Deal Me Out by Peter Corris Read Free Book Online

got the idea and took hold of her on the other side.
    ‘We’ll take Glad along with us,’ I said. ‘What’s the address?’
    He gave me the street and number and I told Geoff to wait until I picked him up, to take it easy and give plenty of clear signals. Then the three of us trooped off to the Falcon where Glad waited for me to open the door like a gentleman. Erica and Glad sat in the back and lit fresh cigarettes. I started the motor which coughed a bit; I coughed a bit too, wound down my window and followed the Holden out of the car park.
    ‘I’m shooting through,’ Mal said.
    We were sitting in the front room of his little studio apartment. Glad had the flat upstairs, and she’d pecked Mal on the cheek before going up. I gathered their arrangement was a convenient one for both of them, company when needed and low on demands.
    Mal had made coffee in his tiny kitchen and brought it through nervously. He was older than I’d first thought, close to fifty, and, away from the pub noise and good cheer, he seemed oddly diminished, shrunken. This was despite his expensive clothes—hand-stitched shirt, European shoes—and cared-for hands. Watching him, I realised that acting a part had become an ingrained habit with him. The trouble was he switched roles a bit too often. Judgement: Mal had been a con man for a very long time, probably too long.
    Any artist who worked in this ‘studio’ would’ve had topaint miniatures. The daybed, a couple of bean bags and a low coffee table just about covered the floor space; Geoff must have slept in the bath. He bludged two cigarettes from Erica and took the portable TV off to the kitchen. I heard the sound of a fridge door, a beer can popped and the electronic babble began at low volume. Geoff hadn’t contributed much to the evening, but no-one was paying him to talk.
    ‘Before you shoot through,’ I said, ‘talk. My guess is you’re a good talker.’
    Erica sneered at the soft soap and puffed impatiently on her cigarette. Mal moved a pottery ashtray towards her and she flicked ash at it and missed.
    ‘Can’t tell you much,’ Mal said.
    ‘Tell us where Bill is,’ Erica snapped. ‘That’ll be enough.’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Won’t do, mate,’ I said. ‘You must have had to deliver the cars somewhere. There must have been meetings, arrangements. That’s what we want to hear about.’
    ‘Bugger-all. S’cuse me, Miss.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Instructions came by phone—where to go to pick up this and that. It’s more than my life’s worth to tell you where.’
    ‘Gaol if you don’t.’
    ‘I’ve been thinking about that. It’d take time and there’s some good legal men around. I’d have a chance that way. They might give me a break or the bloody car might turn up. If I talk I’m dead.’
    ‘You have been thinking. Let’s try to keep it general. What about dropping off the car?’
    ‘Car park. Leave the keys, papers, all the phoney stuff. Walk away. The fee came in the mail.’
    ‘How much?’
    ‘Grand a unit.’
    ‘How many’ve you done?’
    ‘That’d be telling. Look, I can’t help you. If I could put you on to Mountain I would. Then they could break his legs instead of mine.’
    ‘Someone threatened you?’ Erica flashed the question at him. ‘Who?’
    ‘Blower again. He put the wind up me—very nasty-sounding joker. Look, I’ll play square with you; I’ll tell you the only thing I know, just like I told him.’
    ‘I’m confused,’ Erica said. ‘You told who?’
    ‘The bloke on the phone.’
    ‘Told him what?’ I said.
    ‘Mountain mentioned Blackheath.’
    ‘Blackheath—in the mountains?’ Erica grabbed at the scrap of information like the last cigarette in a pack.
    ‘That’s it. I have to explain. I hardly knew him. A few drinks and a chat. Well ….’ He rubbed his thin, white hand across the lower part of his face. Then he used it to pick up his coffee cup. From the look of the hand that was about as much hard