Who Sings for Lu? (20 page)

For a gifted person Sniper was cunning as a shithouse rat, mating up to people in bars, pubs, on the street to a stranger if he thought there was something to be gained. Knew an awful lot of people, just not as buddies. One of these ubiquitous presences people think they know better than they actually do. Or one nobody ever noticed and yet he saw everyone.

With this bunch of blokes, third-grade footie players past their time and never reached of any prime, too much the good-timers, all talent no drive, but good blokes enough to indulge him so he could gawk at the bird, same time as he engaged these dudes in easy conversation he didn’t have to concentrate too hard on, if at all. Nice tits. You’re telling me. Could hang pictures off
those
. ’Cept you don’t have pictures to hang. Nah, but I can hang off those. About league games, who did the biffo with who. How rugby league was the toughest game in the world, tougher than rugby. That kind of stuff. Important to them. But piddling.

Each time he laughed at a comment, he moved around a bit so as to cop Lu’s profile about the same as the newspaper one he’d memorised and anyway had a photocopy of in his back jeans pocket. Soak up her image, freeze it like a camera shot, excuse me, boys. Off to the toilet, a cubicle, to compare his mind snapshot with the one the victim took on her mobile.

Was it? Nah. Yeah. No way. For sure. Back out again. Is it my buy? Reckon it must be. Mate, we thought you’d done the shithouse fade on us. Not me, mate. Mate, mate, most everyone’s a mate with a beer in hand, even one with virtually no alcohol.

Where’ve you got to, my naughty little Lulu?

He’d heard Rocky was out of the can, Rocky the mini-legend of the sub-world — more of a moralistic violent side to him than plain bad. Sniper sniffing around in his usual underhand manner, getting closer and closer to the quarry via her close friendship with the newly released con, and by sheer attrition of likely places visited knocked off his list, going from one place to another — all the faces of all the years of dwelling in the twilight, down in the shadows, in the social swamp — crossing joints off his list: Nah, ain’t seen him, they reckon he’s gone straight. Meaning straight-er.

Day after day, the nights too, till late enough to pack up his metaphorical gun, unfired, and go home. Out again next night. What you had to do to be different from the herd, earn a big chunk of money, keep yourself ahead of the game.

This here was an unlikely place, more a students’ bar, fuckin’ screaming music playing over speakers. Over there Lu. In profile.
Turn away a bit more, baby doll. I reckon it’s her all right. I do.

Other thing was, she
looked
troubled. Rocky standing right up close to her, he was always very protective of the kid, and everyone knew it or they soon found out if they gave her lip or went for her sexually. Rock kept going up and getting refills for her, still on his same drink himself, watch those prison inmate’s eyes how they flicked around not obviously but calmly, how he’d suddenly turn and look in an unexpected direction. So you better not be staring at him, or not with ill intent. He wasn’t bunting her, Sniper could tell. By the body language: just close mates.
Don’t get caught looking at her, do it on the sweep-past, catch her coming back.
Because this guy Rocky made for one formidable mate to have.

Boy, this might be getting exciting.

And when he was excited Sniper’s funny brain cranked up a gear or two. He asked his new mates who knew a good joke. Georgie, the fat one of course, went, ‘Yep. I got one.’ And got right into it. Funny it
was too. Paulie told the next and promptly mucked up the punch line. ‘Duhhh! Next!’

In the hubbub of the boys laughing at Paulie’s poor joke-telling, Sniper out with his mobile — click. Showed Paulie his expression caught on camera and passed it round for the boys to have a real good laugh. ‘Go on, give us another one, Paulie.’

Sniper moved position, just a touch. As Paulie turned himself into a Queensland cane toad. Click, Sniper got that pose. ‘Take a look at this dial, guys!’ Took another. Not of Paulie though.

At just the angle she appeared in the publicised shot taken one night in a city park. He compared the two in the toilet cubicle and even he was astonished at how clever he was.

Back in the bar to see Lu with head down, grave expression, Rocky looking over her shoulder, even graver; reading a text, likely, on her mobile. The tough guy’s jaw muscles pulsing visibly. And when Lu looked up she was death warmed.

What could it be to have them so transformed?

For once the laughter came without being forced, as Karen read a letter from a clairvoyant offering her services to find the woman in the photograph.

‘I don’t charge for my services, Mr and Mrs Chadwick,’ Karen read. ‘Rather I ask for a donation. And as this case is so tragic and has struck a public nerve, I am willing to provide my God-given gift for a flat donation of twenty thousand dollars, payable to my charitable foundation —’

‘Shut her off,’ Sue drawled. ‘I’ll write her back and say, “Dear Madam Clairvoyant, what a coincidence your occupation should have in its name my own, being Claire. I think this is divine intervention. Serendipity, if you will. We can meet in the middle of the Nullabor Desert at, shall we say, noon next Wednesday? Do bring a large umbrella and lots of drinking water, for the heat and in case I’m late.”’

They were in stitches.

Yet suddenly the laughter ran down like an engine had died. At Marilyn looking up, her face quite drained of blood.

‘Sorry, everyone. But —’ She thrust a letter at Claire. ‘I think you should read this.’ She hefted up her rotund form.

‘I think we girls should take a little walk.’

I don’t know where to start what to say. Guess by saying I am the woman. And I’m sorry like you won’t believe and I won’t blame you for hating me.

Claire’s heart started hammering madly. Aware of the difference made by her friends vacating the living room, whose spaciousness she’d always objected to.

Thought it was just another crank. This wasn’t the first to claim she was the woman in the photograph. You could usually tell by the opening line.

Guess if I mention Fig Shade wine then you’ll know I am the person. Someone called Sue?

God. Yes. Claire could hear her outside, Sue, her voice atypically low: they were out on the verandah and doubtless murmuring about this very letter.

We overheard her say it was Fig Shade wine — your daughter to your husband. I saw his photo in the papers. I know being a good mother you might not understand this, but can you imagine how jealous she made me? At her sitting there with her stylishly dressed daddy, beauty like I’ve never seen, money dripping off them, father and daughter happiness and closeness. And most of all confidence. You wouldn’t know if you’ve not ever had it, confidence I mean. It’s like a missing leg or arm but worse. Hearing her tell her father the wine was their friend’s label. And us losers saying, how nice for them. Or this loser did. I’ll be honest there.

Claire’s hand went to her mouth. She must not let even this unravel her.

So she got up and filled a wine glass — Fig Shade — at not even noon, downed it in several difficult swallows, stayed at the bench until the effect hit. Filled another.

All right. It worked, the media publishing the photograph. Flushed the woman out. Now back Claire must go and read this with every gram of objectivity she could muster.
Go on. Even if as Mother said, it can get worse. Steel yourself.

When the text signal went off it always evoked his daughter’s frustrated efforts to summon his help, so Riley had learned not to respond till he had readied himself to take the very worst. Being informed of her suicide, for example. Or being told she had suffered such severe trauma she was effectively a vegetable. His rage would know no bounds then. Bad enough as it was.

He was in another hotel, same budget class but this time over at the cheap end of Bondi. Bella, sick of his state, now saw less of him — and the sexual side no longer meant anything, not with what was on his mind. He’d been making calls to the contacts he called ‘shadies’, not even prepared to name them in his mind so they could not be traced. If his phone log was looked at there would be questions — if they managed to fish his mobile out of the briny he intended to consign it to once he felt things were in irreversible motion. Perhaps in the last hour things already were. He hoped so. And who said anything could be traced back to him? Why would they, the police, bother?

Seeing Anna’s name as sender near stopped his heart. He actually sagged at the knees.

Flung the Blackberry on the bed: needed time to gather himself.
Oh-my-God. My darling, darling girl, Daddy’s baby, my precious.

Texting was talking. Anna was back from the twilight world: could
anything be better on this whole earth?

His mind in rapid overdrive. This changed everything. Everything! Plans off.
On my knees to Claire, to my daughters. Never ever again, I’ll not even so much as glance at another woman. It will take time but we can get there. Apply my legendary will to fixing this situation — the right way. Daddy is coming home!

He picked up the mobile and opened the message.

That was when the bomb went off. Right in his face.

I saw you and the woman, Dad. Standing in the window of the hotel. You didn’t answer my texts. And now you’ve left us for her?

No shorthand, it was every word spelt out.

Don’t blow all my inheritance, Daddy. Remember the joke? But you have and I don’t think it’s money.

Had to summon up the will to make a call. To cancel an arrangement for which he’d already paid fifty per cent. Then he wept.

Rocky came in with the letter, which got Lu shaking all over. He’d used the postal address, one of scores of houses and apartments he’d looked after, didn’t tell her where. He’d have scouted out for cops who would be looking to nail whoever picked up the letter, if the Chadwick woman had informed them. Like everything, Rocky just got it sorted.

‘You want to read it alone?’ he asked.

‘Hell no. Don’t wanna read it. You made me write to her.’

His eyes narrowed first. ‘Because you told me you regretted what you did …’

‘Not what
I
did,’ she snapped back. ‘What
I
stupidly didn’t give no thought to, like
you
didn’t in bashing up the queer — and look where it landed you. This is about what
they
did, guys supposed to my best mates, after you.’

‘Want me to read it out?’

She couldn’t answer.

‘Will if you really want me to.’ His words gentle enough. Not so his expression. ‘Least I’m not, like, emotionally involved,’ he said, adding, ‘I think.’

When she could see he was. Same as she could see he was not yet ready to forgive her.

She nodded, yeah, okay, you read it. ‘But don’t expect me to cop
her shit if she’s gonna lay it on me. Had enough of yours.’

‘Lu?’ he said with those serious lifted eyebrows. ‘I ain’t even started yet.’ Another pause. ‘What, you exempt from shit and the rest of us aren’t?’

Dropped his eyes, finally, to read. Left her shaken. And the shit hadn’t even begun.

Acknowledging Lu’s anonymous approach. Expressing her shock and even now scepticism this — Lu’s letter — was genuine, if not for the Fig Shade mention.

Lu tried to get into listening mode but found herself reacting. Bitch, doubting it was ‘genuine’? What, Lu wrote for the fun of it?

So we know you’ve at least overheard our daughter speaking with her father, you did not say where. We know the wine label well: you obviously have information that is not publicly known.

Well, like you, where to start. I’m not yet ready to thank you for having the courage and conscience to write, as I have a daughter who has gone to Hell and is not yet fully back and is scarred for life.

Of the hundreds and hundreds of letters we have received, none of course had greater impact than yours, for very obvious reasons. And I want you to know, after I had read your letter alone, and recovered enough, one of my friends read it aloud to three of us women friends listening in disbelief that soon turned to tears — well, we went from shock to sadness for you to rage. Then we were joined by my younger daughter, almost sixteen. So your words had five of us crying. Some of those tears, no doubt, were impotent rage at you, your self-centred blindness to the suffering and pain you caused.

‘Well I’m not the sixth in tears.’ Lu frowning at Rocky to keep reading as he had stopped to stare at her. ‘I’m not even close to crying.’ Fuck them all.

Why should we be concerned for you? You who admitted you had set my daughter up — just to mug, you said. Just? You say
just
? Then you admitted you wanted her to suffer a taste of the lifetime of hurt you had suffered. Oh?

I take it that is normal for you, to just plan to mug an innocent, to rob her of what you must have realised would only be a few hundred dollars, at most. She was young, for God’s sake. Young people don’t walk around
carrying a lot of money, not even my daughter whom you saw as rich. As if that is a crime in itself. As if your pain is in any way connected to her life. How dare you.

In Lu shot, on the pause, ‘Whoa. Just whoa a minute. This is bullshit, man.’

‘Your bullshit. Not hers.’ Rocky tapped the letter, hard. ‘Had enough?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Me too. I’m out of here.’

Jeezuz, Rock knew how to blackmail a vulnerable woman. He really did. Shrugging he should continue in that case.

How dare you think you have some God-given right to lure an innocent fellow female and deprive her of whatever cash she has on her person? How dare you write to me and say you are not just sorry, but begging my forgiveness, and that you had nothing to do with what happened to Anna later. It is called conspiring, whoever you are, whatever name you were given in the godforsaken home you described — as if that has anything to do with us. As if somehow we have to suffer for how your life turned out. Just as we would not make others suffer for what we are going through right now.

Rocky decided to halt — well, pause, it turned out. ‘Harden up,’ he warned, ‘but keep your mind open.’ Must have skimmed ahead a little.

Harden up? How hard did a girl have to get? Lu’s heart and its foolish hopes getting smashed.

Let me give you a name, call you Miss, as I cannot write to a nameless person. Miss, I don’t know if you’ll understand this word in the context I use it: conceit. It’s what you are guilty of — monumental conceit.

The conceit of kidding yourself that your actions are somehow understandable because of your upbringing. The conceit of pouring your heart out — rather candidly, I will say, and certainly movingly — at the same time as you lay most of the blame on your male friends. Former friends, you say.

If someone did this to you and the female conspirator wrote explaining she did it because she grew up rich and yet feeling worthless, not having earned it, would you forgive her after you had been raped, sodomised and beaten …

Rocky showing feeling for Lu now. But not the same as softening. Just what he’d call a ‘wee rest’.

… Miss, you say because you have been sexually abused since childhood, you understand and hurt deeply for what my daughter suffered. So that lets you off the hook, does it?

Well, didn’t it? ‘I wouldn’t mind a smoke break.’

Ignoring her Rocky read on.

If I told you our family has been devastated by this incident, Miss, what would your apologies and self-justifications mean then?

If I told you my husband has run off with another woman, our daughter’s recovery is far from certain, that we have lost our business, our lives are shattered — how do your words sit then, Miss?

Recalling how you felt seeing our daughter for the first time was gut wrenching. Being females we could all identify with how you felt. My daughter is a very beautiful young woman. I imagine you feel you are not attractive. Who would know? We have only a vague part-view of what you look like. However, being what you were born does not justify assaulting her. And please don’t blame, as you read this, your male accomplices. YOU —
Rocky read the emphasis like an indictment
— chose them as friends. On your own admission you set her up, never mind your own less evil intentions. It was criminal nonetheless.

In your awful life, were you not taught any morals or principles? Surely every female instinctively understands the rule of non-violence, especially where other women are concerned? Violence is not born in us, except savages. If we are to have a civil society, with laws to protect one and all, then nothing in your childhood can justify violence against innocents. Not even your sad tale of abuse.

Well, thanks. What a waste of time writing to this lecturing old rich retard.

Miss, I guess with someone having killed your innocence you thought you’d kill someone else’s. Wrong, Miss. Wrong. As if that is not enough you say you cannot name the real culprits — my word, not yours — as that is not the code you live by. Isn’t that interesting? Your code says you can protect vicious animals but not give some sort of closure to the crime against my daughter?

Lu reeling, physically so. Rocky gave her a few seconds, indicated
he was almost finished, then continued:

Miss, if you are indeed one of the guilty persons, then you are a contemptible piece of filth and I don’t know if I can forgive you. I will need time to think this over.

I ask of you to please write again. No doubt there will be a different address. You have my word I will not inform the police. Have the GUTS to write me a response. Or is that too much to hope for? Claire Chadwick.