Challis - 03 - Snapshot Read Free Page A

like Vyner
said?

    While Gent watched, Vyner aimed at
the woman, now cowering beside the garden shed, and shot her twice, a couple of
pops, softened by dense fog and silencer. Then Vyner returned to the womans
car, hurrying a little now.

    The kid knew. A little girl, maybe
six or seven, she came bounding out of the Volvo in her red parka, running,
curls bouncing, Vyner tracking her with his pistol. Gent saw him fire, miss.
Now she was heading towards the Commodore, Gent thinking, no, piss off, I cant
help you. He put his hand out of the window, waved her away. She gaped at him
for a long moment, then darted towards a belt of poplars at the edge of the
garden. Gent saw Vyner take aim, pull the trigger. Nothing. Vyner looked at the
gun in disgust, then strode back to the garden shed, searching for ejected
shells. A moment later he was piling into the Commodore, shouting, Lets go.

    * * * *

    Keep
the prick moving, Vyner thought. Gent had been sitting too longthough it was
what, less than two minutes, tops? He hoped the guy wouldnt turn out to be a
liability. Gent was only in his early twenties but going to seed rapidly
through beer and dope; a pouchy, slope-shouldered guy who claimed to know every
back roadand probably every backyard and back door, Vyner thoughtof the
Peninsula.

    Well, Gent was getting $5000 for his
part in the hit, and knew what would happen if he didnt keep his mouth shut.

    They neared the top of the driveway,
Vyner removing the clip from his Browning and cursing it. Youd think the Navy
would stock reliable handguns, border protection and all that. Not that hed
ever intended to hang on to this gun, keep incriminating evidence around. Hed
do what hed done before, seal it in a block of concrete, and toss it into a
rubbish skip on some building site. There were two more Navy Browning pistols
in the wall safe of his Melbourne pad, and hed better examine and clean them
tonight. Didnt want them jamming on him, especially when firing in
self-defence. Shit gun. Unfortunately it was too late to get back his $500 per
weapon because the Navy armourer whod sold them to him was dead. Shot himself
in the head.

    He unscrewed the silencerat least that workedand slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket, then shoved the
Browning into another pocket, the hammer catching, tearing the fabric. Useless
fucking thing. Vyner had wanted something more cutting edge from the armoury, a
Glock automatic or a Steyr short-barrelled carbine and a high-end night-aiming
device, but all the Navy guy would sell him was three old Brownings from the
stock used for cadet training and which were gradually being phased out. I can
lose these in the paperwork, no dramas, his mate had said, but the new stuff,
no way.

    Vyner removed his gloves and folded
down the sun visor to check himself out in the vanity mirror. Nothing caught in
his teeth. His old familiar face looking back at him. He pocketed his cap,
smoothed back his hair.

    Shit! shouted Gent, braking hard
as the Commodore levelled out at the top of the driveway. It rocked to a halt
just as a taxi came out of the fog and disappeared into the fog, gone in an
eyeblink.

    * * * *

    3

    Normally
Hal Challis started the day with a walk near his home, but he wanted to catch
Raymond Lowry unprepared, to ask about the stolen guns, so at 6.30 that morning
he shrugged into his coat, collected his wallet and laptop, and got behind the
wheel of his Triumph. Five minutes later, he was still trying to start it. When
finally the engine caught it fired sluggishly, with a great deal of smoke, and
he made a mental note to book it in for a service and tune.

    He set out for Waterloo, heading
east through farmland, a sea fret licking at him, shrouding the gums and pines
along the side of the road, reducing the universe. Sea fretas if Westernport
Bay, vanished now but normally a smudge of silvery water in the distance, was
chafing. Challis supposed that it was chafing, in fact: thered been a sudden
and bitter