CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A loud noise woke Gary in the middle of the night. He jumped out of bed in his jocks and looked around the moon-lit bedroom. Karen hadn't moved and nothing seemed out of place. The sound must have come from somewhere else in the apartment. Maybe a thug working for Trewaley or Merton had broken in.
He decided to retrieve his pistol from its hiding place behind the skirting board and then remember that he dropped it, and another pistol, off a bridge over the Hawkesbury River. Holy shit. If there was an intruder, he'd have to bite the bastard on the leg.
Karen murmured blearily: "What was that sound?"
He tried to sound calm. "Dunno. Probably nothing. I'll check."
"Don't worry, it doesn't matter."
"I'll check anyway."
Heart purring, he slipped into the living room, where the light was also grey. No sign of an intruder. Good. He turned on the light. Still nobody. But a lamp had fallen off a side-table. The cat sat next to it, lingering at the scene of the crime, but accepting no blame.
He breathed a sigh of relief, picked up the lamp and put it back on the side-table. "Naughty cat."
When he got back into bed, Karen mumbled. "What was it?"
"The cat knocked something over."
"Silly cat. Why're you so jumpy?"
"I'm not jumpy."
"Get back to sleep."
Karen had to leave early the next morning, because the team of detectives investigating the wino murder was going to have a bonding breakfast of the kind that management consultants had recommended. Gary stayed in bed and listened to her move about and talk to the uncomprehending cat, before slamming the front door as she left.
He rose just after eight o'clock, bleary-eyed, feeling as if all his brain fluid had leaked out overnight. In the kitchen, the direct sunlight washed over the balcony railing and made him squint. The cat had disappeared somewhere. After replenishing its food and water supplies, he ate a bowl of muesli at the kitchen bench. He'd previously resolved to stop looking for the Trewaley file that Patrick Arnott stole from Merton & Co. However, now, with time to think, his mind darted back to that issue. When he sat with Arnott in the Paddington coffee shop, Arnott held up a yellow flash drive he said contained the file. After that, Arnott gave Gary the slip and went to his apartment to rescue the cat. But Arnott didn't have the flash drive when the thugs took him to Merton's beach house. He obviously disposed of it before that. When? Where?
Gary showered and dressed, still pondering those questions. While strolling through the living room towards the front door, he recalled that the cat knocked over a lamp during the night. That reminded him of the coffee table and lamp that were upended in Arnott's apartment when Merton's thugs struggled with Arnott.
A thought crawled out of a dark fissure in his brain: maybe Arnott hid the flash drive during that struggle, to avoid it being found in his possession. That was the logical time and place for Arnott to dump it. Gary's heart rattled and he shredded his vow to forget about the Trewaley file. He would head over to the apartment and search the area around the upturned furniture.
He trotted down ten flights of stairs, got into his Toyota sedan and drove out of the car park. He stopped to turn onto the large road that swept past it and saw a black Ford sedan pull away from the curb. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed it. However, Gary did a lot of surveillance work and, right now, was wary of being followed.
He turned onto the large road with the Ford following him. After a couple of hundred metres, he stopped at a set of traffic lights and saw the Ford had pulled up a couple of cars behind him. Gary studied it in his rear-vision mirror. The dark windscreen of the Ford made it difficult to see the face of the driver. However, the guy had a conspicuous bald head. Obviously, the thug who worked for Merton and escaped from the beach house. Gary shot and wounded him as he escaped, though obviously not as seriously as he'd hoped. But Merton was dead. So why was Baldy following Gary? Did he hope to recover the Trewaley file and monetise it? Or was he after revenge? Gary bet it was the latter.
Unfortunately, Baldy was probably armed and Gary definitely wasn't. But, on the plus side, Baldy didn't know he'd been detected and Gary could choose the venue for their confrontation. Where? The best place was his destination: Patrick Arnott's apartment.
Gary drove through the cross-city tunnel, popped out in Pyrmont and followed Victoria Road to Drummoyne, while making sure that Baldy didn't lose him.
When he parked in front of the apartment building, the Ford was a hundred metres behind him. He waited patiently while Baldy drove past and parked about a hundred metres further along. It was like being followed by an elephant. The guy's incompetence was insulting.
Gary got out of his car and headed towards the lobby. To thwart the CCTV camera, he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and tightened the string so it covered most of his face. After swiping himself into the lobby, he caught the lift up to the tenth floor and let himself into Arnott's apartment, now quite familiar to him.
He still wasn't sure how Baldy and the now-deceased Hatchet-face broke into the apartment the last time. Maybe they came through the basement. However, he bet that, this time, Baldy would only take five to ten minutes to join him.
Gary crossed to the upturned coffee table and lamp, dropped to his knees and peered under the closest couch. Only a small gap. However, he quickly spied a yellow flash drive. Wow. Patrick Arnott must have thrust it there while struggling with the thugs.
When Gary pulled it out, it seemed hot to touch. He was desperate to stick it into a computer and make sure it contained the Trewaley file. However, first he had to deal with Baldy, soon to arrive.
He picked up the lamp, which had a heavy brass base, and took up station beside the front door. Five minutes later, he heard a key go into the lock. The door swung in front of Gary, hiding him.
Footsteps entered the apartment. Gary gently pushed the door back and found himself standing behind Baldy, sweeping the living room with a revolver.
Gary considered hitting the revolver arm with the lamp base. But what if the guy didn't drop the revolver? Why take any risk? Safer to take a home-run swing at his head.
Gary took a long stride and slugged the guy on his hairless scone with plenty of follow through. A loud crack. Baldy took the shortest route to the floor and landed on his belly. His revolver tumbled across the carpet. He went down so fast that Gary wondered if he'd killed him. Gary picked up the revolver - a Colt Python - and kneeled beside the prostrate form. Blood poured from the back of the head and soaked the carpet. Soft snoring proved the guy was physically, if not mentally, alive.
Gary rolled Baldy onto his back, opened his jacket and searched around for his wallet. There was a bandage around the guy's left bicep, presumably because Gary shot him there at the beach house. Gary fished out a brown leather wallet. Inside, was the driver's licence of 'Michael Cassidy' with a photo of the man on the floor. The credit cards were issued to the same person. A business card said: 'Michael Cassidy - Security Consultant'. The title meant nothing. Cassidy was probably a bodyguard or debt collector.
Gary was tempted to stroll off and leave the guy. However, he had some questions to ask. So he leaned back against the dining table and waited to see if his victim recovered enough to talk.
Gary felt no compassion for a man who tried to murder him and didn't even do that right. So, every few minutes, he kicked Cassidy in the ribs, hoping for a sign of life. The sixth time, the guy twitched and groaned. Gary kicked him again. The guy rolled into a foetal position and screamed: "F-f-f-eerrrkkk."
Gary kicked him again. "Wake up."
No response.
Another kick.
Cassidy opened his eyes and stared at Gary, his face coated with pain and fear. He looked like the kind of cretin who emerges from a dark urine-stained alleyway at two o'clock in the morning. "Whatchaya doin'? Waazzz hippening?"
Gary kicked him again. "Wake up."
After groaning and vomiting onto th
e carpet, Cassidy tried to touch the back of his head. His hand made contact on the third try. He winced. "Feerrrk."
"Get up."
Cassidy saw Gary held a Colt Python and reached into his shoulder holster. Empty. "Sheee-it."
"Yep, I've got your revolver. Now get up."
Cassidy cupped his skull, rolled into a tight ball and whined like a two-stroke engine. "Can't. Think me head's broke."
"Hurts?"
A grimace. "Like fuckin' hell, and everything looks all fuzzy." A deep frown. "You hit me on the head, right?"
"Of course. And I'll hit you again if you don't answer my questions."
"What questions?"
"What happened at the beach house? I thought I hit you pretty bad."
Pain destroyed his smile. "Nah, just a flesh wound. I lost some blood, but I'm OK, so no hard feelings. No need to apologise."
Gary considered executing him for impudence. "I won't. Merton employed you and your pal to find Patrick Arnott, didn't he?"
Cassidy considered lying and saw no point. "Umm, ah, yeah."
"How did Merton find you?"
Cassidy still looked groggy. "What do you mean?"
"He didn't advertise in a paper for a couple of goons to search for a guy, did he?"
Cassidy grinned at the revolver in Gary's hand as if anxious to please it. "Course not. Merton was an accountant, right? He moved a lot of money around overseas for a drug boss called Tex Garcia. I think they were even partners, sometimes. Anyway, me and Barry worked for Tex, delivering stuff and collecting debts. So, when Merton told Tex he needed a couple of guys to find someone, Tex recommended us."
Gary met lots of low-life thugs like Cassidy when he worked undercover in the drug trade and sensed Cassidy was telling the truth.
Gary said: "Jesus, hiring you two baboons was probably the worst mistake Merton ever made, but I guess he didn't have a lot of options."
Cassidy grimaced and rubbed his temples. "Look, I'd like to keep talking, but I'm in total fuckin' pain, mate. I think you cracked me skull. You've gotta get me to a hospital."
Gary smiled. "Suck it up, Princess. I've got more questions."
Cassidy dialled up his grimace. "I'm begging you."
"Enjoy the pain - it means you're alive. But if you keep whining, that will change fast." Gary raised the revolver. "In fact, I can give you a painkiller right now if you want. Just say the word."
Cassidy cringed and showed his palms. "No, no, please don't."
"OK. But don't annoy me again. Now tell me: did Merton explain why he wanted to find Arnott?"
"H-h-he said Arnott stole an important electronic file from his firm."
"Did he say what was in it?"
"Said it had something to do with a politician - a guy called Trewaley - that's all."
"You know who Trewaley is?"
"I do now. Opposition leader, right?"
"You're a genius. So you staked out this apartment in case Arnott came back?"
"Yeah."
"And ran into his neighbour instead?"
Cassidy's head ached too much to construct lies. His eyes glowed as if his brain was overheating. "Yeah, me and Barry set up a motion detector on the door. We got a signal and came up here."
"But you didn't find Arnott, did you?"
"Nah, some Asian guy. We asked him where to find Arnott and he kept yabbering about a cat."
"That's because he came in to feed the cat."
A migraine squint. "Yeah, I think he said that."
"Do you know his name?"
"Nah."
"You mean, you murdered a guy and don't even know his name? That's damn cold. For your information, his name was Tony Tam."
"Oh? We didn't get much chance to talk."
"Of course not, because you murdered him."
"I, umm, didn't murder him - Barry did."
"You mean Barry threw him off the balcony?"
"Yes. He got upset when the kid wouldn't tell us where Arnott was and threw him off. Lots of shrinks said Barry had no impulse control. They was right."
Gary wanted to shoot the bastard for insulting his intelligence. "Really? And what were you doing when Barry murdered the kid? Cleaning your nails? Watching TV? Ironing your shirts?"
"I, umm, tried to stop him."
"Bullshit."
"No, it's true."
"But, when I walked in just after Tam died, you're the one who knocked me out, remember?"
A tentative smile. "Ah, yeah, sorry about that. You kinda stumbled in here at the wrong moment."
"You mean, just after you murdered someone?"
"Barry murdered him."
"Oh, sorry, my mistake. Then you knocked me out so I'd take the rap when the cops arrived."
"Sorry about that, too. But that don't matter, right, because you got away? That's the important thing. It's funny, you know, that the cops haven't been to this apartment."
"That's because they still haven't worked out that Tony Tam was thrown from here. They obviously think he jumped from his place next door."
Cassidy's fawning smile widened. "Oh, I see. That's kinda funny, isn't it?"
Gary frowned. "No, it's not."
"I guess so. But you didn't know the guy, right?"
"I didn't get a chance."
The smile disappeared and a grimace returned. "Now, will you take me to a hospital?"
Gary was ineffably tired of the guy's moaning. "I haven't finished. You finally caught up with Arnott, didn't you, in this apartment a couple of days ago?"
A shrug. "We got another signal that someone had opened the door. We came up here and found him. Silly bugger was feeding his cat. Put up a big struggle."
"Then you took him to Merton's beach house?"
"Yeah. Merton wanted to interrogate him about the file - said that was the best place."
"But before you left here, you searched him and found nothing?"
"That's right."
Gary chuckled. "That was because, while you were fighting with him, he slipped a flash drive under a couch."
Cassidy forgot his pain for a nano-second and looked surprised. "Really?"
Gary fished the flash drive out of his pocket and held it up. "Yes, this one. It's got the Trewaley file on it."
"Shit, didn't see him hide that."
"Because, like I said, you're a baboon. Now, tell me this: why did you follow me here?"
Fear chased pain off his face. "I didn't follow you here; I'm not following you. I just came in here to, umm, have a look around."
"Bullshit. You drive a black Ford sedan. You waited for me to leave my apartment this morning and followed me here. I watched you the whole way."
Cassidy's Adams Apple oscillated violently. "Not true, not true."
Gary sighed and aimed at the goon's forehead. "Are you calling me a liar?"
"N-n-no, I'm not, I'm not."
"Good, so you did follow me here?"
"N-n-no, umm, you musta seen someone else."
Gary squinted down the barrel. "Tell me the truth or I'll shoot you dead and go have a coffee. I haven't had a cup this morning. Maybe that's why I'm so edgy."
Cassidy bit his lip and looked confused. "OK, OK, yes, I followed you here."
"Good. Why?"
"I, umm, wanted to have a chat with you."
"What about? Politics? Sport? Good restaurants?"
"No, the file."
"Really? Why are you still interested in it? Merton's dead. It means nothing to you now."
"I thought it was, maybe, worth some money."
Gary didn't believe him. Cassidy was terrified of admitting that he planned to ice Gary. "Bullshit. You followed me to get square, didn't you? I killed your pal and wounded you, so you wanted to settle up."
"No, I didn't."
Gary was reluctant to kill this creep. He had killed two people recently and didn't want to kill another. But how could he let the bastard live? The guy was drenched in blood and the last eyewitness to the shoot-out at the b
each-house. He also wanted to kill Gary for revenge. Why should Gary spare the prick and spend the rest of his life looking over shoulder? Squeamishness was a luxury he could not afford. He had to dip his heart in brine.
If he shot Cassidy, the cops would eventually find his body in this apartment and might trace the killing back to Gary. Much better if the body was found somewhere else, like in the swimming pool below. Indeed, it would be poetic justice if the bastard followed the final trajectory of Tony Tam and shared his fate. If Gary didn't avenge Tam, nobody would.
Gary took a deep breath and steeled himself. No pity. None at all. Cassidy would get what he planned to give Gary. "Alright, stand up and turn around."
An alarmed expression. "Why?"
Gary lied: "I want to search you."
Cassidy looked like an un-cunning rat. "You've already got my gun."
"I want to make sure you haven't got another."
"I don't, I promise." Begging eyes. "Please take me to a doctor."
"I will, after I've searched you. Do what I want or I start shooting."
"OK, OK."
Cassidy put his healthy left arm on the armrest of the couch and struggled onto unsteady feet, obviously still concussed.
"Turn around."
As Cassidy complied, Gary considered knocking him out before heaving his unconscious body off the balcony. But that would require too much effort and he wanted the thug to experience the plunge.
Gary tucked the revolver into the small of his back, stepped up behind Cassidy, grabbed the guy's belt and frogmarched him towards the balcony.
Cassidy screamed. "What the fuck're you doing?"
They reached the balcony and Cassidy tried to wriggle free. However, his one good arm couldn't ward off Gary or stop his forward momentum. Gary lifted him up and tipped him over the balcony so that he followed Tony Tam into the swimming pool below.
It suddenly occurred to Gary that someone might have filled the pool with water in the last few days. He glanced over the balcony railing and saw nobody had.