Easy Money

1   

How it should have happened was that they’d grab the guy in the farmhouse, slap him once or twice if they had to, pick up the money and that was it. A couple of grand for a few hours work. They should have been out of there by now and on the way back to Manly, arguing about McDonald’s or Pizza Hut. Instead they were stuck out of sight in the tree line that ran round the farm. Waiting. Clayton threw a pebble at the base of a tree, finally said. ‘How long do we wait?’ and Jack just shrugged, said he didn’t know and did Clayton want to have another look around?

For what?  Got to be honest Jack, I’m losing interest in this. Supposed to be this one guy who won’t give us any trouble and that’s it. We get here and there’s an old Datsun ute which I guess belongs to the little guy and two Harleys which I guess don’t. He looked at his watch. We’ve been here two hours. It’ll be dark soon so we need to get our act together and work out what we’re going to do.

Jack said, I reckon... and ducked his head as three guys burst out of the back door of the farmhouse onto the veranda. A little guy had his arm full of cans and fell down the stairs, spilling them everywhere. Two of them stayed on the veranda shouting at the guy with the cans who headed towards a small pump house that took water from a dam to the house. He scrambled up a pile of firewood that lay against one wall, fell over again, finally secured himself on the top of the stack and carefully placed the cans in a line on top. A few more shouts and laughter and the small guy ran back to the house.

Two big guys, running to fat but still pushing a hundred kilos. Black Tee shirts over blue work pants, drinking out of cans. One of them disappeared inside and came back with a rifle and started firing at the cans until it was empty. Jack and Clayton looked at each other.

Clayton said, SLR?, which it was. Browning Self Loading Rifle, standard weapon for the Army years back. Jack and Clayton knew the sound and watched as the bigger of the two guys slapped in another magazine and gave the pump house the best part of it. Bits of fibro and timber scattered all over the place. Lots of laughter until it got too dark and the pump house was dead. The three of them then went back inside and a minute of so later Eminem started pounding out of the house.

Clayton scrambled over to where Jack was squatting down. I’m definitely losing interest now. Think we call it quits eh?

Let me give Lenny a call, see what he says.

Sure, Jack. Like Lenny’s going to tell the truth. All right, you call him and I’ll have a look around. See if we can salvage anything out of this.

Jack watched Clayton disappear into the bush and then punched some numbers into the phone.

Lenny? Jack.

Lenny started running off at the mouth. Jack? You guys back? Any problems? Got the case? When...? and kept on asking questions until Jack told him to shut up.

Anything else we should know about this job Lenny? Like important stuff you might have neglected to tell us? See the problem is that we get here and instead of just one little shit kicker all on his lonesome, he’s got two bikie mates, who, just in case you’d like to know, have SLRs. You know what an SLR is, Lenny? There was silence for a second, Lenny collecting his thoughts.

SLR? As in rifle?

As in rifle. And...?

And what?

And why would a couple bikies have an SLR, Lenny?

More silence, Jack letting it hang for a minute.

I don’t know. Well, ok, there was an outside chance he might have had a couple of mates but gees Jack, you and Clayton..., he laughed, nervous, realising he mightn’t get his money, ...thought you guys could handle it.

It started raining, only light but there were dark clouds out to the west, flashes which meant heavier stuff later.

That’s what you thought? Jack started to say Listen ... but Clayton came back, ran a finger across his throat, and Jack told Lenny he’d call him back.

What’d he say? You tell him about the Harleys?

Yeah, said there might have been an outside chance this guy might have some mates...

But forgot to tell us.

Forgot to tell us. See anything down at the house?

Yep. Four more just turned up. One’s a big guy, beard, ponytail, new  F250. Makes six all told.

Plus the little guy.

"And at least one SLR. This is not sitting right, mate. Should've been one guy with a case. If there’s no case we’re supposed to have a deep and meaningful with him. We rock up and there’s like a Harley convention complete with automatic weapons. Have we missed something here? What’s in the case Lenny? Fifty grand. What’s it for Lenny? I sold them some stuff. What stuff? Not important. You dealing, Lenny? Never. You guys know me. And why didn’t he use the Turks? They could have done the job. I mean, they’re dumb as shit, but they could’ve done this. Lenny says he can’t spare them. Can’t spare them? Jesus, they work for him. It’s an easy job. Pick up fifty grand. Give me a break."

Jack thought for a few moments, had to agree with Clayton. He punched in the numbers again.

Lenny, Jack. We’ve got problems.

What problems? Can you get the case or what?

Jack told him about the other guys, said he and Clayton were bailing out.

Oh, that’s great Jack, just great. They disappear and I don’t get the money.

Lenny. Listen to me. This is getting all too hard. Seven guys, at least one automatic weapon and there’s just the two of us.  Lenny? You hear what I said?

Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking. Lenny thinking of losing fifty grand. After a second. Listen, what was the deal? Lenny knew the deal. Tell you what, you get the case now, tonight, seven grand. That’s it end of story Jack held up his hand, flashed seven at Clayton, who made a face, shook his head.

Not worth it Lenny. Not worth getting killed for seven grand. Jack wondered how much he would get killed for.

Ok, ok, this is the deal. Ten grand for a result, you get the money here tomorrow. Guys, please, don’t screw me on this.

Jack held up his hand, opened it twice. Clayton shrugged, then nodded slowly.All right Lenny, see what we can do. Get back to you later. Then cut him off middle of a whine about how badly he needed the money.

Jack O’Regan slipped the phone back inside his parka, zipped up and stuck in hands in the pockets. Any ideas?

No, but I might when you wake me up. Give me a shout when it’s dark. Jack walked over to a tree to take a leak and by the time he came back Clayton was snoring.

2

He’d met Clayton eight years ago. Clayton Evermore. He'd never met an Evermore before. Could have been an alias for all Jack knew. Eight years later Jack still didn’t really know a lot about Clayton. Did know he’d been in the SAS for six years, spent a few years in Perth at Swanbourne. But that was it. When Jack asked him why he left he just said things became a bit 'tense' and left it at that. Jack thought 'tense'  would have been part of the job description within the Regiment but didn't pursue it.

He was younger than Jack, fit and with a face that had taken a few knocks. Getting information out of Clayton, who used words like he had a limited daily supply, was painful, worse than drawing teeth. Jack knew he wasn’t married but that there was a father somewhere and a sister up in Darwin. Like Jack he had a house in Manly. One thing Jack did know was that if he had to go through a door into a bad situation, he’d want Clayton to back him up.

Jack had been twenty five years in the army, lived by himself for the last ten and was slipping into comfortable habits and routines. One of these routines was his Saturday afternoon ferry trip to Circular Quay. Claire would have enjoyed these trips, always liked the harbour, the hustle and bustle of all the different boats going about their business. It was almost ten years since the accident and he missed her every day. Also told himself every day that he had to move on, but never did. After a coffee at the Quay he’d wander up to Dymock's and browse through the books for an hour or so. Then a walk through Hyde Park up to Central Station, before heading back along George Street towards the Rocks. If the bars down at the Rocks were too crowded he’d head up the stairs to a little corner pub where you could get a good feed and a few beers. Jack sat at a table in the corner, picking at a huge plate of lasagne and flicked through the book he’d bought earlier. After a couple of hours the place started to fill up and get a bit noisy and Jack decided to head for home.

He looked at his watch and realised that if the ferry was on time and hadn’t collided with anything, he had about twenty minutes. A nice easy stroll. Jack finished his beer, paid the bill and walked down towards the stairs towards the Quay.

Lots of people wandering round, all enjoying their Saturday. A warm soft breeze and a beautiful Sydney night. Jack got to the top of the stairs leading down to the Quay and saw a flash of movement in a lane to the right. Three guys a bit further down the lane way. Two bigger guys hassling a shorter guy who was trying to get away. The two guys were in their twenties, one about the same size as Jack, the other a bit shorter. The bigger of the two was slapping the guy they had against the fence and banging his head back and forward against the paling fence. His mate was also giving the little guy the odd slap. Both dressed in baggy jeans, baseball caps and jackets.

One of Jack’s rules for a peaceful life was not to get involved. If it wasn’t life threatening or likely to cause grief, leave it alone, walk away. But when you’re bullied as a kid, you get to hate bullies, probably one of the first things on Jack’s hate list. So feeling relaxed after a few beers and a good feed, Jack wandered down the alley, stood behind them for a few seconds, then said, Hey guys. What’s up?

The big one turned round. Tee shirt that said, ‘...the fuck you looking at?’ Hit Jack with his best look. Saw an ordinary looking guy in his fifties, grey crew-cut, about the same height, maybe a bit heavier. Decided he’d give him a slap as well.

The fuck you want pal?

Hard to walk away from that sort of question. The other one turned to face Jack while the guy who’d been copping the belting moved away to the right, using the fence for support as he held the back of his head. The tall one was all revved up, full of aggro. Maybe a few beers, a bit of speed. He moved forward, said, You want some of this, old man?

Jack upset now this guy had called him ‘old’. Even if he was.  He’d been in enough fights to know when to give it a miss or when to start kicking. Only get in a fight you can’t lose. The big guy moved up real close until he was about a foot away.

Hey guys, I’m just an old bloke who likes peace and quiet. And I reckon the young feller’s had enough. You’ve made the point. Time to call it quits, eh?

The tall guy stepped forward and pushed Jack in the chest. He let himself stumble back a couple of paces getting into the right position. The guy lifted his arms to push Jack again, leaving himself exposed. Jack stepped in and kicked him hard in the knee and again in the face as he went down. Without losing momentum, Jack kicked at his partner, missed the guy’s knee but scored a hit on his thigh. As he went down Jack also gave him one in the face. Never punch if you can kick. Saves broken knuckles. You have to get someone down so they’re vulnerable. The taller guy had pulled himself up and stood gingerly on one leg, still full of aggro. He lurched towards Jack.

It was no big deal to avoid the punch and knee him in the side of the face as he fell forward. The book he’d bought earlier had fallen into a puddle. Jack  picked it up, saw it was ruined. The big guy was on his stomach, probably wondering what had gone wrong as Jack slid the wallet out his pocket, took out what money was there and emptied the rest down a drain.

The smaller guy who been standing watching all this with his mouth open, walked towards Jack, not taking his eyes off the two men on the ground who weren’t moving.

You haven’t killed them or anything, have you?

Jack walked over, kicked them both in the shin with the toe of his boot. They swore at him and tried to crawl away to safety. Jack shook his head.

Seem ok to me. How about you?

The guy offered his hand, saw there was blood on it, took it back.

Thanks, thought I was in real trouble for a minute.

He was young, maybe mid thirties, nice open face, sandy coloured hair, didn’t belong in a lane in the Rocks. Several inches shorter than Jack, well dressed.

Well, you were, mate. Those guys just wanted to beat the crap out of someone and you were it. What were they after anyway?

The young guy nodded at the leather satchel on the ground beside the fence.

The laptop I guess. They wanted money at first. Asked for twenty bucks and I said no. It just sort of went from there.

A brave man to say no to two blokes in a dark alley, thought Jack. He nodded behind the young man and smiled.

Fence ok is it?

Better condition than my head.

Jack moved around behind him and had a quick look.

Bit of skin off but you’ll survive. Where do you live?

Manly. I was on my way home.

Yeah, well I’m on my way there too. Might be best if we get you up to emergency and see if you need any stitches.

The young man wiped his hand on his jeans and offered it again to Jack.

Thanks again. Rodney. Rodney Ashton.

Jack O’Regan. Well, Rodney Ashton, unless you want to wait around all night for another ferry I suggest we get moving.

The next morning as Jack sat in the sun just round from the Corso enjoying his Sun Herald and his second coffee a shadow moved over the page. Then a familiar voice.

Jack?

He looked up. Rodney. How goes it? How’s the head?

Beside Rodney was a man Jack guessed was in his forties. Over six foot. Solid,  a face that was good looking despite having taken a bit of punishment. Dark hair, dark eyes and a serious face, with eyes that swept over you, taking everything in. Might have been a sense of humour there if you dug really deep. Rodney laid his hand on the man’s shoulder and let it rest there.

Heaps better now.  Jack, this is Clayton.

3   

Clayton hadn’t moved in over an hour. Just lay there like he was dead. Jack stood up, did a few stretches, then kicked the bottom of Clayton’s foot. Time to make a move. The music had stopped and there was just a hint of light from inside the house.

Clayton gave a little laugh. Of course if we’re dead, five grand, ten grand makes fuck all difference, eh? Clayton ran the binoculars over the house.Can’t see much now, but it might work.  He sat back down, took out a pen torch and drew a map in the dirt.

The power box is on our front left hand side. There’s the ute, the Harleys and the F250’s parked ten, twenty foot or so from the veranda. I think there’s enough room under the house for me to get through to the front and organise something that’ll keep them occupied while we go in the back.

Jack looked him, said ...and that’s it?

You got a plan B? said Clayton. Jack shook his head.

Ok. So we wait for a while, go down, you cut the power while I organise something. Hopefully when we’ve got their attention, in through the back and get the case. Trouble is it could be anywhere. Under a bed, stuck in a cupboard. It’s iffy. Any of the guys might have it.

Maybe. But I reckon if there’s fifty grand involved, the guy in charge will be pretty close by. Whoever that is. I’d go for the big bloke but who knows. Guess we’ll have to play it by ear when we get down there.

Five minutes later they were ready to go. Halfway towards the dam the back light came on and someone came out and took a leak over the veranda.  A wide band of light shot out over the paddock but didn’t reach where they were crouched. The guy looked out into the darkness, finally zipped himself and went back inside. They reached a spot several feet to the left of the stairs and stood hunched under the house. The place was on wooden stumps, too low to stand, just high enough to move at a crouch. The music had stopped but from the back of the house they could hear the television punching out a cop chase. Clayton worked his way along the rear of the house and slowly up the back stairs, testing each step. The rain was now beating down on the iron roof, loud enough to drown out a squeaky stair. As soon as he was on the veranda he reached up and unscrewed the light bulb a couple of turns. He spent a minute or so looking in the windows on either side of the back door and then worked his way around the house, checking each window to see where everyone was.  He squatted down, face close to Jack.

Ok. Four watching TV in the front of the house. One in the shower, another in bed in the second bedroom and there’s a guy in the kitchen.

Any sign of the case?

Can’t see anything but the big guy’s definitely the man. Like he’s got top spot in front of the TV and when he laughs, they all laugh. I’d say he’s the boss so where he sleeps is probably where we find the case. There are single beds in the television room, the second and a double in the main. Now, you’re the boss, where you going to sleep?

The double. Where’s that?

Well, that’s the challenge. Our right front. Last down the hall.

So we’ve got to go right out to the front of the place and grab a case that mightn’t be there? What about weapons. See anything else?

Yeah well, that’s another thing. Just inside the back door there’s one big room. The left is a sort of dining while the kitchen’s on the right.

And?

There’s boxes of weapons, ammo and other stuff that was in the dark. There’s an SLR, maybe the one they were using before, lying on the kitchen table. I don’t remember how many he put into the shed but maybe he doesn’t either. So if things go bad we can grab that and bluff our way out. Have to play that bit by ear I guess. Anyway the Ford’s a bit away from the house but the Harleys and the ute are close, so we’ll see what happens.

The rain swept in across the paddocks, lightning every few minutes. They moved further under the house to stay dry. Jack was impatient.

Hope this doesn’t drag on too long. Just want to be out of here.

Nothing else we can do, just gotta wait until they hit the cot.

For the next hour Clayton sat at the base of one of the stumps asleep, while  Jack closed his eyes and tried to ignore the lightning. Waiting was when you worried about what you might have forgotten and what could go wrong. They might lock the back door. What if there was a catch on the screen door as well? Maybe Clayton’s little diversion wouldn’t work. All the what ifs and maybes.

––––––––

4

Jack checked his watch. Ten o’clock. The rain not as hard now but still steady. He suddenly realised that apart from the rain on the roof, there was no noise. He moved around carefully under the house towards the front room. No noise from the television. There were muffled conversations and laughter above him, the sounds of people settling down for the night. He worked his way back between the stumps to Clayton who put a finger to his lips and pointed above. There was the sound of footsteps and the back door opening. Voices.

Hey Jacko. You need to fix the light mate. Can’t find me dick. Some comment from inside and a few laughs. Two men on the back veranda. Two streams as they took a leak just above Clayton and Jack. The voice that couldn’t find its dick said, You doing the run down south? Another voice answered, Not sure. Think so. Just do as I’m told mate. Best not to ask too many questions. Then there was silence for a moment and the back door closed. Twenty minutes later Clayton did another circuit of the veranda.

Looks like all the troops are settled down for the night. The big guy is where I thought, sitting on his bed, fiddling with something.

The case?

Wasn’t his bible. Jack starting to feel a bit better. Then again the power box could be padlocked or...

Why don’t we give them time to fart and cough a bit, then you can cut the power while I do my thing, said Clayton.

Fifteen minutes later Clayton tapped Jack on the shoulder and pointed to his watch and the other end of the house. Jack nodded and made his way slowly along the back of the house, turned right and found the fuse box. Two little wooden doors on the power box and four rusted hinges that would have to squeak or make some sort of racket. Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and realised that the power box would only be inches from the inside wall of one of the bedrooms. He opened the doors slowly and jumped back as a Huntsman dropped on the back of his hand. He cut the main power and slowly slid out the fuses and threw them into the bush. The rain found a gap in his collar as he crept back towards the stairs and trickled its way down his back. Clayton was waiting near the foot of the stairs. They moved up the stairs keeping to the edge. Clayton put his mouth beside Jack’s ear.  When they move out the front, we’ll go in. You grab the rifle and I’ll get the case and handle the guy if he’s still in the room. Ok?

Jack nodded, felt his heart starting to race. Realised he had to settle down but felt the adrenaline starting to flow. Clayton gripped his shoulder. Remember Jack, home for breakfast. Relax, it’s a plan. We have an exit and the rifle if we get in the shit. It’s all good. Let's do it.

Clayton pulled the screen door gently, moved the catch on the hydraulic slider to keep it open, then turned the door handle. It stuck, maybe swollen from the rain. Finally a slight squeak as it came free. Jack tried to slow his breathing, wondering how fast a heart could beat before you died. Felt like he was way up in the red zone already. Clayton reached into a pocket pulled out a mobile. Gave Jack the thumbs up. Five fingers, four...two, then a big smile as he pressed the keypad.

A flash that spread from the front lit up the whole house, followed by a whooshing sound then an explosion. Then another explosion of bodies as near naked men ran shouting towards the front of the house. Jack saw two of them run into each other in the hallway. He tried to count who had run out the front but gave up. Adrenaline pumping too fast. Clayton raced down the hallway and disappeared into the front room while Jack grabbed the rifle off the top of the boxes. Jesus, Clayton, hurry. Several smaller explosions from the front. Jack had to squint against the intense light, saw someone racing towards him. Carrying something against his chest, Clayton shouted at him. Let’s go, let’s go! Jack was turning as he saw another body racing towards them from the front of the house, a few feet behind Clayton. Another body, that sounded very angry, filling the hallway. A beard and long hair backlit by the fire. No time to think so Jack just brought up the SLR and slammed the butt into a face. The first time the guy just stopped for a second, so he hit him again, just to be sure. Saw the guy drop to his knees. Hit him a third time, then headed out the back door as Clayton disappeared down the stairs. The glow from the fire lit up the area as far as the pump house. They’d started running straight for the tree line but realised it was too