Private Oz (Private 7)

“Me? On my own?”

“Most definitely. Right up your alley.”

He gulped. “Okay, boss … well … thanks … I guess!”

Chapter 31

Twenty-four Hours Ago.

GEOFF HEWES HAD told himself years ago that he should never show that he was impressed by anything, especially rich men and their big houses. Most especially when those rich men in big houses were the ones he did business with. But whenever he went to Al Loretto’s palatial home in Point Piper it was a struggle.

A real English butler led him through to a vast conservatory at the back of the house. It overlooked a fifty-yard pool surrounded by palm trees. From each end six-foot-long gold-plated dolphins spewed water, a giant marble mermaid rose up on a plinth in the center of the pool. Loretto was sitting in one of a pair of vast wicker chairs at the far end of the glass-walled chamber. He was wearing a silver colored silk robe and reading the Sydney Morning Herald. The butler retreated leaving Geoff standing a couple of yards from Loretto. Aside from the water-vomiting dolphins, the room was silent.

Loretto lowered the paper saying nothing, forcing Geoff to speak first.

“You wanted a chat, Al.”

“Not happy, Geoffrey. Really not happy.”

Geoff flicked a glance at the other wicker chair. Loretto saw the gesture and ignored it.

“May I?” Geoff asked and pointed to the seat.

“No, you may not.”

“Okay,” Geoff drawled. “What’s up, Al?”

“What’s up Al?” Loretto mimicked, putting on a silly voice. “I’ll tell you what’s fucking up, Geoffrey. You are lucky I’m even talking to you. I should have just had you popped in the head.” And he made the appropriate gesture with his fingers at his left temple.

Geoff knew what he was talking about. He’d known what this was about when he received the call from Al Loretto’s assistant’s assistant that afternoon.

Loretto was out of the chair, his nose a foot from Geoff’s. “Don’t fuck with me.” He punctuated each word with a finger poke to Geoff’s shoulder. By the third one, it hurt, but Hewes couldn’t show it. “You didn’t take the cameras out my brothels.”

Geoff took a deep breath, feeling sweat bleed from his pores.

“I wanted to talk to you …”

“There’s nothing … got that? Nothing to talk about, Geoffrey. The salient point here is that I asked you very nicely to take the cameras out of the brothels and you did not acquiesce.” Another harder finger poke.

Geoff pulled back, eyes blazing, went to grab Al Loretto’s hand and missed. The finger stabbed him in the neck.

“Fuck you!” He took a swing and found himself pinned to the ground by two hundred and fifty pounds of security. He hadn’t even seen the guy appear.

A fist landed in Geoff’s face smashing his nose. A second blow hit him in the cheek so hard he thought his head was about to split open. Then he was being pulled up to his feet and Al Loretto was smiling at him.

“Geoffrey, Geoffrey … why are you doing this to yourself? Just when I thought we were becoming such good friends.”

Blood streamed down from Geoff’s nostrils, ran over his lips, dripped to the floor.

“Take him to the basement,” Loretto hissed.

Chapter 32

STACY FRIEL’S HUSBAND, David, had a very smart office on the forty-fifth floor of Citigroup Tower in the CBD. Greta had eased my path with a call earlier in the day. A secretary showed me in. David Friel got up from his desk and offered a firm handshake. He was tall and athletic, graying at the temples and wearing a conservative tailored suit. I hadn’t met him before, but he had the aura of a man who had aged ten years during the past forty-eight hours.

“You haven’t taken compassionate leave, Mr. Friel?”

“I was offered it of course,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone. “But I didn’t see the point. Why would I want to kick around the house? If I’m working I can focus on something other than …”