Abacus by Josh Burton Page B

members, jail avoidance for themselves, elimination of debts, cash incentives and the threat of an untimely death, they soon became model recruits. So basically the bait was chosen for their dishonesty, debt to society, drug addiction and lack of ties to the community. This made them people who had nothing to lose, would not be believed in what they had to say, and most importantly would not be missed when they were gone. Randall was acutely aware that the bait’s movements were being continually monitored by DL, and therefore, it would stand to reason, that his movements too were under close scrutiny by the organisation.
    In order to fund the baits’ activities and DL expenses, Randall was provided with four thousand dollars cash each month. The cash was delivered by mail to his home address. It came in a plain brown envelope on the very first day of the new month.
    His current bait had an Irish background so he simply referred to him as Irish. Randall had handled him for about seven months, which was an eternity in this line of work. They shared quite a good relationship, which was not an ideal situation as it was inevitable that one day Randall would more than likely be required to give the order for his termination. Deep down Randall hoped that DL would make that decision before he had to.
    In response to the latest DL text, Randall walked out of the office, down the hall, and out into the car park to make a private call. “Irish, my lad, how are you?”
    “Good thanks , Detective,” replied Irish in his thick accent.
    “Listen , Irish, I need to meet you now.”
    “Oh , well, actually I have to…”
    Randall cut him off before he cou ld conjure up an excuse. “Irish, do I have to remind you of your debt to me?”
    There was a momenta ry silence. “No, no, of course not.”
    “Thirty minutes, Chinese joint, Petersham, don’t be l ate,” he said firmly before hanging up.
    Randall walked along the hall and entered the toilet bock off the hallway. Thumping his locker with the underside of his fist, the door sprung open. He pulled out a pair of jeans and polo shirt, which he quickly changed into.
    After battling his way through the afternoon traffic, he pulled up outside the rundown Chinese restaurant at Bourke Street, Surry Hills. Sitting quietly in the car, he watched people walking past, periodically glancing up at the rearview mirror to look for anything out of the ordinary behind him.
    Council workers seated in a ute, both smoking, unshaven , look a little sus. No, no wait. There’s a barricaded manhole opposite, there on a smoko break, they’re okay. Young couple at the bus stop, kissing, he is squeezing her ass. If they are undercover they are really getting into their role. Arab-looking guy smoking outside a shop, looking up and down the street. He’s a crook, no wonder he looks sus. Met by another shady bloke with his hands in his pockets. They enter the shop together, probably a drug deal. They’re up to no good, but not my problem right now.
    Once comfortable with his surroundings, he left the car and crossed the road. Pushing through the restaurant door, he was instantly hit by the smell of burnt cooking oil. There were two separate rooms to the restaurant, which were divided by a large algae-filled fish tank. Randall pulled up a seat at a small table directly behind the fish tank, hidden from street view. He peered into the murky tank. I won’t be ordering seafood from this dodgy joint , he thought. He pushed his face up closer to the glass, and whispered, “Surely nothing lives in there.” Squinting to look for any sign of life, he was shocked when a face popped up through murky tank.
    “Boo! ”
    “Shit , Irish!” Randall shouted, reeling backwards and almost falling from his chair. Irish walked around the tank chuckling. “You know, Irish, I didn’t think it was possible, but the distortion in that tank actually made you fucking uglier.”
    “Now, now , Detective, my mother would be