Rubdown (17 page)

We walked back to my place hand in hand. The sky was deep blue, leaves red and gold, and the dirty canal water sparkled in the pale autumn sun. I knew it was just sex endorphins, but it sure felt like Mills and Boon. I briefly wondered if I were repressing some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder, then thought, screw it, life’s short and you take your happiness whenever and wherever you can find it.

I collected my bags from his boot and we strolled up the path towards the entrance. I was so caught up in thinking about what we might get up to once we were inside that when Sean stopped I bumped straight into the back of him.

A big, balding guy in a striped shirt was standing at the security door, and turned when he saw us. ‘Simone Kirsch?’

Sean stepped between me and the man, held his arm out. ‘I’m a police officer.’

The man laughed. ‘Good for you, mate, I’m a process server.’

He reached around Sean and handed me a white envelope.

‘Consider yourself served.’

Inside the flat I chucked my bags on the ground, ripped open the envelope and read the letter out loud: ‘The Private Agents’ registrar hereby gives Simone Kirsch notice that a hearing shall take place on the ninth of May to determine her fitness to hold an Inquiry Agent’s licence, and whether said licence shall be suspended or cancelled. Ms. Kirsch is alleged to have acted in a manner unfair, dishonest or discreditable on the eighteenth of April at the private residence of Mr. and Mrs. Emery Wade, Brighton. It is alleged she entered the premises under false pretences and stole property, a mobile telephone and charging device.’

I looked at Sean. ‘That bastard Wade. He’s hated me from the start. This is bullshit.’

‘Did you lie your way in and steal a phone?’

‘Well yeah, but—’

‘Then you’re in deep shit.’

‘Tell me about it. If I lose my licence I lose my job. Then what’ll I do?’

‘You could go back to stripping.’

‘I’m turning twenty-nine in November. In a few years all I’ll be fit for is granny-grams.’

‘You could put on stacks of weight and branch out into fat-o-grams too.’

I didn’t laugh. ‘You’re not helping. I need a drink.’ On my way to the cask I saw the answering machine light blinking. I hit play and the message stopped me in my tracks.

It was Lulu. ‘Simone, can’t talk for long. They’re after me. Neville didn’t kill Tammy, her stepfather did. It was Emery Wade.’

The call clunked off and Sean and I hovered over the machine.

I played the message again. From the roadworks and traffic in the background it sounded like Lulu was calling from a public phone.

‘Think she’s telling the truth?’ Sean asked.

‘I don’t know. It would explain why Wade wants my licence cancelled. Maybe he’s had me followed all along, and that’s why he knew the exact moment I was at his place. He could’ve set balaclava guy onto me. Shit, maybe the whole thing was a set-up from the start.’

‘You’d better tell me everything.’ He sat on the armchair. In his t-shirt, faded jeans and canvas basketball shoes he looked ten years younger than his actual age of thirty three.

I sat on the couch, flipped open my notebook and went through the case from the beginning. ‘Wade could have wanted Tamara watched so he’d have a witness to tell the police no one came in or out of her flat.’

‘We’re going to take this to Homicide,’ he said

‘What do I give them? A whole lot of conjecture, my word against a respectable lawyer’s, an answering machine tape with unfounded allegations and a bogey man in a black balaclava?

They’ll think I’m just doing it ’cause he’s put in a complaint against me. And then there’s Hannah. She’s a really nice person, and I don’t want to bring any more heat down on her or her girls.’

I lay back on the couch, suddenly overwhelmed.

‘Then don’t mention her. There are ways around it.’

‘You really think they’ll listen to me and investigate Wade?’

‘Probably not. But at least it’ll be in the system. And I can help you with the Wade problem.’

‘How? You’re suspended and going overseas in a week.’

‘We need to find Lulu, see if what she’s said is true and somehow get Wade to drop the complaint. So we do what the police do. Set up a taskforce, brainstorm the problem and delegate responsibility.’

‘To who? Can’t see Alex and Suzy putting up their hands.’

‘Not cops. How about your boss, Tony Torcasio, that journalist you told me about, and your stripper friend. What’s her name—Cleo?’

‘Chloe. Don’t get me wrong, I love her dearly but she couldn’t investigate her way out of a paper bag.’

He sat next to me on the couch and started massaging my thigh. ‘Think outside the square.’

‘You sound like a furniture ad.’

‘It’s what they teach us in detective training. Open your mind.’

‘New age crap.’

‘What other choice do you have?’

He had a point, but I continued to sulk. I pushed my bottom lip out a bit.

‘I have to go to St Kilda Road this afternoon for another dressing down about yesterday,’ he said. ‘Come with me and I’ll get someone to take your statement. Then call everyone and see if they can meet us at my place at six for a briefing.’

I rolled my eyes.

‘This is what I do. I’m good at it. You going to stop sulking?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Then I’ve only one option left.’ He winked and stuck his head under my skirt. If I’d had a ring on me I would have popped the question, then and there.

I gave a statement at the St Kilda Road Police Complex to a detective who looked at me as if I was completely wasting his time. Sean didn’t think it was a good idea that I stay at my place, under the circumstances, and even though I now knew this was as much a clever ploy to get into my pants as it was concern for my safety, I lugged my bags back to Fitzroy. Everything I owned was filthy so while he spent the afternoon doing whatever cops do when an operation fucks up and the shit hits the fan, I spent the afternoon in a laundromat on Brunswick Street. As well as drinking whisky and enjoying ‘oral pleasure’ with men of loose morals, PIs do regular stuff too.

When the first load was on, I called Chloe’s mobile. She was having a leisurely lunch on a balcony overlooking the water at the Cove Hotel in Patterson Lakes. So was Curtis. For a couple who hated each other they sure spent a lot of time together.

‘Hey, mate, I heard about the airport. Left some messages on your phone. You alright?’ She sounded like she had a mouthful of hot chips. Chloe was a demon for the carbs but it didn’t matter because it all went straight to her tits.

‘Yeah, except Emery Wade’s trying to have my licence cancelled and I got a phone message from Lulu that said he killed Tammy.’

‘Why would Wade kill Tammy?’

‘That’s what Sean and I are trying to find out. We need your help. Can you and Curtis meet us tonight?’

‘Sure. What’s going on with the Sean situation anyway?’

I’d been dying to tell someone, so I gave her a blow by blow account, sparing no detail.

Curtis was pestering her in the background. ‘What is it? What’s going on?’

Chloe said, loud enough for the whole pub to hear, ‘Simone’s rooting a copper with the fastest tongue in Fitzroy and jizz that tastes like hot peach crumble.’

‘I am truly sorry I asked,’ he muttered.

‘And she needs our help, sort of like the A-team.’

‘I loved that show. Count me in.’

I tried Tony’s mobile and was relieved when it went to message bank. ‘I’m in a spot of bother.’ Understatement of the year. ‘Can you meet me tonight?’ I gave him the details. He was gonna kill me.

At six o clock Sean had a whiteboard set up in the lounge room, manila folders for everyone and bowls of hummus and babaganoush with Turkish bread, celery and carrot sticks. Chloe and Curtis showed up with a bottle of champagne. Christ, it was like we were having a dinner party.

I introduced them both to Sean. Chloe gave him the once-over as she stuffed snacks into her mouth and Curtis marched right up and shook his hand vigorously.

‘Detective peach crumble, I presume.’

Sean frowned and Chloe snorted, Turkish breadcrumbs spraying across the room.

I felt my cheeks heat up. ‘Don’t mind Curtis,’ I said. ‘He’s a
journalist
.’ I steered them both to the couch. Chloe popped the champagne and poured one for me. Sean gave Curtis a beer. Tony rang the buzzer and I let him in and introduced him to everyone.

He shook Sean’s hand. ‘Shields, I’ve heard of you. Asian Squad?’

He perched on a stool at the kitchen bench.

‘That’s right. It’s great to meet you. Your exploits in undercover are the stuff of legend.’ He handed Tony a beer. Excellent, I thought, butter him up.

‘I’m sure they’ve been exaggerated over the years.’

Curtis and Chloe were arguing on the couch.

‘I’ll be Hannibal,’ he said.

‘No way,’ she squealed. ‘Sean’s Hannibal and Tony over there is obviously Mr. T.’

‘Okay, Face.’

‘Please,’ she said, ‘you are so not Face. You’re the weird guy—

what was his name?’

Tony looked at his watch, cleared his throat and said, ‘What’s going on?’

Sean jumped in. ‘Might be best if I started at the beginning.’

He handed out folders and flipped the whiteboard round to reveal names and diagrams and explained the case history to everyone succinctly and in full. All he needed was a pointer and a pencil moustache and he could have been a brigadier in an old war movie marshalling the troops to a dawn raid on the jerries.

I was impressed. He’d remembered everything I’d told him that morning and hadn’t taken notes.

‘Any ideas?’ he asked when he was done.

Curtis’ hand shot up. Swot. ‘We need more info on Wade and we have to find Lulu. That’s top priority.’

‘Personally I’d like to talk to Blaine and Veronica,’ I said. ‘Billy Chevelle fought with Lulu because she was trying to talk to them. Trouble is they’re such big celebrities they’re protected from everyday scum like us.’

‘Speak for yourself.’ Chloe popped Turkish bread slathered in hummus into her mouth. ‘I’ve got two tickets to the Tamara Wade Foundation Gala Benefit.’

We all stared.

‘How’d you get those?’ Curtis asked.

‘I’m still a minor celebrity in this town.’

‘Minor is right. What are you—E-list?’

Chloe flicked some crumbs out of her cleavage and Sean, Tony and Curtis couldn’t help but stare. Boys.

She said, ‘Just for that, Curtis, you’re not coming. Me and Simone’ll go to the ball tomorrow night.’

Sean held up his hand. ‘Not such a good idea. Wade and Chevelle know what Simone looks like.’

‘Then she can go as someone else. One of my girls is training to become a makeup artist for film and TV and she’s brilliant—got wigs, everything. By the time Mandy’s finished, even Simone’s mother won’t recognise her.’

‘How about locating Lulu?’ Sean addressed everyone.

‘Maybe she’s hooking with the other trannies down Carlisle Street?’ Chloe offered.

‘She sometimes performs in the drag night at the Greyhound on Saturdays,’ I said.

‘Count me and Curtis out,’ Chloe said. ‘Saturday’s my busiest night.’

‘Okay, Simone and I will go,’ said Sean. ‘How about you, Tony, any ideas?’

Tony tipped the last of the beer into his mouth and set the bottle down on the bench. I chewed a fingernail, waiting for his answer.

‘Yeah. You forget this shit and I get Simone a lawyer to help her at the hearing.’

‘But, Tony,’ I said, ‘Emery killed Tamara and he threatened me and—’

‘You’re going on the word of some drugged out trannie hooker. Think you’re a caped crusader? You’re an inquiry agent and right now no one’s paying you to inquire. I think you’re all making something out of nothing and if you want a career in this industry I suggest you drop the whole thing before it’s too late.’

He popped a carrot stick in his mouth, slid off the chair and walked towards the door. And that was when the window exploded in a hail of bullets.

Tony dived behind the kitchen bench. Sean pushed me to the floor and threw himself on top. Chloe rolled off the couch and Curtis sat there like a stunned mullet until she dragged him down by his jacket.

Squalls of shattered glass rained down and plaster disintegrated from the walls and ceiling. The merlot bottle exploded on top of the fridge and the overhead lights blew out.

The firestorm ended and a motorbike gunned it outside. The smell of burning rubber wafted through the window. In the distance I heard a siren’s keening wail.

Sean lifted himself off me. ‘You alright?’

‘Yeah.’

We stood up, carefully shaking glass shards from our clothes.

The records and CDs were a mess of broken vinyl and plastic.

Books littered the floor, no more than shredded paper, and Miles and Billie were studded with bullet holes, ripped from the wall. Tony emerged from behind the counter, blood dripping down his face.

‘Jesus, Tony, you’re hurt.’ I picked my way over, crunching glass.

‘Nah, it’s just red wine.’ He wiped his face with the heel of his hand, nodded at me. ‘Okay. I believe you.’

Curtis was still on top of Chloe. ‘Get off me, you big lug!’ She smacked his shoulder.

‘I can’t. I’ve been shot.’

The next hour was a confusion of cops and ambulance officers.

Curtis had been shot in the left buttock as Chloe pulled him off the couch. She had almost certainly saved his life, but the drama queen didn’t see it that way.

‘You took a bullet for me.’ She held his hand as the paramedics hoisted him face down onto a stretcher. ‘That’s so romantic. I was wrong when I said you weren’t Face. You’re better than Face. You could be Magnum PI.’

Sean had wiped the whiteboard and hidden the folders by the time the police arrived. It wasn’t exactly legal to get an A-team together and he told everyone not to mention the fact. The D from the Fitzroy Crime Investigation Unit who interviewed us back at the station didn’t quite buy the story that we’d been getting together for a quiet drink. A cop, two PIs, a journo and a celebrity stripper? Especially when he gave the Homicide Squad a call and found out about the statement I’d given at the Police Complex earlier that day. But we stuck to our stories and eventually they let Chloe, Tony and me go.