Sydney Blue

SYDNEY BLUE

B. A. Wallace

Copyright © 2012 B. A. Wallace

GPO Box 2022, Sydney NSW 2001, Australia

ISBN 978-0-9807784-1-0

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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CHAPTER 1

Show me a man who loves guns, thought Barker, and I'll show you a man with a limp dick. Something to do with the attraction of a long, hard barrel for a man who lacked one, he thought. But he wasn't about to expound on the theory in his present company. The dark-haired one on the left, dressed in black, pointed a pistol at him held sideways like a cheap punk in a bad TV movie. His finger tickled the trigger absentmindedly. The blond one on the right, dressed in white, waved a flick knife in circles in the air and giggled like a schoolgirl.

'You're in the wrong place at the wrong time aren't you, mate?' said Mr White. 'You're scared shitless, aren't you, scared shitless. Yeah.'

Barker ignored him. 'Are you boys a double act? I've got friends at Channel 10. I could get you a gig on a reality show.'

Mr Black held the pistol steady. 'Shut your gob, smart-ass,' he said in a mean voice, 'or I'll show you some real fuckin' reality.'

Barker pondered momentarily the prospect of unreal reality and what it might feel like, but Mr Black's stubby Glock, one of the older models, concentrated his attention. Both goons probably suffered from serious stability issues, and since a gun could make more of a mess than a knife he decided Mr Black warranted the greater respect. Besides, he wasn't the only one in harm's way. Three night shift staff were huddled against an office partition a few metres away. One was a young woman, whimpering quietly. He couldn't see anyone else around. Hamilton hadn't told him how many staff handled the overnight betting. Some PCs had been dragged off their desks onto the floor. One of them had a smashed screen. Several phones were ringing. Clearly he'd arrived just as the fun had begun.

'Where the fuck did you come from?' said Mr Black.

'I walked right in. The front door was open. Hamilton asked me to check things out. He got a call from security.'

'Bullshit. We switched off the alarm.'

Barker shrugged. 'He asked me to come and here I am.' These two bozos would have had trouble figuring out which buttons to press on their phones, he thought, let alone an alarm system. Someone must have told them how to disarm it. Claude?

Mr White, dumb but dangerous, took a step forward and waved the knife in Barker's face. 'Why don't you piss off mate, piss off. Yeah.'

The sudden move startled Barker and he lurched backward against a desk. Mr White, inspired to greater effort, continued his forward lunge but tripped on a power cable, falling forward onto the desk beside Barker and dropping his knife. He jumped back with a wild stare then bent and scrabbled on the floor frantically for the weapon, his bony backside presenting a tempting target. Barker considered his options, but decided against any quick moves. He glanced sideways at Mr Black, who'd assessed the situation and had the Glock trained on Barker's head.

Mr White snatched up the knife from the floor. He sneered and pointed the blade again at Barker, twisting it like a skewer, then he lunged again. Barker kicked out hard and connected where Mr White's mother had probably never kissed him. Mr White dropped the knife, doubled over slowly and clutched his knees, looking for all the world, Barker thought, as if he was about to do the cha-cha slide. He made a jerky, wheezing noise.

Barker lifted his hands in the air and stared at Mr Black, holding his gaze. 'Just defending myself,' he said.

Mr White unbent himself gradually, then stooped and retrieved his shiny weapon. His eyes narrowed with a mean, half crazy look. In the space of one and a half seconds he flipped the knife, caught the blade, raised his arm and pitched. Barker threw himself sideways as the flashing sliver of metal skimmed past his left ear and skidded harmlessly along a desk in the next row.

'Cool it, Gildie,' said Mr Black. His gun was still pointed at Barker's head.

Gildie swung around, dribble on his chin. 'I want to slit the bastard Rosie, I want to slit him. Yeah.'

'Not right now,' said Rosie calmly. 'You can have him another day. Take it easy, are you takin' it easy?'

Gildie looked on the point of crying. 'He's a spy, Rosie, he's a spy. Yeah.'

'That's right,' said Rosie as if speaking to a child. 'We'll get him another day. Go find your knife.'

Gildie vaulted like an athlete across the desk behind Barker and found the weapon. He stabbed it into the desk surface and cut a long arc into the wood, glaring at Barker as he did so. Then he slid the knife into a side pocket and vaulted back over the desk.

Rosie stared at Barker. 'Who the fuck are you, cowboy?'

'Name's Barker. You can call me Nat.'

'No one said nothin' about you.'

'No one? You mean Claude?'

Rosie's hand tightened around the gun. 'Mind your own fuckin' business. You better get lost. This has got nothin' to do with you.'

Barker nodded toward the three workers on the floor. 'Sure,' he said, as calmly as he could. 'I'll take these kids with me, you don't need them. Anyone else around?' He could almost hear the cogs moving in Rosie's brain. He was prepared to credit him with enough wit to realise that the job had gone wrong. They'd probably arrived expecting no one to be here so late, which was why they weren't wearing masks, Barker guessed. They'd probably intended to trash the place quickly and get out, but the staff and his arrival had complicated things beyond their capabilities.

'I won't tell the cops about this,' Barker said, trying to encourage the cogs to speed up. 'I'll tell Hamilton to keep it quiet. He'll sort it out with Claude.' He nodded toward the three on the floor. 'These kids will do what Hamilton tells them.'

Rosie raised the gun again menacingly but said nothing. His eyes had a glazed look. Gildie jerked his head from side to side like a nervous terrier, waiting for Rosie to tell him what to do.

'The security guys have probably sent somebody by now,' said Barker. 'When the alarm is off, it registers at their headquarters.' He had no idea whether it was true but it was enough to make Rosie start chewing his bottom lip.

Rosie lowered the gun and glanced sideways at Gildie. 'Let's go,' he said. He raised the gun again, turning it sideways with a show of movie bravado. 'You better keep your fuckin' mouth shut. I'm gonna remember you.'

Gildie took out his knife, sprung the blade and waved it, slicing lines in the air like Zorro. 'I know your name, Parker, I know who you are. Yeah.'

'It's Barker, not Parker.'

Gildie blinked. Rosie gave Barker a nasty look then moved off slowly toward the main exit. Gildie, after a moment of hesitation, hurried after him, still holding the knife. At the last desk he pushed a PC onto the floor with a defiant glare, then followed Rosie toward the elevators.

Barker turned his attention to the three staff, still squatting against the wall. The older of the two males stared back at him with a mixture of anger and resentment. Barker could understand his feelings.

'Is anyone else here?' said Barker.

The man shook his head. 'Just us three,' he said in a dull voice. 'I want to talk to the cops.'

Barker nodded. 'What's your name, mate?'

'Tony.'

'Tony, I know you're really pissed off but Hamilton doesn't want any trouble. He'll make sure this doesn't happen again.' Hamilton would have to give these three a sizeable bonus to keep their mouths shut but it wasn't Barker's responsibility to say so just now.

'Are any of you hurt?' he said.

They all shook their heads.

'I'm going to ring Hamilton in a minute and he'll contact you all later. He'll see you right for what happened and he'll tell you what to do. I think he knows who's behind this and he wants to sort it out himself. I'm sorry I got here too late.'

The young woman blew her nose loudly. 'I don't want to go outside while those freaks are there,' she said.

'They'll be gone by now,' Barker said. 'Do you have a car?'.

She nodded.

'I'll walk you down. Let's all go down together. If anyone wants money for a cab, I'll fix you. Forget the mess here. Switch off anything that needs switching off and let's go.'

They collected their belongings and filed out toward the elevators. Downstairs Barker saw them off safely then took out the iPhone.

Hamilton answered. 'Nat? What happened?'

'Three of the staff were still there, that's what happened.'

'Shit. They're supposed to knock off at midnight.'

'No one was hurt, in case you're interested.' Barker summarised the evening's events.

'Rosie and whatshisname were there?'

'You heard what I said. Why didn't you tell me? They're a pair of nasty bastards.'

'I didn't know Nat, I swear. I thought Claude would probably get someone to smash a window or two, or maybe start a fire in the foyer, something like that. I didn't know he'd send an idiot with a gun.'

'The other one had a knife. He's called Gildie.'

'I know them.'

'How do you know them?' Barker was beginning to feel angry. He'd nearly been knifed, or worse. His irritation must have been obvious.

'Rosie used to be a bookie's runner for Claude,' said Hamilton quickly, 'before my old man kicked Claude out of the business. Gildie sort of hangs around Rosie. I'm sorry Nat, I didn't expect this.'

'So you said already. I'm only doing you a favour, not laying my life on the line.'

Hamilton was silent for a few seconds. 'Well, I don't want to sound uncharitable Nat, but you're not exactly doing me a favour. You're paying off a debt.'

'I don't want to pay it with my bloody life.'

'That's understandable, Nat, completely understandable.'

'My life's worth a lot more than twenty grand.'

'It's worth a million Nat, at least. I know that but, well…'

'Well what?'

'Well, you're my friend Nat, we went to college together. But shit, mate, you're a hopeless bloody punter. I'm a bookie and you owe me. You said you'd work it off.'

Barker wanted to vent but he felt the anger dissipating. He couldn't argue with facts. Especially the fact that although he regarded himself as a reasonably intelligent man—he was a pretty good journalist after all—his betting activities had suffered a depressing deficit of winners lately. He had occasional winning days, he always remembered them, but there were too many losing days in between. It was either psychological or genetic, he thought, the cause of his exceptional ability to lurch between shrewdness and stupidity on a racetrack. He needed to think about it more deeply sometime. Maybe he needed a shrink, but he'd been thinking of that for years and he was already past forty. Maybe it was time for a reassessment of his life.

He took a deep breath. 'Talking about money, you'll need to keep those three kids happy. They wanted to call the cops.'

'I'll give them five hundred each to keep quiet. They'll do what I tell them.'

'A thousand,' said Barker.

'What?'

'A thousand each. Jesus, Hamilton, they were scared witless.'

'I'll do it Nat, I promise. Did they tell you their names?'

'One of them was called Tony.'

'I know him. I'll call him and I'll fix it. Where are you going now?'

'Home to bed. I'm stuffed.'

'Don't do that, Nat. Come and have a drink with me.'

'We had too many drinks a few hours ago, Hamilton. That's probably the reason I was nearly killed tonight. I wasn't thinking straight.'

'Don't exaggerate, Nat. You went over there of your own free will.'

'And because I owe you twenty grand.'

'Let's not talk about that. You agreed to help me out because we're friends.'

'If I keep helping you out I might be a dead friend.'

'Come on over, Nat. I've got something to tell you, something really important.'

'Can't you tell me over the phone?'

'No, it's too private.'

'Jesus, there's nobody listening in. It's just you and me.'

'How do you know that?'

Barker sighed. 'Hamilton, don't go paranoid on me.'

'I'm not paranoid, Nat, I'm worried. I don't know what to do, I can't make my mind up.'

'About what?'

'Come on over, let's talk. You can sleep in one of the spare bedrooms tonight. You're not working tomorrow anyway.'

Barker had to admit the man