Fat, Fifty & F<li><li><li>ed! Read online

  Colin shrugged. ‘I slept through that one. Anyway, I know you’re not going to shoot me.’

  ‘Really?’ said Martin. ‘What’s stopping me?’

  ‘Well,’ Colin mused, ‘you’re basically a decent human being, for a bank manager. And you’ve still got the safety on.’

  Martin looked down at the pistol.

  ‘It’s that little switch by your thumb,’ Colin explained.

  Martin tilted the pistol to one side.

  ‘Remember, mate,’ Colin said, ‘I showed you when we renewed your licence last year. Push it down if you decide you really want to shoot me. But I’m happy to keep my hands up, so let’s leave it on safe for the moment, eh? Right now I’m probably as nervous as you are.’

  The two men looked at each other for what seemed like a very long time.

  ‘When did you turn fifty?’ Colin finally asked.

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Colin said, shaking his head. ‘I knew it was around now sometime. Didn’t get the cake and candles then?’

  ‘The family managed to forget. Not totally unexpected, the way things have been going at home lately.’

  ‘No need to go off the deep end though, mate,’ Colin said. ‘I forgot too.’ He paused. ‘Of course,’ he said slowly, ‘I am standing here at gunpoint with my hands in the air.’

  ‘You’re a mate, Col. I’m supposed to subtly remind you a few days in advance.’

  ‘You must have been a bit too subtle then.’

  ‘We both had a pretty busy week coming up,’ Martin said, ‘so I thought, The hell with it, why should I make a fuss?’

  ‘Good point,’ Colin agreed. ‘But like I said a moment ago, I am standing here at gunpoint with my hands in the air. When you don’t make a fuss, you really go all out, don’t you, mate?’

  Colin indicated the security camera with his head. ‘Is that thing recording right now?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Does it record sound?’

  Martin shook his head. ‘Just the picture.’

  ‘Got another camera in your office?’

  Martin shook his head again, confused by this line of questioning. Colin turned slightly so that his back was towards the camera and lowered his voice.

  ‘Okay then, Martin, here’s the plan. In a minute I’m going to rush you and you’ll whack me on the side of the head. I’ll go down, apparently out cold, and you drag me into your office, out of sight of the camera.’

  Martin was mystified. He raised the pistol warily. ‘Why would we do that?’

  Colin gave him an exasperated look. ‘So we can talk in private, figure things out.’

  Martin, still wary, eyed Colin suspiciously.

  ‘You should really go with me on this, mate,’ Colin urged. He waited, then: ‘You said it yourself, Martin. You’re fat, fifty and fucked. Totally fucked. Think about it. At this moment in time you have exactly nothing left to lose.’

  *

  The surveillance monitor in Martin’s office showed the two men facing each other, talking. Suddenly Colin lunged forward and after a brief struggle he was on the floor. Martin grabbed him by his ankles and dragged him clumsily towards the office. Both men disappeared out of view of the camera.

  When they reached the middle of his office, Martin dropped Colin’s feet. On hearing the door close, Colin sat up and rubbed his left temple.

  ‘When I said whack me in the head, I meant pretend to whack me in the head,’ he groaned. ‘Jesus, that bloody hurts.’

  ‘Sorry, I got a bit over-excited,’ Martin said.

  Colin blinked several times and shook his head. ‘And if you have to drag someone, Martin, do it by the arms,’ he added. ‘It stops their bloody scone banging on the floor every second step.’

  ‘Right, I’ll try to remember that,’ Martin said earnestly. He carefully removed Colin’s pistol from its holster and put it on the desk. The dull black police automatic was a lot bigger and heavier than the bank’s pistol, he noticed.

  Colin climbed slowly to his feet and sat in a chair. He squinted. ‘I think I’m going to need some aspirin,’ he said. He looked up at the wall clock and then back at Martin. ‘Now, do you have any sort of a plan, mate?’

  Martin stared at him blankly.

  ‘Anything?’ Colin repeated. ‘In about forty minutes’ time you’re going to have a bunch of grumpy, hungover, borderline-psychotic slaughtermen in here looking to cash some pretty awesome pay cheques. And I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your little mid-life crisis isn’t going to mean dick to them.’

  Martin slumped into his chair on the other side of the desk and groaned softly. ‘Jesus, just look at my life, will you? I did everything the way I was supposed to and now it’s all gone to hell. It’s all over for me, let’s face it. God, what have I done? I must be out of my mind.’

  Colin watched him intently. ‘So I guess that means this is all somewhat spontaneous?’ he suggested finally.

  Martin nodded weakly. There was another long silence.

  ‘Okay,’ Colin said, ‘as I see it, right now we have two options.’

  Martin eyed him warily.

  ‘One,’ Colin continued, ‘we pretend it was all a big practical joke you and I cooked up to celebrate the closing of the bank. We should be able to sell it to the staff and the armoured-car bods by the time they finish off Esme’s grog. Nobody else needs to know.’

  ‘And our second choice?’ asked Martin.

  ‘You go on the run with the money after tying me up. When they finally catch up with you, you’ll probably get ten years non-parole, if you’re very, very lucky. Or,’ he went on, ‘you can go out in a blazing roadside gunfight, the legendary Mid-Life-Crisis Carter, bank manager turned bank robber.’

  Martin said nothing for a long time. ‘You know, I really don’t understand anything any more,’ he said at last. ‘I just don’t get it. When I was twenty it all made sense. Sort of. There was a path and you followed it. You worked hard, were polite to the boss, kept your mouth shut, and everything turned out fine in the end.’ He shook his head. ‘I put in the hours, paid my taxes, saved up a deposit and bought a house. I was loyal to the bank, did what they asked, went where they sent me, and now they’ve screwed me. And everything I ever did and everything I believed in means absolutely nothing.’

  Colin listened without comment.

  ‘Politicians lie outright, rort the system, bully people, spread fear and division, demonise the weak, and nobody seems to care. The education system teaches kids bugger all. They can’t spell or add up, and if they get a job they don’t see why they should turn up at nine o’clock if something more interesting happens to come along.’

  ‘You left out that all cops are bent,’ Colin put in.

  Martin smiled. ‘I thought we’d take that as read.’ He stood up. ‘I think I’m going with option two.’

  ‘Hey mate, come on, I was only joking,’ Colin snapped.

  ‘I’m not,’ Martin said firmly. ‘It’s option two.’ He flipped the pistol’s safety to off.

  Colin put his hands back up, shaking his head sadly. ‘This is not smart, Martin, not smart at all. But you’ve got the gun, so I suppose it’s your call. Mind if I show you something first, though?’

  Martin nodded in agreement but Colin suddenly appeared distracted, glancing somewhere off past Martin’s shoulder. Momentarily confused, Martin looked away and Colin deftly swept the pistol from his grip. Just as suddenly the weapon was in the sergeant’s hand. Martin was struck by how big that muzzle seemed when you were staring straight into it.

  ‘I actually did pay attention in that class,’ Colin said, switching the pistol to safe. He handed the weapon to Martin, butt first, and put his arms back in the air. ‘I think you’re being a dickhead, Martin, but if you’re really serious about this, take the Land Cruiser. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. She’s got a full tank of fuel, plus there’s a jerry can in the back.’

  Martin looked at him in astonishment. />
  ‘There’s also a mobile phone and charger in the glove compartment,’ Colin added. ‘Some boofhead left it on a table in the milkbar and it hasn’t been blocked yet. You remember my number if you need to talk about anything?’

  Martin nodded mutely.

  ‘So you intend taking the money?’ Colin asked.

  ‘I guess so,’ Martin said after a moment’s thought. ‘Otherwise it makes it kind of a wasted morning, doesn’t it? You can put your hands down if you like, Col.’

  ‘No, it’s okay. You really have to follow procedure in this sort of thing.’

  ‘I’m sorry it turned out like this,’ Martin said. ‘Won’t you get a lot of grief for letting this happen?’

  Colin shrugged. ‘I like this town,’ he said, ‘it suits me. Foiling a million-dollar robbery will only get me promoted back to the big smoke. I’ve done that, and who needs it?’ He smiled. ‘But thanks for your concern anyway, mate. I’ll try to bear any professional embarrassment manfully.’

  Colin indicated his trouser pocket. ‘May I?’ he asked, and after a nod from Martin pulled out a set of keys and tossed them across the desk. ‘You know, maybe you should take my uniform as well,’ he suggested. ‘Add to the picture of a dedicated lawman relentlessly pursuing miscreants and evil-doers.’

  Martin held up a brass key on the ring. ‘The front door of my bank?’ he asked.

  ‘And why should I be the only person in town without one?’ Colin replied indignantly, unbuttoning his shirt.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Martin gasped as Colin peeled off his pale blue police-issue shirt. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  The sergeant’s upper torso and back was pockmarked with ugly, jagged scars. Colin looked at them as if seeing them for the first time. ‘Jumping Jack,’ he said simply.

  ‘What?’ Martin said, staring at the mass of scar tissue.

  ‘Anti-personnel mine,’ Colin explained. ‘Pops up to about waist height before it goes off. I was the lucky one. The bloke standing between me and the mine wasn’t. I can still walk. Some bits of scrap iron still floating around in there though.’

  ‘Vietnam?’ Martin asked.

  ‘Sure as hell wasn’t the Kmart parking lot.’ Colin scratched at one of the scars. ‘Nasty little thing, the Jumping Jack. Meant to maim. Kill a bloke and that’s one down. Wound him and two have to carry him out, so that’s three out of action. I did get a free ride in a Yank medevac chopper, though.’

  ‘You’ve never mentioned it,’ Martin said. ‘Being over there. How come?’

  ‘What’s to talk about? Got called up, went, got blown up, and now I’m here – a sworn officer of the law currently aiding and abetting a major criminal enterprise.’ He pulled off his boots. ‘Don’t think these’ll fit you,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Did you ever come across a Jack Stark?’ Martin asked suddenly.

  Colin stopped in the middle of unbuckling his belt. He gave Martin an odd look.

  ‘Over there, I mean,’ Martin said. ‘Vietnam.’

  ‘I know where you meant, Martin,’ Colin said quietly. ‘That’s a pretty strange question, straight out of the blue.’

  ‘It’s a pretty strange day, Col.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘So you knew him then?’ Martin asked.

  ‘Crazy Jack Stark? Well, I never actually met him but we all heard about him. Very odd bloke. What’s your connection to the mad major?’

  ‘He was my best mate in high school,’ Martin said.

  ‘Really?’ Colin looked at him with curiosity.

  ‘Small world, eh?’ Martin said. ‘We were both in the ballot. Jack got called up, like you. I missed out and went to work for the bank. I wrote to him a few times after he went over there, and then we lost touch.’

  ‘It happens,’ Colin said. ‘Too busy killing and eating the godless communists, I suppose.’

  ‘I didn’t even know he was a major,’ Martin said. ‘So what happened to him?’

  ‘Not sure, really,’ Colin said. ‘Battlefield commission, which was unusual for a nasho. Must have been bloody good at his job. Rapid promotion up the chain to major, then he apparently went troppo and got cashiered over something hush-hush.’

  ‘Cashiered?’

  ‘They gave him the elbow, eighty-sixed him,’ Colin explained. ‘Dishonourable discharge, which is a bit grim. Luckily they don’t still rip off your bloody epaulettes and break your sabre over one knee.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Martin said, ‘what happened after that?’

  Colin shrugged. ‘He sank without trace for a long time. Apparently he went bush. Holed up somewhere in FNQ.’

  ‘Far North Queensland?’

  ‘Yep, the land that time forgot – home of the macadamia and other assorted nuts. Current rumour has him living in a fortified bunker on top of a mountain up past Cooktown. They reckon Casa del Stark has killer guard dogs, landmines, booby traps, and two nubile young blonde nymphomaniac twins eager to service his every depraved whim.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ Martin was agog.

  ‘Dunno for sure, but that’s what’s on the grapevine. Should suit him down to the ground, from what I’ve heard. Gun nut, survivalist, one-world government and conspiracy theorist, world-wide-web whacko. We’re rooted and it’s all the fault of the Jews, capitalists, homos, blacks, immigrants, double-parkers and unwed mothers. Apparently he’s even got a paranoid website operating – www.starkravingnuts.com would seem appropriate.’

  Martin began unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Maybe I should think about heading north then,’ he said, ‘somewhere up past Cooktown.’

  Colin held up his hands. ‘Don’t really need to know, mate,’ he said. ‘Second thing a copper learns on these country postings is that ignorance is bliss.’ He smiled. ‘And by the way, Martin, happy birthday for yesterday.’

  five

  It took Martin barely ten minutes to transfer the cash bags to the police Land Cruiser, which he had backed up to the side door of the bank. On a whim he’d tossed the bank’s pistol and the revolvers he’d taken from Frank and Wayne onto the passenger seat. Colin’s police-issue automatic now nestled in the holster on Martin’s belt. The security van was out of sight, parked under a tree behind the bank. Colin’s shirt was too tight and was beginning to itch. The trousers were loose in the crutch and the legs were way too long. Martin had pinned them up with the office stapler. Colin had been spot on about the boots not fitting, so Martin was still wearing his own brown suede shoes.

  Using Fran’s computer, Martin had typed out a sign for the front door, and while waiting for it to print, he took one last look around the empty bank. The triple-X porn video was still sitting on Daryl’s counter. Martin picked it up and headed back to his office.

  ‘Finally come to your senses, did you?’ Colin asked.

  ‘Just forgot my pills.’ Martin retrieved the blood-pressure and cholesterol pills from his desk drawer, slipped them into his shirt pocket and smiled. ‘Plus I wouldn’t want you getting bored …’

  *

  At exactly 10.45 a.m. the police Land Cruiser pulled away from the bank and headed towards the highway. Out of sight of the town, Martin turned right onto a gravel road. As he turned the airconditioning up to full, he noticed a CD poking out of the player. He pushed the disc in and a high-pitched, ululating noise filled the cab. Jesus, that didn’t take them long, he thought, looking in the side mirror for the red and blue flashing lights. The roadway behind him was empty, and it took him a few seconds to realise that the sound was coming from the Land Cruiser’s speakers. He stabbed at the eject button and the noise stopped.

  ‘Shit!’ he spluttered, looking at the disc. It was a Celine Dion compilation and, according to the label, featured the theme song from Titanic.

  I hope that’s not an omen, Martin said to himself.

  *

  The Burrinjuruk branch of the Federal Austwide San(d)-sho(e) Banking Corporation was locked and shuttered. The sign pinned to the front door read: CL
OSED UNTIL 2 P.M. DUE TO COMPUTER PROBLEMS.

  In the locked storage room Frank was talking to an enthralled group seated around the laminex-topped table. ‘The great thing about stress-related workers’ compensation claims,’ he explained, ‘especially armed-robbery ones, is they’re so hard to disprove. We can make an absolute fortune if we all get our stories straight.’

  Even Wayne seemed interested. Frank held out a paper plate. ‘Any more of that delicious banana cake, Esme?’

  Esme cut a slice and put it carefully on the plate. Daryl topped up the champagne in Frank’s paper cup.

  The main banking chamber was empty and still. From behind the door of the manager’s office came the unmistakable moans and gasps of a woman in the throes of orgasm. Inside the office Sergeant Colin Curtis sat in the manager’s chair with his feet up on the desk. He was in his underwear and tightly bound with Christmas packaging tape. On the security monitor directly in front of him, Daryl’s porn film was playing. The sound was turned up very loud. Sergeant Curtis was not a happy man. His hands, strapped to his sides, pulled at the packing tape securing him in position.

  ‘You’re a real bastard, Martin Carter,’ he muttered.

  *

  It was now around two in the afternoon and the police vehicle was parked off a dirt road in the shade of a tall eucalypt.

  ‘Dickhead! Dickhead! Dickhead! Dickhead! Dickhead!’ Martin pounded his forehead against the steering wheel of the Land Cruiser as he cursed quietly.

  He stopped the thumping but kept his hands tightly clenched on the wheel. In slow motion, wide screen and glorious Technicolor, he ran and reran the morning’s events in his mind.

  The robbery was bad enough, but Far North Queensland and Jack Stark? What the hell had he been thinking? Over eighteen hundred kilometres across two states with every damn cop on every road on the lookout for him? And if by some incredible fluke he got past them and actually managed to find Jack Stark’s mountain-top fortress, what then? An old high-school friend from thirty-some years back who was now quite possibly a total psycho? Jesus, this was some smooth plan, Martin Carter!