They met in a docklands pub called the Prince Patrick. It was Harbutts choice, a squat corner pub with dirty stucco above cold blue tiles on the outside walls. Inside, the carpets were scorched and worn; an oily film of smoke and alcohol and urine vapour clung to the mirrors and shelves. The threadbare towelling on the bar was ashy and beer-soaked. At ten oclock in the morning there were plenty of drinkers, shift workers clocking on and off work or merely evading it. The air was heavy and malty. It was an old smell, surly and male.
Harbutts hand was shaking. He hadnt shaved and his eyes were red-rimmed.
Been on a bender? Wyatt asked him.
Harbutt drained his beer and lit a cigarette. Wyatt was drinking coffee.
Wyatt tried again. Not working today?
Harbutt looked at him. Mate, they gave me the push. Me and two hundred others. Another two hundred by the end of the year.
Wyatt watched Harbutt carefully, saying nothing. An edge of hunger was a useful quality in the man you were pulling a job with. Desperation or the shakes werent.
Hair of the dog, Harbutt said, ordering another beer. Ill be right. Its the shock, thats all.
Yeah, it would be.
Harbutt laughed. It turned into a cough. Mate, youve never done a days work for someone else in your life, except maybe when you were a kid. Never pulled in a fortnightly pay packet. No wife and kids to provide for.
You havent got a wife and kids.
You know what I mean. Never had to think about the future. Never faced retrenchment.
Wyatt didnt argue with him. His life was precarious in its own way but he didnt intend to moan to Harbutt about it. He changed the subject. Hows Dern?
Havent seen him.
Thea?
All Harbutts attention was directed at his cigarette. He rolled the burning tip on the edge of the ashtray, examined the hot cone. I think Dern told her to get lost.
Wyatt said, Ive been thinking about those jobs he proposed.
Harbutt looked at him then. I didnt exactly think youd come back for old times sake. Which one?
The warehouse sale this weekend.
Why that one?
Because we walk away with cash in our pockets. With the other two jobs theres only the promise of it from some insurance company. Plus the wait. The longer we wait, the greater the chance theyll track us down.
But you said the place was too open, too many angles to figure.
It could work if we hide on the premises at closing time. Disable the nightwatchman, blow the safe at our leisure.
Harbutt nodded. Some of his old form was returning. His cigarette burnt itself out, his beer went flat. Last day of the sale is on Monday, he said at last. We do it on Sunday night?
Yes.
Could be a goer.
What can you tell me about the place itself?
They call it The Barn because thats what its like, a huge barn. They sell liquidation gearfurniture, clothes, electrical gear, tools, records and tapes, laid out on these long benches.
Wheres the safe likely to be?
Theres a mezzanine level, offices and that. Up there, Id say.
You think we could hide in the place unnoticed?
Plenty of places, Harbutt said. Toilets, storage rooms, under a bench, even in one of them rubbish bins on wheels.
Where does Thea work?
Harbutt patted his pockets for his cigarettes. Nine to five at their head office in town. She wont be there.
Wyatt watched his friend. I dont want Dern or Thea to know about this.
Harbutt straightened in his chair. Got you.
They fell silent.
Which leaves the safe, Wyatt said. Are you up to it?
Harbutt splayed his fingers. They were more or less steady. Give me a combination, a drill, a stick of gelignite, whatever you like.
I want you to lay off the booze till after the job.
Harbutt nodded.
Good. Well make a dry run. The sale opens tomorrow, so it has to be tonight.
Youre mad, Harbutt said. The nightwatchman.
Its a risk we have to take. There wont be any money on the premises, so hes not likely to be too jumpy. We need to know where to hide when the time comes, what kind of safe it is, the best way out. We can keep out of his way easily enough. If he spots us, well run, thats all.
They separated and met again at The Barn late that afternoon. It sat alone on an immense asphalted field outside Geelong. At one time it had been a supermarket called Super City; the old name was still discernible, painted over on the facia board. The front was all glass, two storeys high and running the length of the building. The glass curved inwards from a shallow channel choked with pansies. A sign said: The Longest Curved Glass Window in the Southern Hemisphere. It was five oclock and several vans and lorries were backed up at the side of the building. A dozen men were carting sofas, refrigerators, sealed cartons and racks of dresses through the side doors.
Wyatt and Harbutt approached the front door. They each carried a clipboard and wore a dustcoat with the word Inspector stitched across the top pocket.
Workplace safety check, Wyatt told the security man at the door.
The man shrugged. It meant nothing to him. The world was full of grey men in dustcoats writing things on clipboards.
Wyatt and Harbutt went inside. Wooden trestle tables groaned under the weight of Taiwanese calculators, Korean batteries, Chinese shoes. Refrigerators and toasters were stacked around the walls. Armchairs and sofa beds littered an area the size of a tennis court in one corner. Sales staff hurried around, pricing goods and pasting large SALE signs on the walls.
At the rear of the building a broad staircase led to a narrow mezzanine level that extended halfway down the length of the building on each side. There were a number of frosted glass doors leading to plasterboard petitioned offices. Under the stairs were toilets and a storeroom.
Wyatt looked around swiftly. It seemed promising. Harbutt, he noticed, was sweating. He hadnt been drinking, the job was making him edgy.
They prowled around the shop floor. By six oclock the last of the goods had been delivered and the sales staff were heading for their cars. The nightwatchman had based himself at the door. He was middle-aged, beer fat and unhealthy looking. All his attention was on the young women as they left the building. He stared after them, rubbing his palms on his thighs. Hed set a bright red canvas directors chair nearby. He looked like a man who intended to get the weight off his feet when the place was empty. Sit in his chair and stare out at the night.
He didnt see Wyatt and Harbutt in the dark rear of the big room. They climbed the stairs, let themselves into the first office. It contained a desk, photocopier and filing cabinet. They settled down to wait. A dim globe at the head of the stairs leaked enough light through the frosted glass for them to see one another. Later, when the nightwatchman was dozing or inattentive, they would check the other offices. From time to time they murmured. Harbutt talked edgily, as though the building bothered him: too big, too isolated, too many sounds of its own. Wyatt let him talk. They wouldnt be heard here and theyd know if the nightwatchman was climbing the stairs. If he did climb them, that ishe had no reason to.
At nine oclock, two things happened. A vehicle pulled up outside, there were voices, a different vehicle drove away.
And lights went on all over the building.