Authors: Garry Disher
THIRTY-NINE
He
lay there for thirty-six hours. Happy checked on him from time to time, giving
him water and food. They had their shorthand conversations but Happy wouldnt
be drawn. Wyatt gave up trying to turn the big man against Trigg and lay in the
darkness, adjusting to the silence.
His sleep was fitful. He felt cold
during the night and the thin mattress was uncomfortable. On Sunday morning
when Happy came to check on him he complained about it. Some cushions or a
chair, Hap.
What Happy did with his face was
close to a grin. Not worth it, he said.
Wyatt shrugged. Tell me, Haphow
will you do it? Dig another pit?
Happy shook his massive head. Accident.
Hallam Gorge.
Hallam Gorge was an ugly buckling of
the earths plates a few kilometres north of Goyder. Wyatt had driven around it
one day when he was working with Brava Constructions surveyor. At one point
the road narrowed and all that lay between it and a sheer drop of half a
kilometre was a white guard rail. He knew what Trigg and Happy had in mind now
and he could see the appeal of it. There would be no one around when they left
later that night. On Monday morning someone would see the hole in the guard
rail and call the cops. The cops would find the wreckage of the truck and the
van at the bottom, Wyatts body at the wheel. Theyd be able to close this part
of the investigation. Theyd assume Wyatt had been holed up in the area and was
pulling out again when he misjudged a curve and ran off the road. Theyd assume
that left only the guard, and he would have the money. Theyd go through the
usual channels, checking flight lists, putting the guards photo on the wire.
Theyd trace Wyatt back to Bravathats if he had any skin left on his face
after plunging half a kilometre down a cliff face.
Wheres Trigg? he asked.
Home.
Nice place? Does all right for
himself does he, while you live in a shithole?
Happys features grew a few degrees
warmer. I got simple tastes, he said as he went out.
Trigg turned up late on Sunday
afternoon, checked on Wyatt, left him in darkness again. Wyatt could sense the
decent people of the little city settling into sleep in front of their TV
screens. Work tomorrow. Early to bed.
At 2 am, when the night was at its
blackest, Trigg and Happy came to get him. Trigg held the .38 on him while
Happy clasped his arms. Parked outside the doors of the shipping container was
a roomy, late model family sedan with a sloping rear window. The boot was open.
Get in, Trigg said.
I get claustrophobic
Get in.
Happy pushed Wyatts head down and
shoved him hard. His thighs hit the lip of the boot. He fell forward, feeling
Happy lift his legs and tumble him into the boot. Then the lid slammed behind
him and he was in darkness again.
He lay there listening. The two men
walked away from the car. He heard a steel door opening and a minute later he
heard the uneven note of a diesel motor. It made a series of short snarls:
Happy was backing it out of the panel-beating shed. Then the steel door crashed
shut and footsteps approached the car. The car rocked a little as someone got
in and shut the door. The engine started and they were moving.
The boot had been vacuumed recently.
There was a faint pine perfume in the coarse fibres of the carpet under Wyatt.
He began to search with his hands, running them into the corners. Nothing. No
tools, jack or wheel brace. He knew the spare tyre was in a recessed space
under him but he took up most of the floor so he couldnt prise up the flap. He
didnt think hed find anything anyway. He tried the lock next. All he got out
of that was grease on his fingers. And then the air around him began to shake
and pound, lush and insistent. Jennifer Rush, The Power of Love. That
figured; that was the sort of cassette tape Trigg would own.
Wyatt reached up. The speakers were
set in the wide shelf between the back seat and the big, sloping rear window.
The shelf was made of some cheap, manufactured material. He could feel the
vibrations in his fingers.
Wyatt approached the problem
laterally. He couldnt get out of the car but he could go further in. He pushed
upwards experimentally. He felt the shelf bend slightly. He waited through a
pause between songs and explored the underside of the shelf until he found the
holding screws. In time with the thudding bass he kicked at the area around the
screws, stopping occasionally to test his progress.
The shelf was tearing away from the
screws.
When the shelf was moving freely he
got into position. Stealth had got him this far. Now it was force all the way.
The leads would tear away from the rear speakers but the front door speakers
would continue to work. He waited while a song ended and another began. The
opening bars were heavy and pounding. Wyatt heaved upwards, flipping the rear
shelf down over the seat back, and dived through to the space behind Trigg.
The little man turned partway around
in shock, then tried to dig into his pocket with his free hand. Forget it,
Wyatt said, clamping his forearm around Triggs neck. He reached down and
retrieved the .38. The car swerved violently into the oncoming lane and back
again. Wyatt increased the pressure on Triggs larynx, released him, squeezed
him again. Stop the car.
Trigg steered off the road and
pulled on the handbrake. Wyatt tickled the little mans ear with the .38. Turn
that crap off.
With the music gone the only sounds
were the wind over the car and Triggs frightened breathing. Trigg spoke first.
We can work something out.
Wyatt ducked his head and peered
through the windscreen. There were red tail-lights in the darkness ahead of
them. They went in and out of sight as the road dipped and turned between the
black crops on either side.
Wyatt didnt want Happy to see that
the headlights behind him were no longer moving. Turn the lights off.
Look, I can cut you in on some great
action.
Turn the lights off.
Trigg swung uselessly around at
Wyatt. Do it, Wyatt said.
When the lights were off he said, Get
out.
Trigg had his door open a couple of
seconds before Wyatt and he was twenty metres down the road, going hard, when
Wyatt shot him. The bullet was like a punch in the back and Trigg sprawled face
down on the road.
Wyatt picked up the body and put it in
the front passenger seat. By now a minute had gone by and Happy would be
wondering why instead of intermittent lights behind him there were none. Wyatt
started the car and put his foot down.
He caught up with the truck a minute
later and settled in close behind it. They travelled like that for ten minutes
until he saw the trucks brake lights go on. Happy was turning into a lay-by.
Wyatt followed in the car. A couple of road signs flared briefly in the
headlights. Sharp curves ahead, they warned. Falling rocks.
Wyatt put the headlights on high
beam and angled the car at the flank of the truck. He sat Triggs body upright
behind the steering wheel then stepped to the back of the car. He watched Happy
get down from the truck cabin. The headlights were blinding the big man. He
ducked his head as he approached the car and put his arm across his eyes. He
was blinking, trying to get a response out of the little man whod been his
boss, when Wyatt shot him in the back of the head.
This was the final stage of a heist
gone wrong but that didnt change the way that Wyatt went about it. He handled
the steps one at a time, covering himself. He wiped his prints off the gun and
tossed it away. He robbed the bodies and dragged them to the blind side of the
truck and turned on the parking lights so no one would get too nosy. On his way
back through Goyder he stopped to wipe his prints off Lettermans Valiant. Much
later he passed within a few kilometres of Leahs house but he didnt think
about her. He might later, when hed got his money back from the Mesics and
there were no more hired guns on his back.