Roll With It (22 page)

Laver grinned as he recognised the sweaty profile of the private detective, Thirsk, through the Honda’s window. Amateur hour.

Laver was going to have to follow or risk losing them and leaving Jake to Stig and his mate. But just as he started the van, the Ford began to move and glided smoothly to the exit and out onto Heidelberg Road.

Laver was two cars back and one lane over from the Ford as they headed down the hill from Ivanhoe towards Alphington. By the time they turned right at the bottom of the hill, straightening up towards the city, the Ford was cruising a full five cars back from Thirsk, who was right on the Territory’s hammer. Jake sailed along, three cars further ahead, and now turning left onto the Chandler Highway towards Kew.

Across the Eastern Freeway overpass and the Ford was still hanging back, a calm and distant tail but one that was worrying Laver in case he and the Ford missed a vital traffic light, as he battled along behind the entire caravan. He was glad he’d checked Jake’s address. But then they were lucky in getting through an amber light at Princes Street and were still within range as Jake, then the Territory, then Thirsk’s Honda turned left at the next roundabout.

Laver was able to slow now, because he’d done the Melways homework. Jake would turn at Barnard Grove, the second street, where his mother’s house was about nine along on the left-hand side. Instead of following the others down the narrow one-way street, he would be able to watch from the intersection. This little pocket of houses, jammed next to the walls of the freeway where the traffic rushed in early peak-hour frenzy metres away, was like a small suburban air pocket. Any cars that went down Jake’s street had to loop back out and come straight past Laver again to return to the main roads.

Laver planned to watch the others from the intersection of Barnard Grove and Willsmere, the street they were all now on – but the men in the white Ford had the same idea, so he hung back even more, stopping fifty metres behind, then hanging a U-turn while he had the opportunity so he was ready to pick them all up on their way back out. The whole plan banking on the hope nobody would actually follow Jake into his house. If Stig didn’t re-appear in a reasonable time, Laver’s plan got sketchy. Charge in on the white horse, gun-free? It wasn’t as though he could call the police. Or maybe he could? As Mr John Citizen? A career cop forced to phone in an anonymous tip – thanks again, Strickland, you politician bastard.

It took a few minutes, but the red Territory emerged from Grandview Terrace, the loop road, with a long arm and a single middle finger greeting the motorist who blasted the Territory for pulling out in front of it. That would be them, thought Laver. The Ford now needed to turn, apparently caught by surprise that the Territory had come back out a street behind them. Traffic meant they were stuck and Laver had a decision to make.

Clearly, they were trying to turn, wanting to go with the Territory, not stay on Jake. Thirsk wasn’t to be seen, but he didn’t matter.

Laver was very interested in the two in the Territory. He went with them.

The Territory swung right then left onto the feeder ramp to the freeway, and Laver smiled that the men in the Ford were screwed now if they hadn’t been close enough to spot that. Even if they were, they needed to get back on the pace before the freeway ended a couple of kilometres later. Traffic was lighter heading towards the CBD so they wouldn’t know if the car had turned south for anywhere in the city, or north, or straight ahead to Carlton and the west.

‘Well, that was a fucking waste of time.’

The Wild Man was perched back in front of the Xbox, clearly ecstatic to be driving a virtual car in Grand Theft Auto rather than a real car in the real world. Stig making a cup of instant coffee in the kitchen, feeling his jangly nerves, considering another dip into the merchandise to calm things down. Again.

But tried to focus on the here and now as he said, ‘You think? We found out where the kid lives.’

‘Yet we didn’t sort him out, then and there.’

‘Because of that Honda, whoever that is.’

‘And yet we didn’t sort him out either, then and there.’

Stig poured the boiling water, being careful with the kettle. ‘You’re not much of a one for forward planning, are you, Wildie.’

‘We’re not supposed to be in Melbourne long enough for planning, remember? We were going to be in and out of here in about twenty-four hours and the fuck out of the country. I think you’re planning to be here to collect superannuation.’

‘That’s fair,’ admitted Stig, coming into the lounge room. ‘It’s taking way longer than I’d planned. I’m pushing it as hard as I can.’

‘How? Drinking coffee in your tracksuit pants? Consuming the majority of the stash before we can sell it?’

Stig let that one go. Pondered what else he could do. He couldn’t believe how the drug underworld had changed in such a short time. A few years and everybody was dead, in jail or appearing as a celebrity criminal, riding the Underbelly wave. Not at the level Stig dealt with, but at the top. It was surreal.

He stood and opened the blinds a crack, gazed at a white courier van parked across the road and two houses down. Why would a courier be in Thornbury? Maybe the bloke lived in the street? Was there somebody in it?

Stig went to the front door and out to the yard, standing with his coffee and staring, directly, at the van. There was a guy in it. Wearing dark glasses and staring right back at him. What the fuck?

Stig took a deep breath, wished again for some of the product, and told himself to stay calm. Looked around in general, not a care in the world, and then wandered back into the house.

‘Wildie,’ he said. ‘I think we have a visitor. Feel like seeing if you can tear a courier van into pieces, or is your muscle strictly virtual these days?’

The Wild Man was on his feet. ‘No, mate. Action is what I need. Who is it?’

‘No idea.’

‘Giddyup.’

Wildie moved fast to the front door and onto the veranda, heading for the lawn. But then stopped dead.

‘What van?’

Stig followed him to the yard. The street was empty. The van was gone.

‘That’s not good,’ he said. He sipped his coffee. ‘Wildie, there’s no way Jenssen could have tracked us already, could he? It’s not possible.’

‘If he had, we’d be dead,’ Wildie shrugged. It was a statement of fact. ‘We might have to check out that silver Honda after all.’

The Wild Man looked at his partner, pondered again why Stig always thought he was the brains. ‘Who was following the dweeb, Stig, from the Groc-o-Mart. The dweeb is the key.’

‘Maybe both,’ Stig said.

‘Maybe three, including your little Louie, who seems to be very bloody matey with this guy, whoever he is.’

Stig sighed. ‘Come on, let’s pack up. We should get out of this house for good.’

‘Thank Christ,’ Wildie said. ‘And once we’ve moved, I say we hit the town. I want to let off some steam.’

‘I might have things to do. If you do go out, no headlines tonight, okay?’

‘What are you,’ Wildie asked, ‘my mum?’

‘Just a guy trying to stay alive,’ Stig said.

‘Then sell the shit and get us out of here.’

***

Laver dropped off the van and headed back to Collingwood, remembering he had left his stuff at his desk and hadn’t officially signed off for the day. Marvelling that he even still remembered such a detail with his career so far down the toilet.

He was coming through Carlton when his mobile buzzed. An SMS from Marcia.

The text read: Last chance. Same place. Same time. Be there. Or don’t.

That gave him an hour and a half. Shit.

At the Mobile Public Interaction Squad headquarters everybody had gone, apart from Ashley McGregor, on late shift. They nodded to each other, McGregor taking the sensible approach of only engaging with Laver if it was absolutely unavoidable. A cop who would go far, Laver decided. Good judge of character and good instincts.

One of the computer terminals was still active, Ollerton having forgotten to log out. Gold. Laver grinned.

He sat and moved into criminal records. Typed the word ‘STIG’.

The computer offered five.

Four were recent, crims known for carjacking and joy-riding who had adopted the moniker of The Stig, the mystery racer on Top Gear, a popular TV show.

But one was from eight years ago: a minor assault charge. ANDERSON, Stig Sebastian, of Footscray. Just a boy.

Laver clicked for detail. The accused had been outside the Sun theatre in Yarraville at 3 am and became involved in an altercation with two drunks. The police had happened to be driving past in time to break it up and the accused took off, decamping in a westerly direction to the train station. He was arrested mysteriously close to where a small pile of white pills was also found in the scrub, but he denied all knowledge and there were no fingerprints. He got a good behaviour bond for the fight.

That was it.

Laver sat and stared at the blinking cursor on the screen. Thornbury, he thought. Time to head into The Sewer.

Moving to the underground wire required shifting databases, and a pop-up screen demanded Ollerton’s password. Laver cursed and logged out, logging in again under his own username and password. His Siberian status meant he could not input info or access the major databases, but he could surf the wire.

He tapped some more keys and started scrolling. Narrowed his search results to the previous fortnight.

The underground wire is like a cop blog. It’s known among police as The Sewer because it is where all the undiluted shit of the city flows and ferments. It’s where members lodge incidents and observations that may not have led to formal charges or aren’t officially investigated. Also outstanding crimes that might have loose leads or new evidence and could use help from another unknown cop’s knowledge. The Sewer is a virtual scrapbook of what is happening at street level and who’s roaming. As he browsed, Laver couldn’t help but reflect it was the computerised version of exactly the discussion he’d been trying to have with every police officer he knew since seeing those two guys on Smith Street.

The Sewer can be daunting, a mess of random activity and notes, but if you know what you’re looking for, it can suddenly take shape. Laver could see his target moving across Melbourne like a cyclone, heading north/north-west. A car salesman assaulted south of the city by a large, violent man with orange hair. A woman complaining that a man with strange-coloured hair and a beard, very tall, had sexually taunted her in St Kilda. Two men, one tall and with bright red hair maybe, threatening a man and his two teenage sons in a Fitzroy North hotel. A minor traffic accident where one of the drivers, appearing to be a giant man in his twenties, orange hair, beard, yelled an obscenity and then left the scene of the accident. A dog kicked savagely in Thornbury two days ago, the owner too scared to press charges. No description offered. Just that the attacker was ‘very big, very frightening. Tattooed’.

Laver wished he had an actual name to call up. There was no way this guy wasn’t on a police computer somewhere, in Victoria or elsewhere.

Laver looked at his watch. It was getting tight but he grabbed a phone and dialled Flipper’s mobile. Message bank, dammit.

‘Mate, it’s Rocket. Those two guys I keep talking about? They’re in The Sewer, more than once, clear as day. And there’s a few new bodies as well, in the mix. You heard of a private snoop called Thirsk? Very amateur but somehow involved. And two blokes I don’t know yet. Call me. This is brewing.’

He printed all the noted incidents, bundled them and left the office. If he wasn’t on time for Marcia, the world would shake.

Lou was enjoying the thrill of being nude in the middle of
Brunswick Street. She never tired of it, walking stark naked under the loose fur of the giant koala suit, complete with cartoonish stuffed animal–style head with mesh in the eyes. It was always hot in the suit and she was usually out there for several hours at a time, collecting change in a white bucket for the Wilderness Society. A month ago, she’d thought: why not? Stripped completely and donned the suit. It was liberating, like anonymously streaking across the Melbourne Cricket Ground. In full view but seen by no one. She even smiled as group of guys after group of guys fobbed her off. If only they knew what was going on under the suit. All they saw was a slightly tattered human koala.