The Bear Pit (21 page)

Kelzo's men were working on a small building on the edge of the complex. Hard-hatted, he came towards Malone and Clements as they got out of their unmarked car. “Oh!” He slowed down, came to a halt some distance from them. “I thought you were building inspectors—I'm expecting ‘em today—”

“We are inspectors, in a way,” said Malone. “We've been inspecting someone you employed. John June.”

Kelzo took off the hard-hat, held it by its strap as if he might throw it in some Olympic event. “June? Oh yeah, yeah. He did some finishing work for me. He in trouble or something?”

“We brought up his name last week, when we asked if he was on your branch membership list. Mr. Gandolfo said he wasn't. You didn't contradict him.”

“That's right. He don't live in our electorate, he couldn't be a member.”

“You weren't interested in why we were asking after him?”

Kelzo put on dark glasses, as if the glare from the yellow earth was blinding him. It was hot out here in the open, but he wasn't going to invite them into the shade of the bulding behind him. All around them the huge structures of the complex stood like monuments to the future. Silent as monuments can be: everyone seemed to be at lunch. Even the workers on Kelzo's project had disappeared.

“
I never ask the police why they want anyone—it ain't none of my business. I'm in a tough game, Inspector, there are a lotta tough guys in the building trade. You mind your own business and things go along nicely. But yeah, I know John June. A good worker, no complaints.”

“He ever do anything else for you, outside of the building trade?”

Even the dark glasses didn't hide the narrowed eyes; they seemed to pinch in from the outside. “I'm not with you, Inspector—”

“The sort of job Joe St. Louis does, only more lethal.”

“Ah!” He lifted his head, the sun caught on the dark glasses, like a flash of understanding. “We're talking something serious here, ain't we? I could sue you, Inspector, making accusations like that.”

“I haven't heard any accusations from Inspector Malone,” said Clements.

“You guys stick together—”

“Just like you do in the building trade. Or the Labor Party. Sometimes, that is, in the latter case.” Clements put on his own dark glasses. “All Inspector Malone is doing is asking questions. Like do you employ Mr. June to do other things, we mean besides fixing up shoddy work?”

Kelzo didn't ask what that meant; he knew. “You're just shooting arrows inna the air.” He was Greek, though he couldn't quote any Greek poets. He wasn't really attracted to poets, they would never have been tough enough to get far in the world in which he lived and fought. “You ain't gunna hit any targets like that.”

“You'd be surprised,” said Malone. “We may be off-target sometimes, but most times we're more accurate than the hitman was.”

Kelzo looked blank; or the dark glasses did.

“You see,” said Malone, letting out a little fishing line, “we're not sure that Mr. Vanderberg was the target.”

“Who was then?”

“Oh, we can't divulge that. We might be sued.”

“Is Joe St. Louis a friend of Mr. June?” said Clements.

“
Not that I know.” He put the hard-hat back on. “Look, you ain't got nothing to say I had anything to do with the shooting of Hans Vanderberg. That's what we're talking about, right? Bullshit, that's all I gotta say. Now I gotta get back to work, so piss off.”

He turned and went unhurriedly back to the small building. Graffiti had already been scrawled on its unpainted walls: FUCK THE GAMES! Under which someone had scrawled:
You're easily satisfied
!

Clements called after Kelzo: “What's the building gunna be?”

Kelzo shouted back over his shoulder: “First Aid post.”

“He might need it,” Clements said to Malone.

II

“G'day, Janis,” said Jack Aldwych. He had waited for two or three minutes before ringing the doorbell. The climb up the stairs to this third-floor apartment had sucked the wind out of him and he had always made sure he was never caught at a disadvantage. This was an old-style three-storey building and evidently back in the twenties, when it was built, lifts had been too expensive or tenants and their visitors had been younger and healthier. He wanted to take Janis Eden's breath away, not his own.

He wore a Herbert Johnson panama hat, a Dunhill navy blazer, grey Daks, Church black brogues and a club tie (I Zingari, Taverners, Woop Woop Nondescripts? He hadn't a clue). A real gentleman caller, neighbours would have said if they suspected Janis of earning a bit on the side or any other position.

Janis' breath was taken away, but she didn't gasp; he had to admire her control. “How did you find me?”

“I come in? I might look like a customer, you keep me out here.”

“You still know how to insult someone, don't you?”

“It's a gift.”

She opened the door wider, stood aside as he entered. Then, stiff and silent, she led him along a short hallway and into a large living room. An old-fashioned picture window, not the modern sort that
went
right to the floor, looked out on to tiny Neutral Bay. Aldwych was not an expert on furnishings, but he knew this room had not been furnished by Harvey Norman or K-Mart. The Church brogues felt as if they were walking on carpet two inches thick.

He took a chair without being invited, sat down with his panama on his knees; he might have been a bishop, a worldly Renaissance one, holding his mitre. He had a judgemental look. “You've changed. Not much, but you've changed.”

“What did you expect, after nine years?”

She sat down in a deep chair opposite him, crossed her good-looking legs. She was in a navy blue shirt and white shorts and had bare feet. Her hair was down and she looked as if she had been enjoying a relaxed hour or two; a book was open on the small table beside her chair. She was not relaxed now, despite the attempt at it.

“How did you find me?”

He gave her his grandfatherly smile, though he had no grandchildren. “Janis, I was thirty, forty years in my business. You work that long in the game, you make contacts both sides of the fence. I heard you were outa jail, so I asked around. It was only a matter of time.”

“You know where I work?”

“Of course. I know you've changed your name. too. Good luck to you. I thought of changing mine once. Glad I didn't. I like being Jack Aldwych. It still scares the shit outa some people.”

He stared at her, eyes smiling, but she didn't take the bait. “I've kept an eye out for you at the casino. I thought you might've been a high roller.”

He shook his head. “I never gambled. Except when I was doing a bank or running a brothel—I knew the odds. Nobody would run a casino if he thought he was gunna be a loser. When you worked in Las Vegas, you think the Mafia guys who ran it were in it as a gamble?”

“You knew I worked in Vegas?”

“Janis, I know what size shoes you wore at school. Did you hire someone to shoot me or Jack Junior?”

He
hadn't raised his voice or quickened his words. She half-turned her head, as if the last words had come from outside the apartment. Then she looked back at him, her breath quickening. “Why would I do that?”

“Come on, Janis . . . Are you gunna offer me a drink? It's almost midday. A gin and tonic is what I like.”

She struggled for rebellion: “You've got a hide—”

“I always had it, girlie. I didn't get to where I did, being a shrinking violet. Have a drink with me.”

She got up abruptly and went out to the kitchen. He stood up and walked to the big window. Down beyond a canopy of camphor laurels the small bay was a splintered blue mirror under a southerly breeze that had sprung up. Out on the harbour a large yacht sliced an arc through the water, its blue-and-gold sails gorging themselves on the rising breeze. He picked up the book Janis had been reading; it was a Patricia Cornwell crime novel. He never read crime fiction, only the real thing. He always felt a malicious pleasure when the criminal figures, especially those in business, got their come-uppance. It increased his pleasure at how successful he had been. He turned back as Janis brought in the drinks.

“Since I've retired I've read up on the history of Sydney.” Which he had robbed blind for years. “Back in the early days Governor Phillip made all foreign ships drop anchor down there in Neutral Bay. He was afraid the lags, the convicts, would piss off if they got half a chance to board a foreign ship. You thinking of pissing off anywhere?”

“Have you been talking to Inspector Malone?” She sat down again, more relaxed now, sipped her drink.

“Why?” He took a mouthful of his gin and tonic, nodded his appreciation of the drink. He had been a beer man up till his retirement, but Jack Junior had altered his taste, though it had not been easy. “You know how to mix a drink. They teach you that in Mulawa? I hear they're dead keen on rehabilitation courses. You rehabilitated? Why would I of been talking to Scobie?”

“He asked me—no, he told me. Not to piss off, as you put it.”

“
Were you thinking of doing that? If you did, Janis, I'd think you had something to hide. Like hiring a hitman who shot the wrong bloke.”

She was still not fully relaxed, but she was more composed now. She had never been uncomfortable with men, even as a schoolgirl; they just got more difficult, more varied, as she and they grew older. Aldwych was rare in her experience: he was
old
and he was criminally ruthless.

“You're wrong, Jack. I admit, when I was in Mulawa I used to dream about what I'd do to you and Jack when I got out. When you're locked up, you do a lot of day-dreaming. You must remember that?”

“They locked me up only twice, girlie. I didn't day-dream. I
planned
. The first time I come out, I did a bank two days later. The plan worked. It wasn't any day-dream.”

“And the second time? The plan didn't work?”

He sipped his drink again. “No, it worked. I broke the knee-caps of the bloke who grassed on me.”

She considered this; then ran a hand over a bare knee-cap. “Okay. Early in the piece, yes, I
planned
what I'd do to both of you. Jack left me holding the can—”

“No, Janis. You were always on your own. Jack was just your ball-boy. I saw that right from the first time I met you. He set you up with seed-money—” He looked around him, gestured with the hand that held his drink. “Where'd you get the cash for all of this?”

“It's rented.”

“I know that, girlie.” He smiled, as he might at a naughty child; though he would have belted a naughty child. Jack Junior had only been protected by his mother. “I know
all
about you. The money you had when you were picked up, the police took all of that, it's in State revenue or whatever they call it. I hadda buy someone off to hide the fact Jack had given you all that cash. You milked him for it, but you had other cash stashed away somewhere. Right?”

“Look, I don't have to put up with this—”

“Siddown, Janis.” He hadn't moved, but the menace was unmistakeable. “Don't try tricks with
me,
girlie. I've been retired for, I dunno, eight, ten years, and I've become a model citizen, almost. I was hoping they would of named me a National Treasure, like all them other names on that list. But a week ago I was standing two feet away from the Premier when someone put a bullet inna his neck.” The old rough slur was coming back into the voice. “Jack was two feet on the other side of him. The bloke with the gun was a coupla hundred feet away on the other side of the street. He could of been off-target, he could of shot the wrong man. If you've got the money to pay for a flat like this—and I hear you might
buy
it—if you've got that sorta cash stashed away somewhere, you'd have the cash to buy a hitman.”

She looked at her drink; then took a swift gulp at it, as if it were bitter. She ran her tongue round her lips, but not with relish. Then she said, her voice steady, “I've got money, yes. I never bring anyone from the casino here—they'd think I was cheating at the tables.”

“That wouldn't be easy. They've got almost a thousand cameras watching you and the punters.”

She looked at him shrewdly. “I thought you didn't gamble?”

“I took a stroll through the casino once. Just curiosity.” He didn't tell her about their plans for the casino at Coffs Harbour.

“Well, like I said, I've got some money. But I never hired anyone to shoot you or Jack—I'm not that stupid—”

He studied her in silence. He wasn't looking at her as a woman, but as an enemy. She was attractive, sexually desirable; but he saw past that, saw the cold calculation inside her. He wouldn't trust her as far as he could get Blackie Ovens to throw her. He wondered if a belting would get anything out of her that words couldn't. At last he put down his glass.

“I'm not finished with you, Janis. Or Joanna, whatever you call yourself these days. Till the cops find out who killed Hans Vanderberg, find out who paid him, I'll be keeping an eye on you.”

“You'll be wasting your time, Jack.”

“Not my time, girlie. A little money, maybe. You'll be watched day and night, wherever you are. Till we know for sure who paid the hitman.”

“Tell whoever you've got watching me, not to make themselves too obvious at the casino. I
don'
t want to lose my job.”

“How'd you get past all the checking they do on casino workers?”

“There are ways, Jack. You know someone who knows someone who'll take a little gift . . . The way you used to work.”

He stood up and she, too, rose. “Money talks, doesn't it? How'd you explain your nine years when you were outa circulation?”