Free Follow the Money by Peter Corris

exception.’
    ‘It sure would.’ I didn’t tell him that I didn’t play golf.
    We went to the car park and I found that Megan had driven my 1988 Falcon. She settled herself behind the steering wheel.
    ‘I’ve been driving it around a bit to keep it running. I love this car. Are you going to leave it to me in your will?’
    ‘No, I’ll leave it to the kid.’
    She patted her belly. ‘Fair enough. I won’t say a word about what you do next, but don’t even think about putting Hank in any danger. I’m not interested in being a single mother.’
    I settled in at home, threw out some old food and made a list of new stuff to buy. I went to the gym for a very light session and Wesley swore when he saw my injuries.
    ‘You’re getting too old for this shit, man.’
    I stepped on the scales. ‘You’re right. Hey, I’ve lost some weight.’
    ‘Could be in your brain.’
    * * *
    I’d asked Megan to bring in my mobile but she’d said she couldn’t find it even though she’d rung it and listened for the signal. Not surprising; I often couldn’t find it myself. I hate the thing. But I hunted around and eventually found it under a couple of CDs that had slid over it on the desk where I’d left it turned off after downloading the photographs of Houli. I thumbed it on and the blinking symbol told me there were unanswered calls.
    ‘Hardy! This is Miles Standish. Please call me.’
    ‘Hardy. Standish. Where the hell are you?’
    There were two others like that, getting more agitated. I punched in his number.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Standish, this is Hardy, what—?’
    ‘Jesus Christ! I’ve been ringing—’
    I cut him off. ‘I’ve been in hospital after being bloody nearly killed by that Lebanese bastard you know so well. Don’t come on strong with me, mate. You went into smoke. Are you still holed up in McMahons Point with your girlfriend?’
    ‘How the hell did you know that?’
    ‘Never mind. You drop out of sight and now it’s all about where I am. What’s the trouble?’
    ‘My life’s in danger.’
    ‘Our lives are in danger all the time.’
    ‘This is no joke. I need your help.’
    The original ‘me’ guy—absolutely no interest in others. ‘I’m not sure I can help you or if I want to. You didn’t exactly tell me much of the truth at our first meeting.’
    ‘I suppose not, but I thought we had an arrangement.’
    ‘Yeah, perhaps we do. But I’ll want to know all about your dealings with Nordlung—you and May Ling and Freddy Wong and Selim Houli—before you tell me your problem. By the way, your wife thinks you killed Richard Malouf.’
    ‘She’s crazy. But Jesus, how do you know—?’
    ‘I was doing my job. I’ll meet you at your office.’
    ‘No!’
    ‘Where, then?’
    He named an apartment block at Darling Harbour. I knew it as a place publishers and movie people used to accommodate their big-name visitors to Sydney. I’d done some bodyguarding for a couple of these types. Standish gave me the number of his apartment. He was calmer but still edgy. I didn’t want him calm.
    ‘Will May Ling be there?’
    ‘I . . . I don’t know.’
    ‘Have you got any money?’
    ‘I can get some. How much?’
    ‘As much as you can rustle up. I’ll be there in an hour.’
    I wanted Standish to be as rattled and vulnerable as possible if I was to find out what was going on. Frightened was good, too, and he was clearly that already. And I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to have money in my pocket because I had a need for some right then.
    Along with my PEA licence went my right to carry a gun. I’d had an illicit one for a while until, after a nasty confrontation two years earlier, I’d thrown it into Balmoral Bay. But I didn’t fancy going off to visit Standish, who had dealings with the Wongs and Houli, unarmed, so for the second time I broke a serious law and bought a .22 Ruger Bearcat pistol from an ex-biker named Ben Corbett.
    Corbett, a paraplegic following an accident, lived in a