Cashin was the second coming, would have followed him down a snake hole.
Villani looked at nothing. Singo and his father. The same hardness, the air of bad things seen, of the right to sit in judgment on lesser, weaker people.
Phone. Birkerts. Villani said, ‘Had no time to miss you.’
‘On our way back,’ said Birkerts. ‘Been to three old addresses for Jansen, two for Wales, one is so old, the house’s history, four units on the site. Tomasic tells me they’ve done the first sweep at Oakleigh. He’s sent for an MD and the X-ray.’
Villani could see Dove at his desk, stretching. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, looked around, blinking. Tired, thought Villani, he’s tired. What right does he have to be tired?
‘Coffee,’ Villani said to Birkerts. ‘Pick me up. I’m not functioning.’
He put the plug in his ear, found the place on the player.
…listen, I’ve had a bloke, he’s offering.
Coughing.
Y’know?
Yeah? Source?
My understanding is accidental discovery, like.
Quantity?
Back up the truck, he says.
Oh yeah? What kind of bloke is this?
You know him. Ivan Ribaric. Bad. Very bad.
No, mate, the word’s not bad, the word is fucking lunatic, don’t want to go there. No.
No argument, the cunt’s mad but this is, this looks okay, it’s just something, y’know, get rid of quick, make a buck. Yeah.
He’s up for something? Jack trading?
No, no, no. What Jack’s going to trade with the Ribarics, mate? Jesus.
Yeah, well I’m not ruling it out, basically, we’d be…you’ve got to be fucking sure. I’d say you be sure of, ah, quality, then we talk. There’s cunts, I mean you
do business, you have to kill them.
Okay. Get back to you.
Make it soon. Got a, ah, trip coming up. Holiday.
That’s nice. Soon, mate, soon…
THEY PARKED as close as they could and walked under an open sky, hot smoky afternoon wind, sweating, seeing the sweat on the faces coming at them, moving to the pavement’s edge to skirt a loose pack of tourists, bright garments, bodies all going south, Americans. A fat man fanning himself with a straw hat said, ‘Dart painting? How in hell they do that?’
They ordered, sat at a table in the back corner. Villani said, ‘Need some luck with this shit, fucking Orong’ll be on us next.’
Birkerts said, ‘Pretty basic brief from the Robbers. Not giving much away. How keen are they?’
‘I would say not very.’
‘And Crucible?’
Villani took the tiny player and the earphone out of his top pocket, gave it to Birkerts. ‘Listen,’ he said.
Birkerts plugged in, held the device below the table rim, eyes on it.
Villani flicked the room, stopped at a woman looking at him over a man’s shoulder. Straight black hair, grey eyes, clever eyes. He liked clever, he liked grey, Laurie’s eyes. The first time Laurie looked at him with her grey eyes, he knew she was clever. Clever had always been the sexiest thing. Looks he had never cared much about. Looks were a bonus.
Birkerts unplugged, handed back the player. ‘Cut and dried then,’ he said. ‘Who are these people?’
Villani told him they had half the story. ‘Archer’s got a pretty good out. In Malaysia with his offsider.’
The coffee came. Villani put sugar on the crema, watched it sink, change colour. ‘What shows out there?’ he said.
‘Three possible cameras in the vicinity. Tommo’s looking now, don’t hold your breath, nothing points the right way. Got the ID stash, there’s licences, Medicare, credit cards, you name it. Plastic bag in the freezer, who’d think of looking there? No weapons so far. Half a million prints in the house. There’s traces of a woman.’
‘What traces?’
‘Lipstick on cigarette butts in the sitting room.’
‘Two women,’ said Villani. ‘Different scents in the bedrooms.’
Birkerts raised his eyebrows. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Phones?’
‘Not a one, should have said that.’
Birkerts touched his chest, felt for his mobile, went