Well test, Wyatt said.

  He closed the steel garage door on Pedersen and walked up to the street level. He let a taxi pass, then pressed the transmit button. Hows that?

  Pedersens voice erupted, sharp and distorted: Loud and clear

  Okay.

  In the lock-up again, Wyatt helped Pedersen remove their prints from the van. From now on they would wear gloves. The vans papers were untraceable, but both Pedersen and Hobba had served time, so their prints were on record.

  They worked in silence. It didnt seem to suit Pedersen. Wyatt could feel the sideways looks. Eventually Pedersen said, Know the first thing Im going to do with my cut?

  Wyatt felt no curiosity about Pedersen. He was interested only in how solid Pedersen was. But he said, keeping it light, knowing Pedersen wouldnt matter after tomorrow, New wardrobe?

  Pedersen scowled, brushing his hands on his japara. Four-wheel-drive, something with a bit of style, like a Range Rover.

  Then youll need a different hat, Wyatt said. Nice Akubra with a broad brim. Plus moleskins and riding boots.

  What am I, a fucking mountain cattleman? Pedersen waved his John Deere cap and might have stepped out of a film about a small town in Texas. What about you? he said.

  This was meaningless small talk and Wyatt hated it. He could never think of things to say or reasons to say them. This and that, he said.

  Pedersens face tightened. He stared at Wyatt. Youre a close bastard, good at all this he gestured at the van, the job ahead of them but a cunt to work with. Try unwinding. A bloke likes to know who hes working with.

  Wyatt spoke quietly, the words flat and cold. Let me down and Ill kill you. Youd do the same to me. Thats all we need to know about each other.

  Pedersen watched Wyatt, nodding knowingly. It was a way of saying that Wyatt didnt have all the answers.

  Wyatt swung into the vans drivers seat. Weve got work to do.

  Pedersen locked the garage door behind them and got into the passenger seat, sitting close to the door. He didnt speak. He opened the street directory and began noting alternative routes between Finns office and the safe house.

  Wyatt said, If possible, avoid major intersections, right-hand turns, pedestrian crossings, road works.

  Pedersen did not look up. I done this before.

  Make a note of times: for each leg, duration of traffic lights, anything.

  Pedersen pulled back his sleeve, revealing a Timex on his broad, corded wrist. He wrote down the time, ten oclock.

  The traffic was medium to heavy. Wyatt drove along St Kilda Road and then into Toorak Road. He crossed Punt Road and Chapel Street, turned right into the side street connecting with Quiller Place, and parked adjacent to the T-junction.

  We can do it two main ways, Pedersen said. Either go back the way we came, or go via Commercial Road. Both mean lights and trams. There would be a right turn to get onto Commercial, and a right turn if we went back on St Kilda Road.

  Side streets?

  Pedersen looked at the map. Theyre mainly one-way. Well have to choose the right ones.

  Wyatt didnt like side streets. They meant stop signs, roundabouts, speed humps, people reversing out of driveways. He said, Well try the main roads first.

  During the next two hours they timed the main routes twice, first at a cautious speed and then pushing it, Wyatt anticipating lights, trams, gaps in the traffic. Pedersen read the map, looked out for copsand for Sugarfoot Younger.

  They were beaten by the trams, the constant picking up and letting down of passengers. Frustrated, they watched small cars slip past while their big van idled uselessly, waiting for the trams to move on. In Toorak Road, matrons in furs manoeuvred Rolls Royces in front of them, and there were delivery vans double-parked outside the boutiques. In Chapel Street council workers were digging trenches.

  No choice, Wyatt said. Has to be side streets.

  Pedersen looked at the map and they tried again. By midday they had their route. It was a compromise, making use of the main streets and a system of narrow residential streets. After three runs, Wyatt had the trip down to twelve minutes. Pedersen, gloomy for so long, suddenly grinned. Home and dry before they even raise the alarm.

  Wyatt pulled on the hand brake.. Twelve-fifteen. Time for your shift.

  The grin faded. All go, eh, Wyatt?

  * * * *

  Twenty-eight

  On Friday they rotated the shifts again. Wyatt took the first shift, and he saw the money arrive.

  Two men brought it in a briefcase, late in the morning, as Anna had said they would. From the drivers seat of a rented Datsun, he watched them drive up in a mud-splashed white Falcon, two men in tweed jackets, yellow hard hats on the rear window shelf. They were in there for five minutes, and when they came out they looked fed-up.

  Hobba watched until two oclock. Pedersen watched until four, this time on foot. At five past four, Wyatt and Hobba pulled up in the van. Pedersen climbed into the back and changed into overalls. Finn had come back from his coffee break, he told them. And hed seen a client go in.

  They hit at four-twelve.

  Anyone passing on the footpath might have seen a white commercial van pull into the driveway of 5 Quiller Place and three men get out. The men wore balaclavasit was a cold dayand overalls. They kept to the far side of the van, which meant that they couldnt be seen clearly, but one witness, a Lady Wright, later told police crossly that three tradesmen came out, pushing one of those trolley things. There was only one other witness, a shop manager checking to see that he had switched off his car lights. He saw the van over at number 5 and said he assumed they were getting their computers serviced.

  No-one saw the three men pause at the front door and pull the balaclavas over their faces, then plunge through, fast and silent.

  Wyatt went to Finns office, Hobba to Anna Reids.

  Pedersen locked the front door, unplugged the telephone and held his gun to Ambers temple. He touched his forefinger to her lips and pushed down on her shoulders until she understood and sat on the floor. He said nothing.

  Hobba was there first, pushing Anna Reid ahead of him. She stumbled, restricted by a close-fitting skirt. Her hair fell forward, concealing her face. Who are you? she said, shaking it back. What are you doing?

  Hobba said nothing. He pushed her onto the floor next to Amber and pressed his .38 to the top of her head.

  Wyatt came in with Finn and a clientmale, young, wearing a short leather jacket and designer jeans. The client was blurry, vague, as though half asleep. Finn refused to be hurried. He entered alertly, a vigorous shape in a grey, fitted suit, and stared in fury at Hobba and Pedersen and back at Wyatt. You dont know what youre getting into here, he said.

  Wyatt motioned with the gun.

  What? Finn demanded. Whats that supposed to mean?

  Dont, Mr Finn, Amber said. Her voice was shaky. He wants you down here with us.

  Finn eased his big frame onto the floor. Wyatt prodded the client, who seemed to collapse in relief.

  Hobba said, Face each other in a circle, and put your wrists out.

  It was the only thing said by any of the men in the four minutes they were in the building. Later none of the victims could remember his exact words or what his voice was like. They were certain no names were used. They held out their wrists and felt the handcuffs click tight and they sat there then, in a circle, linked to a leg of Ambers heavy desk, while two of the men left the room. The third stayed behind.

  This one said nothing. He stood behind Anna Reid, his gun at the back of her bowed head, staring at Finn. The meaning was clear: try anything and she gets shot. Amber was certain it was a real gun. She could see bullet tips in the cylinder, and she heard the latex glove squeak against the metal. No sign of nervousness, no yelling, no waving of guns around. The policeman who later took her statement nodded. Pros, he told her.

  In Finns office, Hobba and Pedersen worked fast, slipping a cardboard carton over the safe and tipping it onto the trolley.

  Wyatt heard them returning, the trolley wheels grumbling on the polished floor of the hall. Then he heard them go out the front door. He did not look round. He kept his gun on Anna Reid and his eyes on Finn.

  A minute later there was a rap on the door frame. Its done.

  Wyatt touched his knee very gently against Annas shoulder, then backed out of the room, his gun now pointed at Finn. Finn seemed to swell, to spit his words: Ill find you bastards.

  In the hallway they removed their balaclavas, then left the house and heaved the safe into the rear of the van. Hobba scrambled in after it. Pedersen slammed the door and got into the passenger seat. Wyatt had the engine running. He eased them out of Quiller Place and onto Toorak Road, No-one looked twice at them.

  At Chapel Street, Wyatt turned south for three blocks, then he cut in front of a tram and entered the system of side streets mapped out for him by Pedersen. They were narrow streets, made narrower by small glossy cars. A dog ran into their path from behind a red MG and they felt and heard the wheels tumble and crush it. Dogs here were valued over children. There would be outrage on Channel 10 tonight.

  Then they were on Punt Road, still going south, quite fast now, but no faster than any combative peak-hour driver. An easy right with the lights onto Commercial Road, a smooth run onto St Kilda Road, heading north for a few blocks in the service lane, then quickly left, left again, and down with a gentle bump to the underground level and into the lock-up garage.

  Wyatt began stripping off the transfers and unbolting the false number plates. Hobba joined Pedersen in the back of the van. Wyatt heard them conferring. Then Pedersen got out. Wyatt, I cant drillthe casings mill-hard grid, take hours. Ill have to blow it.

  Can you do it without hurting the money?

  Piece of cake. Pedersen demonstrated with his hands. What I do is, I concentrate the blast around the lock. No flying metal, just some smoke and noise.

  Wyatt nodded. He helped them unload the safe, backed the van out, and shut the garage door on them. Then, leaving Pedersen and Hobba to set the plastic explosive, he went up to the street level with a radio. After five minutes Hobba said, All clear?

  The home-time traffic was heavy on St Kilda Road to Wyatts left and on Queens Road to his right, but here outside the pink and grey apartment block there was no traffic. He had been thinking of Sugarfoot Younger, but there was nothing to indicate that Sugarfoot was about. All clear.

  Blowing now.

  There was a dull thud, like a distant door slamming. The radio crackled, as if Hobbas hand had tightened in reflex.

  Wyatt waited. They were taking a long time. He said, All right?

  Wait a tick, Hobba replied. My fucking ears. Theres smoke everywhere.

  Two minutes later, the radio crackled again. It was Hobba. You little beauty.

  Wyatt walked down into the underground garage again and drove the van back into the lock-up. He could smell smoke; the air was still heavy with it. Hobba and Pedersen were crouched over the safe, which was blackened from the force of the explosion. The little door stood open, scorched and buckled, revealing small stacks of fifty- and hundred-dollar notes. Hobba hadnt waited. He was bundling the money into a Qantas bag.

  Wyatt unsnapped the fasteners of his overalls. Ill dump the van tomorrow but you two wont be coming down here again so check youve got everything. Max, you dump the overalls and the balaclavas.

  Pedersen didnt respond at first. Then he uttered a short laugh and looked around at Hobba. Listen to him, would you. Give us a smile, Wyatt. Look at all the lovely loot.

  Wyatt ignored him. He stuffed his overalls, gloves and balaclava into a shopping bag, then retrieved and wiped the three .38 revolvers.

  Forget it, Max, Hobba said.

  Well he gives me the shits, Pedersen said.

  * * * *

  Twenty-nine

  After the initial fear and upset, and with them all sitting there like that, wrist to wrist on the carpet, Finn said, to gauge their reactions, This was a personal thing, you know.

  He watched them. The client was out of it, no problem there. Amber, a bit tearful, sniffed and said, Personal? Anna Reid gave him her level look. Just lately he never knew what went on in her head.

  There wasnt much in the safe, he said. Someone was just out to get at me, thats all.

  Who? Amber said, distracted and miserable. She lifted a hand to wipe her nose, realised she couldnt, and leaned down to where her wrist was manacled to Anna Reids, Anna watching her neutrally.

  Its something I can handle, Finn said, his expression telling them this was something tricky and private. He waited, watching them. Ill do the right thing by each of you, of course. Theres no need to worry on that score.

  Amber, blearily concentrating, frowned at him. Pardon?

  He wants us to keep it quiet, Anna said. This with one of her glittering looks.

  Amber was shocked. Mr Finn, we cant, its not right, you have to tell the police.

  With both hands weighed down by handcuffed wrists, Finn had to settle for placating her with raised palms. Im sorry. Youre quite right.

  I mean, they had guns. They couldve hurt us. What if they do worse things to someone else next time?

  I hear what youre saying, Finn said, but I thought you wouldnt want the police tramping through here, thats all, upsetting everyone with their questions, etcetera, etcetera.

  No, Amber told him, recovering quickly, this was heavy duty and he must let the police know. Anyhow, she said, people wouldve seen something out in the street.

  Finn breathed out heavily. Youre right, he said. Anna was giving him a mocking eyebrow, Amber was giving him the shits, and the client might as well have been asleep. Okay, wed better ring them, he said.

  Their situation brought films to mind. They all had to shuffle and reposition themselves until Amber was on her side, stretching out to plug the phone lead back into the wall socket. Then she pulled the telephone off the desk. She was about to press the buttons when she froze, giggling nervously. I dont know the number, she said. Is it 999?

  I think its 000, Anna Reid said. Or 11444 if you want to get straight through to D24.

  Finn let them play at this. All the time, his mind was racing, anticipating the police questions, the media questions, wondering how, when everyone had gone home, hed explain this to Bauer, wondering how Bauer could stop the damage going any further.

  * * * *

  Thirty

  Sugarfoot didnt get as far as the weather news this time. His attention was caught by one of the lead stories, about an armed hold-up in South Yarra, three men, and how the getaway van was driven so dangerously a dog was killed.

  It wasnt much, but the details fitted: the location, the three armed men. He turned off the television set and started dial hunting on the radio. By eight oclock he had more information: the actual street, and a name, a lawyer called Finn.

  You had to have a strategy. He collected his Melways street directory from the Customline, took it back to his room and began to assemble what he knew. Using scraps of paper, he marked the location of the lawyers office and where Hobba, Pedersen and Rossiter lived.

  He sat back. Where should he start? Hed sort of come full circle in his thinking. A few days ago he wanted a piece of Wyatts action. Since Tuesday, all hed wanted was to get even. Now he felt more on track, wanting a cut and wanting to get even.

  Thinking about it, why not set up a deal? Go to one of them and say. fifty-fifty or I talk. Sixty-forty maybe.

  Or take a cut and then drop word where the cops will hear it. Let the cops take care of the revenge angle.

  Better still, take a cut now and hit them one by oneweeks, months, later, when theyre least expecting it.

  Hed better hit now, though, before any of them had time to consolidate or slip away or spend the money.

  But when Sugarfoot staked out Hobbas flat and Pedersens house again, it was as if nothing had changed since Tuesday. Still no-one was at home. Still there were newspapers on Pedersens welcome mata total of four now.

  If they didnt show up tomorrow, he didnt know what hed do.

  When he got home, Tina had a message for him. Your brothers trying to get hold of you. Hes rung four times already. I told him you were out, but he just keeps ringing.

  Ill call him.

  I mean, Im trying to do my chart, Tina said.

  Ivan answered on the first ring. Younger.

 

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