Читать книгу Sold - Blair Denholm - Страница 13

Gary’s mobile sat silent on the bar runner.

Foss should have arrived three hours ago; not even a call or a text to explain his no-show.

Gary stared at his warm light beer with disgust; he usually avoided the low-alcohol stuff and couldn’t stand the taste. But Bradley Jones’s words of warning to stay sober for Jocko still rang in his ears.

Some sage advice from Foss, a brilliant plan to get him out of this mess, would be as welcome as an emergency heart transplant right now.

Where is he in my hour of need? Best mate be fucked!

The clock above the bar showed 10pm. He slowly gathered his keys, wallet and phone. Time to face the music.

He watched in silence as Jocko flicked through a tattered notebook. Jones stood flush against Gary like an Aussie Rules player tagging his opponent. A cheesy body odour from the lackey’s armpits set Gary’s nostrils twitching.

‘Why do I even bother with flaky gamblers like you, Braswell? I must need my fucken head read.’ Jocko ran his forefinger up and down the page. ‘I’ve got mixed feelings about you finally paying that debt. Bradley here hasn’t given anyone a decent flogging for a couple of weeks and needs the practice. I thought you’d be the perfect punching bag for him, but I’ve got me rules. Ethics ‘n that. No bashing debtors who have a clean slate.’ Jocko tapped the notebook with a nicotine-stained finger. ‘Aha, here’s one on me list that’s had his absolute last warning. Bradley, you can go get this cunt out of his warm bed after we’re done with young Braswell here. I’ll give you the bloke’s details later.’

‘Thanks, Mr Mackenzie. I’ll look forward to that.’

Jocko brushed crumbs from his vintage Iron Maiden tee-shirt and looked up at Gary. Jones wrapped his tree-trunk arm firmly around Gary’s shoulder.

‘I’m pleased you decided to listen to Bradley,’ said Jocko with a wink. ‘He can be persuasive when he needs to be.’

‘I paid back all the money. Isn’t that enough?’ Gary tried to affect an air of defiance.

‘Usually yes, but since you made me wait so long I’d like you to run a little errand for me. I reckon you might even enjoy it.’ Jocko smiled; his teeth hadn’t seen a dentist for years. ‘I’m not the bad cunt people make me out to be. How many other bookies would send one of their customers – not even a good customer but a prick of a customer like you – on an all-expenses paid holiday to Bali, hey?’

Gary felt his knees buckle. For a second he feared he’d faint and faceplant on Jocko’s office desk. But he was never going to fall – the vicelike grip around his bicep made his eyes water.

‘Jocko, please – anything else. I can do you a great deal on a BMW, how about that?’

‘Come on, mate. You know I only drive Holdens. European cars are for wankers. Either you do this little job for me or your Maddie is going to be enjoying the company of our friend Bradley here.’

Jocko gave an almost imperceptible nod to his henchman who delivered a lightning bitch slap across Gary’s ear. Gary dropped to the floor and whimpered. Jones hoisted him up again and applied a wristlock for good measure.

‘That was nothing; no blood, see?’ Jocko ran a finger behind Gary’s ear and showed it to Gary. Clean. ‘In two months you’ll fly to Bali and deliver a little package for me, nothing too heavy, but containing valuable merchandise. You’ll take it to Paddy’s Bar and hand it to a local man, probably called Katut. All of them cunts are called that. You won’t hand over the package at the bar. He’ll take you to a safe house in the hills. In return for the goods he will hand you two hundred thousand US dollars in cash. You bring that money back to me. End of mission.’

‘I can’t go. I have a horrible fear of flying.’

Another nod and another slap from Jones, a couple of newtons harder and about eighty decibels louder.

‘Fucken hell!’ Tears welled in Gary’s eyes, a glistening vestige of snot escaped from his nostrils.

‘Don’t bullshit me, son. I know you went to Bali for your honeymoon and you’re planning to go to New Zealand next year. You told me yourself last time you came begging for an extension. You were so pissed you little maggot, you can’t remember.’

Jocko rustled about in the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. ‘I have to make a quick phone call. In the meantime, have a little think about the lovely holiday you’re going to have. On my fucking account, mind you.’ Jocko snatched his mobile and marched out of the room.

Gary tried to readjust his posture and Jones gave his wrist a vicious twist.

‘Ow. Enough already. I’m not resisting.’

‘Stand still and shut the fuck up until Mr Mackenzie comes back. And don’t try and bullshit him again. I was being polite back at your office. Now you’re seeing my true personality, dick wad. Hope you like it.’

With Jocko out of the room, Gary wished he’d told the truth about going to Tasmania for his honeymoon. This pathological lying would be the death of him. His chest heaved. Being caught out on lies didn’t always shut him up; he usually came back with a counter lie. It was one thing to paint pictures of optimism and joy for customers and the boss, but Jocko’s bullshit-o-meter rarely failed.

He decided to wait for Jocko to make the next move – proactive behaviour would likely mean another cuff across the ear, or worse. Survive today, work out what to do later. But the bastard’s got me by the balls. Itching like motherfuckers.

He scanned Jocko’s faux plush home office; details might come in handy if he ever got desperate or stupid enough to contact the cops for help. He’d been here before but was pissed as a newt.

Mental notes. Furnishings immaculate. Must have cleaners. Too much of a pig to do it himself. Ken Done prints, maybe a safe behind one of them. Black curtains, beige three-seater couch. A couple of matching armchairs, white coffee table. Fuck it, nothing unusual, just a typical home office.

As he pondered his next move, Jocko re-entered the room. The fat bastard wore a benevolent smile that told Gary the roughing up for the afternoon was over.

‘You should take a leaf out of that punter’s book. Just sold his flat screen television to repay me the princely sum of fifty dollars. It might sound like chicken feed to you but if all of my customers were as forthcoming I’d have no need for Bradley. Human nature being what it is, however, that’s never gonna happen. Take a seat. You’ve been on your feet too long.’

Gary sat on the couch and started shaking. Meanwhile Jones perused Jocko’s pocket notebook containing the names and addresses of the most recalcitrant and piteous of clients. The monster’s eyes glowed. He was probably getting a hard on fantasizing about how many people he could hurt.

‘Gary,’ said Jocko, watching Jones goggle and almost salivate at the long list of bad debts, ‘annoying prick that he is, doesn’t deserve a beating as much as the arsewipes on that list.’

‘Why not send one of them to Bali?’ Gary asked, not unreasonably he thought.

‘Because they are junkies and bogans, oxygen thieves the lot of ‘em. If one of ‘em got caught at the border they’d turn to jelly, not enough brains to talk their way out of it. But you,’ Jocko stroked Gary’s hair in a creepy-old-man kind of way, ‘are made of something different. You, Braswell, are about the best lying motherfucker it has ever been my pleasure to know.’

Jocko informed Gary that all the arrangements would be taken care of: flights, hotel transfers, accommodation, even a couple of grand spending money. The fucking irony of it. He’d been playing Gary for a sap; pretended paying back the four grand was so important, when all along he was just stringing Gary along to arrive at this point – to turn him into an expendable drug mule.

Jocko said the chances of getting caught, either at Coolangatta airport or in Bali, were fifty-fifty. As a man who understood the concept of probability, Gary didn’t like those numbers. Fifty-fifty meant he would be arrested. Murphy’s Law – if something can go wrong it fucken will.

‘If you get caught, I’m confident it won’t be your fault. You’ve got the skill set to get the job done. If anything fucks up, it’ll be all down to chance.’

‘Sorry if I don’t share your confidence.’

Jocko sighed. ‘You can be a little thick at times, Braswell. You will succeed because you have motivation. If you don’t at least try, Maddie will wish she never laid her eyes on your sorry arse.’

He lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke in Gary’s face. ‘Pardon me; where are my manners? I forgot to offer you a ciggie.’

Gary took the proffered cigarette.

‘If you’re thinking about dobbing me in to the cops, think again.’

‘Don’t worry. I won’t be going to the police.’ He wouldn’t be flying to Bali either, that was certain. He just wasn’t sure how to get out of it.