Rubdown (16 page)

I screamed, ‘Vincent, no!’ Jumped up and ran for the escalator.

Craig reached into his jacket and pushed Neville behind him.

Wu clutched the metal barrier and stared.

Vincent reached the bottom of the escalator, said ‘For Paolo,’ and squeezed off a shot.

A small red dot, like an Indian woman’s bindi, appeared on Craig’s forehead, his head snapped and he fell back, the gun he’d drawn clattering to the floor.

A chauffeur frisbeed his sign and started to pull a gun from a shoulder holster. Laminated identification appeared around his neck. An Asian couple whirled around, stood with legs wide apart and felt in their waistbands. ‘Police!’

Neville was sitting on the floor, legs trapped under Craig’s bulk, struggling to slide free.

Wu crawled towards Craig’s gun, snatched it up.

The police yelled, ‘Everyone down! Drop the fucking weapon!’

Tourists screamed, crouched behind pillars, dived to the floor.

I dropped to my belly on the tiles. The jumpsuited cops came running down the escalator from upstairs.

‘For Tammy,’ Vincent said, and shot Neville in the chest.

Wu knelt, clasping Craig’s gun in two shaking hands and fired.

Blood sprayed out from Vincent’s thigh. The cops opened fire.

Bullets punched him from in front and behind, the force lifting him to his toes. The back of his tweed jacket exploded and bloody roses bloomed on his white shirt. One final bullet smashed his temple and a chunk of skull blew off. I was lying a metre away and blood fountained from his ruined head as he keeled, raining down on my hair, my face, the back of my hands. He hit the floor with a wet slap, what was left of his face inches from mine, a raw meat smell in the air.

I heard screaming, realised it was my own and tried to scramble away from the mess of exposed bone, pink flesh and pulpy brain, but kept slipping in all the blood. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Curtis, crouched down by the row of chairs, clicking off shots. The doors to the restricted area burst open and Sean and three other guys in suits flew out, guns drawn. When Sean saw the bodies he stopped, sagged, leaned against the wall. His face was grey. I had never seen anyone look so shattered.

It was dark when a uniformed copper dropped me back at Sean’s.

I’d bought a fresh bottle of Stolichnaya on the way, figuring we’d both need it. The afternoon had been full of austere interview rooms, questions from brusque police officers and instant coffee in Styrofoam cups. I hadn’t been allowed to see Sean and ended up telling them everything. I’d been too messed up to lie.

I turned on the lamps and the central heating. Poured the last couple of shots from the old bottle over ice and stuck the new one in the freezer. I was getting quite a taste for vodka. It didn’t make me champagne crazy, or turn me into a verbose Irishman like the whisky did. It didn’t seem to get me drunk at all, just calm and cool and better able to deal with whatever hideous situation presented itself. That was a worry.

I put on a Miles Davis record then sat on a stool at the kitchen counter. The melancholy trumpet fitted the mood and I unwrapped the packet of Marlboro Lights I’d bought at the bottle-o.

I sniffed the fresh woody tobacco, dug one out and lit up, inhaling toasty smoke. There were plenty of other things that could kill you before lung cancer did.

A key turned in the lock. Sean was home. His hair was messed up like he’d had his head in his hands and the fine lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. For the first time ever he didn’t smile when he saw me. He slid the brown paper bag off a bottle of Stoli and I leaned back and flicked open the freezer.

‘Snap,’ I said.

He didn’t react. Just took a glass and his mull bowl from the cupboard, and carried the lot to the kidney shaped coffee table in front of the couch. I hopped off my stool and sat next to him. He filled his glass to the brim and polished off a quarter in one slug.

‘I’m sorry.’ I said. ‘I never should have told Vincent. It’s all my fault. Are you in terrible trouble.’

‘Suspended, while they investigate my conduct. Probably an official reprimand and I can forget about a promotion for the next couple of years. Of course that’s the least of it. I fucked up when I shared information with you and now two people are dead.’

‘Two?’

‘Bullet missed his heart, Neville’s going to be fine. More than fine since we have nothing to arrest him for. Wu was charged with malicious wounding, but she’ll get off arguing self defence. What a fuck-up.’ He sucked back on the pipe, held in the smoke, blew it out hard at the ceiling. Another gulp and the glass was half empty and he was packing pipe number two. Talk about comfortably numb.

‘You didn’t kill them, Sean. Things fuck up, people are unpredictable. Vincent wanted to die. Craig was a violent career criminal. It’s not your fault.’ I put my hand on his thigh and he pushed it away.

‘You’d better go. I need to be alone.’

‘Don’t feel guilty.’

‘But I do…’ His voice broke, recovered. ‘I fucking hate violence. Hate it.’

‘Why’d you join the cops?’

A third sip and the vodka was nearly gone. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘A friend of mine was killed.

A long time ago. I’m not in the mood to talk about it. Would you just go?’

‘Fine, I’ll get out of your hair. Just let me shower and change these stinking clothes. I don’t think I got all the blood off at the cop shop.’

He shrugged and when I skolled the rest of my drink it brought tears to my eyes. I shut myself in the bathroom and turned the shower on full bore, heaped my blood spattered clothes on the floor and stepped under the steaming torrent. Usually I was an optimistic person but at that moment it became clear to me the that whole world was shit. I scrubbed at the dried blood and red water gurgled down the plughole. My hair was wet, hanging in strings around my shoulders.

I closed my eyes as water streamed down my face, images playing on the lids. Tammy, wrists gaping, eyes staring. Vincent a steaming mess of blood and bone. I heard the bathroom door creak and opened my eyes. Sean was there, blurred by the glass, watching me through the misty screen. I pushed the shower door open and he stepped into the cubicle fully clothed and stood under the spray. I stared at him as his white shirt soaked through, becoming transparent and clinging to his chest.

Sean reached for me and where the first time had been sweet and soft this was hard and fast and desperate. His tongue was down my throat and his hands were everywhere at once, squeezing my boobs, my bum. I pulled his hair and crushed my mouth onto his, opening my legs, letting him slide a finger inside. Clutching his wrist I forced it in deeper. He kicked off his shoes. I grappled with his jeans, bit down on his shoulder as he finger fucked me, fumbled open the buttons on his shirt. He stopped for a second and dropped it into the corner.

There was a small V of fine hair in the middle of his smooth chest. I sucked his nipples. Bit them. His cock was poking out of his wet jeans and I dropped to my knees on the hard tiles and licked it. It was medium sized, pink, hard as a rock. I took it into the back of my throat without gagging, felt it swell up. Sean groaned, said, ‘No,’ hauled me up and leaned me against the wall.

He kneeled, spread my pussy wide with his fingers and worked my clit with his tongue. He was amazing. In record time I was screaming and pulling his hair. As my legs shook and I held the shower rose for support he grabbed my arse, drew me onto his face, plunged his tongue inside and set me off again.

I breathed. ‘Get up, goddamn you, and fuck me now.’ Not very polite but it worked. He stood, turned me around and I bent over and placed my palms flat on the tiles. He held my hips and pulled me back onto his cock. Water ran down my spine, splashing between us with every thrust. He drove into me, faster and harder, and I was feeling every inch, gasping and delirious as he expanded inside me, and although I usually can’t, I swear I felt it when he came, cock throbbing, semen molten hot and wet.

It must have been three in the morning when a buzzing sound woke me. I was either asleep or passed out in Sean’s bed with my head on his chest. Orange light spilled into the bedroom from a lamp in the lounge.

‘Fuck’s that?’ I muttered.

‘Intercom.’ He rolled over, pulled on a pair of cords and wandered to the front door. ‘This better be good.’

‘Sean, it’s Alex. You gonna buzz me in or should I use my key?’

‘Now’s not a good time,’ said Sean, but the speaker had gone dead. From where I lay I could see straight across the lounge room to the front door. A few seconds later Alex let himself in. Sean tried to block him but he pushed past. I lay very still with the sheet pulled up to my chest. Maybe he wouldn’t notice I was there.

‘I know what happened,’ Alex said, ‘and I know you’re beating yourself up about it. I bought vodka and we’re going to sit and drink and talk.’ He brandished another damn bottle of Stoli, then stopped short and squinted when he saw my shape in the bed.

‘Sorry, mate, I didn’t …
Simone
?’

Sean put a hand on his shoulder, but Alex shrugged him off, marched to the doorway and flicked on the light. I sat up, dishevelled and blinking.

Alex stared at me. His voice was flat. ‘I broke up with Suzy this afternoon.’

On his way out he thrust the bottle at Sean. ‘Keep it. I never liked the shit anyway.’

‘Alex,’ said Sean. But he was gone.

I woke at nine thirty and let Sean sleep while I showered, drank coffee and cleaned up the flat. By eleven I was bored and tiptoed back into the bedroom.

He slept like a child on the wood framed bed, flat on his back, one arm flung out and the other across his face. The grey doona was kicked down to his waist and I watched his smooth chest rise and fall, studied his slightly parted, perfectly formed lips. My stomach flipped. This was all wrong. I hardly ever went for the nice guys.

I hoped when he woke he wouldn’t dwell on the shooting, or Alex walking in on us. Perhaps if I took his mind off it right from the start…

I inched the quilt down over his hips and saw that half my work had already been done. Then I slid down the bed, put his erect cock in my mouth and just kind of rested it there as I watched his face. He stirred, but didn’t wake. I started sucking slowly and softly, massaging his balls with one hand, gradually increasing the pressure and pace until I was sucking for all I was worth, Linda Lovelace style. Sean opened his eyes just before he came, bucking his hips and tangling his fingers in my hair. His semen tasted sweet, no kidding, just like hot peach crumble. I licked my lips and moved up to his other head.

‘Morning.’ I smiled.

‘Fucking Jesus,’ he said. He blinked a couple of times, rubbed his face and turned to me. He was smiling. Mission accomplished.

‘Want to go for breakfast?’

I smiled back. ‘Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.’

We put breakfast on hold while he drove me to Brighton to pick up the Futura. No one tried to stop us and Emery Wade had not secreted his person in any part of the vehicle. I checked. Parking our cars outside my flat we walked to the Turtle Café at the roundabout where Glenhuntly, Broadway and Ormond Roads intersected. We sat outside in the sunshine at a green metal setting.

A dog with a squashed face and a red bandanna flopped by its owner’s feet at the next table. Inside the café was a pram jam: strollers stuffed between round wooden tables, babies crying, toddlers scribbling in crayon on wide sheets of butcher’s paper.

Sometimes I thought Elwood was where everyone from St Kilda moved to breed.

A waitress with a tribal tattoo snaking out of her low rise jeans took our orders. Sean went for muesli with yoghurt and a pot of tea. I ordered black coffee and eggs with everything except toast.

‘Why no bread?’ he asked, lighting a Marlboro.

‘Kind of doing the low carb thing, you know.’ I patted my belly.

He shook his head. ‘That’s so bad. You need carbohydrates.’

‘What for?’

‘Energy.’

‘Did I appear to lack energy last night?’

He couldn’t argue with that.

‘Don’t hassle me about my diet,’ I said, ‘and I won’t mention how odd it is that you have a house full of health food and an insatiable appetite for vodka and cigarettes.’

He grinned and sucked back hard on his Marlboro. ‘Deal.’

After we’d eaten I pinched a cigarette off him. The man with the dog left the table next to us and I reached over and picked up his discarded copy of
The Age
.

The headline read ‘Two Dead in Airport Shootout’. The by-line was Curtis Malone. A picture of Vincent holding the gun, just before he fired, took up most of the front page. I scanned the article.

You could see me from behind in the picture, but Curtis hadn’t mentioned my name. I could have kissed him.

Sean was smoking, staring at the gum tree on the roundabout.

‘Do you want to see?’ I ventured.

He shook his head. ‘I never read bad reviews.’

I put the paper back, turned it upside down. ‘You okay about yesterday?’

‘Which part? The ruined career, senseless slaughter or shattered friendship?’

I must have looked as crushed as I felt because Sean touched my shoulder. ‘Hey, I’ll get over it. I’ve seen worse. And the police service needs me more than I need them.’

‘And Alex?’

‘He’ll forgive me eventually. Maybe by the time I get back from Vietnam.’

I reached across the table for his hand. He twined his fingers in mine. Funny how when you’re first with someone just holding hands can send a jolt up your spine.

‘Is it true what you told me the other night?’ I said. ‘You asked me to stay to keep me safe and had no intention of cracking onto me?’

‘God, no! I was lying my arse off. I’m a guy. First time I saw you I imagined you naked. Right after Neville and Craig shot at us? I wanted to throw you in the back seat and do you then and there.’

‘Serious?’

‘Oh yeah. Wish I had ’cause now I’ve only got seven days to make up for lost time.’

‘It’s going to be a hell of a week,’ I said.