Chapter 45

 

 

After his body rolled into six corners and jigged to five stop, starts, Ewen noticed the car now sat at a constant speed and road noise had widened to a constant grind. The freeway. North or south? Not sure. Eventually, he stopped guessing.

After five minutes on the freeway, the car deaccelerated, cornered four times after short runs, slowed to a crawl, turned tightly, took a hit to its suspension and braked to a halt on a slight incline. Driveway? The motor idled. An electronic whir. A roller door creaked. The car edged forward, levelled, and braked. The whir and creak started again. The engine died. The whir died. A hand dragged him to sitting and tugged off his shade.

Empty garage. Double brick. No tools.

Once again, the passenger gave the zipped lips signal and with a briefcase in hand opened the internal house door. The driver nudged Ewen through into carpeted open living that smelt like stored cardboard. Closed vertical blinds hemmed in the heat. A thin dust layer covered the black Formica kitchen bench and the only furniture, a jarrah dining table and four armchairs.

The passenger grabbed an aircon remote off the table. After cranking up a split-system, he marched Ewen through a corridor into a white-tiled bathroom and set his briefcase on the vanity. The driver pointed to Ewen’s clothes, indicating for him to strip and received the bird in return. In response, the passenger unclipped the briefcase and took out a semi-automatic handgun.

Ewen waited on the cool tiles, naked except for his jocks. The driver pointed to the briefs and then to the tiles. Ewen slid his jocks to his feet. The agent opened the glass door, turned on the shower taps, regulated the temperature and flicked his head as a get-in signal.

After a minute, the driver pointed to a towel and tracksuit pants on the rack. Ewen dried himself, and while pulling on the pants watched the agent bundle his clothes in his arms and leave the room. On his forehead, sweat beads broke past the Valium’s defence. He towelled his face again.

The passenger with the gun finally spoke. “If a listening device lived through that wash, I’ll toss my day job.”

“A bit paranoid aren’t we, blokes?”

“You might say. Although, there is one last thing.” He exchanged the gun for an electric hair clipper in the briefcase.

Ewen huffed. “Bullshit.”

“We need to make sure no surveillance gismos have made a home in your thick crop. No hair will make it easier each time we meet. You’ll shower. We’ll talk.”

The driver returned with an armchair but not Ewen’s clothes. Ewen watched him disappear from the room again.

Ewen sat. The clippers purred like a cat on crank. Hair prickled his naked shoulders. To stop himself glancing where his Millar shirt had gone, he talked. “Did you happen to think I might have trouble explaining the clip cut?”

“No. Just say you’re following in the footsteps of your yoga master.”

“Done your homework.”

“Received an A-plus, too. But your life is as boring as physics.”

Five minutes later, Ewen ran his hand over his number one. The agent placed the clippers next to the gun.

Ewen studied the weapon. ASIC or ASIO? Whatever, they wouldn’t use it. Total bluff. Wankers thinking they’re nasty. “My clothes?”

“Concerned for them? Why?”

“I feel like a half-naked kid and you guys the paedophiles.”

The driver walked back in. “No bugs.”

Ewen held onto a blank expression.

“Well, you’re not a hero,” said the passenger. “I thought you might be. Thought for sure you and Hogmyre would aim to upstage us. But no. You actually do want to save your neck. So, what’s the goss on Hogmyre?”

No recording, cursed Ewen. Snookered. Play them. “First off, I want a look at your ID.”

“With pleasure,” said the driver, pulling his card from his wallet. “Know what you’re looking at?”

Alex Treadmill. Ewen now remembered the passenger’s name, Zac. He handed the ASIC card back. “Even my readers crave more info than I can give them.”

“Yeah, except your readers aren’t breathing down your neck.”

“One of Australia’s richest men won’t reveal everything to me.”

“Well, we need something,” said Alex, nodding his head.

“The yacht trip?” asked Zac. “Surely he brought Meeka shares via a shell company?”

Stall time. A little bit. “I’m not sure.”

Zac locked eyes with Ewen, leant in close, hands on the armrests. “I’m guessing he did. The problem is, we can’t follow a complicated paper trail. You might.”

“I’m not that close to him. Forget it. No one can access that information.”

“Bullshit. Someone other than Hogmyre has to understand his protocols when trading on the inside.”

“You find them, then.”

“Our homework did paint you as a smart arse.”

Annoy them. A little bit. “I don’t understand?”

“What?”

“How an arse can be smart? Wouldn’t it be full of shit?”

Alex grab the armrests and leant into Ewen’s face. “You need info. And we don’t care how you scrounge it.”

His colleague dragged him off. “Titbits.”

Now. A little bit. “There’s talk.”

“Hogmyre’s tongue?”

Ewen nodded.

“Go on.”

“A possible takeover for Mt Lefroy Mining.”

“And Hogmyre told you this?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“Because it sounded like a rumour which may never happen.”

“Let us decide what to value when it comes to intel,” said Alex, who turned to his colleague. “A wire?”

“So, Ewen,” said Zac. “Do you know anything about electronic surveillance?”

“Just so happens I wear a wire every day.”

 

*

 

After they’d dropped him off at his unit, Ewen texted his best friend.

Fifteen minutes later, his door rang. His heart lifted. Celty? Instantly he realised he should stop caring. For her wellbeing as much as his.

“Buddha, baby,” said Lon. “Chrome Domes isn’t until next month.” He waltzed in. “You were long gone by the time I arrived.”

Ewen walked over to the couch and dropped into it.

Lon closed the door and plonked into a single seater. The cat jumped on his lap. “Sorry, Moggsie, no drugs tonight. After seeing your master, though, I’m thinking I should have brought some.” He quizzed his friend. “Is the shaven head yours or theirs?”

Ewen recounted what happened.

“A gun,” said Lon. “The stakes have changed, but I think you’re right. Scare tactic.”

“Worked wonders.”

“The beauty of firearms. No need to shoot, just show. How do you feel?”

“Scuttled.”

“I suggest we stick to the ploy. You’ve taken Hogmyre’s approach. Stay with it.”

Moggsie jumped onto the floor. They both watched the cat lick its paws and wash its face.

“Did they ask about boat people?”

“They only want stock info. They’ve gotta be ASIC. The ASIO angle is paranoia.”

“Have you talked to Hog?”

Ewen nodded. “A minute ago. He understood. Said leave it with him.” The cat jumped on his lap. “Lon, I’m not writing this story, everyone else is.”

“You’re the wall, and everyone else has graffiti spray cans.” He sat forward. “Maybe it’s time to call your armed robbery mate?”

“And say what? In reality, I’ve just met him. It’s as awkward as a new neighbour who asks you straight off to borrow your power tools. Honestly, I don’t know if I can ring him.”

“In an unusual way, you did partner him in a crime. And crime can create a pretty strong bond.” Lon pulled his mobile. “Give me his phone number.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I won’t, unless you disappear.”

 

Lon left. While pulling a teabag from its pack, Ewen’s attention strayed to the bourbon bottle sitting on the kitchen bench. The kettle boiled. He poured his tea, sat at the table and reached for his notebook. In doing so, he understood he was building a wall. Realised it wouldn’t hurt, probably help. He needed to dig—too many unanswered questions had turned into a constricting loop, and answers had become his only chance to unwind.

He flicked through the notes. Superannuation caught his eye and he spent the next half hour surfing the net, cross-referencing Snitchel’s ideas on the topic as well as scribbling two more points. First home owners using superannuation for a house deposit had been reversed. And when downsizing, couples aged above sixty-five could now deposit up to $600,000 from the house sale into their super.

Only two more points, but it did add credit to his editor’s theory—the government likes the idea of superannuation being its saviour when it came to funding pensioners. Although, the government had also acted the other way, especially the squashing of tax concession for high-end super.

He turned off his computer, and with the notion, who fucking knows… the rules change constantly, he shuffled off to bed.