Chapter 28

Sweat dripped down the back of Rob’s neck. Cars churned up the thick night air. He felt sick. He felt dirty. Kyla stood in front of him, holding his hands. In the light from the streetlamp she looked yellow, dead already.

‘This is stupid,’ she said.

‘It’s not.’

‘That place is where they hang out,’ she said.

He didn’t need to look. He had seen Stones Corner Tattoo a thousand times. It looked the same tonight as it always did.

‘Can you see any Harleys?’

‘Jesus, Rob! He wants to kill us! Ahmed is dead. We’re next.’

‘Rabs is in there. Rabs is okay.’

‘But he can’t protect you from the Dreadnorts, okay?’

‘It’s not all of them. It’s not like the whole club wants to hand me over.’

Kyla shook her head. Hair stuck to her sweaty face. Rob went to push it away but she swatted his hand.

‘Don’t,’ she said.

‘I have to do this.’

‘Rob. Your mate at the paper has done the dirty on us. You know what I had to do to get some of that information?’

Rob couldn’t look her in the eye. She hadn’t told him every­thing, and he didn’t want to know.

‘Ahmed is dead. With all his tattoos, he’s dead. Having another one on your body won’t make a difference. We have to get the fuck out of here.’

A semi-trailer hit the air brakes coming down to the roundabout. Rob jumped and reached for the gun tucked into the holster at the small of his back.

‘And we will. But first I have to do this.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you believe that shit.’

‘You let Ahmed tattoo you as well.’

‘Well, why the fuck not? But it didn’t save him from that shottie, you know?’

Rob squeezed Kyla’s hands. ‘It’ll only take an hour or so. I’ll get the names first. Leave it at that, if I have to.’

‘Rob. Listen to me. Please. If we can get down to New South Wales we can fight from there. Cardinal hasn’t won. He just thinks he has. But he’s got this place locked up tight.’

‘I know. But…I don’t think we’re going to make it. And I want an insurance policy.’

‘Well, I’m not waiting here for you. I’m a sitting duck.’

He pulled her close. She smelt of sweat and dirt. She smelt wonderful.

‘I love you,’ he said.

Kyla pushed away from him. ‘Just…just be safe, okay?’

It was what she’d always said before he went away. Not be careful, because she knew that in his line of work he couldn’t be careful. In fact, in Afghanistan, being careful was a good way of getting killed. But be safe. Do everything you can to not get yourself killed.

She turned and walked back towards the bus station. Rob took one last look at her and headed for the tattoo parlour.

There was no-one on the front desk at this time of night. But he could hear someone shuffling around out the back.

‘Rabs?’

‘Is that who I think it is?’

When Rob first met Rabs, at Dooley’s over in the Valley, he almost got into a fight with him because he couldn’t understand his thick Glaswegian accent.

‘Yeah. Rob.’

The giant Scotsman pushed through the beaded curtains. He reminded Rob of Billy Connolly, but twice the size, and of course covered in tattoos. A naked woman, anchors, names, dragons, cards, dice and skulls intertwined up his arms. Rob held out his hand, but Rabs engulfed him in a big, sweaty bear hug.

‘You fuckin’ mad bastard. You’re not safe around here, you know.’

‘Don’t you start. I’ve just copped an earful from Kyla.’

He pushed Rob away and looked over his shoulder. ‘Smart woman. Those fuckers have put a mark on your head.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Rob said. ‘We’re going to make ourselves scarce. Just need to get one more tattoo.’

‘I wouldn’t be worried about tattoos, Robby. I’d be worried about getting the fuck outta Dodge.’

‘Just one more. It’s important.’

Rabs dragged him out the back. There was no-one else out there.

‘I was just packing up, but I suppose I can squeeze one more in,’ Rabs said. He pulled over one of the rolling trolleys, started getting inks set up. ‘What are you after? A butterfly? A nice Celtic band, perhaps.’

‘Hardy-fucking-har-har, you Scots cunt.’

Rob pulled his shirt over his head. Rabs’ eyes flicked to the holster, but he didn’t say anything. Rob knew Rabs had seen plenty of guns, and he knew to keep his mouth shut. Rob explained what he wanted, and wrote down the names. To his credit, Rabs just nodded and got his gear ready.

Rabs took a needle out of its sterile wrapping, slotted it into the machine. Fired it up with the foot pedal. The needle flashed in and out, point blurring. Rob climbed onto the chair, leant over. Rabs grabbed a razor and gave the area a quick once-over, then swabbed with alcohol.

‘Time’s short,’ Rabs said. ‘I think I might draw this one right on, if that’s okay with you.’

‘Sure – just no giant penises.’

‘Aw, you’re no fun.’

Rob recognised the pain but it didn’t bother him any more. After Ahmed’s crazy bamboo-shoot technique, this was bliss. Ahmed. He zoned out for a while, trying not to think.

Rabs worked steadily on the tattoo. Then he asked, ‘So when did they get him?’

‘Tonight,’ Rob replied. ‘We tried phoning him. He didn’t answer. Went over there and the wife was screaming over his body.’

‘Shit. After all they went through.’

‘Yep. I bet they thought, after the Fajar Baru, things couldn’t get any worse.’

Rob drifted off, the buzz lulling him into a trance. As the ink went into his skin, he felt the memories moving down into a box in his brain. Like his dossier. A hole in the darkness. Cardinal would pay. Crow and Heathy would pay. One way or another.

‘How’d they do it?’

Rob jerked, realised he’d been asleep. There hadn’t been much chance to do much of that over the past couple of days. But he felt safe with Rabs.

‘Shotgun.’

Rabs went back to work. Rob felt a dull ache in his lower back. If he had to sit here like this much longer, with his hip twisted towards Rabs, it would get really sore. He wished he had some of his painkillers, but he’d binned his stockpile at home after the incident at the bar. The damn things almost got him killed.

Outside, traffic droned past. And then something that was distinct from the sound of normal traffic. The big, heavy blast of a Harley. No, two.

‘Steady,’ Rabs said. ‘Could be friendly.’

‘Yeah. Right.’

Rabs switched off the machine.

‘Over there. In the cupboard,’ Rabs said.

Rob opened the cupboard. It was full of old tattoo magazines and books. He quickly lifted stacks of them and put them on the bench, then slipped himself inside. The cupboard smelt of mildew and old paper. He pulled the gun out of its holster, left the door open a crack.

The Harleys pulled up out the back. Engines cut off. From where he was hiding, he could see the doorway at the back of the studio. Heavy footsteps. He could imagine their heavy biker boots. The security gate at the back of the studio clanged open. They were inside.

Rabs’ door opened and two men pushed through into the studio. Heathy and Crow. Rob cursed under his breath.

Heathy brandished an axe handle. Crow didn’t appear to be armed, but he probably had a knife or something on him.

‘Gentlemen,’ Rabs said. Rob was amazed at how calm he sounded. ‘I was just cleaning up.’

Rabs stepped to one side, towards the chair Rob had just been leaning on. Rob saw his shirt hanging over the back. Fuck.

‘Rabs,’ Crow said. ‘We’re looking for Rob. You seen him?’

‘Not lately. He came in a few days ago for some work, but nah, not since then.’

Rabs stepped over to his trolley, blocking view of the shirt. The men moved further into the room, flanking Rabs. Rob rested on the balls of his feet, ready to spring out if they moved on the tattooist. There was no way he was going to let Rabs be added to the list.

‘What do you want him for? Nothing good, by the looks,’ Rabs nodded at the axe handle.

Heathy piped up. ‘We just want to have a little chat.’

‘Yeah, I’ve heard about your chats. You boys been busy tonight?’

‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’ Heathy stepped forward, getting in Rabs’ face.

‘Nothing,’ Rabs said. He gently but firmly pushed Heathy back a step. ‘Just looks like you’ve got a bit of tomato sauce on your t-shirt…’

As Heathy turned, Rob saw the bloodstain. While Heathy glanced down at the mess on his shirt, Rabs reached behind him and pulled Rob’s shirt from view. He placed his other hand on the chair, then raised his fingers, palm out, towards the cupboard where Rob hid. Wait.

‘You boys been running the Dreadnorts sausage sizzle?’

Heathy raised a tattooed hand and put it on the side of Rabs’s head.

‘You want to be careful asking questions, Rabs. Rob asked the wrong questions. So we’re going to have a little chat with him. If you don’t want us to have the same conversation with you, I suggest you shut your fucking mouth.’

Crow stepped closer. ‘We love your work, Rabs. But you might find it hard to tattoo with broken fingers.’

Rabs, with nowhere else to go, sat back in the chair. He pushed the shirt onto the floor. ‘Oh, I get it. You’re the big men, right? Sorry, I didn’t realise.’

Crow took a step backwards. ‘Heathy, check out the front.’

Heathy went around the back of the chair, right past the cupboard. The stink of petrol, grease, sweat and blood trailed in his wake.

‘Nuh. No-one out here.’

He returned to the room, stood with his back to the cupboard. Rob could put a round through his kneecap. From this range, it would take out his whole joint. He’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life. But Heathy was blocking Rabs and Crow. And Rob still didn’t know what Crow was packing. He visualised it. Heathy going down, blood pulsing out of his leg. Rob trying to push out past Heathy’s body and come up into a firing position. No, it was too risky.

‘When he was here a couple of days ago, did he say anything about his plans?’ Crow urged.

‘I’m not his mum, Crow. I’m not his secretary. Why would he tell me his plans?’

‘I don’t fucking know. Maybe the silly bastard trusts you.’

Heathy snorted out a laugh. He shuffled to one side. Crow was on the other side of the room, looking around at the designs on the walls.

‘If you happen to see Rob, or that slut of his, give us a yell, hey?’

Rabs said nothing.

‘I know you’ve done a lot of work on Rob, but don’t forget who pays the bills, okay?’

‘Sure thing, Crow.’

Heathy followed Crow to the back door.

‘This has been fun,’ Rabs said. ‘We should do this again some time.’

‘Fucking cunt. Don’t forget what I said.’

‘Sure thing. Catch ya.’

They shuffled out the studio door, leaving both it and the back door open behind them. Rob could see through to the shadowy storage room. That was where they cut the drugs after they arrived from Afghanistan.

Moments later their Harleys fired up; Rob felt the reverberation beneath his feet. He trailed the sound up the side of the building, sat there listening while they disappeared into the traffic.

‘Wait,’ Rabs said.

He walked past the cupboard. Rob heard the beaded curtain clattering. A few moments later Rabs was back.

‘All clear.’

Rob squeezed out of the cupboard, stretched his back, then moved to the corner of the room so he wouldn’t be visible from either door. Rabs was flushed, and sweating. His chest heaved as though he’d just run a hundred metres.

‘I mean it,’ Rabs said, ‘that was a lot of fun.’ He tried to grin, but it withered on his face.

‘I’m sorry,’ Rob said.

Rabs waved it away. ‘Don’t be. They’re murdering pricks.’

Rob turned to leave, then stopped. He pulled out his gun and offered it to Rabs.

‘No. No, no, nope,’ Rabs said, ‘I don’t do guns. Besides, you need it more than I do.’

‘Take it.’

Rabs shook his head.

‘Take it! Rabs, if they find out you’ve been helping me, they’re gonna come back for you. I can’t lose anyone else.’

Rabs folded his arms across his chest.

‘Fine,’ Rob said, ‘I’ll just leave it here.’

He clunked it down on the counter, and turned to leave.

‘You always were a stubborn bastard!’ Rabs called after him.