Pay Dirt

TWENTY-FIVE

‘We abandon,’ Wyatt said.

He looked at them in turn. Leah had just ridden up on the Suzuki. She looked bleak, defeated, scraping her palms down her cheeks as if to rid herself of tiredness. Tobin paced next to the truck, landing occasional kicks on the rear tyres. Only Snyder was still, staring at Wyatt, his eyes hard and suspicious.

‘All that time and effort,’ Leah said.

‘It happens.’

‘We could try next week.’

‘No chance,’ Wyatt said. ‘They’ve changed the route.’

‘But why?’

‘I can think of a lot of reasons. It’s routine; the driver wanted a change of scenery; something’s made them suspicious.’

Snyder sharpened at that. ‘Suspicious?’

‘It doesn’t matter what the reason is,’ Wyatt said. And it didn’t, to him-no: when saving their necks was more important than dwelling on what went wrong or what might have been. The analysis could come later. ‘We have to clear out, the sooner the better.’

‘Like where?’

‘Wherever you like. Come on, let’s get moving, or someone’s going to wonder about the road signs and extra traffic’

The radio crackled again. ‘Steelgard One.’

‘Go ahead, Steelgard One.’

‘On schedule, nothing to report, ETA Belcowie unchanged.’

The exchange was brief and sudden, and for a few moments it froze them to the spot. Wyatt stirred first. ‘We split up. Snyder, take the bike. Catch the first plane home. Leah, you come with me. Tobin, you take the truck. Dump it somewhere and catch a train or a bus home.’

Snyder stepped forward. ‘Hang on, I don’t like this.’

Wyatt tensed. ‘What don’t you like?’

‘Splitting up, pissing off I don’t think we should leave until we know what went wrong.’

‘Leave me out of this,’ Tobin said. He climbed quickly into the cabin, started the engine and eased the big truck across the dry creek bed. Soon he was a dust cloud receding from them.

Wyatt turned his attention to Snyder again. He wondered if Snyder had lost all his commonsense. He looked at the heavy, acned face, trying to read behind it. Snyder looked confused and anxious.

‘Plus,’ Snyder went on, ‘I’m out of pocket on this bloody deal.’

This was more like it. ‘You’ll all get a kill fee,’ Wyatt said.

‘How much?’

‘Five thousand on top of your expenses.’

Snyder held out his hand. ‘Let’s see it first.’

‘Don’t be stupid. You’ll get it later.’

‘Not good enough,’ Snyder said, and he reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a small automatic pistol. The sky above them was vastly blue and still, so the sound of Snyder jacking a round into the firing chamber was like a twig snapping. No one moved. Then, as Wyatt was about to speak, the Steelgard van reported in again. On schedule. Nothing to report.

Snyder gestured with his pistol. He looked flushed and edgy, as if rolling with a plan that might come unstuck at any minute.

Wyatt stood, his body loose, ready to take Snyder. He was starting to read the other man. Snyder had been expecting a hundred grand. Compared to that, a fee of five thousand dollars was peanuts. Killing Wyatt was the only thing that would satisfy him now. ‘Put the gun away, Snyder,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk this over.’

Snyder shook his head. ‘Uh, uh. Chuck me your gun before we do anything. Barrel first, that’s right, now drop it on the ground and kick it out of the way.’

Wyatt did as he was told. Snyder was too far back for him to try anything. ‘You’ll regret this,’ Leah said.

Snyder’s agitation was getting more pronounced. He seemed to be running against the clock. ‘Shut up. Help Wyatt load the bike.’

‘There’s no need for this,’ she said, dropping the tailboard of the utility. ‘We’ll pay you when we get to my place. We don’t want to hang around here.’

Snyder grinned again, a nervy grimace as he stepped from one foot to the other. ‘Bugger your place.’

Wyatt had clicked the Suzuki into neutral with his foot and was wheeling it toward the rear of the Holden. He stopped, looking hard at Snyder, thinking it through. If Snyder intended to kill them, it made sense to do it at the farmhouse where their bodies might never be found.

Snyder swung around on him, the gun arm taut and quivering. ‘Who told you to stop? Load the fucking bike.’

Leah chose that moment to reach into the tray of the utility, haul out one of the folding chairs, and toss it at Snyder. It flew on its side, spinning end to end, and hit Snyder low, the edge of the frame mashing him between the legs. He doubled over, his knees together, and cried out. He had the automatic raised to fire blindly at them when Wyatt, ducking low, pushed the bike at him. Snyder went down onto his hip, pinned by the bike. Wyatt rushed him. He stamped on Snyder’s fingers, prised the pistol out of his hands and shot him twice in the head.

Then he backed away and watched Snyder die. He was not breathing heavily or showing other signs of heightened emotion. If anything, he was frowning, as though some minor hitch was bugging him.