The Big Smoke. Jason Nahrung
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died back at Jasmine Turner's; explaining why he wasn't dead would have got them in hot water. Having finally extracted the information he'd needed — Bhaggy had held out for the best part of a month, the tight-lipped bastard — Reece had simply been fulfilling everyone's expectations. And Felicity had admitted it'd been the only course of action. If they were to get back into favour with the firm, they had to produce something very valuable indeed.
Now, only days after Bhagwan's demise, he'd got the break he needed.
'You saw the picture Jen lifted from the shop's camera last night. Matheson's here, asking about the Needle. It can't be coincidence.'
'We should've brought back-up,' Felicity said. The grease monkey's tough. More than that: he's lucky.'
'We can't trust anyone, Flick. Finding the leak would've been a good start; giving them Matheson, and maybe Danica, that's a game changer.'
'Reece,' she said, sounding weary with the repetition, 'don't call me that. And what makes you so sure Matheson even knows where Dee is?'
'If he doesn't, he can find out. He was with her at the gorge.'
The gorge, where the kid had got the better of him, left him for dead, damn near killed Mira too. Long-healed wounds throbbed with the memory.
'He'd better show,' Felicity said. 'I had to pull favours to get off shift tonight.'
'Voi—fucking—la.'
Kevin Matheson looked little different to the last time Reece had seen him. Jeans and a T-shirt, clearly nervous, not knowing where to look. The turn of the tables wasn't lost on Reece; he'd have been lying if he said he wasn't enjoying having the upper hand for once.
He raised the camera and fired off a couple of shots. Maybe it should've been a rifle. Drop the kid right there on the street, publicity be damned.
Felicity hurried to the window and pried open the blinds.
He'd seen her like this before, out west, the adrenaline colouring her face, lighting her eyes, making her chest pump. A Hunter, like him, hot on the trail.
His own heart was beating faster, his mouth dry. That old familiar buzz.
He fingered the Staker on his belt. His hand shook. This was a young person's game and he was old.
'When do we take him?' she asked.
'Wait for him to go inside. Then we make our move.'
'Will they protect him?'
'Lethal force is authorised. But we need him, Flick.'
She gave a grim smile. After a month in the doghouse, they were both ready to break some heads.
Movement in the tattoo parlour window: a sheet of paper being tacked to the glass. A picture of something snake-like.
'And there's the signal,' Reece said. 'Looks like we might have company. The Needle perhaps.'
Suddenly, back-up sounded like a good idea. With surprise on their side, the two of them could take Matheson. But a second vampire? That could get awkward.
Felicity grabbed his arm.
'What?'
'There.'
'One of the Needle's people?' He snapped the new arrival's photo.
'I think so, yes. I've seen her hanging around at the soup van.'
'She must be the contact. Red-eye?'
'Just a wannabe, I think. Fairly sure she's not on the roster.'
'That's a relief.'
'Take her as well?'
'Sure, but Matheson's the bigger prize. The firm can sort out the Needle.' Reece drew his pistol. 'Let's get this party started.'
'Wait,' Felicity pointed. 'There — crossing the street. That's Johnny Slick, isn't it?'
'Fuck. What's that streeter doing on this side of the river? This isn't Viscounts territory.'
'Getting a tattoo?'
'This early? Nah, we've been sideswiped.' He ran his hand through his hair, considering options. 'I don't know what Slick's doing here, but we can't take the risk. We have to have Matheson alive. Call back-up. Let's move in.'
'The rest of Slick's gang won't be far behind.'
'Tell back-up to hurry.'
Reece took a last picture of the Viscounts' leader entering the parlour, then gestured that it was time to leave.
Felicity looked at him as she phoned, her eyes glossed red in the uncertain light. 'This feels like déjà vu, Reece. Like we're about to be fucked over again. Because of that grease monkey.'
'Imagine how the kid must feel, walking into not just one trap, but at least two.'
That was when he heard the shot.
SIX
Kevin unbuttoned his overcoat, bought from an op shop to replace the hoodie that didn't hang low enough to cover his weaponry. He felt ridiculous, as light as the material was; the heat of day still simmered on the footpath. He'd seen plenty of white collars in suit jackets, a few swampies in trench coats, but he couldn't shrug off the feeling he was sticking out like a sore thumb in his long coat on a summer's evening.
He paused, checking himself in the glass of a Chinese travel agency's window, finding his dim reflection amid the posters for holidays and phone cards. Where would he like to go? Who would he like to call? He checked the heavy belt at his waist: the long tube of the Staker, the holster with the automatic, the pouches of extra mags — all stolen from Hunter.
Who the fuck was he; the wild colonial boy?
The tattoo shop was two doors away. He studied the street, the sky, the buildings. Something niggled at him. Some sense of familiarity. A prickling of the nape, an itch between the shoulder blades.
Traffic on the main street made a constant growl, interspersed by the roars of accelerating trucks and bikes and occasional honking horns. A few people strolled the footpaths, but none paid him any attention.
Kevin approached the tattoo shop, one hand on the pistol. A buzzer sounded as he opened the door. As it closed, he heard the drone of a tattoo gun at work.
A trendy couple flicked through designs where the young bucks had sat last night.
Jen, the assistant, stood behind the counter, fingers flicking nervously at a tattoo magazine, chewing gum like a cow in a hurry.
'Is he here?' he asked.
Jen shook her head and told him to take a seat. He stayed standing as she came out from behind the counter and stuck a piece of paper — a dragon, maybe — to the front window.
'Won't be long,' she said, and went out the back.
He heard Jen talk to someone; a name, Flash, carrying clear enough — and then she returned to the counter, teasing her hair, inspecting her nails, chewing ruthlessly. Ignoring him completely.
A shadow hunched in a hoodie appeared at the window, peering in.
Kevin's grip tightened on the pistol.
The door buzzed open. The hoodie entered, revealed to be a hooded army jacket with bulging pockets. A suspicious gaze stared out from under the peak; she checked him out, made eye contact with Jen and checked him out again before walking to within mumbling distance.
'You the bumpkin lookin' for the Needle, are ya?' The voice was gravelled, but it was definitely a girl under that shapeless outfit of lumpy cloth and baggy pants thrust into lace-up purple-red boots.
'Maybe. Who are you?'
'Greaser. We need to go. Out the back.'
Jen made a small O with her lips as the door opened.
The buzzer sounded one long note. A