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over everything before he s ready they ll have to. No. Please leave Patrick out of it until he s
recovered.
Hank had appeared at the door. If MacFife s got the money he appears to have, he s sure to have
a snoop in the police force who ll inform him of Patrick s whereabouts if we tell them.
We agree, Jon said brightly. So relax and leave everything to us.
I haven t had a chance to find out about that woman; Culworth, Hank apologised.
That s OK, Jon s met her before. A brothel madam, apparently.
I won t ask how you met her.
I wouldn t tell you.
It s a wise man who keeps his own counsel.
Indeed. Can we raid your wardrobe for a disguise?
What s mine is yours.
And mine. It was a relief to see Celia smile.
Can we swap the rental car for your ute, and take any gear from your shed we might need?
Of course. And pop this in your expense account. Hank handed me a cheque for two thousand
dollars. The look in his eyes brooked no refusal, so I slipped it into my wallet.
After breakfast we loaded cars and ute, locked up, bid farewell, and by eight o'clock the place was
empty.
Chapter Seventeen
Mad was waiting on the intersection three blocks from the house. John handed over the keys,
shook hands in a businesslike manner and joined me in the ute. We drove down to the coast through
a landscape of crystalline purity; the sky a cloudless blue, a sweet crispness on the air and views of
such heart-stopping perfection that one feared an incautious sneeze might shatter the scene into
billions of brilliant shards.
Jon sneezed the scene remained the same.
Caught a cold?
Sun in my eyes.
Takes a bit of getting used to - all this light after weeks of wet.
I think I ll manage. Where re we going?
Spying.
And?
Shopping, then to the gallery and take it from there?
Good one.
We deposited Hank s cheque in Jon s almost empty account. That way we both had access to
funds on our own cards. A shopping centre about half a kilometre north west of the gallery provided
a couple of mobile phones, food and sundries. We left the ute in the shoppers car park and, in
Hank s old clothes, wandered down to the beach and along the eroded shoreline. Towels under our
shirts suggested beer-guts; fishing rods provided cover. John carried lunch and a few cans in his
rucksack; I had other things in mine. Casting our lines occasionally and fruitlessly, we ended up at
the rocks below the gallery.
A cap with side flaps hid Jon s hairless head and earrings; wisps of wig escaping from an old,
wide-brimmed straw sun hat distracted from my profile. We lounged against the rocks at the top of
the cliff with a view of the rear and one side of the gallery. It was a day made for lazing. Jon
unpacked the sandwiches.
What ll we do when this is all over?
The same question had been revolving in my own head. I knew what I wanted, but it s difficult to
know how to reply to that sort of question. If you re too enthusiastic the other person can feel
pushed. If you re noncommittal he ll think you re not keen. His expression gave nothing away. To
hell with it, I thought. A relationship in which you re always worrying if you ve said the right thing
can never work. When this is all settled, I said firmly, we ll live happily together for the next
couple of centuries; fighting, loving, arguing, agreeing, disagreeing, laughing, crying, and&
Catching anything?
I nearly shat myself. Na, mate. Bloody good excuse to get away from the missus, but. I had the
words ready, but wasn t ready for Glaze to be standing beneath me. He d approached the same way
we had, along the low-tide sand. What the hell had he heard? Had I been talking too loud as usual?
Jon hunched over his line concentrating on a knot. I screwed up my face to peer down at the enemy.
Y on holiday, mate? I asked, querulously nasal.
No such luck. I work over there. He hauled his lean frame easily up the rocks and indicated the
gallery.
Pretty bloody posh place, whined Jon. Bet it s worth a few bob, right on the sea and everythink.
My place got washed out. Have to live with the fuckin in-laws. Jeeze, what fuckin wankers.
They re on my bloody back day in and day out. D ya live there then?
Glaze pulled a face and turned towards the gallery as if in search of classier company. I stay there
when it s busy. My place in the hills was unaffected by the flooding.
House in the hills, eh? Costs a packet to buy up there, I reckon. Especially now. You ve gotta be
worth a bit.
A bit.
Nice place?
Not as remarkable as this.
What s it like waking up right next to the sea? You must have an important job. Are you an
artist?
Glaze s air of distracted disdain settled my nerves. We mightn t be worth looking at but he
couldn t resist showing off.
I m an artist - of sorts, he said airily. Not with paint and suchlike more& body art, you might
say, for a select clientele.
I wanted to smear his self-satisfied smirk across the rocks.
Must be great to work here and have a place in the hills. Fuck, I wish I was rich. Jon vented his
frustration on the increasingly knotted line. Bet you drive a beaut car.
Mercedes.
I bloody knew it. A fuckin Merc! And I have to walk because even the fuckin busses aren t
running properly.
Glaze was torn between going, and gloating.
Get yourself a job, man. There s work out there for those who really want it.
Says Richie Rich. You don t know the half of it, mate. You give a show for a bunch of rich
wankers and bingo - money in the bank. No one wants an honest day s work from an honest bloke.
I work bloody hard for my money! I ll be working my butt off most of tonight, while you re
home screwing your missus.
Here? You re giving a show here? Can I come?
Not here, and not unless you ve a spare thousand bucks to chuck around. So don t try and tell me
about hard work. You re bone idle, the pair of you. His mobile phone interrupted what looked like
developing into a reason for us to thump him. He turned his back and mumbled, but there was no
disguising the reaction. His body stiffened, he grunted twice, shoved the phone into his pocket and
took off.
Reckon they ve heard the good news, then?
I reckon.
My Mercedes burned off up the road towards the hills.
For the next couple of hours a constant stream of sightseers drove past the gallery, about a dozen
stopped, one came out clasping a purchase. Halfway through the afternoon, Brian pulled up in the
Volvo, went inside and re-appeared fifteen minutes later with Mad s remaining drawings. Two
overweight blokes in business suits pulled up at three thirty in the latest model four-wheel drive, but
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