Peepshow (22 page)

‘Do the press know who I am?’

‘They’ll find out.’

Great. If you want to be a successful PI anonymity is your greatest asset. I could kiss that job with Tony goodbye. But right now I had more pressing concerns.

I had to get home and check my phone. I had to get Chloe back.

‘Thanks for all your help, Detective McCullers,’ I croaked sweetly, ‘but I’m a little tired now. Do you mind if I get some rest?’

‘Not at all. If you need anything just press this buzzer. Here’s my card if you want to get in contact with me. Just ask the duty nurse, OK? I’ll be back to see you tonight.’

‘Thanks.’ I smiled up like a sick child and McCullers, who was probably younger than me, came over all motherly and tucked in my blanket.

I gave her five minutes to leave, reefed the covers off and swung into a sitting position. Blood rushed from my head and the room spun around. Not good.

When everything stopped moving I slid carefully off the bed and limped around the room. It was a single, no bathroom, just a bedpan on a chair. Yeah right. I was naked underneath my hospital gown and went in search of my clothes. Nothing. Okey-dokey. I poked my head out the door. A sign on the opposite wall pointed the way to the toilets. Holding the gown together at the back I hobbled down the hall to the ladies’, had the longest piss of my life, then examined myself in the mirror. I was a mess. One eye was black, thanks to Mick, and my cheek was grazed and raw from the constabulary crash-tackling me to the concrete. My hair was limp and stringy from the stinking canal water, my eyes bloodshot with burst capillaries and purple bruises ringed my neck and upper arms. Puncture wounds clustered along a vein in the crook of my elbow creating a fetching track-mark effect.

I looked like a fucked-up junkie. Lovely.

As I left the bathroom I noticed a door ajar and peered in. An old lady was unconscious in a private room, surrounded by flowers and get-well cards. I tiptoed in and rifled through her cupboard, finding a handbag with eighty dollars, a floral polyester housedress, underwear that could double as a boat’s sail, a white hat and scuffs.

I put on the dress, hat and shoes, left the underwear and stole the handbag, promising silently that I would return it as soon as possible. Pulling the hat down low I left the room and followed the exit signs to the elevators.

I saw myself reflected in the elevator doors, enormous in the billowing sleeveless muu-muu. Now I looked like a fat, fucked-up junkie.

The doors slid open and Sal and his driver walked right past me, carrying an elaborate floral arrangement and a cellophane wrapped basket of fruit.

What the hell? They walked off in the direction of my room and I moved to the side of the elevator, pretending to study a rack of pamphlets on prostate cancer and diabetes, my heart beating furiously. A few minutes later they hurried back, still carrying their gifts.

Sal pushed the down button.

‘What now?’ the chauffeur whispered as they waited for the lift.

‘She has most likely checked herself out and gone home, so we do her there. Then we go to Sandringham, get my speedboat and take care of the other one on the

“Midnight Lady”. After that I need you to take me to the school, we’ve got to pick up Dominic for soccer clinic at three thirty.’

‘You have a speedboat?’ the driver said. ‘Cool.’

The doors closed on their lift and the next one dinged.

I got in and pressed ground. We descended slowly, stopping on every floor. I kept pressing the door close button and people looked at me like I was one of those crazy people who sit next to you on public transport. When we reached the ground floor I raced out into the lobby.

Sal and his mate were walking out the double doors, heading off to the car park. In front of the hospital a TV

news crew were doing their thing and I pulled the hat lower. A disabled taxi pulled up, discharging a patient in a wheelchair. Soon as the chair hit the ground I slipped into the back.

‘You’re keen,’ said the driver.

‘You have no idea,’ I whispered hoarsely. ‘I need to get to St Kilda marina, and fast.’

He turned to look at me. ‘First I’m going to need proof you can pay the fare.’

‘Fuck’s sake.’ I reached into the purse and pulled out a fifty, gave it to him. ‘You can keep the change if you get me there in under ten.’

‘Hold onto your hat,’ he said.

We sped down Punt Road and into Barkly Street, the cabbie changing lanes like a demon, beeping wildly and driving up everybody’s arse. We screeched right at Dickens and pulled up across the road from the marina.

‘You’re a credit to your profession,’ I said, and hopped across Marine Parade.

Reg had almost finished his book when I lurched into the shed. He looked up in alarm.

‘Reg, it’s me, Simone.’

‘Cripes.’ He peered at me. ‘You look like you got hit by a bus. You all right? I’ve been trying to call all day.’

‘You have?’

‘I saw the redheaded guy, early this morning. He motored in, got in a Ford Falcon and drove away. Half an hour later he was back with supplies and I was ready.

I followed him in the skiff, inconspicuous, just like you said. The boat’s anchored three nautical miles out, she’s a forty-foot Caribbean Flybridge Cruiser. I sailed past, then came back here and I’ve been ringing your mobile ever since. To tell you the truth I haven’t had this much excitement in a long while.’

‘Good work, Reg, but I’ve got some bad news. The guy behind the kidnapping is on his way to shoot my friend. He’s going to be in Sandringham soon, getting on a speedboat. First I want to call the water police, then I want to get out there.’ It hurt to speak so I kept it brief.

I hoped Reg was up for a little more excitement.

‘There’s the phone,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the boat ready.’

I dialled triple zero and rasped down the line: ‘I want to report an attempted murder, it’s on a boat called the

“Midnight Lady” anchored three nautical miles from the St Kilda marina. Get the water police out there.’

‘You’ll have to slow down, ma’am. First, can I have your name and location?’

‘Simone Kirsch, St Kilda marina. I have to get to the boat, Salvatore Parisi is going to kill Chloe Wozniak. Send the police. Please. I gotta go.’ My voice cracked. I hung up, shuffled out to the sailing school yacht and climbed aboard. The engine was going but Reg wasn’t on deck.

Then I saw him, swinging open the wire gate and striding down the decking, big gun in hand. I swear, it seemed to happen in slow motion like a Jerry Bruckheimer movie.

I may even have heard a guitar riff.

‘Is that a shotgun, Reg?’

He nodded. ‘Smith and Wesson twelve gauge pump action. Mate of mine keeps it on his boat in case of sharks. May need it if we’re going up against a fella with a gun.’ He untied the boat, jumped in and maneuvered out of the marina onto the open waters of the bay. The boat was slow and the engine laboured. I wanted to get there before Sal and convince Blue to let Chloe go.

‘Can’t you go any faster?’ I squinted as the sun reflected off the water. Reg cranked up the engine until it whined. My head pounded, my body ached and when the boat slammed over small waves I felt sick in the guts.

At the same time I was wired, indignant, jumped up on anger. How dare Sal betray me. I’d done everything he asked, been a good girl, found his brother’s killer, not sicked the police onto him. And for what? So he could whack Chloe and me anyway?

And then there was Farquhar. Even though he was dead I was still livid when I thought about him breaking into my house, trying to kill me. And Mick, I didn’t want to get started on him. What was with these violent, power-tripping men? Where did they get off? And it was such bullshit, hiding behind their heavies and their guns.

Penis substitutes, no doubt. Well I had a big dick of my own now and I wasn’t afraid to use it. I picked up the shotgun. ‘How’s this thing work?’ I asked.

Reg steered the rudder as he explained it to me.

‘Pretty easy. Bullets are along here and to load you just move the slider back. She’s got five rounds, couldn’t find any more ammo.’

I loaded and the gun made a chick-chick sound like it does in the movies.

‘Aim, press the trigger and fire, then reload. I warn you though, a shottie doesn’t have much of a range so you’ll have to get up close and it’s got a big kick. Watch your shoulder.’

‘How come you’re such an expert on guns?’ I asked.

Reg smiled. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

I held up the gun and was practising my aim when a boat came into view. A speck at first, gradually growing larger.

‘That’s her,’ said Reg. The ‘Midnight Lady’ gleamed white with blue trim, the wheelhouse high up top and a small square deck at the back. My pulse rocketed. Please let Blue be so in love with Chloe he lets her go. Then I heard Reg: ‘Did you say the bad guy had a speedboat?’

It was coming up from the opposite direction, moving rapidly.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Reg shouted.

‘Keep going! I’m not going to lie down and take it up the arse from these cocksuckers any longer.’

Reg’s forehead creased into a frown. ‘Language,’ he said disapprovingly, but he didn’t turn back. I could see the two figures on the speedboat pointing at me and Reg.

We were closer to the Caribbean but they were coming up twice as fast.

They pulled up to the ‘Midnight Lady’ when we were still a hundred metres away and Sal’s chauffeur trained his pistol on us while Sal crouched behind him. I crawled to the bow of the boat and lay down on deck, aimed the shotgun and fired. A deafening boom, a whack in my shoulder and the pellets dropped uselessly into the water. The chauffeur returned fire and I heard a bullet thwack into the mast. Reg, god bless him, kept heading for the speedboat and I held my head down as the guy continued shooting. He was useless at hitting a moving target, probably only killed people execution style, or used the gun for show.

As we got closer I fired again, more shoulder pain, and the chauffeur was hit in the arm with a spray of pellets. He yelped and dropped his gun into the water, staggered back and fainted. Sal climbed up a small ladder and onto deck then ducked down out of sight.

Reg expertly maneuvered the sailing boat alongside the speedboat and tied off. I grabbed onto the ladder, floral tent billowing, still holding the shotgun. I looked back briefly and saw Reg tending to the unconscious man, ripping off part of his shirt to tourniquet his arm. I hoped he wouldn’t look up and see I wasn’t wearing undies. I peeped over the railing to the rear deck but Sal wasn’t there. That’s when I heard the gunshot.

Oh god, I thought, Chloe, no. I hauled myself on-board, raced to the hatch and plunged in, gun first like they do in the cop shows. It was a really dumb thing to do. The cabin was dark and I heard a click and felt hot metal against my temple.

‘Drop the fucking gun,’ said Blue.

I dropped the shottie. ‘Don’t shoot,’ I said, pathetically.

‘Put the gun down, babe.’ The voice was Chloe’s. ‘It’s Simone.’ She turned on the light and pushed Blue’s hand away. He was sweating, his face as red as his hair.

Sal lay dead on the carpet, a hole in his head and a dark pool of blood soaking into the shag pile. My stomach turned. I looked at Chloe. Her roots were dark and she’d put on a couple of kilos but otherwise looked good. The tracksuit wasn’t ugly at all. It was pink velour.

Very J-Lo.

‘At least I think it’s her,’ she said. ‘What’s with the smock? You pregnant?’

And then, ‘Fuck, mate, look at your face, your neck. . . what happened?’

‘It’s a long story,’ I said. She held out her arms and I hugged her, a proper hug, with no awkwardness or back patting. Then, like an enormous sook, I started crying and couldn’t stop. Sobs wracked my body and my nose ran with snot.

That’s how the water police found us when they burst in with guns drawn. We surrendered and they took us all in, even Reg.

Sal’s chauffeur was taken to hospital under police guard and they interviewed the rest of us in separate rooms back at their Williamstown headquarters. I was getting no love from the water rats, what with the stolen purse and track-marks, so I used my phone call to contact Detective McCullers. Once she arrived things moved a little quicker, but she was real pissed off with me for not telling the police about the kidnapping. She started to lecture me but stopped when I told her Sal had someone from St Kilda Road on his payroll. She told me she’d look into it.

‘How’s Alex doing?’ I asked and her face opened up and seemed to flood with light.

‘He’s going to be OK. The bullet hit high in his chest, deflected off the second rib and lodged in his scapula. They’ve managed to remove it and he’s being shifted from ICU to a private room sometime tonight.’

Blue was charged with kidnapping and manslaughter, and Chloe, Reg and I saw him on our way out. Two police officers were escorting him down the corridor, hands cuffed behind his back, when he broke free, ran over and kissed Chloe on the mouth. ‘I did it all for love,’

he announced as they dragged him away. Chloe rolled her eyes.

I apologised to Reg for getting him involved.

‘You’re right, love,’ he smiled. ‘Haven’t seen so much action since the battle of Long Tan.’

Chloe and I caught a ride back to my flat in a squad car. She flirted with the young constable all the way and got him to pull into a drive-through and shout us cigarettes and champagne.

‘You’re incorrigible,’ I whispered.

‘That’s a good thing, right?’

Soon as we got into my place, using the spare key I’d cunningly hidden in the communal laundry, I ripped off the itching polyester dress and jumped into the shower.

I used every fruit flavoured, foaming, moisturising unguent I possessed. Finally I smelled good, even though I still looked like shit. I swallowed four painkillers, threw on my second favourite pair of trackie daks and collapsed on the couch. Chloe was cross-legged on the floor, simultaneously sucking down a bong and booking herself in for a bleach job and a Brazilian.