Just after ten, after an hour’s fruitful activity in front of Gabby’s laptop on Plan C, I was sitting with Toffee and Kava in the back of Jack’s van. The van had been converted to accommodate a driver without the use of their legs, and modified for easy access for people in wheelchairs. Even with Toffee and Kava, there was plenty of room for two more. We were in the city, double-parked in front of South Pacific’s building. I dialled the number on my mobile as soon as we pulled up. Jack kept the engine running.
It took me a few tries to get through to Hardcastle. He was apparently in a meeting. The advertising executives were with him in the boardroom, going over the layouts and scripts for a new campaign. That’s what his administrative assistant told me. His personal assistant said the same, but added that there was simply no way he could be interrupted. I told her to go in and say six words to him, otherwise she was likely to lose her job. ‘Chris Blake. Jonathon Bartlett. Fuck up.’
He was on the line thirty seconds later. ‘Hardcastle.’
‘Blake.’
‘What?’
‘Bartlett.’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t bullshit me, Barry. A serious matter has arisen about a plaintiff called Jonathon Bartlett. Huge injury claim. Someone tried to kill him this morning.’
‘What? How the fuck do you know this?’
‘Meet me downstairs now. Outside the foyer. Bring Jarrett. You need to do this now.’
‘What . . . I can’t just –’
‘It could be about to get into the press. South Pacific may be unfavourably mentioned. Meet me now. Both of you.’
Hardcastle and Jarrett were in the foyer within three minutes. Whether they had made any calls in that time, I don’t know. Once downstairs, though, walking out of the lift, Hardcastle had the look of a man who needed to find a toilet fast. Jarrett no longer looked like Cassius. Pale, gaunt, he was already wearing the patented expression of a businessman turning up to his committal hearing on fraud charges. No matter how hard they worked on looking composed, the face is a jigsaw, the pieces loosely held together, dissolving at times, the eyes at once sucking in fear as they radiate guilt.
Toffee grabbed hold of Hardcastle, Kava took Jarrett. They were standing either side of the revolving entrance door when they walked out. Barry Hardcastle is a big man, but Toffee handled him the way some parents handle errant children. A brief struggle, but into the back of the van he soon went. Meanwhile, Kava threw Jarrett in too. Jack put his foot down as soon as they were in.
‘You look pale, Barry,’ I said as we took off. ‘Surprised to see me alive?’
‘I don’t know what the –’
‘Mr Hardcastle,’ Jack said as we approached Oxford Street at Hyde Park corner, ‘Jack Bartlett’s the name. We met at the rugby about a year ago. Bledisloe Cup Test. There was a charity function afterwards. You made a donation to a disability support group that I’m involved in. Very generous. I’m pleased to meet you again. Even if you did try to have me killed this morning.’ Jack eyed Hardcastle carefully in the rearview mirror. ‘I suppose you’re wondering what this is all about?’
Hardcastle looked at me, not Jack. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘Relax, Barry,’ I said, ‘it’s all for a good cause.’ I was in the passenger seat, facing backwards, looking at Hardcastle. He and Jarrett were in the middle of the back seat, stuck like sardines with Toffee and Kava on either side. The sleeves of Hardcastle’s jacket had ridden halfway up his forearms in the squeeze. The jacket was pulled tight across his shoulders, and his pants were sausage skin on his thighs. He looked like he might burst, a corruption of blubber and rage. Jarrett, meanwhile, looked like a jockey in a sauna, shrinking between the others by the second.
‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘This is kidnapping,’ Jarrett spluttered, his usual supreme calm deserting him.
‘No, it isn’t,’ I said. ‘It’s just a charity event.’
‘Charity!’
‘Sure. You’re off to make a donation.’
‘What?’
‘There’s not enough organ donors in Australia,’ I said. ‘What does your driver’s licence say, James? If you die, are you down to donate?’ Silence. ‘The employees of your buddies, the Baldarnos, gave today. We’re on a recruiting and collection drive. Let me show you.’
I had a small esky in the front seat with me. I held it up, opened the lid, took out the contents. A plastic bag. ‘The metrosexual one donated this,’ I said.
I had poured some blood into the bag. Half a cup or so. And that kidney I’d trodden on. Squashed, it was more human sized than sheep sized. ‘You’re both wealthy men,’ I said. ‘You can do better than this, surely?’
Hardcastle stared silently at the kidney. Jarrett went slightly limey around the cheeks. Then emerald. Then forest green.
I don’t know. Perhaps they’re vegans.
We were back at Lang Road before eleven. Bill gave the orders again. We used the same technique to burn more DVD footage. The chainsaw, the Scorpion, the bloodcurdling screams.
We had a slight delay with Jarrett. Not because he held out on us. Just a toilet break. I think it was welcome to the abattoir that did it. There was a wet jet-like swoosh, a sound like water rushing through a washing machine’s too-thin pipes, then that pungent, choking, breath-stopping smell. We all stared at Jack. He frowned. ‘Not me this time.’
Jarrett had gone to the potty in his pants. We were philosophical about it. He was there to spill his guts, after all.
When it was Hardcastle’s turn, he talked too. Talked and cried. It’s one thing to see a small person cry, but when it’s a big man, it really gets to you. Well, to most of us. Even after a full confession, Gabby had about as much sympathy for him as a post-coital female praying mantis. Who didn’t reach orgasm. She even revved the clipper up one last time for effect. The poor bastard thought it was going to be the last sound he’d hear. He sank inside himself in a blubbering mess. I patted him on the shoulder. He had ordered a few killings in his time, but, after all, there was his charity work, and he had promoted me, too. He believed in me when others didn’t.
‘Take it easy, Barry,’ I said as he sobbed. ‘I’m a lawyer. Remember? I’m not going to kill you. Just sue you.’