went to the toilet the minder would certainly escort her there and back. It looked like Cooktown would be the place for the job. Tate hoped that disabling Dunlop would be sufficient. There was enough heat on generally without killingFederal cops, but he'd have to play it by ear. He settled down near the stern with his magazine. He took little pleasure in reading and was easily distracted from the printed page. But the photographs and specifications of the motor cars interested him and he was untroubled by the chatter of the tourists. The rigging up and baiting of the trawling line took his attention briefly, but Tate, a fly-and-lure freshwater fisherman, thought it a pretty crude affair.
He tensed when he saw Dunlop begin his survey of the boat and passengers. There was no reason to be alarmed or for Dunlop to take any special interest in him. No reason to attract attention either. Tate had a trick of appearing to shrink his body. He hunched in his chair. His shoulders seemed to be narrower and his chest pinched. His feet were crossed at the ankles in an ungainly, unathletic fashion. He slightly lowered his head and concentrated on the picture of the Trans-Am. Dunlop barely glanced at him, but Tate noted the strength in Dunlop's arms and shoulders and his balanced walk on the slightly pitching deck. Tate correctly judged Dunlop to be a few years younger than himself and in good condition. He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. They'd told him his vision would change. He wasn't aware of it yet but it was hard to be sure. He squinted against the strong sunlight as he looked astern. Although a considerable distance away now, he could still see the marina and the buoys marking the channels. He could see as much as he needed to.
The bar opened and Ava began drinking wine coolers with ice and a twist of lemon. Several menapproached her and she had brief conversations with them without offering any encouragement. She passed the time drinking and chain-smoking low-tar menthol cigarettes, occasionally fanning herself with the straw hat. She displayed no interest in the coral outcrops, islands, dolphins or other advertised attractions of the cruise. A fishing boat out of Cooktown created a wave which fractionally rocked the ferry. Ava swore mildly as she slopped a little of her drink. She beckoned for Dunlop to join her.
'I never figured you for a bookworm.'
Dunlop bought a can of light beer. 'I'm not. It's just something to do. What's the last book you read?'
Ava laughed. '
The Happy Hooker
. Bullshit.'
Sea birds circled over the ferry, crying harshly. A wave of heat came from the land as the boat turned towards the wharf. Dunlop drained his can; Ava sucked on the slice of lemon and lit another cigarette.
'Getting close,' Dunlop said. 'What d'you want to do?'
Ava shrugged. 'Find the old house, if it's still standing. Take a few snaps. Have lunch in the pub. Might be some decent fish on. Siesta till the boat leaves. The simple life.'
'No-one you want to look up?'
'Are you kidding? I left here thirty years ago. The boongs I knew'll be dead for sure, and the whites I wouldn't piss on.'
The ferry docked at the large concrete wharf. There was a hotel and some tourist shops at the end of the wharf and a steep, deeply-rutted road up to the main street of the town. It was hot on the wharf;a thin stretch of park adjacent to it was dry and bare and the beach baked under the high, hot sun. There was no wind, and the air was heavy and moist with a smell of salt and seaweed. Ava sniffed it deeply as she adjusted her sunglasses.
'Right,' she said. 'Cooktown.'
Some of the passengers went straight into the hotel; others browsed in the shops. Ava and Dunlop joined those who headed for Charlotte Street. For all her cynical comments as they walked down the street, moving from bright sunlight to the shade of the corrugated iron awnings, Dunlop noticed an unusual spring in Ava's step.
'One butcher's gone,' she said, pointing to a
He tensed when he saw Dunlop begin his survey of the boat and passengers. There was no reason to be alarmed or for Dunlop to take any special interest in him. No reason to attract attention either. Tate had a trick of appearing to shrink his body. He hunched in his chair. His shoulders seemed to be narrower and his chest pinched. His feet were crossed at the ankles in an ungainly, unathletic fashion. He slightly lowered his head and concentrated on the picture of the Trans-Am. Dunlop barely glanced at him, but Tate noted the strength in Dunlop's arms and shoulders and his balanced walk on the slightly pitching deck. Tate correctly judged Dunlop to be a few years younger than himself and in good condition. He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. They'd told him his vision would change. He wasn't aware of it yet but it was hard to be sure. He squinted against the strong sunlight as he looked astern. Although a considerable distance away now, he could still see the marina and the buoys marking the channels. He could see as much as he needed to.
The bar opened and Ava began drinking wine coolers with ice and a twist of lemon. Several menapproached her and she had brief conversations with them without offering any encouragement. She passed the time drinking and chain-smoking low-tar menthol cigarettes, occasionally fanning herself with the straw hat. She displayed no interest in the coral outcrops, islands, dolphins or other advertised attractions of the cruise. A fishing boat out of Cooktown created a wave which fractionally rocked the ferry. Ava swore mildly as she slopped a little of her drink. She beckoned for Dunlop to join her.
'I never figured you for a bookworm.'
Dunlop bought a can of light beer. 'I'm not. It's just something to do. What's the last book you read?'
Ava laughed. '
The Happy Hooker
. Bullshit.'
Sea birds circled over the ferry, crying harshly. A wave of heat came from the land as the boat turned towards the wharf. Dunlop drained his can; Ava sucked on the slice of lemon and lit another cigarette.
'Getting close,' Dunlop said. 'What d'you want to do?'
Ava shrugged. 'Find the old house, if it's still standing. Take a few snaps. Have lunch in the pub. Might be some decent fish on. Siesta till the boat leaves. The simple life.'
'No-one you want to look up?'
'Are you kidding? I left here thirty years ago. The boongs I knew'll be dead for sure, and the whites I wouldn't piss on.'
The ferry docked at the large concrete wharf. There was a hotel and some tourist shops at the end of the wharf and a steep, deeply-rutted road up to the main street of the town. It was hot on the wharf;a thin stretch of park adjacent to it was dry and bare and the beach baked under the high, hot sun. There was no wind, and the air was heavy and moist with a smell of salt and seaweed. Ava sniffed it deeply as she adjusted her sunglasses.
'Right,' she said. 'Cooktown.'
Some of the passengers went straight into the hotel; others browsed in the shops. Ava and Dunlop joined those who headed for Charlotte Street. For all her cynical comments as they walked down the street, moving from bright sunlight to the shade of the corrugated iron awnings, Dunlop noticed an unusual spring in Ava's step.
'One butcher's gone,' she said, pointing to a
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