He went back to the city and called Anna Reid. Meet me outside the Gallery in an hour.
I could have other plans, she said airily. I might be going out for the afternoon.
There were things about her, about any sort of involvement with someone, that he didnt understand. Either you are or you arent. Which is it?
Her voice changed, growing old and tired. Forget I said it. Just an old teasing habit I should have outgrown by now. But next time try asking instead of telling.
This was baffling to Wyatt. They had a job to do and nothing about it was geared to a normal life. He was unused to games and this kind of intrigue anyway. He made an effort: I need to see you, to discuss the job, but Id also like to see you.
She laughed. Fair enough. See you at three.
An hour to kill. Wyatt walked across the Victoria Bridge and leaned for a while on the railing at mid-river. A paddle-steamer passed under him, crammed with people pointing cameras at the city, the South Bank buildings. One man aimed a video camera up at the bridge; Wyatt jerked back from the railing, continued down the slope to the State Gallery. Inside the Gallery he sat on a leather bench and listened to a trio saw away on a cello and violins. Then he left and made for the museum. He didnt notice the right whale model suspended by wires, its recorded song, the displays of historic machines. His head was telling him the story of the hit on the TrustBank branch and the objects around him had the impermanence of images and jingles on a television screen.
The woman who found him on the lawn outside the Gallery was dressed for a Sunday afternoon in a hot country and Wyatt had begun to back away before her voice claimed him. Hey, its only me.
He had seen Anna Reid unclothed and clothed in costly dresses. This time she wore sunglasses, shorts, sandals and a sleeveless shirt, and she looked small and touristy. She sat next to him, drawing her knees to her chest. In the bright light of day her skin was taut and luminous, the colour of mild tea. Wyatt wanted to stretch out with her like lovers anywhere on a riverbank and once again he felt the disjunction between a normal life and the kind of life that hed made for himself.
She made it easy for him, pushing him onto his back. She leaned over him on her elbow. Youve seen it?
He nodded.
Can you do it?
There are some things I want you to find out. One, the managers home address. Two, there will be time locks on the strongroom: I need to know what time theyll open.
A couple of students sat near them. They carried pads and had been sketching in the Gallery. Lets walk, Anna said.
She led him across the pedestrian bridge to the theatres opposite the Gallery. A banner flapped in the wind, advertising a Sondheim musical. They walked by the waters edge. In 1988 this part of the river had been the Expo site. Now bike paths and footpaths crossed it, isolating islands of trees, fountains, shrubbery, outdoor cafes, a Thai temple, a manufactured beach with golden sand and palm trees.
They talked. Ill need three extra men, Wyatt said.
I can get them.
Ill need to meet them, the sooner the better.
My place, eight oclock. Ill make sure theyre available.
He stopped her. Not your place. Youre not thinking it through clearly. Somewhere neutral.
She flushed, her nostrils flaring.
Wyatt clasped her shoulders. Youre taking it personally. Dont. If were going to work together you have to be as good as I am. Im teaching you what I know, not criticising you. Do you understand?
After a while she nodded abruptly.
Okay. Think of a place.
She looked away, then swung back to face him again. The Londona down-market motel, a place where no-one asks questions.
Where is it?
Out on the Ipswich Road.
Arrange it with the others. Ill see you there at eight.
He watched her walk away. He sat in the sun for a while, then went back across the river and moved his things from the Victoria Hotel to the YMCA.
At seven oclock that evening he hailed a cab, getting out several blocks short of the London Motel. He walked the rest of the way and for the next forty-five minutes watched the place from a bus-stop on the other side of the street. The three men arrived separately and alone. Anna let them in.
At ten minutes past eight he crossed the street. The motel room was square and functional, a double bed dressed in shades of brown, thick curtains, two cigarette-scorched orange vinyl chairs.
Wyatt shook hands with each man, assessing them mentally. The man called Phelps was built like a wardrobe but he moved easily. His size would come in useful for what Wyatt had in mind. Riding was different: small, sinewy, his eyes wary. He looked quick; hed have good reflexes, a dangerous heat.
Know anything about guns?
Riding nodded.
Shotgun or handgun?
Riding seemed to understand the question. Depends what youve got in mind. For crowd control, a shotgun. It scares people, it makes a loud noise and scatters a lot of damage around if you do have to use it. For close, fast work Id use a handgun.
Good.
Wyatt turned to the third man, Pike, and saw a problem. Pike had dead white skin, lifeless brown hair badly cut, and fleshy red lips that he liked to lick. There was an air of smothered misery about him.
Im told youre good with cars.
Pike winked. He moulded the air with his hands. Like I was sleeping with them.
What were you in for?
Pikes jaw dropped open. He shut it with a click, opened it again. What are you on about?
At a guess Id say you were doing time somewhere until a week ago.
Pike looked uncomfortable. Might have been.
Its written all over you, Wyatt said. You havent seen proper sunshine for years. Where were you?
Pike shrugged. Up north. Cairns.
What were you in for?
Pike waved it away with his hand. He said rapidly, in a mangled, slurring voice: Ah, it was piss-weak. Nothing to do with driving getaway. They wont come looking for me for that.
What were you in for? said Wyatt flatly.
I tell you, it had nothing to do with holding up a bank, whatever it is you got in mind.
Wyatt shook his head. Youre not listening. I said, what were you in for?
Pike looked to Anna for help. She nodded. He looked at Wyatt. Friggin sex with a minor, all right? I mean, she looked eighteen at least.
Wyatt shook his head again. Anna should have known about this. How long were you in for?
Five.
Years? Out of how many?
Eight.
Youre on parole?
Pike nodded.
You report every week?
Not me, pal. When those doors opened I was gone, fuckin A.
Wyatt said, Wait outside a minute.
Hey, come on, Im good with cars, all that caper.
I said wait.
When he was gone, Wyatt said softly, Hes skipped parole, meaning hes wanted. We cant use him.
Anna looked angry with herself. Sorry.
Wyatt ignored her. How about you other two?
They looked at one another and then back at him and said simultaneously, Im clean.
Have you any idea what this job is? He jerked his head. Did she tell you?
Riding said, No. Phelps shook his head.
So we can unload Pike without having to do anything drastic to him, Wyatt said. He looked at Anna. You brought him in, you pay him off.
He could see the struggle in her face as she tried to tell herself that this was work. She went outside. They heard her talking to Pike. Her voice was soft, full of warmth and regret: You mustnt take any of this personally, okay? Its just one of those things. Youre best out of it anyway. They are very hard men in there. How are you off for cash?
Pike muttered something.
Heres two hundred. No, make it two-fifty. Im sorry about this. Now, take care of yourself.
She put plenty of feeling into it and the men in the room could picture her comforting hand on Pikes arm, her warm, perfumed breath close to his befuddled head.
She came back into the room. Wyatt knew things were okay for now but Pike would feel cranky later, when hed spent the money and had time to think. By then it would be too late. They wouldnt be returning to this motel and Pike had no idea what the job was.
Meanwhile Wyatt hoped he could pull this job with two other men instead of three.