else?’
Hale placed the Remington on the bottom step and leaned it against the house. ‘You brought backup.’
‘We were out and about.’
‘This is a long way from most places.’
‘I was told you were hard to get hold of.’
‘Not if you ring.’
Rowe shrugged. ‘Can we come in?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘It’s cold.’
‘I haven’t tidied up.’
Rowe smiled. ‘I don’t mind seeing newspapers on the table.’
‘We’ll talk out here.’
Rowe didn’t answer. He was dressed in a suit, breeze keeping his tie dancing. The property was west of Auckland Central, surrounded by dense bush. The smell of it hung heavy, clean and organic. Hale eyed the escort man: tall, mid-forties, grim and buzz-cut. Mental neon flashed ‘ex-cop’ in bold. His nose was kicked off-plumb, brow thickened with scar tissue.
Hale said, ‘Looks like Sugar Ray landed a few.’
‘Didn’t fight him,’ the guy said. ‘Got invited to.’
‘Maybe it was lucky you turned him down.’
The guy smiled. It wasn’t a kind look. ‘Fuck you.’
Rowe ignored him. He said, ‘I was hoping you might reconsider your earlier decision.’
‘I didn’t realise I hadn’t made myself clear.’
‘I didn’t give you the full story.’
‘That’s not a great way to win me over.’
‘Just hear me out.’
‘It’s after eleven.’
‘All I’m after is two minutes of your time.’
Wind caught the front door and ticked it against the latch. Hale said, ‘I’ll need a name.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Visit my house and I need to know who you are. It’s like roll call.’
Rowe laughed, gestured vaguely. ‘This is Wayne Beck. My chief of security.’
‘Beck the boxer. Nice to meet you.’
Beck didn’t answer.
Hale said, ‘Turning up at this hour, I thought maybe you were planning on being unfriendly.’
Rowe laughed again, but with dampened gusto. ‘No. Nothing like that.’
‘Shall we get to it then? My bed’s getting cold.’
Rowe placed his hands in his pockets. Wind put a ripple through his trouser shadow. He said, ‘The fight club break-in on January third’s linked in with the bank thing on October eight last year. Auckland Savings and Loan. Same guys did both jobs.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘My daughter was a victim at the fight club on January third.’
‘Explain.’
‘She was in the way of the getaway. She was hit on the side of the head with a hammer. It broke her jaw and left her unconscious. She bit off the end of her tongue.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘I didn’t see her when I visited.’
‘She doesn’t live with me. And she’s still in hospital.’
‘I didn’t realise fight nights were the sorts of things nineteen-year-old girls were interested in.’
‘Yeah. Neither did I.’
‘You could have told me this earlier.’
‘I’d banked on you saying yes without needing the full details.’
Hale didn’t answer.
Rowe smiled. ‘She probably wouldn’t want me to pursue anything anyway. Heaven forbid someone else gets hurt, even if they did hit her in the head with a hammer.’ He nodded in the direction of the shotgun. ‘You’re not a violent man, are you, Mr Hale?’
‘Lapsed pacifist.’
He nodded slowly and appraised the front of the house. ‘I can live with that.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘The brief’s the same. Find who did it. And then tell me.’
‘And then you’ll send Wayne after them.’
Rowe laughed. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps something similarly effective.’
‘Will she make it?’
‘My daughter? She’ll need a lot of rehabilitation.’
‘Has she spoken to the police?’
‘No. She’s in and out of consciousness.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yeah. Don’t bother doling out watered-down sympathy. No offence. You don’t know what it’s like.’
Hale didn’t answer.
Rowe turned away and stood facing down the driveway towards the street. ‘Give him the file,’ he said.
Beck circled the rear of the car and
Hale placed the Remington on the bottom step and leaned it against the house. ‘You brought backup.’
‘We were out and about.’
‘This is a long way from most places.’
‘I was told you were hard to get hold of.’
‘Not if you ring.’
Rowe shrugged. ‘Can we come in?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘It’s cold.’
‘I haven’t tidied up.’
Rowe smiled. ‘I don’t mind seeing newspapers on the table.’
‘We’ll talk out here.’
Rowe didn’t answer. He was dressed in a suit, breeze keeping his tie dancing. The property was west of Auckland Central, surrounded by dense bush. The smell of it hung heavy, clean and organic. Hale eyed the escort man: tall, mid-forties, grim and buzz-cut. Mental neon flashed ‘ex-cop’ in bold. His nose was kicked off-plumb, brow thickened with scar tissue.
Hale said, ‘Looks like Sugar Ray landed a few.’
‘Didn’t fight him,’ the guy said. ‘Got invited to.’
‘Maybe it was lucky you turned him down.’
The guy smiled. It wasn’t a kind look. ‘Fuck you.’
Rowe ignored him. He said, ‘I was hoping you might reconsider your earlier decision.’
‘I didn’t realise I hadn’t made myself clear.’
‘I didn’t give you the full story.’
‘That’s not a great way to win me over.’
‘Just hear me out.’
‘It’s after eleven.’
‘All I’m after is two minutes of your time.’
Wind caught the front door and ticked it against the latch. Hale said, ‘I’ll need a name.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Visit my house and I need to know who you are. It’s like roll call.’
Rowe laughed, gestured vaguely. ‘This is Wayne Beck. My chief of security.’
‘Beck the boxer. Nice to meet you.’
Beck didn’t answer.
Hale said, ‘Turning up at this hour, I thought maybe you were planning on being unfriendly.’
Rowe laughed again, but with dampened gusto. ‘No. Nothing like that.’
‘Shall we get to it then? My bed’s getting cold.’
Rowe placed his hands in his pockets. Wind put a ripple through his trouser shadow. He said, ‘The fight club break-in on January third’s linked in with the bank thing on October eight last year. Auckland Savings and Loan. Same guys did both jobs.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘My daughter was a victim at the fight club on January third.’
‘Explain.’
‘She was in the way of the getaway. She was hit on the side of the head with a hammer. It broke her jaw and left her unconscious. She bit off the end of her tongue.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘I didn’t see her when I visited.’
‘She doesn’t live with me. And she’s still in hospital.’
‘I didn’t realise fight nights were the sorts of things nineteen-year-old girls were interested in.’
‘Yeah. Neither did I.’
‘You could have told me this earlier.’
‘I’d banked on you saying yes without needing the full details.’
Hale didn’t answer.
Rowe smiled. ‘She probably wouldn’t want me to pursue anything anyway. Heaven forbid someone else gets hurt, even if they did hit her in the head with a hammer.’ He nodded in the direction of the shotgun. ‘You’re not a violent man, are you, Mr Hale?’
‘Lapsed pacifist.’
He nodded slowly and appraised the front of the house. ‘I can live with that.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘The brief’s the same. Find who did it. And then tell me.’
‘And then you’ll send Wayne after them.’
Rowe laughed. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps something similarly effective.’
‘Will she make it?’
‘My daughter? She’ll need a lot of rehabilitation.’
‘Has she spoken to the police?’
‘No. She’s in and out of consciousness.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yeah. Don’t bother doling out watered-down sympathy. No offence. You don’t know what it’s like.’
Hale didn’t answer.
Rowe turned away and stood facing down the driveway towards the street. ‘Give him the file,’ he said.
Beck circled the rear of the car and
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