chemical spray in each hand. The drums were heavy, the man bowed down, taking short, laboured steps. He wore khaki work clothes and rubber boots.

‘Do you reckon it’s true what they say?’

Wyatt had been with Snyder for five minutes and it was five minutes too long. Snyder talked too much, all of it inconsequential. But he made an effort. ‘What do they say?’

‘It’s easier to fuck sheep if you’re wearing rubber boots. You just shove the back legs in so they can’t get away.’

Wyatt stopped, let the farmer get across, and moved on again. He didn’t speak. He saw no reason to speak. He was waiting for Snyder to get his mind around the job.

They reached the edge of the town and Wyatt increased speed. They travelled north for several kilometres and then turned onto a major dirt road. Snyder was sitting forward in his seat. He seemed to be taking a close note of where they were going. ‘There are maps at the hideout,’ Wyatt said.

Snyder sat back. After a while he said, ‘Eddie Loman didn’t tell me much.’

‘I didn’t tell Eddie much.’

Snyder waited. When it was clear that Wyatt wouldn’t go on, he said, ‘Eddie told me I’d need plastic explosive and radio jamming gear. If I wasn’t in the fucking outback, I’d say we were going to do a security van.’

‘We are.’

Snyder turned to him. ‘Out here?’

‘The firm’s called Steelgard,’ Wyatt said. ‘It’s a small outfit servicing the local banks, but there’s a big construction firm on their books at the moment.’

‘Weekly payroll?’

Wyatt nodded.

‘Where do we hit?’

‘I’m taking you there now.’

Snyder frowned, looking out at the crops and roadside mailboxes. Here and there cypress trees lined farmhouse driveways like green slashes on the dusty landscape. ‘I don’t like it. It takes too long to cut your way in these days.’

Wyatt explained about the breakdown truck. ‘You set your jammer on, we transport the van to the farm, find a way in at our leisure. No panic, no messing about.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Snyder said. ‘The cops will get on the blower and there’ll be roadblocks between here and Timbuktu before you know it. I say we go in hard and fast, blow a big hole in it, fuck off straight away.’

It was always like this on a job, Wyatt thought. The soldiers always wanted to be the generals. He said, quietly, coldly, ‘You do it my way or not at all. If you want out, tell me now so I can take you back to the bus stop. I’ll send you a retainer in a few days time, five thousand dollars. But if I hear you’ve been sounding your mouth off about me or the job, I’ll cancel your ticket.’

‘Well, Jesus,’ Snyder protested. ‘I just thought I was making a valid point. You’re telling me we all front up to the roadblocks and hope to Christ the cops don’t ask to look in the glovebox? Jesus Christ.’

‘We stay inside the area,’ Wyatt said. ‘After two or three days they’ll think we got away at the start and the roadblocks will come down. It’s always the same.’

Snyder put his hand on the dashboard as the utility pitched and shuddered over a patch of corrugations in the road. Dust roiled around them, coming through the door seals in choking puffs. ‘How will we know when it’s safe to leave?’

‘One of us scouts around in this,’ Wyatt said, patting the steering wheel. ‘Just another farm vehicle. If she doesn’t come back, we’ll know it’s not safe.’

‘She?’

‘There’s a woman.’

Snyder didn’t say anything. He looked at Wyatt, and Wyatt could sense his mind working, but he didn’t speak.

A minute later Snyder said, ‘Getaway vehicles?’

‘There’s this ute, a bike, and the truck we use to transport the van.’

‘That’s the bit I don’t like, carting the van around on a breakdown truck. We’ll stick out like a sore thumb.’

Wyatt explained about Brava Construction. ‘They’ve had four wheel drives, low loaders and earth-moving equipment all over this area for weeks now. People are used to them. We disguise ours with Brava logos and a bit of paint, throw a tarp over the van, and no one will bother us.’

‘The guards, the driver?’

They can stay in the van. If there’s a tarp over it they won’t see where we’re taking them.’

‘I tell you one thing,’ Snyder said, ‘it won’t be me who wastes them.’

‘No one’s wasting anybody. I’ve got a.38, that’s all we need, and I don’t intend to use it unless I have to.’

Snyder said nothing. He sat forward in his seat again, taking note of their route. A short time later they came to the Belcowie short cut. Wyatt slowed the utility and turned into it.

‘Here?’

Wyatt nodded. He drove for two kilometres and stopped where the road plunged steeply down into a dry creek bed. The road was narrow, loose and shaly.

Snyder leaned forward and grinned. ‘Couldn’t have picked a better place myself.’

‘The truck parks here at the edge of the incline,’ Wyatt explained. ‘Our man stands in the road, looking down, scratching his head like he doesn’t know if he can make it. The van comes up, sees that it can’t get past, and stops. They’ll be wary, they always are, but it will look genuine enough. They might even wind down the window, offer to help. If they call their headquarters, it won’t do them any good. You’ll have the radio jammed.’

‘What if he backs up and turns around?’

‘See those wattles? We hide back there in the ute. As soon as the van is in position we box it in.’

‘Local traffic?’

Snyder was asking all the right questions. ‘We put up road-closed signs at both ends,’ Wyatt said.

Snyder was still leaning forward in his seat. He was a solid form in white and Wyatt could smell Old Spice aftershave on him. There was a series of cracking sounds. Snyder was popping his knuckles.


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