Follow the Money by Peter Corris Page B

still had the power of speech. As it came out my voice was a raw croak. ‘I can put that on the list of the laws you’ve broken.’
    He laughed and expelled aromatic smoke. ‘Oh, that’s a very long list indeed, depending on your point of view.’
    I said nothing and concentrated on getting myself back together. Houli was obviously someone who liked to talk and talkers often do themselves much more harm than good. As my vision cleared I looked around the room. It was a sort of storage space with boxes and furniture stacked up. The two chairs we were sitting on had clearly been brought in for the purpose. I had a sense of it being below ground level. Nothing social went on down here normally.
    Houli looked to be in his forties with thinning dark hair and a five o’clock shadow. He wore the suit I’d seen him in earlier at Bondi Junction with the jacket unbuttoned. White business shirt, discreetly striped silk tie, gold watch and a gold half-crown on one of his front teeth. He was olive-skinned with dark patches under his eyes. He flicked ash from the cigar onto the cement floor.
    ‘You told Rosemary Malouf that you believed her husband was still alive.’
    ‘Did I?’
    ‘Don’t be foolish, Mr Hardy. You’re in a very dangerous position. I urge you to cooperate.’
    ‘I’ll do my best.’
    ‘Have you seen Richard Malouf?’
    I didn’t answer.
    ‘Have you spoken to anyone who has seen him?’
    Not the best interrogative technique, showing that you want something quite badly. Unfortunately I had nothing to bargain with, except silence.
    Houli sighed. He dropped his cigar to the floor and stepped on it. ‘I can’t tell whether that means yes or no. I need you to make it clear to me. How would you like to meet Yusef again?’
    ‘If he’s the guy who hit me, I would.’ I held up my hands. ‘Without these.’
    ‘No.’ He got up, crossed to the door and rapped on it. It opened and the young serious face I’d seen through the peephole was looking at me again. He wore jeans, work boots and a T-shirt with the short sleeves fully filled by biceps and triceps. Houli nodded to him and he walked over towards me. I started to stand but he kicked me in both shins—right boot to left shin, left boot to right shin. The pain shot up my legs. A soccer player. I sat down hard.
    ‘It’s very simple for you,’ Houli said. ‘I asked you two questions and you will answer. You are a small man, Mr Hardy, and you have become involved in something much too big for you. I made it my business to find out a little about you. You’ve had some successes and some failures, would you agree?’
    ‘Who hasn’t?’
    ‘I haven’t had any failures and I don’t intend to start having them.’
    ‘Good luck.’
    ‘Luck has nothing to do with it, but you’re right if I understand you correctly. I am under a certain amount of pressure which is why you are under pressure now.’
    I began to revise my opinion of him. He was a talker, but he was also intelligent and very dangerous. By admitting that he was under pressure he’d upped the wattage on his threat to me. People behave according to what’s at stake and for Houli it was clearly something big.
    I said nothing but closed my eyes as a wave of nausea hit me.
    The leg pain warred for dominance with the deep ache higher up where Yusef had first hit me. The vile taste flooding my senses made me angry, not compliant. I ignored Yusef and stared at Houli thinking how much I’d like to displace his gold tooth. A blow to the left side of my face was followed by one to the other side. A searing pain went through my head and I was sure that an eardrum had broken, maybe both. I called them every obscene name I could think of and tried to stop my head from drooping.
    Yusef hit me again several times and I kept my mouth shut. I could feel blood dripping somewhere. A low blow had me retching. I heard a click and saw Houli lighting a cigar and blowing on the tip to make it glow brightly. He