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The café in the cancer respite ward offered a good vantage point of the rehabilitation wing twenty yards away. I pretended to read a paper.
After forty minutes, Mr. Bandana and Evelyn emerged from automatic doors. They stopped and talked for a while before Evelyn walked to her car and drove away.
Mr. Bandana crossed the car park and took up a spot under a Japanese maple tree in a small garden outside the cafe. He lit up a smoke and puffed at it anxiously. He stamped it out as I approached him and set his shoulders. ‘Like a dog with a fucken bone, aren’t ya?’
‘Why so chummy with Evelyn?’
‘None of your fucking business.’
‘You told me to stop looking for Tamsin Lyons, and I want to know why.’
He looked at me with a resigned look. ‘Like I said, leave it the fuck alone.’
‘You don’t get it. I’m not going to give up on trying to find her. I’ll keep looking even if Lyons doesn’t pay me.’
‘You have no idea what the hell is goin’ on. Just walk away, Kowalski.’
‘I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what I need to know.’
‘You want me to smack the shit out of you?’
‘How about you try it from the front this time?’
He had a good three inches on me and at least ten pounds of muscle. He charged and threw a quick right-left combination, which I stepped back from easily. I put my fists up and held my elbows in tight, in case the wilder swings went astray, and he came at me again with a straight hook, which I evaded. He grunted and threw another quick right-left combination, all of which slipped past my nose. I’d compensated for his reach and kept away, and now he dropped his arms and started breathing heavy. I feinted a punch and he flinched.
‘We don’t have to do this,’ I said. ‘You can just tell me what you know.’
He bounced slowly on the balls of his feet, then took up an intimidating brawler stance, at which I made a mental note to stay on my feet. He came at me fast with a straight cross, and I went with it and took most of it on the forehead, which lessened the impact a little.
He sucker-punched me in the stomach, and I buckled and quickly stumbled away, slightly winded. The shaded grass under an evergreen helped me shake off the effects. He came up behind me, and I turned to make sure I kept out of his reach. He threw a right hook too early and missed me by a mile. He was breathing heavier now, and the punches came slower.
‘You’ll be out of steam soon,’ I said. ‘Just sit down and we can talk about it.’
‘Fuck off!’ He swung his left arm in a wide arc.
He over-balanced and his head fell forward. I slapped his left ear with an open palm as hard as I could, causing him to roar and clutch his head. As he stood hunched and dazed, I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls. He grimaced and fell on his side in the fetal position, hands between his legs.
I fell on him quickly and wedged one knee into the side of his neck, the other across his mid-section to lock him in place. ‘You going to tell me now?’
He made a gurgling noise, so I eased the knee off his neck a fraction.
‘Right pocket,’ he said through clenched teeth.
I felt around and pulled out a tiny Nokia flip phone. ‘You got yourself a burner?’
‘I get a call every Friday night from someone. I don’t know who it is. They disguise their voice with an app or something. They tell me to call Lyons, and tell him that if he doesn’t want the book published, to transfer the money.’
‘How much?’
‘Twenty grand.’
‘How long has this been going on for?’
‘Four weeks.’
‘Who hired you?’
‘I don’t know him, just some bloke who says he works for Lyons. He didn’t tell me his name.’
‘You’re blackmailing Lyons?’
‘Not me, fuck! I get three grand to do my bit. He keeps the rest. It’s a business arrangement. I’m just the fucking messenger. I don’t even see the cunt.’
I flipped him onto his left side and felt his other pockets. I found an iPhone and four hundred in cash. ‘I’m taking this phone too.’
He groaned. ‘Like fuck you are.’
I hit him hard in the kidney, and he moaned and went limp. I then wedged the phone into my back pocket and returned the cash to his pocket. ‘Where’s Evelyn going?’
‘I dunno. Meeting some investor at The George.’
I took a photo of him with my phone for either future reference or leverage, whichever came up first. A sharp kick to the tailbone guaranteed time to get away. I got into the ute took off, and broke some laws looking up directions to The George on my phone. After about three clicks, I spotted Evelyn’s grey Mercedes in the traffic ahead. She drove carefully, stayed under the speed limit, and timed her lane changes. She anticipated not only the traffic but the lights, and showed all the signs of a woman in control who wouldn’t let those around her phase her. It’s hard enough to tail someone without arousing suspicion, but the tricky part comes when they stop, and you have to double back or park quick snap.
She pulled into the car park adjacent to The George, an old pub set back a little from the highway.
I carried on with the traffic, found a spot farther up along the main road, and parked. I walked back to the pub and spotted Evelyn sitting at a bar table with a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and glasses. They’d already ordered a wine and were deep in friendly conversation. Despite the frosty goodbye that morning, I still felt the closeness of her body from the night before, and felt a twinge of jealousy.
I stayed clear in the TAB section, flipped open the Nokia phone, and checked the call logs. Only one phone number appeared in the calls received log. I called it.
Evelyn stopped chatting and excused herself. She reached into her bag, dug out a black flip phone, and stepped out the front.
The call connected. ‘Why are you calling me?’ she said down the line. ‘I call you. That’s how this works.’
I hung up.
