~34~

LARISSA WAS ANNOYED AND IN A HURRY, so he gave her the abridged version. Kim plus she’s Shane’s flatmate plus I was there last night plus postal slip in the bag equals she’s got it. It took a moment and a half to sink in. Then Larissa said:

‘Fuck!’

Jack wondered where the bullet would hit him. He summoned all his magical powers, like a spoon-bender, and concentrated on his little finger, pointing it away from his body. They could do wonders with flesh-coloured plastic these days. But the gun remained silent. Larissa nodded. She already had another plan.

They locked Kablunak, Rhonda and Pascal in the windowless kitchen off the hallway at De Groot Galleries.

Max was already there, stuffed into one of the cupboards by Pascal. He had used Max’s leather belt to secure the doors, slotted it through two handles and done it up tight. Pascal now tied a couple of tea towels around his leg to staunch the blood flow. Larissa had Jack strip everybody of mobile phones and keys. Rhonda swore and threatened and sobbed in between. Kablunak merely stared at Jack, his face serious, his eyes like tracer lights on a loaded gun: letting Jack know that what was happening was not good. That there would be repercussions. As Jack closed the door, he frowned and gave the Russian a look in return: what the hell do you want me to do? and left it at that.

Larissa found the first-aid kit in the storeroom and Jack cleaned her wound and stuck a band-aid on her ear while she kept the gun pointed at him: she was sitting down and made sure it was his balls that were in the firing line. For all the blood, it was just a small nick. Lucky Larissa. Jack wondered if she had used up her supplies. More worrying, though, were his own meagre reserves. The fuel warning light was flashing on his karma dashboard.

After that, she pulled the phone line out of the wall and tucked the phone under her arm and locked Jack in the storeroom. ‘Just wait,’ she said. Two, maybe three minutes later, she let him out again. Larissa had opened one of the suitcases and changed her bloodied clothes: now she was in tight jeans, a white long-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of brown Campers.

‘Getaway clothes?’

‘Something like that.’ She was hardly listening.

‘What about a mask?’

‘Shut up.’

She made him carry the two suitcases downstairs to the car park. The Maserati was two spaces along from the BMW. Larissa pointed the remote entry on her key ring and pressed the button. The BMW flashed its hazard lights.

‘What’s the time?’ she asked.

Jack put one of the suitcases down beside the Beamer and looked at his watch. ‘Nearly eight-thirty.’

‘Good.’

‘You know she’s probably already there, waiting. Having a coffee and a muffin, watching the time at her leisure. And we’ve got peak hour. Whichever way you take.’

‘We’ll get there.’ Larissa tossed him the car keys. ‘Put those in the boot, then you drive.’

Jack stowed the suitcases then climbed into the driver’s seat, Larissa waiting with the gun trained on him until he was strapped in and then got in herself. The car smelt of her perfume, and of plastic and leather newness, and of the yellow, flower-shaped deodoriser clipped to the ventilation louvres on the central console. Jack remembered the Toyota. Fruits-of-the-goddamn-forest.

‘Careful over the ramp,’ she said. ‘It scrapes the rear.’

‘And you’re worried about that now?’

‘Just watch it.’

Jack kicked the motor. He adjusted the driver’s seat, sliding it back electronically. He checked and adjusted the mirrors and then drove slowly out of the car park. It had been a while since he used to drive the baddies around. He turned down Moncur Street, then left off the roundabout into Hargrave, straight through to Gurner and then took another left onto Glenmore Road.

‘You think Oxford Street is wise?’ asked Larissa, voice edgy and irritated.

‘Compared to what?’

‘Jesus.’ Larissa shook her head, looking through the windscreen. ‘I’m not going to miss the fucking traffic in this town, that’s for sure.’

The rain thrummed the car. It was getting hot inside with all the breathing and the adrenaline and the windows were fogging up. Jack got the demist going, front and rear, and set a little air blowing.

‘So where are you headed? You already got a ticket booked?’

Larissa flicked her hair, distracted. ‘When you’ve got cash, Jack, you’ve always got a ticket booked.’ She combed her fringe with her fingers. ‘And to think I might have been taking you with me.’

‘I love Sydney too much.’

‘You love scraping a living in ones and twos? Living alone with a cat? Driving a Toyota?’

‘I don’t have the Toyota anymore. And I only get ones. And leave Lois out of it.’

‘It’s your life.’

He glanced at the weapon in her hand: for the moment, Jack’s life was technically hers. He pointed at the gun. ‘What are you going to do with that thing when we get there? Take it into the post office?’

‘If I have to. Just get us there.’

‘You don’t even need me. You can give them your wife story.’

‘Quicker if you flash your ID. I don’t want to get into an argument with anybody, waste my time. Nobody speaks fucking English there anymore, either.’

‘Look at the time, Larissa. Look at the traffic. It’s not going to happen.’

‘Just fucking drive.’

He drove. The world was all blurred wet light. It was difficult to see too far ahead. They crawled down Oxford Street.

Jack said: ‘You don’t seem too interested in Kim?’

‘Why? Is she interesting?’ Larissa’s tone was firm and dismissive.

‘Well, she’s swiped a three-point-four-million-dollar treasure from under everybody’s nose. I’d say that makes her pretty interesting.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘That’s it?’

‘What do you want me to say? I’ve only met the bitch a couple of times. And now she’s going to regret it.’ She motioned with the gun. ‘Drive faster.’