Running Scared, page 18
“You gonna light that thing in here?” Finn asked, incredulous. Emma would have a fit if Gary smoked in the house.
“Nope. Trying to give up. Just can’t seem to get out of the habit of flicking them out of the pack.” He absently lifted the cigarette and placed it between his lips. “Anyway, moving on. I’ve given this a lot of thought. The thing that keeps going through my mind is why would a person like Larkin continuously go to the same place every weekend?” Gary looked around the room as he took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth once more.
“For God’s sake Gary, go outside and light that damned cigarette.” Pete Carson, for one, was getting edgy just watching Gary moving the thing from one place to the other. Gary watched amused as Pete fingered his cigarettes.
“Not yet.” He continued to look around the room. “Come on. Anyone?” He paused briefly. “No one has a clue? Come on Detectives, you’re all experienced at this stuff. He was looking for somewhere to hide the money.”
Gary looked around the room once more, placed the cigarette back between his lips, and picked up his lighter from the desk. Grinning, he headed outside to finally light his well-earned cigarette.
*
It was two in the morning, and the heavens had opened up. David, Jake, and Gary were saturated despite the wet weather gear they were wearing.
“Why does it always have to rain when we’re doing something like this?” As he spoke, David’s breath froze in the air, turning to a visible wisp in front of him. He reached into his pocket and dried his face with a clean handkerchief.
“It’s a given,” Jake retorted.
“Just keep digging, fellas. The quicker we work, the quicker we’ll be out of here.” It hadn’t been easy, but Gary had eventually received permission to dig underneath the Adventure Playground at Moorabbin Airport.
He had a fair idea where the money would be—right underneath the slide. So that’s where they’d started digging.
It had been a major feat just to keep Security away, and as they pushed their shovels into the saturated soil, Jake said a silent prayer for the rain. Without it, their jobs would have been so much harder.
“I’ve hit something, Boss.” Jake lifted his face skyward. “Thank you, Lord,” he said under his breath, hoping this would get them home and out of the rain soon.
They continued to dig until a small blue box was revealed. Gary pulled it out, and brushed the remaining dirt away. It looked like a child’s lunch box. There was even a Thomas the Tank Engine sticker on the outside.
Gary raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing,” he told the others. It was pretty obvious they were not going to find two million dollars in this little box.
The rain and the cold made opening the box difficult, and Gary’s fingers just slid along the clip, until frustrated, he gave up.
The men walked to a nearby barbecue shelter and dried themselves with some towels that Jake had the foresight to take along. Once dried, they tried to warm up a little by rubbing their hands together briskly above the barbecue they had lit, to benefit from what little heat it gave out on this cold, wet night.
Jake sprinted to the car, pulling out a thermos and some plastic cups. “Coffee anyone?”
“Jake, you’re a lifesaver. You can come on these gigs anytime you like,” Gary told him, holding out an empty cup.
“I second that,” David added.
Finally, warmed as much as they could be in the cold and damp of the night, Gary tried once more to open the little blue lunch box.
“Thank God for that,” he said, as the clip surrendered beneath his thick fingers.
“What is it, Boss?” David wanted to know, when all they found inside was a ticket.
They all stood and stared. It appeared to be some sort of check ticket—the sort of thing you’d get from a cloakroom.
“It’s torn, boss,” Jake volunteered.
“Naturally,” Gary said sarcastically. “Larkin sure knew how to cover his tracks. And we thought the hard part was over.”
As he threw the ticket back in the box, Gary noticed some numbers hand-written on the back. “SS—2451**987622. What the hell?” He looked from Jake to David. “Any ideas?” he asked, scratching his head.
“Not me,” Jake offered.
“Me neither,” David added, shrugging his shoulders.
They continued to dig in silence as lightning lit up the sky around them.
“Then again—can I see that ticket again, Gazz? It just maybe...” David reached out and took the ticket, looking it over. He suddenly brought the paper closer to his eyes.
“Maybe what?” Gary wanted to know, leaning in to see, and noticing tiny lettering in the lower left corner. “AC,” it read, and Gary snatched the ticket back, trying to get a better look.
“Well,” David pulled out his handkerchief and dried his face again. “Where would you hide two million bucks?”
“A locker?” Jake volunteered.
“A bank security box?” Gary added.
“Close, but not quite. Try Self Storage—S S!”
“Self Storage—well I’ll be damned.” Gary looked the ticket over once more. “But this is a cloakroom ticket—I don’t understand...” He scratched his head again, clearly puzzled.
“Trying to throw us, and everyone, off the track.”
“He sure as hell did that.” Gary started walking back toward the clumps of dirt, his coffee cup now drained of its warm contents.
“This guy reminds me of the Joker in the Batman stories.” When all he received for his troubles were blank stares, David added, “You know—cryptic clues. We gonna keep digging or what?”
Jake elbowed David hard at his question. He wanted to get home to his blazing fire and nice warm comfortable bed. And somewhere between the sheets and the thick, fluffy blanket, was a nice warm, soft, feminine body waiting for him.
“Yep, keep digging. We’re not going to get a second chance at this. We might just find another piece to the puzzle.”
Jake positively glared at David, but he knew Gary was right. There were no second chances at this game.
*
It had taken more than a week of hard work, and lots of shoe leather, but they’d eventually located the self-storage unit where the money was located.
A C—Aladdin’s Cave—how ingenious. David was right. Larkin had been throwing out cryptic clues. What did you find in Aladdin’s Cave in the children’s storybook? Jewels and money, of course!
Gary sat in his thinking chair in the study, scanning through the advertising section of the Melbourne Herald-Sun.
“Hey Bro, what are you doing?” Finn strolled in nonchalantly and sat himself down in the computer chair.
Gary peered at him over the top of the papers. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Reading the paper?”
“So why did you ask?” Gary just wanted to be left in peace. He was tired after the activity of the last week or so, and just wanted it to be all over and done with. The calm before the storm, he reflected.
Peggy tapped lightly on the open door, then entered with a tray holding some empty mugs, a pot of coffee and a plate of biscuits.
Just what he needed—coffee. Bless you Peggy!
He felt like a bear with a sore head today, and maybe coffee would settle him down.
Finn shrugged his shoulders, then poured a coffee for Gary and himself.
Finn was used to his moods by now, and if Gary knew Finn, he would leave well enough alone.
“Bingo!” Gary reached out and took the steaming liquid from Finn, and taking a sip, sat back in his chair, pointing out the item he’d been searching for.
It was a small advertisement, surrounded by a bold border, it stood out amongst the line ads.
Which was exactly what Gary had been aiming for.
FOUND: LARKIN FAMILY TREASURE
Rightful heir may respond with suitable proof of identity.
For further information go to:
www.familytreasure.com.au
Gary took another sip of his coffee and grabbed a cream biscuit from the plate. Taking a bite he said, “Now all we have to do is sit and wait.”
“What have you told Emma?” Finn had that suspicious look on his face.
Gary looked up over the newspaper frowning, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he spoke. “Nothing.”
“You’re always looking for trouble.”
“I don’t have to look for trouble, Finn, it just seems to gravitate to me lately.” Gary leaned forward and grinned. Finn shrugged his shoulders again.
It wasn’t long before the others strolled in and helped themselves to the refreshments.
David read the ad, then wanted to know, “How will we tell the genuine responses from the others?” He dived on a Raspberry Shortcake biscuit.
Gary leaned back in his chair, resting his coffee on his lap. “We’ll know. Trust me, we’ll know.”
*
It arrived as a scanned image in an email—sender unknown—a news clip regarding the death of Edward Larkin.
*
Emma sat on the sofa next to him, and Gary watched as she took a deep breath. “But why do you have to go? Haven’t you done enough already?”
Gary frowned. She wouldn’t like his answer, so he’d just bend the truth a bit. “This is my job—it’s what I do. Besides, I’m not involved in the actual handover. I’ll just be coordinating things.” Kind of. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, he reasoned.
“Uh huh. So, how long will you be gone?”
That was too easy, he decided, and frowned again. “You won’t be alone. I’m leaving Pete here with some uniformed guys to look out for you and the Squirt. Clay will be around too.”
“Uh huh. How long will you be gone?” she asked again.
“Dunno, maybe a few days. Maybe more. Depends on how things progress.”
Emma took another deep breath. “I don’t want you to go,” she told him, her voice a little shaky.
Gary’s lips curled in a sardonic smile as he slid closer to her, then draped his arm across her shoulders.
“That, my darling,” he said, as he gently kissed her forehead, “is impossible.”
*
Every movement they made echoed throughout the old building.
Gary stood on the ground level, at the base of the stairs. This is not going to be easy. He looked up—the steps were steep—no, this certainly is not going to be easy. He climbed the steps gradually, slowly, taking short, deep breaths. He had a feeling of foreboding, and he shook himself, trying to make it go away.
Focus, he told himself, just bloody focus. But despite himself, his fear of heights began to weigh on his mind.
The narrow platform above him was open—this was their last ditch chance to save his precious Emma.
They’d spent the best of the last two days getting to know this old place inside and out, preparing for the task ahead of them. The team knew every nook and cranny, every hiding place. They’d even learned some of the gaol’s history.
Who would suspect they would end up at the Old Melbourne Gaol? Ironic, he decided, that the perpetrator would choose this place to collect his prize.
Okay, it was fairly open, and public. But safe? Probably—from a criminals point of view.
When they’d first arrived, Gary found the surroundings cold, but not in an atmospheric way. The building seemed to be filled with death and suffering. Perhaps the ghosts of hanged prisoners were spending eternity here?
The cells were tiny and damp—nothing but a wooden frame for a bed, with a few hessian bags for mattresses. In some cases, they had nothing but a mattress. How the inmates had survived their time here, Gary couldn’t begin to imagine. Most of them hadn’t, he suddenly realized, as a shiver ran over him.
The smell of damp filled his nostrils as he walked along the iron platform on the top level, his heavy footsteps ringing loudly for all to hear.
Looking further ahead, Gary was confronted by gallows, the place where Ned Kelly was hanged. Another shiver ran through him.
Sometime today, he felt sure, the parcel would be collected.
David stood on the other side of the platform, and Gary could see Jake standing outside what was once James Seery’s cell. The perpetrator had chosen a strange place to collect the parcel—behind the speakers in a video room—out of sight to the average visitor. Of course, the room has to be on the top level. Bugger!
Finn was on the lower level, blocking any escape their target might envisage. Their guard’s uniforms were a perfect cover-up, although Gary’s had to be made to size because of his height.
The greatest difficulty they would encounter would be to pick the perp out of the crowd. People flocked to this historical building day after day, particularly overseas visitors.
Gary looked down at Finn and nodded his acknowledgement. He clutched at the side rail as dizziness threatened to overtake him, but steadied himself and waved David away when he looked poised to leave his post.
He would be all right, he told himself. He just had to be, for Emma’s sake. And the Squirt’s.
It was going to be a long day...
*
The sun shone, and a light breeze blew through the air. A beautiful day for a walk, but soon he would enter that gloomy old building, the one that always gave him the creeps—the Old Melbourne Gaol.
As he walked, Vinnie recalled that fateful day two years earlier.
It had been raining, pouring in fact, and trying to reach his destination as quickly as possible Vinnie had cut through the city square. He’d taken a deep breath as he’d entered the spacious office. A shiver had gone through him, he remembered, as though someone had walked over his grave. It had always been a place where they’d thrashed out ideas and problems, taken orders and instructions from the hierarchy, but mostly, a place of comfort. At least it was, until that evening.
Vinnie could feel the bile slide into his throat just thinking about it.
Ed had been on the phone and had motioned for him to sit and wait, but instead Vinnie had paced the room as he dried the rain from his lenses with a clean white handkerchief his mother had monogrammed for him.
His nerves had begun to get the better of him and, spectacles dry, he stood rubbing his hands together briskly, trying to warm them.
Finally he had stood at the tenth floor window looking down over the streets of Melbourne, watching the cars below, the near accidents in the wet, freezing weather. He’d thought about the citizens going about their business, scurrying for cover on their way home from work to their families, and their simple, uncomplicated lives.
He’d thought about how his actions were going to change the lives of one small family. And how his life would be changed irrevocably if he didn’t do what had to be done.
“Don’t you ever go home?” Vinnie had asked, as Ed joined him at the window.
Ed had smiled at him, and then joined Vinnie watching the movement of the tiny figures below.
“Emma knows I have to work long hours,” he’d said. “Besides, weekends are reserved for my family.” He’d grinned, and Vinnie knew instinctively Ed had been thinking about Emma and their two-year-old daughter Sally. He would never understand how Emma hadn’t realized what Ed was involved in.
Ed had startled him when he reached over and turned Vinnie’s wet collar down. For a moment, Vinnie thought the game was up, but then Ed walked casually away, to the sideboard littered with bottles of spirits.
He’d turned to Vinnie holding a small glass in the air. “Something to warm you on this freezing night. Name your poison—Scotch, Vodka?”
“Vodka.” Vinnie had known he would need a stiff drink—afterwards as well as before. His heart had been racing, but he’d managed to keep his composure.
Ed turned his back on his long-time friend and poured a shot of pure Vodka.
Vinnie had taken the glass, prayed Ed wouldn’t notice his shaking hand, and downed the contents in one gulp. Chuckling at Vinnie’s impatience, Ed turned again to pour a drink for himself.
Vinnie decided the time was right, and reached inside his damp coat. He’d pulled out a large cook’s knife and grabbed Ed’s forehead with his right hand and as he forced his head backwards, made a quick, clean cut across Ed’s throat.
Ed had tried to fight him, and clutched at Vinnie’s arms trying to wrench them away, to no avail. He’d then turned his attention on the knife, which only resulted in deep cuts to his hands.
Standing over him, Vinnie had watched Ed’s struggle for life as he lay on the floor.
No, he’d never forget that day two years ago.
Chapter 13
Gary stood rigid on the platform.
It wasn’t often his fear of heights presented a problem, but this was certainly one such occasion. He had to be how high up? It didn’t bear thinking about.
You’ve got a job to do, Bedford, he told himself, forcing his gaze skyward. Oh boy, that’s just as bad, he thought, as dizziness again threatened him.
“Mister. Hey, Mister!” A group of school children appeared out of nowhere. Or so it seemed.
Gary looked down at the young boy, his eyes glistening with excitement.
“Is that where Ned Kelly was hung?” The boy stood in front of Gary, his arm outstretched above his head, tongue lolling and neck to one side.
The group of children, all around the same age, couldn’t suppress their giggling.
“Hanged, son. Hanged,” Gary answered, amused by the antics of the boy. “And yes, that’s the place.” He waited a second before adding, “Follow me, I’ll give you a demo.” It took all his effort not to smile.
“Er, uh, I’ve gotta go. My teacher’s calling me.” Gary grinned as the prankster disappeared into a nearby cell.
It was busy at the Gaol. Gary had thought it would be quiet, but he hadn’t counted on school groups. Nor did he think of bus tours encumbered with tourists. This certainly complicated things.
