~23~

THERE WAS A KNOCK ON THE FRONT DOOR. Jack rolled onto his back, his sleep only lightly dented by the sound, like a teaspoon tap on a soft-boiled egg; then just as he was about to slip under again, another knock. He could feel clammy skin pressed against him down his left side. Jack remembered whose clammy skin it was and thought about turning over and putting an arm around it. But the room was too hot, still and heavy with stale air, and Jack needed a drink. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was full of rust. The thought of a glass of water stirred his dehydrated brain some more. A third knock at the front door finally did the trick and Jack opened his eyes.

The room was pitch black: there were no dimensions to it and he felt a little dizzy. He looked for something to hold on to with his eyes. After a moment, he could just make out the curtained window, a square of pale night flat against the wall across from the foot of Kim’s bed. With an anchor laid, Jack strained his ears into the darkness, listening.

This time the knock was louder. Kim shifted beside him. Who the hell was there? It was the middle of the night. Better if he went and checked in case there was some kind of trouble — because if there was, Jack figured he was probably responsible for bringing it over.

He got out of bed and felt around on the floor for his jeans. After the blow to his head and the Chivas Regal, it was more difficult than it should have been. Got his jeans on, finally. He walked unsteadily down the stairs and along the hall, his bare feet sucking at the polished floorboards with every step. He paused before the front door. ‘Who is it?’ he said, in a loud, annoyed whisper.

‘It’s me,’ said a surprised voice. ‘Who’s that?’

Jack swore. He swung the door open. ‘How’s it going, Carl?’

Carl stared, did not answer. Then he walked in, straight past Jack and down the hall. He knew where he was going.

They went into the kitchen. Jack poured a glass of water and drank it and then poured another and drank that, too. He sat down at the dining table. Carl stood. It was just after 5.30 a.m. There was the nearly empty bottle of Scotch left on the dining table. And the cousins, Jack and Carl. Under the weak kitchen light, with the lino and the laminex and the pale pastels around them, it was as though they had gone back in time: a bottle of brandy instead of the Scotch, and they could have been in Aunt Eva’s kitchen, so many years ago. Though Jack had not admitted it to himself at the time, when he met Renée at the house in Bankstown, he had felt the urge to step inside and look around, see the old rooms from his childhood weekends: hiding places in the bedroom closets, and the see-through plastic runner down the hall that you could slide over with a run-up. He remembered one particular Sunday, church-day afternoon, in the kitchen at Aunt Eva’s house in Bankstown. Full of people milling around, eating and drinking. Carl with his Messerschmitt, dive-bombing the walnut cakes and shortbreads on the table. And Jack’s aunt talking to somebody about her deceased husband. ‘Oh, yes, he loved confession,’ she was saying. ‘He used to go in regularly and confess to things he hadn’t done yet. He called it building up credit.’ Her tone was bitter. ‘Then he’d go out and get up to all sorts of no good.’ An old woman shook her head and made the sign of the cross, though Jack remembered thinking it was not a bad idea.

‘I thought Shane might be here,’ said Carl, his tone all tough-guy-taking-no-shit.

‘At five-thirty in the morning? You must be good friends.’

‘Yeah. So what?’

‘He’s not here.’

‘But you are.’

‘Looks like it.’

Carl nodded. Then stuck his chin out a little and pouted.

‘I hear you’re pretty good at the Palomino,’ said Jack. ‘That your Rebel without a Cause routine?’

‘Fuck off.’ Carl slid his hands into the tight pockets of his jeans. Looked around the kitchen. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

Jack saw Kim’s mobile lying on the dining table. ‘Okay,’ he said, reaching for it. He flipped the phone open. ‘I promised Renée I’d call her when I saw you again. She’s been worried.’

‘What?’ Carl’s cool demeanour went up like a struck match. ‘Hey, no …’
‘Excuse me?’

‘Don’t call her.’

‘Why not?’ said Jack, contemplating the Chivas because his head was pounding and his eyes felt like little bags of hot sand. ‘I like Renée,’ he said. ‘And I don’t like you.’

Carl closed his eyes for a second. Opened them again. ‘Please,’ he said.

Jack looked at him for a moment. He closed the mobile and put it down on the dining table. ‘Better start from the beginning.’

‘You’ve got to help me, Jack.’ Carl held his hands up in a gesture of sincerity. ‘I’m in big trouble.’

Jack said nothing.

‘Did you hear me?’

‘Yeah, I heard you.’ Jack’s voice was low but firm. He felt the blood flow into his hands and pulse at the back of his head. ‘How about you give me the keys back,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Or did you drop them at Susko Books while you trashed the place?’

Carl stared down at the floor, shook his head seriously. ‘No, no, no,’ he said, then looked back up at Jack. ‘That was not me. I let ’em in, but that was not me.’

‘You let them in, but it wasn’t you?’ Jack swore. ‘My shop’s all over the floor and you’re telling me it’s got nothing to do with you? And what about the damage to my apartment?’

‘I told you, I had to let them in! They’ve got me by the balls, Jack. You’ve got to understand.’

Jack picked up the bottle of Chivas Regal and turned it in his hand. ‘All right, Carl. Let’s do it then. Who, what and why. From the beginning.’

‘Have you got a cigarette?’

‘No.’

Carl ran a hand through his hair. ‘Richard de Groot,’ he announced. ‘He wants the Sergius back. And if I don’t get it to him, I’m cactus.’

‘That’s it?’

Carl nodded.

‘Richard de Groot busted my place up?’

‘Yeah. Well, mainly Lewis.’

‘And you let them in?’

‘That’s right.’

Jack shook his head in disbelief. ‘You found the spare keys to Susko Books in the car and then rang de Groot and said Hey, I’ve got the keys, come round and have a look for your Bible?’ ‘No.’ Carl took a breath, looked away. ‘Not like that. They caught me in your shop the first time. Lewis was staking the place out, saw me going in. Then they made me go to your apartment.’

‘So you were looking for the Sergius at Susko Books, not de Groot? How the fuck did you know about it?’

Carl paused for a moment. ‘Larissa.’

‘Christ.’ Jack picked up the Chivas bottle and poured a couple of fingers’ worth in the glass he had been drinking from last night. He drank. The Scotch let go its fire and reamed his throat with heat. ‘Larissa told you to go see if the Sergius was at Susko Books?

‘That’s right.’

Jack thought about it. She was checking to see if he had lied about it not turning up. Okay. Nature of the business. No need to get too upset. ‘So you and Larissa, huh?’

‘It’s not what you think.’

‘That’s a very tired line, cousin.’

‘Yeah, well it’s true.’ Carl tried to look insulted but maybe should have practised more. ‘We’re just good friends.’

‘I don’t even want to know.’

‘We talk. All right with you?’

‘You sure it’s me you’ve got to ask?’

Carl put his hands on his hips, went to say something, but kept it down.

Jack let it go: he could feel other questions start to prickle his scalp, like spiders’ legs hustling around his head. It was not a pleasant sensation. ‘Why was Lewis staking Susko Books out?’

‘I don’t know. Waiting for the Sergius, I suppose.’

‘Right.’ Jack tried to sift the facts. The dubious ones floated to the surface like old champagne corks. Why would de Groot think that he had the Sergius?

‘Jack. I need that fucking Bible.’

‘Or what?’

Carl stood a little taller, puffed out his chest. ‘I’m fucking serious.’

Jack’s hackles hackled. He squeezed the bottle of blended malt and then shook it. He placed the bottle back down, slowly and precisely. He wished he had a cigarette in his hand so that he had something else to think about other than curling it up into a fist. ‘You said you came here looking for Shane,’ he said. ‘What for?’

Carl took a moment. ‘Help.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know! De Groot’s going to stick Lewis onto me for fuck’s sake! Rearrange my face if I don’t bring him the fucking Bible. I’m running around like crazy trying to get out of this mess and my wife’s kicked me out and there’s no money for the bills and shit and … and … fuck.’

‘You came round on the Friday night,’ said Jack, remembering, holding Carl in his sights. ‘Right after the De Groot Galleries heist. You knew about it all along.’

‘Yeah, I knew it was going down. I went around to watch.’

‘What for?’

‘Opportunities. What else?’

‘Like what?’

Carl shrugged. ‘Like … something. I don’t know,’ he said.

‘Jesus,’ said Jack. ‘I didn’t realise I was related to a criminal genius.’

Carl curled his top lip into a snarl. ‘Didn’t you use to work for Ziggy Brandt?’

‘I work for myself. Who do you work for?’

‘My family.’

‘And doing a fine job, too.’

Jack thought he might have pushed it too far, but Carl flushed and shifted his eyes away. ‘All right. I’ve fucked up. But now you’ve got to help me, Jack.’

‘That night you came over and borrowed the car. Why?’

‘I needed it, simple as that. I saw you come out of the gallery and couldn’t fucking believe it. And the Toyota when you drove off … Like Mum was driving it. I almost yelled out.’ He paused. ‘Still don’t know why she gave it to you.’ There was bitterness in his voice.

‘Keep the fucking thing.’

Carl stared blankly at his cousin. ‘Can I have a drink? Please?’

‘The tap is right behind you.’

‘That’s it?’

‘More stories, Carl.’ Jack shifted in his chair. ‘And be aware that I’m currently in the throes of nicotine withdrawal.’

A pause. ‘You here with Kim?’

Jack saw his cousin’s brow tighten slightly over his eyes. ‘None of your concern,’ he said, tone hard as ice. He slugged more Scotch. His head felt a little better, if not his predicament. ‘So Larissa’s had you in from the beginning. Keeping an eye on Shane, I suppose.’ Jack held the glass of Chivas up, closed an eye and aimed it at the ceiling light. ‘But Shane’s not here and neither is the Sergius. De Groot’s after you and the wife’s changed the locks. Looks like you’re pretty shit at everything, cousin.’

‘You got a big mouth.’ The fridge started to hum. Carl glanced at it, put a hand on his slim hip, dragged the other one through his hair and tried to look mean.

‘That meant to be scary? What else you got?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Not the way it’s going to work,’ said Jack. He kicked the chair opposite and stretched out his legs. ‘Did Larissa tell you about the Sergius job?’

Carl sensed the growing violence in Jack’s mood. He sat down, slumped forward with his elbows on the table, tiredness like a wet coat over his shoulders. ‘Look, I can’t even fucking remember anymore. I overheard Shane and Walter talking about the job at one of our shows. When I told Larissa, I think she already knew about it.’

‘You’re all in that theatre group?’

‘Yeah, the Palomino. Just down the road, on Devonshire.’

‘With Walter. Who’s with the Russian?’

‘Yeah. Good actor. Really fat. He got Shane a job once before. I heard them talking about this new job at a rehearsal a couple of weeks ago. Shane asking Walter if he could swing any more work his way. Said he really needed the cash. He kind of invited himself along, though from what I could tell Kablunak needed an extra.’

‘And you teamed up with Larissa.’

‘Jack, I really need the money. The building industry has slowed right down. I’m lucky if I get a job changing a fucking light globe.’

Jack nodded but had stopped listening. He was working it out — and the view was all clear around Larissa Tate. The girl could juggle half-a-dozen buzzing chainsaws and never get a scratch. She worked for de Groot and knew all about the Sergius. Then Shane told her all about his new heist job and presto, she’s got her inside man. Then knucklehead Carl comes along and she works out a way to use him, too. Jack just lands conveniently in her lap, thanks to Australia Post. Cheap insurance on every bet, any way you look at it.

‘How does Richard de Groot come in connected to you?’ asked Jack.

‘I told you. Lewis busted me going into Susko Books.’

‘Yeah, fine. But what was Lewis doing there to begin with?’

Carl dropped his head. He looked like a tired, stressed electrician father of three with a broken van and a lonely wife. ‘I called de Groot earlier. Offered him the Sergius. He must have sent Lewis to keep an eye on me.’

Jack grinned. ‘You thought you’d go it alone.’

‘I don’t owe Larissa a fucking thing. I got a family, Jack.’

‘What did de Groot say?’

‘Ten thousand.’

Jack thought back to his own offer from Richard de Groot, after the heist.

‘What was I going to do with a hundred grand’s worth of Bible?’ said Carl, holding out his hands. ‘Sell it at a fucking church stall on a Sunday afternoon?’

So Carl did not know about the three-point-four. Jack wondered if he should tell him.

‘I thought I could sell it back to de Groot, you know?’ continued Carl. ‘I figured that’d be the easiest way to make quick cash.’ He drummed the table with his fingers. ‘And I’d heard stories. I wasn’t going to fuck around with the Russian.’

‘So you offered it to de Groot, but you didn’t have possession of it?’

‘Larissa told me some shit about Shane lying low for a while and that we’d sort everything out in a few days. I didn’t believe her. Then I followed her to your place. You were there when the job went down on the Friday, and now Larissa was popping in for a chat.’ He looked accusingly at Jack. ‘And she stayed all night, too.’

‘So I’m in with Larissa, huh?’

‘Why not? You used to work for Ziggy Brandt. Why wouldn’t you be?’ He nodded. ‘Opportunity knocks.’

‘Of course. And obviously the Sergius was with me.’

‘Correct.’ Carl’s eyes narrowed a little as he looked at Jack. ‘I didn’t think it’d be a problem to get hold of it.’ He tapped his pocket. ‘Seeing as I had the spare keys.’

Jack picked up the bottle of Scotch. He splashed a little into Kim’s glass and pushed it over to his cousin, and then poured the rest for himself. Drank. ‘I don’t have it,’ he said.

Carl closed his eyes for a moment, controlled himself. ‘Do you have to be such an arsehole? Jesus Christ.’

Jack drank some more Scotch. ‘Carl. I don’t have it.’

‘You’ve got to give de Groot the Bible.’ Carl’s voice cracked a little: it was a sinner’s voice, thick with remorse and regret. ‘I can’t let Renée find out about any of this. She’d never take me back. Not this time.’

‘De Groot’s not going to give you any money, Carl, believe me. You should just go home and forget about it.’

‘Yeah, sure. After Lewis breaks my legs, I’ll just crawl down Old Canterbury Road.’

A little sympathy welled somewhere inside Jack. He tried to weigh his cousin’s sincerity, but it was too early in the morning for a clear reading. ‘I can’t give you the Bible.’

Carl turned away in disgust.

‘Look. Kablunak wants it, and there are my own legs to consider. And, just so you know, Lewis wants it, too. He’s in with de Groot’s wife. And Richard is not included.’

‘What?’

‘You heard. And they’ve got Larissa somewhere. Either I give them the Sergius or else.’

Carl frowned, digesting everything Jack was saying. None of it was going to help him.

‘So everybody wants the fucking thing,’ continued Jack. ‘And I’m the goddamn lamb shank in the stew. Not you.’

A phone started ringing. Carl reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. He looked at the screen. ‘Fuck.’ He hit the phone against his leg and swore some more, his face pale, his eyes red and flitting. ‘Fucking de Groot.’

‘You’d better answer it.’

‘And what am I going to say?’

Jack looked down at his glass of Scotch. Two rings later, he said: ‘Tell him I want to talk to him.’

Carl stared at Jack, stunned. ‘Yeah?’

Jack nodded, held up his hand for the phone. Carl blew a hard breath and answered the call. ‘Yeah, it’s me … Yep … Yeah, I’ve found him … Yeah, but listen … He wants to talk to you … Okay? ... Hang on …’

Jack stood up. Carl handed him the mobile.

‘Richard,’ he said. ‘How’s my favourite four-foot art thief doing?’