26

AN ARM came out from the car, and, putting the hand flat on the car body, tried to push. A howl of pain.

‘You alright?’ I shouted from a distance.

‘Oh yeah, brilliant, completely fine. Proper jammy, me.’ British accent. Of course.

I detected signs of injury, but I wasn’t convinced that he was no longer a threat.

‘Actually, no, to be totally honest with you, my knee’s fucked. Call an ambulance?’

‘No network.’

‘Your car?’

‘Stuffed.’

‘Get me out, will you? The fire’s coming.’

It was true, the fire was on its way. And not far, probably a couple of kilometres away. But it wasn’t here yet. The smoke was well ahead of the fire front, making it seem closer.

‘Show me both hands.’

Two hands came out, shaking with the effort.

‘Alright. I’m going to help you. But you should know, I’ve got the taser. Remember the fun you had with that the last time you came for me? So don’t try anything.’

‘Cross my fucking heart.’

I looked inside the car. He blinked up at me, blood, tears, and red dust on his face. I took his trembling hand and tried to lift him. He shrieked in agony. I stopped.

‘Do it!’ he shouted. ‘Get me out.’

I dropped the taser, took both his hands in mine and pulled again, getting him half way out. One more pull, and he slumped onto the road. He rolled on his back. He was bleeding from a cut on his forearm, near the sword and wings tattoo. He wore cargo shorts, and I could see one knee was purple and twice the usual size. Lower down, a bone pushed at the skin. It was a couple of kilometres back to the main road. In the other direction, the track curved to the left and rose up to a crest a hundred metres away. No farm house nearby. No passing helpful cocky on a tractor.

The man was panting and rocking and holding the knee.

‘Show me some ID.’

He pulled a wallet from his back pocket. I took it from him and pulled out a UK licence.

‘Colin Slade. First-aid kit in that car, Colin?’

‘Hire car. Probably not.’

‘Can you get up, put weight on your good leg?’

He shook his head.

Waves of thick smoke rolled over us. I sat beside him and went through the wallet. Plane ticket — Melbourne to Mildura — plastic cards, four hundred in cash, and a photo of a small child. Tucked behind the photo, a folded piece of paper. A BlackTack invoice.

The wind sent another wave of dark smoke over us, swirling red embers within it.

‘Why aren’t you getting out of here, Hardy?’ Colin Slade said, stunned at my nonchalance.

I shrugged, like I was resigned to death. ‘My car’s stuffed. I’ll never make it out.’

‘You can run.’

‘Outrun this? No. I’d die trying.’ I pointed to my jeans. ‘That’s petrol you can smell. I’m covered in it. When the fire comes, I’ll go up fast. Nice a quick. Can’t say the same for you.’

‘You’re a fucking psycho.’

I shrugged.

‘Fuck this. I’m not burning to death. Hardy, get the Jericho. It’s in the car.’

‘What’s a Jericho?’

‘Semi-automatic pistol.’

‘So you can shoot me?’

He stared at me in disbelief. ‘So you can shoot me.’

I waved the paper at him. ‘You were sent here to kill me.’

‘It’s a job. Nothing personal.’

‘You also do work for Enrique Nunzio and Allyson Coleman, am I right?’

He ignored the question. His only concern seemed to be obsessively watching for the fire. He was probably in shock. I went to the Mazda and found the can of Coke under the seat. I lifted the tab, foam sprayed out.

‘Here.’

He drank half.

‘Alright?’

‘Bit better.’

I went to Slade’s hire car. The Jericho was under the passenger seat. I brought it out and went to sit next to him.

‘How does it work?’

He shifted on his arse, pulled a pained expression, and took the gun from me. He removed the clip and shoved it back. ‘I love this gun,’ he said. ‘Very comfortable. See? Hold it.’

I took it in both hands, no idea what I was doing. It didn’t feel comfortable. It was large and unwieldy. ‘How do you fire it?’ I handed it back.

‘First, rack it. Grab this slide on the top and pull it back.’ He demonstrated, and the top of the pistol shifted back and forward, making a scary click. I had a try. It moved fairly smoothly, and I heard the click.

‘It’s a right-hand pistol. This one is the forty. You’ve got your safety, here, and your slide catch.’

‘Slow down,’ I said.

‘Doesn’t matter. Look. It has a double-action trigger. Pull the trigger, it fires.’ He pulled the trigger. I wasn’t ready. The sharp crack shook me. And the gun kicked back in a way that frightened me.

He took out the clip. ‘Twelve round magazine.’ He slotted it. ‘You try.’

I took out the clip, slotted it, pulled back the slide, and held it in both hands.

‘Straight arms,’ Slade said.

I straightened my arms, aimed into the nearest fence post, placed my finger on the trigger, and pulled. The force of the round leaving travelled through my hands and up my arms. I’m sure I blinked because I had no idea where the bullet went. But my work was done. I put the Jericho down carefully on the road.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’ll shoot you, Colin, if it’s what you want. But you know, quid pro quo, I need to know what the deal is with Allyson and Marcus Pugh.’

He sighed. ‘What’s the point?’

‘No point. Just that it seems excessive to kill Joe Phelan and Velvet Stone, and now me, all because of a bull.’

He looked confused.

‘The recording on the phone — it’s just Pugh talking about an auction. Vincent got away.’

He snorted with derision. ‘A fucking bull, that’s a laugh.’

‘What then? Give me something.’

‘Close to fifty million dollars, how’s that for something.’

‘But for what? What’s the bloody deal, Colin?’

His eyes lit up as if he heard an angel singing. Then I heard it, too. The roar and sigh, roar and sigh, of a truck changing gears. Through the haze, I looked towards the crest of the hill, expecting a harvester. The front grill of a Mack motored up and climbed over the hill, two massive trailers, side mirrors a metre out on each side. The horn started blasting to raise the dead as the truck began flying down the hill. The driver was under the mistaken impression that we could get out of the way.

I stood up, waving my arms and shouting stop.

The driver hit the airbrakes, releasing a monster’s bellowing fart, and the whole thing shuddered and lurched to a halt with barely a metre to spare.

I ran to the driver. He had the door open and was climbing out. A youngish man, short and thick set. ‘The fuck happened here?’

‘I stacked into the fence. He hit a roo. Broke his leg. Get him to the hospital?’

He spat. ‘I’m on a tight schedule.’

‘Mate, look at him.’

Colin’s face was the colour of wax. ‘Don’t leave us here to burn,’ he pleaded.

‘Shit, you’re not going to burn, not unless the wind changes direction. Fire’s heading west.’

Colin scowled at me. I grinned back at him.

‘Go on,’ I said to the driver. ‘Give us a lift.’

He thought it over. ‘Alright. Suppose I better. Give us a hand.’

He heaved Colin up from under the armpits, while I took his legs. He stepped backwards up the cabin steps, movements awkward from lifting, and hoisted Colin into a space behind the front seats.

Once he was settled, I glanced back to the long trailer. It was jammed with cattle, complaining about the discomfort and the smoke.

‘You coming or what?’ the truck driver said.

‘Just a minute.’ I ran around, picked up my handbag, and, with my back to the truck, I carefully placed the Jericho in it, then I threw the taser in there, too.

‘All set,’ I called and climbed into the cab. From that height the flare of yellow-orange firestorm coming down the paddock towards us was clear.

‘How about that,’ the truck driver said. ‘The fire’s changed directions. It’s coming this way, would have come straight for youse.’

The Wimmera Base Hospital waiting area had hard plastic chairs. The cars had been left to burn, the Mazda and Slade’s hire car — his excess would be eye-watering. I’d made enquiries about getting the Mazda taken to a wrecker as soon as it was safe to enter the fire-affected area. Ben may as well get something for it. The other task on my list was to keep a close eye on Colin Slade. I needed more information from him: names, dates, times, all the details of this cock-eyed caper. I alerted the nurses that he was not to try to slip out the back, like he did in Melbourne after the taser incident. A clock in the waiting room marked the slow, tedious passing of time while Slade had his X-rays, leg set, and whatever else. It was now four-thirty, and I’d spent nearly two hours of bum-numbing tedium watching a TV attached to the wall.

The news presenter called the burn-off a major fail — thousands of hectares of pasture had been burnt. Cut to a scientist: ‘Bushfire season in Victoria is much longer now.’ Images of CFA volunteers directing high-pressure hoses on walls of flame. Pictures of an untouched house in a sea of black paddocks.

Piano music came from my handbag. I moved the taser and Colin Slade’s hand gun and took out my phone. ID: Percy.

‘Yes?’ I said, wearily.

‘Mate, you alright? On me way, nearly in your shithole town.’

Shit, I’d forgotten Percy Brash was coming up. ‘I’m not there.’

‘May I ask where the fuck you are, then?’

‘Horsham. At the hospital. The SAS bloke is getting his broken leg seen to.’

A change in tone for the brighter. ‘Fuck me, what happened?’

I told him, and he sounded impressed. ‘What happens to him now?’

‘Nothing. I didn’t report it. I’m going to buy him a drink, hoping to get him to talk.’

I heard a wheezing noise I took to be laughter. ‘You couldn’t get information out of a choir boy on truth serum. Which pub?’

‘Don’t know. Maybe The International.’

‘Right.’ He hung up.

What did that mean? I stared at the phone. It rang in my hand.

Bunny Slipper. ‘I’ve gone over your transcript of the recording, and I’m afraid nothing directly connects Pugh to the fancy bull that’s missing. He doesn’t actually use the name of the bull. It’s vague. It would be super easy to shoot down in court. Frankly, Stella, there isn’t much there.’

‘They are so concerned about that recording that they killed Joe Phelan.’

‘Well, I can’t see why. If you have anything more, let me know.’

‘I’ve got more. Allyson Coleman and fifty million dollars.’

‘That is a name and a number. Not evidence.’

I shifted my arse around on the hard plastic. ‘Bunny, check her out for yourself. She’s a notorious scam artist, takes investor money for risky ventures, goes bust, skips town. One journalist called her a disastrously unsuccessful nut farmer.’

Silence at her end.

‘Okay, yes, I don’t have evidence. Yet. But I’m sure this thing goes deeper than one bull. Otherwise, why is Pugh so paranoid about the recording?’

‘This thing? What is this thing? Corruption? Theft? An actual crime? You don’t know.’

‘You’re right, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But I do know that BS12 are involved in the cattle trade. Athol Goldwater is a prison farm, and they test agri-tech there. Tech like that iDrover you had in your show. Cattle tags, tracking, GPS, all that. And BS12 hired a BlackTack operative to murder two people who found out what they’re up to.’

‘Two people? Remind me?’

‘Velvet Stone was killed because Joe Phelan had asked her about hacking cattle-monitoring technology.’

‘A pretty long bow, Stella.’ Bunny sighed. ‘What’s Pugh’s connection to Coleman?’

‘They own a race horse together. Allyson with a y. Look into it, Bunny, they’re both in on it. They’re all in on it together.’

‘You sound paranoid. But I’ll take a look.’

I pocketed the phone and walked around the waiting room, and then out into the foyer, glancing over at the nurse behind the counter. She smiled at me and shook her head. No news yet. I went outside, did a circuit of the block, and went back to my hard chair. According to Kylie, Loretta Swindon had left the Hardy farm and was somewhere in Horsham. I rang Loretta’s number, and, to my relief, she picked up.

‘Where are you?’ I asked.

‘A church.’

‘What, again? You shouldn’t have left the farm.’

‘I had to leave,’ Loretta said. ‘I wasn’t welcome. Your sister didn’t want to talk about cattle farming with me. Her mind’s made up. She’s got some arrangement with that bloke.’

Shane-fucking-Farquhar. Despite my decision to stop worrying about the farm, the thought of him riled me up.

‘You need to talk her out of it,’ Loretta said. ‘He’s been misleading her about how great a merger will be for both farms. I tried. I told her that without the legal papers that Ben signed, she was in no position to make those kinds of deals. I think she heard me, but you have to talk her out of it. Stella, are you listening?’

I couldn’t see why she was so upset about Kylie’s crazy plans for the farm.

‘I’ll deal with that later,’ I said. ‘First, we need to get you out of this dire situation. You need food and a proper room for the night. I’ll pay.’

‘You don’t need to do that.’

‘Loretta, you can’t sleep in a church. Come on, be sensible.’

She agreed to meet me. But she was so reluctant that I began to wonder if the pregnancy had affected her mental capacity.