Hard Landing

CHAPTER THIRTY

  Gary woke the next morning and remembered Madeline Arnott's grief. He got angry, and that anger soon focused on one individual.

  After breakfast, he put on a sports jacket and tucked his revolver behind his belt. Then he got into his Toyota sedan and drove over to the headquarters of the Sunrise Mission in Pyrmont. It was a Wednesday and the foyer was almost empty. He scouted around the ground floor until he found a board that said the office of Pastor McKenzie was on the third floor. He caught a lift up there and strolled along a vacant corridor with several closed doors on each side. A nameplate on one said: 'Pastor McKenzie'. Thankfully, the Pastor didn't seem to have a secretary. Gary knocked on the door.

  A male voice said: "Who is it?"

  Gary pushed open the door and entered a large office with bookshelves, two leather couches and a desk beside a long window. The Pastor sat at the desk, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, typing on a computer. He looked in great shape, particularly for a man of the cloth, so Gary was glad he brought his revolver for insurance.

  The Pastor looked surprised: "What are you doing here? Who are you? I'm not seeing members of the congregation right now."

  Gary shut the door behind him. "I just want to have a chat."

  A frown. "I told you, I'm not seeing members right now. You'll have to make an appointment. Send me an e-mail."

  Gary noticed a day-glow painting of Jesus above the desk. "I want to chat about Patrick Arnott."

  The Pastor's tan evaporated. "Who?"

  "Patrick Arnott. He was a friend of mine. He belonged to this church. Now he's dead."

  After a long pause, the Pastor spoke with a burr. "He's dead?"

  "Yes. He was shot dead."

  "Umm, really? Who shot him? When?"

  "I'm not here to answer questions. The police will probably announce the details fairly soon."

  "Then why are you here?"

  "I want to know why you betrayed Patrick to Oliver Bristow."

  The Pastor's eyes gleamed and his Adam's Apple looked like a cork in a storm. "What're you talking about?"

  "Patrick told you that he stole some documents about Angus Trewaley from Merton & Co, didn't he? But to curry favour with Trewaley, you warned Bristow about that."

  "T-t-that's not true. It's all a lie."

  "Bullshit. I know it's true; you know it's true, and God sure as hell knows it's true. You know, if you'd helped Patrick, instead of betraying him, he would still be alive."

  "I had nothing - nothing at all - to do with his death. Nothing. Zero. If you don't leave here, right now, I'll call the police."

  Gary lifted his jacket, pulled out his revolver and pointed it at McKenzie's head. "You can try, but you'll be talking to God first."

  The Pastor's eyes ballooned and locked onto the revolver. His lips moved several times, but only squeaks emerged. "J-J-Jesus Christ."

  "Don't blaspheme."

  "D-d-don't shoot me, please."

  "I won't, if you do what you're told."

  "W-w-what?"

  "Give me your hand."

  "What?"

  "Give me your hand."

  "W-w-w-hy do you want my hand?"

  "I want to read your fortune."

  "N-no you don't. Why do you want my hand?"

  "Stop asking questions. Give me your hand. Then I'll go."

  "W-w-what are you going to do with it?"

  Gary ground his revolver into the Pastor's neck and growled. "Give me your fuckin' hand, now."

  "W-w-which one?"

  "Either fuckin' one."

  Slowly and tentatively, the Pastor extended his left hand. Gary grabbed the wrist and pushed the hand flat onto the table. Then he slammed the butt of the revolver down onto the fingers and heard a satisfying crunch.

  The Pastor screamed, wrenched the hand from Gary's grasp and fell backwards off his chair. He lay on his back, holding his hand, and looked up at Gary with tears in his eyes. "You broke them - you fucking broke them."

  "Hold up your hand so I can check."

  "What?"

  Gary pointed the revolver at the Pastor's forehead. "Show me your frickin' hand or I will shoot you dead."

  The Pastor grimaced and whimpered as he held up his shaking hand.

  The angle of two fingers made even Gary cringe. "Good."

  The Pastor went back to cradling his injured hand while his legs writhed. "Good? You fuckin' broke 'em."

  "You really shouldn't swear. I don't mind, but God hears everything you say, I am told."

  "You bastard. I'll get you for this."

  "No, you won't. You don't know who I am. But if you ever find out and complain to anyone, I'll tell everyone how you betrayed a member of your flock and got him killed. Think how bad that will be for business." Gary chuckled. "I'll also tell everyone about the little singer you've been shagging."

  Alarm replaced pain on the Pastor's face. "W-w-what are you talking about?"

  "The singer with the black bob and the good voice. She turns up to your house in the morning after your wife has left. In fact, I've got photos of her outside your place."

  The Pastor looked into the depths of hell and screamed: "For God's sake, no."

  "It's your decision, not mine. Have a nice day."