Wyatt - 01 - Kick Back Read Free Page A

he said,
gesturing at Ivan again. He drove his knee into Sugarfoots groin, let him
double over, then smacked the butt on the back of his neck. Sugarfoot
collapsed, dry-retching.

    Wyatt prodded with his foot. Four,
know your limitations. Youre a punk.

    He stepped back and pocketed the
pistol.

    Ivan Younger relaxed. In other
words, he said, he fucked up.

    It was an attempt at humour, but
Wyatt took out the pistol again. My five thousand.

    Fuck you.

    They stood and stared at each other.
Wyatt thought about it. Stand-offs wasted time. He didnt want the antagonism,
and the longer he hung around here the riskier it would be. Still holding the
pistol, he bent down and picked up the little painting and took it across to a
deep stainless steel sink.

    Ivan said, What the fuck are you
doing?

    Wyatt ignored him. He smashed the
glass with the pistol butt, snapped the wooden frame and dropped the painting
into the sink.

    Jesus Christ, Wyatt.

    He watched dully as Wyatt doused the
painting with methylated spirits and set fire to it. A Whiteley, Ivan said. Know
what one of thems worth?

    Wyatt knew Whiteleys. If he wanted,
he could steal job-lots of Whiteleys in every house in Toorak. He watched the
painting turn to ash, said, Stay away from me, and let himself out into the
night.

    * * * *

    Three

    Ivan
watched Wyatt go, feeling vaguely dissatisfied. Hed backed him down on the
five thousand dollars, but it was a hollow victory. Wyatt wasnt someone youd
normally cross. He told himself he did it because of the guys arrogance and
the way hed thumped Sugar.

    He leaned down and twisted his
brothers ear. Get up.

    Sugarfoot patted at him feebly.

    Get up. I want to know what
happened tonight.

    Sugarfoot put his weight on his
hands, then his knees, and finally stood. He swayed groggily, touched his face
and took his hands away. They were sticky with blood. Look what the cunt did
to me.

    Ill do worse if you dont fucking
tell me what happened.

    Sugarfoot shrugged, his loose,
pouchy face growing sullen. The maid, whatever. One minute shes all right,
the next minute she carks it.

    Jesus H. Christ.

    Mustve had a dicky heart.

    Ivan stared at his brother. You
didnt help her along, of course?

    No. I swear

    Ah, fuck off, I dont want to hear
about it.

    Ivan leaned against the workbench,
concentrating hard. Wyatt wouldnt talk. But the insurance clerk would have to
be sweetened in case he developed a conscience.

    Fucking Sugar. A grade-A fuckwit.
That Whiteley painting could have put them all in Pentridge.

    He stiffened. Listenyou take
anything else?

    Nothing, said Sugarfoot. Look, Im
sorry, right?

    Ivan regarded his brother sourly.
Sugarfoot: a joke name, yet he was proud of it, the moron. Hed been charged
with his first offence at the age of twelve. That was followed by ten stretches
inside for periods ranging from four days to eighteen months: indecent assault,
extortion, social security fraud, possession of cannabis resin.

    He grabbed Sugarfoots face in a
pinch grip. The eyes looked okay. Whenever Sugar was on coke or angel dust or
whatever, his pupils shrank.

    Sugarfoot shook him off. Leave us
alone.

    Ask you to use your brains, Ivan
said, and look what happens. Im putting you back on collecting.

    Sugarfoot dabbed at his face with a
handkerchief. He shivered in the chilly air of the storeroom. Yeah, well I
want a change. Im going freelance.

    Oh really? Doing what? Mugging old
ladies?

    Sugarfoot flushed. Wyatts
bankrolling something. Im gonna

    Ivan jerked him by his shirt front. If
he is and he sees you hanging around hell wipe you out, no questions asked.
Stay away from him.

    Sugarfoot looked down at his brothers
hand. With great dignity he removed it, gratified to see Ivan wince. He said, See
my face? Im supposed to just let him get away with it?

    Hes bad news, Ivan said. Look,
take the weekend off. Well see what we can find for you next week.

    Not all that much, he told himself.
Their existing set-up ticked over nicely.