Shooting Star by Peter Temple Read Free Book Online Page A

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‘YOU MIGHT’VE hung onto a few thousand,’ Orlovsky said, getting into the Mercedes with his briefcase, bringing in cold air, brushing rain off his scalp. ‘Honesty’s a much overrated virtue.’
    ‘Not when it’s the only one you’ve got,’ I said. ‘What’d you get?’
    I had just finished my call to Noyce. We were on the St Kilda beachfront, near the lifesaving club, rain blowing off the bay. Only a few people out: two men in bright rain gear walking a fat and splay-footed black Labrador; an old woman, scarf tied under her chin above layers of sagging clothing; a small and threatening squad of inline skaters, indifferent to weather and fellow-humans and gravity.
    ‘Nothing. Call’s from a payphone at Royal Melbourne Hospital.’
    I was dispirited, watching the skaters. They were coming up at speed behind the men with the dog, in formation, two tight ranks of three. Just when it seemed the front rank had to crash into the walkers, it parted, two left, one right, second rank following suit, going around the men and coalescing again like water flowing around a rock.
    ‘One thing worth knowing, though.’
    ‘Which is?’
    ‘Camel,’ he said.
    ‘What?’ I looked at him, startled. ‘What’s worth knowing?
    ‘Driver’s a secret Camel smoker.’
    Orlovsky had opened the glovebox. Packed with packets of cigarettes, it glowed like a Walt Disney cave. With two fingers, he extracted a packet, put it in his inside jacket pocket.
    ‘Yes, honesty’s a much overrated virtue,’ he said. ‘There’s something else. My original opinion was this dickhead thinks he can hide his voice with some primitive piece of shit from a mail-order catalogue. Wrong. He’s no dickhead. That’s worth knowing.’
    Orlovsky’s thumbs released the briefcase catches. The lid popped up. A laptop computer hidden in a battered leather briefcase.
    ‘I borrowed this,’ Orlovsky said. ‘Box of tricks.’ He switched on, did some key tapping.
    Are you where you should be? said the electronic voice from the laptop speakers.
    Yes. Me.
    Okay, this is what you do . If there’s wrapping on the money, take it off. Then walk down to the front of the stand and throw the money off. All of it. Understand?
    Yes.
    Don’t talk to anyone. We’ll know. Just do it. Now.
    My voice: First tell us when we get the girl back.
    Do as you’re told. Or the girl dies. Understand? Just do as you’re told.
    Mick tapped. Now a different electronic voice said the last words. He tapped again. Yet another eerie nonhuman voice. Then another one. And another.
    ‘This is smart stuff,’ Mick said. ‘The boy didn’t buy this machine anywhere. The Feds’ voice ID software can’t crack it.’
    ‘You know that?’
    ‘I know that.’
    ‘You’re hacking into the Feds’ system. What’s the penalty for that?’
    ‘I’m not hacking. This is legitimate access.’ He paused. ‘Someone else’s legitimate access.’
    I sighed. ‘We’d better get back to the Carsons. Maybe these pricks will let the girl go tonight.’ I didn’t think that was likely. To put it mildly.
    ‘So they just did it to give the fans a treat?’ said Mick, closing his briefcase. ‘Wow. Maybe the two supporters’ clubs got together and arranged it. Kidnapping. Could become a regular thing for clubs.’
    ‘Get out,’ I said.
    ‘Sir.’
    In Kooyong Road, in heavy traffic, he blinked his lights at me. I pulled over. He parked behind me and came to my window.
    ‘This Merc’s transmitting,’ he said. ‘Why would that be?’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘My box of tricks says so. Playing with it at the last lights.’
    A tracking bug in Noyce’s car? I looked at Mick. We had the same thought at the same instant. I reached into the back seat and got the empty leather sports bag, gave it to him.
    In the rearview mirror, I saw the interior light go on as he got into the Holden. It went off for a few seconds, went on and off as he got out again.
    He gave me the bag back through the