Grand Slam (28 page)

On Tuesday, Emilio rested up for his quarter-finals match, which was to be played the next day. He told me he'd be staying in his hotel all day – apart from some brief training time with his coach – and he thought it
wouldn't
be a good idea if I went there to spend the day with him, sitting around while he slept, read, watched TV. Me twiddling my thumbs, just being there in case he wanted to look at me or ask me to do a little pirouette or tell him how magnificent he is. Because, after all, I have
nothing
else to do. Anyway, the reason he didn't want me there, Teresa said, was because ‘he might be tempted by you'. Tempted by the evil hussy who apparently has no say whatsoever in whether or not there's to be any sex. But I didn't complain because I was so happy to have the whole day away from Emilio – spending it instead with Rosalind (yay!) – and then the evening to myself. Which meant I could see Jack and report what I'd seen at the MCG. And, hopefully, other things. I sent him a text:
Can I see you tonight?

It took him ages to respond and when he did:
I have plans tonight.

Bloody hell! What plans? Who with? I sat at my desk, brooding for a while.

He sent another text before I could respond:
You're not with your amante tonight? In the shower perhaps?

Geez Louise, talk about childish.
I don't know what amante is.

Yes you do.

Ok I do. Is Andrew carrying a listening device? Are you eavesdropping?

You and your amante have very loud voices.

He's not my amante.

He seems to think he is.

I rang Jack. I thought he might laugh, having had fun with our convo, but he most certainly didn't. He took a while to answer, and his voice was cold when he said, ‘Hi.'

‘Who's reporting back? Sharon or Andrew or both?'

‘No-one's
reporting
back about your affairs, Erica.'

‘Affairs? With an “s”?'

‘Your day-to-day activities. You know what I mean.'

‘No, I don't know.'

‘Maybe you've got a guilty conscience.'

I sighed. ‘I'm not looking for an argument with you.' Oh my God! That's such a couples thing to say. ‘I just wanted to know if I could see you tonight. I've got something to tell you. Something I saw.'

‘I already know. Andrew told me.'

‘And? What do you think?'

‘I think you should stop running away from Andrew. It's pissing us both off.'

‘But what about what I saw? What do you think?'

‘I don't know. Yes, it's suspicious, but there's no law against two men meeting in a public place and exchanging something.'

‘Martin McGann might have passed on to Shane that Emilio calls me Emilita. I think Martin McGann and Teresa are having an affair.'

‘Ok. So what if Teresa has told Martin? It doesn't mean anything.'

We were silent for a while. There was some huffing from both ends of the line.

‘Anyway, I think that fat man is suspicious and Martin McGann is paying him for something.'

‘You don't even know for sure it was McGann.'

‘I'm
pretty
sure.' More silence and huffing. I said, ‘It'd be nice to . . . catch up.'

‘It would.' Ah, better. His voice was gentler.

‘So? Tonight?'

‘I'm visiting a Russian club.'

‘Sussing out the Russians? The boat I saw is called
Iodka
.' I spelled it.

No response. He was thinking about that.

‘Can I come?' I dared.

‘It's not really – I'm not sure it's safe for you.'

‘Is Shags going?'

There was a very slight smile in his voice when he said, ‘Yes.'

‘I want to come. Please?'

He lowered his voice. ‘Sharon is armed and capable. You're not, remember?'

‘I'm not capable?'

‘Armed.'

‘Oh.'

‘Not that I want you carrying a weapon anyway.'

‘I don't need a weapon. I've got you.'

‘You do.'

‘So . . .'

‘I'll pick you up at ten.'

While I waited for Jack, Emilio called me. ‘You miss me, yes?'

‘Um —'

‘So bored, my poor Emilita.'

‘Oh, not really —'

‘But today I am feeling, how you say, tempted for the sexual activity.'

‘Emilio, do many people know you call me that? Emilita?'

‘No, just you.'

‘I don't think so. I'm sure you've said it in front of others. Teresa, your coach, a few others.' Sharon.

‘Hmm. Perhaps. Is this important? Do you want me to call you by another name?'

Yes, actually. How about Erica? ‘No. It's fine. I was just wondering.'

‘Do you miss me?'

‘Well, I've been so busy —'

‘Tomorrow you will see me.'

‘Ah, yes —'

‘And all will be well.'

‘All will be well.'

By the time Jack came to get me from Mum's I was wishing I hadn't insisted on going. I hadn't known it'd be such a late start. Sneaking around at night in dangerous places wasn't what I'd had in mind when I'd asked Jack about catching up tonight. What I
did
have in mind was something more along the lines of pizza and beer in his bed. Or pizza and beer
then
bed. And home by ten so I could get a decent night's sleep. Actually, pizza, beer, bed then the Russian club would have been a preferred option too, but he hadn't offered an earlier catch-up so I didn't suggest it in case he said no.

Mum was in her dressing gown. ‘Why are you going out so late?'

‘Um, it's what young people do these days.'

‘But it's a work night!'

I yawned. ‘I like going out late.'

Jack arrived. I wanted to run out to his car but there were two reasons I didn't: One, Mum had waited up especially to see him and two, Jack has such impeccable manners he wouldn't have liked not collecting me from the door. Actually, three: Someone might have taken a shot at me as I ran from the house to his car. Maybe Sharon.

‘Where's Sharon?' I said as we walked down the driveway. I could see she wasn't in his car. He opened the door for me.

‘Gave her the night off.'

‘Oh.'

‘I don't need her if I've got you.'

‘But I'm not armed and dangerous.'

‘You most certainly are.' He gave me a lingering look. Goody. Admittedly, I'd made a special effort. Straightened my hair – cursing the theft of my wig – worn my sexy little black dress, although I still hadn't found my favourite heels, which I reckoned might be in Mrs Booth's house along with Emilio's amulet.

‘Where's the club?' I said as we drove.

‘Brunswick.'

‘Are we going in disguise? I mean, who do we say we are? Natasha and Boris?'

‘Not unless you speak fluent Russian, with the right accent.'

‘Do you speak Russian?'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

He laughed, but I thought it was a reasonable question. Jack speaks six languages, plus some Spanish, apparently. I loved when he whispered French nothings in my ear. With that in mind, I gave him a nudge. ‘You know, when we finally catch up in your bedroom, I want you to say naughty things to me in French.'

He gave me another look, but this time not lingering or sexy or wanting in any way. ‘I would have thought you'd heard enough sexual Latin language to last a lifetime.'

I crossed my arms and stared out the window.

The Vodka Club was in a 1970s building above a row of ugly shops. As we climbed the stairs, Jack handed me a fake driver's licence – with my photo and the name Susan Smith on it – gripped my hand and said, ‘We've been out for dinner, had a few drinks, okay?'

‘Okay. What's your name tonight?'

‘My real one.'

‘Your real . . . oh.' I remembered that Jack's real name was ‘Jacques', changed to ‘Jack' when he moved from Switzerland to Melbourne so he wouldn't get beaten up at his posh new private school. I practised. ‘Jacques.'

‘Like this.
Jacques
.' His version sounded better.

We approached the man at the front desk, and Jack said in English but with a French accent and a beaming, drunken smile, ‘How are you, my friend?'

He was a big man wearing a tux and no smile. ‘You are member?'

‘We are meeting Vladimir.
Est-il ici?
' Jack peered beyond the man into the darkened room, where people played cards and drank vodka.

‘Many Vladimir.' The man waved his arm at the room.

‘Vladimir Vavilov. You are familiar with the tennis player?'

His eyes lit up. ‘Vladimir Vavilov coming here?'

‘
Oui
. We have been for dinner.' Jack checked his watch. ‘He is late.'

The man pointed to a sofa. ‘Please wait.'

Jack swayed a little, just like a pissed person, and hooked an arm around my neck. I had no choice but to sway with him, and it was annoying. I thought it must be horrible to live with someone who behaves like this, going out and getting drunk all the time. I bet if Sharon Stone were here instead of me, she'd love it. He'd have his arm around her and she'd have her arm around him. I threw him off. He let out a surprised laugh, said something in French. Too late for French, I thought.

‘Look,' I said to the big man in the tux but he was focused on someone behind us. I turned to find the abandoning limo driver – aka Danny de Vito – standing there, waiting for us to get out of his way so he could enter the club. He got a big shock when he saw our faces, and took a step back.

Jack said, ‘Ah, here is our friend!' and gave Danny de Vito a look that suggested we knew where he lived.

‘Oh, yes,' I said, ‘our friend!' Our dear friend whose name escapes me.

‘This not Vladimir,' said big tux guy.

Jack put an arm around Danny, giving him a big squeeze. ‘This is our very, very good friend.'

The terrified Danny looked from Jack to me and back again. I held what I thought was a tough-guy face and whether or not he thought I was scary, I wouldn't know, but he finally said, ‘They friend.'

Tux guy asked for our IDs, recorded the false names we gave him, and let us in.

We sat in a booth, Danny trapped next to me, Jack opposite so he could see Danny's face as he questioned him. Jack, now without a French accent, told Danny that if he answered a few questions for us, we'd leave quickly and quietly and never bother him again. Before Jack left for the bar to buy drinks, he said to me, ‘Shoot him if he tries to leave.' I plonked my handbag on the table in front of me and patted it.

Jack returned with three glasses of vodka and Danny started at them like they might contain poison. ‘I not know nothing.'

I took a sip of mine. Yuck. Maybe they did.

‘Tell me about the company you work for,' said Jack. ‘We know who owns it.'

‘They not involved bad things. It is legitimate business.'

Jack nodded. ‘The Federal Police are looking into the train incident.'

‘No! There is no more about that!'

‘There will be. And the matter of the drugs found in the boot of your vehicle.' Jack addressed me. ‘Ice, I think we decided?'

‘Yep.' I gave Danny a serious look. ‘Not the kind you keep in the freezer, either.'

Danny de Vito's eyes grew so wide I thought they might pop. ‘You,' he spluttered. ‘You . . .'

Jack munched on salt-and-vinegar chips. I made a mental note that he liked that flavour. ‘You've got something to say?'

Danny fell back, defeat on his face. ‘I make new life in this country.' He looked at me. ‘My family. I not want trouble.' And I felt sorry for him.

‘Neither do I,' said Jack. ‘Tell me about the company you work for.'

‘I am honest.' He gave me another look. ‘Coward,
da
, but not liar. There is no thing to tell.'

Jack went to speak but Danny held up a hand. ‘I tell about heist.'

Jack's face went serious. ‘The tennis lunch?'

Danny nodded.

‘You indicated you'd said everything you knew about that.'

Danny shrugged.

‘Talk.'

Danny leaned in. ‘The two men, they come, want be member Russian club.'

I piped up. ‘So you
do
know the men involved.'

‘Not know. But know who.'

‘You told us they're not Russian.'

‘Not Russia. Ukraine. They want make friend here.' He nodded at the room. ‘They looking cash work.'

‘They're here illegally?'

‘
Da
.' Danny looked up at the ceiling, reminding me of myself in church, praying quietly to God who, just by the way, hadn't been too helpful since. ‘Here, much work possible. Many trade people, but not work for Ukraine person.'

Right. Tradies who look after their own.

Jack said, ‘Get to the point.'

‘A man, he come, want pay cash for work. Ukraine men take work.' I stopped breathing and I suspected Jack had also. ‘Then I see the television and I know what work they find.'

Jack said, ‘Who was the man who employed them?'

Danny shrugged. ‘I not know.' He gave Jack a pleading look. ‘I not know more.'

Jack and I exchanged a look. ‘What'd he look like?'

Danny sighed and looked around the room, as though seeking inspiration. ‘Average man. Hair dark. Maybe forty.'

‘Australian accent?'

Danny nodded.

‘When did he come here? What date?'

I knew what Jack was thinking. He could have the club's register checked, the one that records people's IDs.

Danny shook his head, closed his eyes. ‘I not remember.'

Jack reached across the table, took a handful of Danny's hair, yanked him forward. ‘Try.'

‘I not remember! I will find!'

Jack released him, flicked him a business card with nothing but a gold embossed number on it. ‘If you never want to see me again, you'll remember.'

Danny looked hopeful. ‘I can go?'

‘No, you can stay.' Jack gave me a nod and I stood. He took my hand and we left the building without looking back. And I thought I'd like to go undercover with Jack more often. It seemed to be the only time he'd hold my hand in public.

In his car outside my mother's neighbour's house, with the seat laid back and his hands all over me, Jack kissed me so lusciously I had an orgasm. He pulled back and gazed into my eyes.

‘Did you —'

‘Yes,' I panted.

‘God,' he whispered and kissed me again, and when I snuck into my bed ten minutes later, having left Jack with glazed eyes and his face kind of pained looking, I found sleep arrived very quickly. When I woke the next morning, I was still smiling.