Whenever certain people can’t recoup debts through the legal system, they call my father or me. We’re quicker to collect, cheaper and more trustworthy than lawyers. If said debtors want to pay us not to maim them, well, we’re open to deals. We won’t make arrangements that go against the interest of our employer, but we can be persuaded not to break, say, an arm or a leg. As with any legitimate business, we have a tariff.
My father has always stood over me and honed me into as tough and relentless a man as he is. He usually handles older offenders these days while I get the younger ones. If a collection is to be made from a family or gang, we’ll work together. We carry guns on occasion but are loath to use them. Cops always show more interest in corpses than they do the injured. We use false names like movie stars who want to hide their ethnicity, unsavoury background, or boring name. I’m Jack Robinson. My father maintains that speed can be a lifesaver in our business. He asks chancers, ‘You think you’re faster than Jack Robinson?’
My father has a number of customers that give him repeat business. I have an agent, Des Snyder, who gets jobs for me. Once I’ve successfully completed a job for someone, I deal with them directly, but I still give Des a small percentage to keep him on board. My father and Des know each other but don’t conduct business.
Dad has an antiques and art shop that is legitimate enough to satisfy the taxman and other authorities. His assistant is a knowledgeable and dedicated woman whom he trusts. I’m a cargo broker. Drivers who bring full loads to Melbourne or anywhere near, contact me for loads to get them heading somewhere else. I have a mortgage, health insurance and pay taxes just like Mister Average. I have a bank account for my brokerage business, but I keep money earned from my stand-over trade in a bank deposit box until I accumulate enough to make an investment. I’ve bought paintings and furniture from my father. I have two antique cars standing on blocks in a climate-controlled warehouse in Switzerland. My father sinks his money into an apartment complex in New Zealand; Queenstown, I think.
***
Not long ago we punished a horse trainer and his son, a jockey. They were supposed to finish fourth or worse but got excited when the horse showed improved form and won the race. The professional gamblers who hired us had planned a massive investment in the animal’s next race when the odds would have been more favourable. Dad took the trainer and I his midget son. The son tried to pay me not to break any bones, but I had to disable him for a month or two. We’ve done the same to boxers and their trainers. That’s when we carry guns. Another time for guns is when dealing with cops who think taking bribes somehow puts them in a position of strength. They think knowledge of certain goings on makes them untouchable. Dad and I teach them the error of their thought processes.
The job isn’t exactly a barrel of laughs. The other week I had to collect from a guy who’d borrowed twenty-five large and was ignoring calls for the repayments to begin. I went to see him and told him what twenty-five grand’s worth of hurt amounted to. He gave me a sad smile and said he’d guessed as much. ‘I never intended to pay the money back,’ he said. ‘I needed it to get some drugs for my wife. She has a rare disease that requires medication not available in Australia. I’d appreciate it if you could leave me with the ability to keep working but, other than that, do your worst, or should I say your best.’ What do you do? My throat constricted as I stuck the boot in, being careful not to break bones.
Before I left I advised him to move to whatever country produced the medicines his wife needed. ‘You really don’t need me coming back here next week,’ I said.
***
A woman said I’d been recommended by a friend of a friend. ‘I need you to take care of something for me,’ she said.
‘I don’t take care of things for jilted lovers,’ I said. ‘They sometimes have second thoughts after Johnnie turns up at their door full of remorse and oozing red stuff. It can get nasty and nasty isn’t my business.’
‘No, it’s nothing like that,’ she said.
‘Yeah, well then, not over the phone. You know the Broken Dreams pub in Hawthorn?’
‘I do.’
‘See you there at six-thirty and it’d be a good idea to bring cash.’
She was quite a number. She’d been sitting at a pokey machine indifferent to the change she was losing while she kept her eye on the front door. I entered by the back door and guessed that a well-heeled, good-looking woman wouldn’t normally play slot machines. I stood behind her and coughed. When she turned and saw me she developed a smile. I don’t like people to smile when they see me; it’s the wrong image for a man in my line of work. Thankfully, the bells on her machine started to clang and money poured noisily into the metal tray. The commotion discombobulated her. (I know that word because my father made me learn it, and a lot of others, when I was young. He’d stand over me and point out a word in the dictionary. ‘Read, learn and inwardly digest, Son,’ he’d say.) She hadn’t planned on being bumped awry. She seemed unsure if she should gather her winnings, so I scooped up the coins in a paper bucket.
‘Why don’t you ask a barman to change this lot into folding money?’ I suggested.
We went to the bar. ‘You are Jack?’ she said.
I nodded.
We adjourned to a quiet table where she sat and crossed her lovely legs, revealing a lot of thigh. We both sipped large twelve-year-old single malt scotches. ‘It’s been a lovely day,’ she said.
I’d had enough of her nervousness. ‘Let’s get on with it. Who gave you my contact details?’
She smiled again but at least it was a nervous smile. ‘Des Snyder. You know him, right?’
Des is my rain maker. I nodded.
‘I, er, look, someone who wishes to remain anonymous wants you to kill a man called Colin Bertrand.’
‘Colin Bertrand?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Kill?’
Her eyes fixed on mine. ‘Yes. Something wrong?’
‘Not really. I charge fifty thousand cash for such a job. Strictly cash and half up front. Can you manage that?’
‘Yes.’
I’d do someone for twenty but she obviously had no idea. ‘Good. Can I assume that the friend you mention is in fact you?’
‘Yes. Sorry, I just found it hard to voice what I wanted as myself. Does that make sense to you?’
‘Perfect sense. Did you tell Des who the target is? Is there a time element involved?’
‘Not really. No, I didn’t even tell Des what I specifically wanted, but I think he guessed. The reason I want Bertrand dead isn’t related to a specific date, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Are you planning a trip? If not, you should. Go someplace where people will see you, remember you. Let me know your arrangements and then I’ll make mine.’
‘I could go this weekend, unless that’s too soon for you.’
‘I’ll let you know tomorrow after I’ve checked the situation out.’
‘Fine. The man lives in Footscray, if that helps. I have ten thousand with me. Should I give it to you now?’
‘Not in public. Before we go any further, I’d like to know your name.’
‘Oh. Is that really necessary?’
‘Think of it as my insurance policy.’
‘I could lie.’
‘You could but I’ll know by ten o’clock tomorrow and I’ll have ten thousand of your dollars that you’ll have wasted.’
‘Fair enough. My name’s Jacqueline Peters. What now?’
‘Now, Jacqueline, we go somewhere where you can give me the money.’ I stood. ‘Shall we?’
‘How about my place?’
I’d put her down as a ‘dangerous sex’ type and she wasn’t hard to take, so, ‘Yeah, that’ll do nicely. You come by car?’ She nodded. ‘I’ll follow you.’
She must have planned to get laid all along because her pillow talk included some additional instructions.
‘After you kill Bertrand, I want you to bring me a painting he has of a couple of horses. That’s why I’m paying fifty thousand after your Mr Snyder told me you’d charge twenty to twenty-five for the job.’ Forget any extra commission, Des. ‘You’ll need to establish the whereabouts of the painting before he breathes his last.’ She rolled onto her stomach and gave me what she probably thought was a piercing look. ‘Nothing to say?’ I pursed my lips and shook my head. ‘That’s the job. I want Bertrand dead, and I want that painting. I think you’ll agree, now that all the cards are on the table, you’re getting more than a fair price.’
‘There must be more than a few paintings that feature a couple of horses. Any other description?’
‘I don’t think Bertrand will have more than the one, do you? But there’s a man and woman and some trees. The artist’s name is Stubbs.’
‘George Stubbs?’
‘Yes. Are you an art lover?’
‘I invest in art now and then. Stubbs is a bit out of my league though.’
‘Yes, well, I’m out of your league too, but here we are. Want a little more action before you leave?’
‘What about the fifteen thousand readies you still owe me? Do you have it here?’
‘No. I’ll go to the bank tomorrow and meet you later in the day with it. That okay with you?’
‘That’s fine. What would you have done if I turned out to be a sort you couldn’t shag?’
‘But I knew you were, Jack. Mr Snyder was very informative.’
***
‘Where’d you get that Stubbs, Dad? Isn’t it a little rich for your blood?’
‘You could say that. I had a commission to erase a guy just over a year ago. He had this painting on the wall and I took a shine to it. It’s probably worth around four-and-a-half mill. You like?’
‘I do. Hasn’t anybody been trying to get it back? Family say?’
‘His widow has been phoning me, telling me I was paid to ice her husband, not lift the painting, but I’ve grown attached to it. It’s not as if they had it legit, is it. She should remember the saying easy come, easy go, and know it’s gone.’
‘You’ve grown attached to the painting, or its value?’
‘Both, I suppose. Why the sudden interest?’
‘Would this widow be Jacqueline Peters by any chance?’
He smiled. ‘That name does sound familiar. Gets a bit strident when she’s annoyed. How do you know her?’
‘I slept with her last night…’
‘Good for you.’
‘…after she’d hired me to kill you.’
‘Kill me! She’s getting a bit ahead of herself, isn’t she?’
‘When we were between the sheets, she told me about the painting. Says not only does she want you dead, but she wants the painting back. Paying me fifty large for the both of you. She’s already given me ten.’
‘Does she know you’re my son?’
‘Can’t be sure but I don’t think so. It’d be a dumb move on her part.’
‘Who put her on to you?’
‘Des Snyder.’
‘Does he know the full story?’
‘I doubt it. You know how he likes to know as little as possible.’
‘Let me give him a call.’
I made myself a drink while Dad called Des.
***
‘Des reckons he never asked her who the mark was, and she never volunteered it.’
‘So, how are we going to handle this, Dad? Just top her and keep the painting?’
‘I’d like to know if she’s on her own, or can we expect family members to come out of the woodwork and turn nasty.’
‘Right. How about I tell her that before you died you swore the painting’s in a Melbourne bank vault? I can give her a photo of you dead on some nondescript floor. We’ll look up what funerals are scheduled for next week and I’ll tell her one of them’s yours. Des’ll confirm that to her for us. He’ll also confirm Colin Bertrand is your business moniker and that whoever we choose is your real name. He owes us that much. That way we get to keep the painting and the fifty.’
‘That way I get to keep the painting and you the fifty, Son.’
‘Semantics, Dad. You knew what I meant.’
‘When do you pick up the rest of the down-payment?’
‘Later today. I’ll tell her I’ve made my arrangements and that she should leave for a weekend somewhere else.’
‘Okay. Let’s think about this again once we have the cash in hand.’
‘You mean once I have the cash in hand.’
He grinned. ‘There’s a couple of hitches in that plan of yours.’
‘What’s that?’
‘How would you know my real name isn’t Bertrand and what my supposed real name is?’
‘I’m in the business, Dad. I know of you. While I’m supposedly offing you, I’ll extract that detail.’
‘Alright. What if she goes to the funeral, chats with folks and finds out whoever’s being buried, the man with my supposed real name, died in a car crash or from cancer or some such.’
‘I’ll research it, Dad. There has ta be a lot of deaths in the Melbourne area in a week.’
He wasn’t happy. ‘Umm. Best to see if she’s inclined to hit the sheets with you again. If she is, kill her there and then. If not, we’ll have to do that thinking I mentioned before.’
***
When I met Jacqueline in a shaded area of the Botanical Gardens, she had two flunkies in tow and I wondered if Des had provided them. ‘Why’re they with you?’ I asked.
‘Because I don’t like walking around with so much cash on me and to show you I have friends who’ll care if you decide to cheat me in some way. It’s happened before, believe me.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but I have to tell you they’re not up to it.’ Were they a glimpse of my future? Another reminder I needed to make plans to get out of the business? Time to set a financial goal and, once achieved, find a woman who’d be happy existing with a cargo broker, once she’d signed a prenup.
She gave the minders a look, as if to check on my observation, before we moved away from them to conclude our business. ‘Here’s the rest of the down payment,’ she said as she handed me a thick manila envelope.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I was hoping you’d be alone so we could have a rerun of last night. Think you can lose them?’
‘No. Last night was fun but it won’t happen again, or at least until I have my painting back. When do you expect that to happen?’
‘Tomorrow, the day after. It depends on circumstances.’
She nodded, as if she understood what the circumstances might be. ‘Fair enough. I’m leaving for Sydney this afternoon. I’ll expect a call pm Monday?’
‘Monday’s good. You sure we can’t have some afternoon delight before you leave?’
Her smile was cold, ‘Quite sure, Jack. Have a nice weekend.’
***
I phoned my father. ‘Have you been out of the house since yesterday afternoon, Dad?’
‘Not so anyone would notice. Why?’
‘I’ve got a man in a car outside mine. You wanna check to see if you’re being watched as well?’
‘Hang on while I take a look.’ I could sense him moving around his house. ‘No, everything looks normal to me. I had a courier guy here not long ago and there was no-one else in the court then. You think the lovely Jacqueline is checking up on you?’
‘I thought so at first, but what’s the point? If she’s got people to watch me, why bother hiring me in the first place?’
‘Perhaps she knows exactly who you are and is hoping you’ll lead her to me. Let me talk with Snyder again.’
I poured myself a scotch and waited for him to call back.
It took five minutes. ‘Spoke to Snyder and he swears he didn’t supply any gorillas to the lovely Jacqueline, which means she has others on the case. One thing he did say was an acquaintance of his, one of those tech nerds said she introduced herself as a friend of his, friend of Des, that is, and hired him to use your phone number to trace your address et cetera.’
‘Bitch.’
‘Quite. I’ve told you before, get a burner phone for each contract ya get. Now, to matters at hand. Things are getting a little hairy and I suggest it’s time for you to kill me and give her the painting. Think you can lose the guy outside your place?’
‘Yeah. What then?’
‘Then we’ll meet at that warehouse you rent. No hurry. Whenever you get there is fine.’
***
The fool following me had a Hummer that couldn’t negotiate Melbourne streets like my Beemer. When I was sure he couldn’t work out my route, I headed for the warehouse in Sunshine.
***
‘That didn’t take long,’ my father said.
‘He had the wrong car for the job. I see you’ve brought the painting. What’s with the plastic sheeting and the small – what, oxygen tank?’
‘They’re for my imminent demise, Son. I also got some blood from a friend who owns an abattoir. You know him, Jonah Jones.’
‘Yeah. How’s he doing?’
‘Enough of the chit chat. You know what we’re about, you’ve seen enough corpses. Let’s suppose you shoot me from behind and then in the head for the clincher. I’ve already shot a hole into the back of my shirt so put a few drops of blood on my back before I put the thing on. I’ll get face-down on the floor and then you can paint a shot in the forehead. Use this piece of black plastic I cut out of a sheet at the shop. It’s the right size for the calibre gun you’re supposedly using. You can put more blood on the ground at the back of my head where the exit wound would be. Take several pictures. Make sure you get plenty of identity shots. I’ll put this tube in my mouth so I can breathe the oxygen and you can wrap me in the plastic, making sure the cylinder and tube aren’t visible. When you think it looks believable take a few more pics. Then lift me into the boot of the Beemer – I don’t want to have to go through unwrapping and rewrapping myself. Besides, it shouldn’t be a problem for a strapping lad like you. Mind my head when you’re putting me in there. Then more pics, you can’t take too many, Son. We want some good shots to convince the lady Jacqueline I’m no longer around.’
***
After editing the photos, deleting those not required and deleting all reference to my father on my mobile, we cleaned up. I put the painting in the boot of my car. When the place looked like we’d never been there, we drove to an industrial site about ten kms away and put the container of blood, the cylinder, tubing and plastic sheeting into a dumpster. I took my father back to his car and we said our goodbyes before he drove to the airport to catch a flight to New Zealand.
***
Jacqueline took a long time studying the photos but in the end she said she was convinced. She was ecstatic to get the painting back. I spent the night with her (I thought about strangling her, but I figured her cash was probably in a safe of which I didn’t know the combination). She handed me the second twenty-five thousand over breakfast.
***
I had a heart-to-heart with Des Snyder who said he was getting irked by all the calls from my father and me. Turned out he knew a little more than he claimed. He did convince me he hadn’t tried to screw us and even went so far as to tell me that Jacqueline, not wanting to embarrass herself with Des, asked her pool cleaner if he knew of someone who could provide a little protection for cash. He and his brother were the muppets I saw in the gardens, and he apparently rented a Hummer with Jacqueline’s money so he could follow me. He got busy on his phone, posting selfies of himself and the large car while he waited for me to leave the house. The word had got back to Des within fifteen minutes. I sent the old man a message telling him so.
***
Four months later the brakes on Jacqueline’s car failed and she died in a fiery crash.
***
I took Melanie, a squeeze I’d been with for a while, to New Zealand to meet my father. She was growing on me and seemed happy with me being a cargo broker. My father was with a lovely woman, Josefina, and looked healthy and happy when he picked us up at the airport. On the drive to his place, he asked how his business was faring.
‘Is that woman looking after it properly?’
‘I visit every week, Dad, and she seems to be doing a great job. You obviously like the financial statements I send you or you would have had me fire her.’
‘Yes, well…’
***
On the wall of his penthouse apartment in the building he owned was the painting by Stubbs. I waited until the two women went on a tour of the place before I asked, ‘How the hell did that get there? You haven’t had time to buy it from the estate.’
He smiled. ‘This is the original, Son. I knew I’d have to surrender it sooner or later, so I had a copy made. It took almost a year to find an expert art forger and have her make the replica and then allow the thing to age a bit. Strange woman thought Stubbs was looking over her shoulder while she did the job.’ He shook his head as if in wonder. ‘As you now know, Jacqueline knew I had her old man’s painting and wanted it back. I managed to stall her a few times while the forgery aged but she just became too exasperating in the end. It was, of course, the forgery you gave her. I didn’t like giving up the original frame, but I reckoned it would be the convincer. The replacement cost me over ten thousand, but it was money well spent, don’t you think?’ I smiled and nodded. ‘I’ll be returning to Melbourne now, thanks to you,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine seeing the painting in the National Gallery next to a note that it was on loan from your old man?’ He smiled wistfully. ‘I know quite a few who’d be impressed by that.’ He clapped his hands together loudly, as if to wake himself from his reverie. ‘Trouble is there’d be too many awkward questions. Now I stress about having something so valuable hanging on my wall. It’s not as if this country doesn’t have earthquakes. It’s a hard life. If the stress gets to be too much, I’ll hand the painting over to you, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.’
No need to Dad.
[Image Credit : Photo by Johan Rydberg on Unsplash]
Peter Lingard, born a Briton, sold ice cream on railway stations, worked as a bank clerk, delivered milk, laboured in a large dairy and served in the Royal Marines. He has also been a barman, an accountant and a farm worker. He lived in the US for a while and owned a freight forwarding business in New York. He came to Australia because the sun often shines here and Australians are a positive bunch who speak English. Peter is a member of the Phoenix House Writers. He has many short stories and poems published, as well as aired on the radio. Professional actors have performed his poetry and he has featured on several literary chat shows to discuss his work. He used to read his stories and poems monthly on 3WBC.
