Only If You Have To

An Easy Deal

The ocean is so impossibly wide and roiling with energy that it fills up all the space in my brain. But it's the wrong colour. It's supposed to be a vibrant blue like in Gina's picture of paradise. The water here is sickly green. Perhaps it is the darkness and the gathering storm but whole thing is tinged the colour of weeds.

That said, I will not deny myself the southern breeze. It blows fresh and clear as I imagined. Away blows the putrid Iron stench. The waves roll in and I watch until it feels as if they're washing through me.

We made it. I wheeze out a dry chuckle and the wind cradles it gently away. With it goes a boatload of stress. So much of it that I'll even allow myself the pun. The scars on my back are perfectly still, my hands relax at my sides. The ocean has lulled them gently to sleep.

Beside me Ricky is shining with sweat. Unable to sit still and running his hands constantly through his greasy hair. Almost the second one hand has settled the other starts to climb. It's as if all the tension that seeped out of me flowed into him. Poor Ricky.

Oh f**k oh f**k oh fuck

“Relax and enjoy the view mate.” I offer with sympathy. “We did it.”

I'll get to see Ricky pay his debts, perhaps make something more of himself. Perhaps he will and I won't get to see it as I'll be with my family in the last piece of paradise.

“You can’t rely on these things to go well Alan. You do know who we’re dealing with right?”

The way Ricky and Aysha's face had coloured when they talked about this woman makes me think she is the devil herself. Male, female, tough and soft, I can deal with a crime boss. But the abject fear that passes over Ricky's face seemingly at the thought of her makes me think of a twisted witch prowling through Melbourne. A pale woman always hidden in shadows as black as her hair. It may just all be a carefully cultivated reputation. But real fear requires something really terrifying at its heart.

“Listen” Ricky says, refusing point blank to relax, “We were the only ones to take this job, right? A whole desert full of runners and smugglers currently for hire, but they had to come out as far as our little town looking for someone to do it. Everyone else turned it down. We were the only ones stupid enough to take it.”

Of course Doyle sought me out. But I wonder how many others we turned to first. He had to know that every bridge between us was burned as my little girl's forehead. There was no guarantee that my skills would be what they were. However right now Ricky needs confidence. And this is my element. I'm more relaxed than I've been in years.

“This close to the seawall they can't use guns or the authorities will hear. And even if the storm gives them enough cover to shoot us, it will also give us cover to get away. So will the dunes.”

“Great” Ricky replies “so they track us down on the road to the marsh, kill us and take the money back. Are you really so naive that you can't see how badly this stinks?”

“This whole continent stinks. All we have to do is make sure they never get a clear shot. And by now we can both say we're experienced at lucky escapes.”

Ten masked figures emerge into the failing light. Nine expressionless white masks and one, the leader, wearing a black mask over ivory skin. The halt in a line some metres away. I remember this part of the dance. Every good deal starts with a stand-off. Honour among thieves is all well and good. But something else to understand is that trust has little value when given freely. You have to make a show of your trust being earned, there are rules, procedures. And though I'm weary and impatient those procedures must be followed. My hand moves for the door handle.

“Wait” Ricky says grimly. “You saw what's in the glove box, didn't you?”

I spent the best years of my life driving for the most dangerous people in what's left of the country and in all that time I never held a gun. I sometimes tucked a pair of thick socks into my belt beneath my shirt. Usually enough to make people think I was carrying, but that was as close as I got to the real thing. It was how I kept a semblance of peace with myself. I might drive a hitman to and from their target. But I never pulled the trigger myself. This line I will not cross. And Ricky gets that impression long before I can even open my mouth.

“Eyes on me Alan!” His voice jumps, unexpectedly sharp. When I put my eyes on him I find his right hand resting gentle against my shoulder. It seems unnervingly large, or perhaps my old shoulders are too small.

“I think I know precisely what you're going to say. You don't want to carry a gun. You don't want to get your hands dirty. Just make the exchange and go. Mate these things are never so simple. Just one time, take the gun. For Jane.”

For Jane. It's the only argument that would work. And our ten masked friends outside will not want to be kept waiting. It's starting to rain. I open the glovebox and grasp the gun gingerly, not wanting to look at it. I have to loosen my belt to make room for it and its presence at the small of my back is awfully distracting. The handle is cold against the scars on my back, which still doze but have started itching with the tension.

I step out of the truck and feel the lull of the storm gathering offshore. Between the rolls of thunder that pass overhead the world is unnervingly quiet. Let the stand-off begin. That part is easy enough, in fact it's always the same. Walk into the open, arms wide open to either side. Not a single threatening motion. I leave Ricky fretting in the truck and walk into the open space between two dunes where Demona and her people await.

Lances of white hot pain start running through every sense I have. Even keeping my arms non-threateningly up at my sides is taking an effort. Every step forward requires an effort because it means fighting the instincts telling me to run. And all my instincts are telling me to run.

“Selina's expecting me.” I say, and with an effort keep my voice level while I do it.

“We're expecting someone.” The lady in the black mask says. Some kind of voice modulator must be built into that mask. No human voice is so unnaturally deep and crackly. It's like she actually wants to sound like the demon people think she is. I give her my passwords with a heavy breath. Doyle told them to expect me. Now the deal should be done. Next these gangsters will 'casually' drop the money I'm owed somewhere I can see it. Then the cargo will be unloaded and we'll be out of here.

But instead the lady in the black mask starts laughing with relief. She doubles over and clutches both hands to her mask. For a moment she seems about to take it off, but then she straightens, still laughing.

“Holy s**t!” She gasps holding her sides, “It’s here! You’re here! f**k this is awesome. I was actually worried that you guys would get caught.”

Next thing I know I'm being pulled into an honest to God bear hug. Green eyes stare out at me through the eyes of her mask, radiating pure joy. Letting go of me and giving me a hard slap on the back that caused me to wince more than a little, she backed away.

“I f*****g knew you could do it!”

I stand a little dumbfounded while four duffel bags are dropped at my feet. Only then do I remember to signal Ricky, who brings the truck forward quickly. His shoulders sag with relief as he unloads the secret compartment, but he handles the boxes smoothly. Seemingly glad to have familiar work to do. Five long thin cases of God only knows what are laid out on the sand when the storm above us finally breaks.

Down comes a sudden deluge like a lake has been upended above us. I reach instinctively for my hood only to remember I'm not wearing any of that. It's still piled up in Ricky's sleeper cab. A second after the first drop lands on my skin every inch has been soaked. A second after that I start shivering. And the lady in the black mask, Demona, has materialised in front of me.

“This storm will be gone by morning but while it blows there's no point in you two starting out. Rest the night in our bunker. Please!”

Even with her voice cut up and modulated there almost seems to girlish delight in her words. Like she's begging a friend to stay the night and watch bad movies. It almost drives a smile and acceptance of her offer from me before I think. Maybe this is her exact ploy. Deliberately undercut her fearsome reputation in order to catch us off guard. I don't know what myths she's heard about me or how hard she thinks she'll have to work to get her way, but I'm going to need an actual sign of trustworthiness. And that is just what I tell her.

“Are you actually planning on using the gun you have tucked into your belt or is that just so you feel safe.”

She steps in closer, in the din of the rain her modulated voice sounds like a low whisper. Even though she's probably shouting.

“I thought the Phantom never carried a gun, didn't even know how to use one, didn't need to.”

“You also probably heard that he's a very careful man.”

“Careful, yes I heard that. So how does this sound? As long as that gun stays in plain view none of my men will take it off you. You will not be confined, you can leave whenever you like. If you wish to be left entirely alone we will leave you alone.”

She steps back and smiles. Speaking up and brightly again.

“I'd just rather not have Mr Doyle think I treated his friends unreasonably.”

A shiver runs down my back to meet a lance of pain running up the scars. I am very tired. And I don't think there's a choice. But the gun will be staying in plain view right next to my hand. I motion to Ricky to follow but don't check to see if he's coming. Just grab two bags off the sand and follow my masked hosts through the rain.

“Are we good then?”

“Are we good? Of course we're good. You've done all you were asked and more.” She leans in close as we walk, like an excited fan in the presence of a Rockstar. Or maybe it's just to be heard more easily over the storm.

“I heard there was some spectacular driving done to get here. You never lost it did you?”

No matter how hard I tried. But I don't tell her that. I keep up the stoic silence appropriate to a figure out of myth. Ricky jogs up to join us, his face aghast but his mouth shut. There's a narrow trench dug between two dunes. Storm doors are set in the side. An ingenious place to hide if you don't mind floods I suppose. The first door is opened to me, there are two beds inside. Actual beds with pillows and sheets. All the knots and soreness from so long in a truck seat ease a little.

Our host is standing by the door. While I can't see her eyes from the position of her mask I'd say she's averting them. I've had a lot of practice at walking tiredly into bed and am halfway through taking off my pants. Old or new, habits always die hard.

“This door locks from the inside.” She says matter of factly. “Though the trench may flood during the night. I'd suggest not opening it until you hear us knock.”

Then she closes it behind us and Ricky frantically spins the lock. He turns to me eyes wide with panic but I haven't the energy to listen. A little stretch, my wet clothes slap on the floor. The last thing I manage to do before shutting my eyes is lie Ricky's gun beside me, with a finger across the trigger guard. If he tries to wake me he'll get one hell of a fright, but it doesn't matter. I keep my right hand on the gun and curl up beneath the sheets, hugging my two bags of cash.

We made it. We did it. Tomorrow we're home free. Just need to survive the night. How hard can it be?