Private Oz (Private 7)
“Parker’s finances?”
“I’m not an accountant, man! I don’t know much about my own money let alone my manager’s!”
Johnny rolled his eyes. Maybe he had overestimated this guy, he thought. Maybe Craig was right, he was drug addled. Perhaps he was just plain dumb … or both. “But he must have made a fortune,” Johnny tried again. “How could he have ended up bankrupt?”
Micky said nothing, just took another swig.
“Look, Micky!” Johnny snapped. “How do you expect Private to help you if you don’t tell us everything you know about the man?”
The rock star looked up and held Johnny’s stare. “Yeah,” he said finally. “You’re right.”
Course I’m bloody right, Johnny thought, and waited for the singer to go on.
“Graham had a major problem. Blew fifteen mill … apparently.”
“How?”
“Compulsive gambler. But look, dude, we all have our demons. I’ve not seen Graham even dabble since I’ve known him. Got him drunk a few times and he’s told me straight that gambling is a mug’s game and he stopped when he came here. Went into therapy, the lot. Gave up his old vices, doesn’t even smoke weed now.”
“And you believe that?”
Micky considered the bottle again. “Well put it this way, Johnny.” He lifted his eyes. “It’s up to you to prove it if my manager has been lying, isn’t it? And if he has been … Bingo! Motive time!”
Chapter 44
MARY HAD TO smile. She saw the car in the lot about twenty yards away. It fit exactly the description the owner gave on the phone the night before. He’d sounded nervous but also full of bravado about his red saloon with the jacked-up rear wheels and the flame spray job along the sides that he would be waiting in on the edge of Prince Alfred Park in Parramatta.
He claimed he had info about the murder of ‘that Chinese kid’, but refused to come into Private’s HQ. He gave a time and place where he would meet someone from the agency, and so here she was.
It was hot as Mary crossed the gravel. She saw the guy in the driver’s seat, bleached blond mullet, baseball cap, shades, cigarette. He hadn’t mentioned he’d have a very big Rottweiler in the back.
The guy leaned over, pushed open the door. The dog growled.
“Shut up Thor!”
Mary kept her eyes fixed on the dog and slipped into the seat.
“He’s cool,” the guy said. “Knows who’s boss. Don’t you, Thor?”
Mary moved to the edge of her seat.
“Buckle up, we ain’t staying here,” the man said and fired up the engine. It produced a throaty noise, bit like the dog’s growl.
“Five nights ago – Friday. I saw a kid that fit the description of that Ho boy in the paper. I found out you guys are investigating. Didn’t wanna go to the pigs … hate ’em, but I felt I ought to say something. Hate the Chink gangs even more … It’s them, right?”
Mary kept silent.
“I saw a car pull up about eleven at night. I was with a chick.” He gave Mary a wolfish grin and turned back to the road as they took a corner, passed some ravaged tenement blocks.
She gave him a hard look. “You saw this from your window?”
“Yeah, the Chinks were staying in an apartment a few floors beneath mine. I’m on the ninth.”
“Can you describe the car?”
He looked affronted. “Course I can, I’m a bloody mechanic, aren’t I? ’96 Toyota Corolla. Piece a shit. Blue. Faded rear bumper, had an I LOVE MACCAS sticker on it. They dragged the kid from the back. His hands were tied behind him. They were pretty vicious. He was gagged, but protesting, so they kicked him in the balls. I heard him squeal, poor little bastard.”
“What did the two Chinese men look like?”