Rubdown (19 page)

‘My idea.’ Billy pointed at himself, got his little baggie out and shoved the coke spoon up his nose.

‘I just hope that something good can come out of Tamara’s unfortunate life and death.’ Emery was smooth as an ad for Old Gold Chocolate.

‘She had it coming.’ Billy hoiked something stuck in his nasal passages. Emery glared. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Wadey; you couldn’t stand her. She was a scammer with a smart mouth.’

Emery banged his drink down on the glass coffee table and champagne bubbled over the sides. ‘That’s enough.’

Chloe lit a Winfield. Billy did another spoonful. He was on a roll.

He spread out his hands. ‘I’m not trying to be nasty, girls. I’m a realist, call it like I see it. Can’t get anywhere in this business if you’re not. Come on, Wadey.’ He leaned over and chucked Emery on the shoulder. ‘You love me for it. She was a pro, for fuck’s sake.

No matter she did handjobs, probably fucking them on the side.

Did whatever she could for a buck.’

He suddenly remembered he was talking to a stripper and a porn star. ‘Not like you girls, of course. What you do isn’t prostitution, it’s art, yeah, creative artists like Veronica.’ He pointed to her through the crowd. I wasn’t getting anywhere so I decided to go out on a limb.

‘Vot voz going on vist you and de transvestite at Tamara’s funeral?’ I asked. Billy and Emery stared at me. ‘I saw pictures in paper of fight. Very strange.’

Billy flicked his eyes Emery’s way. ‘Fucked if I know. Crazy freak came over and attacked me. Never saw the thing before in my life.’ He rubbed his nose.

Emery was looking at me very carefully, studying my face.

Chloe came to my rescue. ‘Oh my god!’ she squealed. ‘My contact lens just popped out. It’s fallen between my boobs!’

Soon as their attention was taken I slipped away, heading to the bar on the other side of the room. I couldn’t see Blaine but Veronica was surrounded by a gaggle of females and shadowed by buzz-cut.

As well as the bodyguard, three equally large security personnel were dotted around the room. The fear leapt from my stomach to my throat. It was time for a whisky to tamp it down. Football players crowded the bar, looking like hitmen in their expensive suits, and I squeezed through and ordered a Jameson’s, straight up.

Word had obviously got round that I was a German porn star because they started talking loudly about Hitler, golden showers and double ended dildos. I finished my drink and had turned to leave when a big guy with curly blonde hair grabbed my arm.

‘Hey, fräulein, where you going? Come back to our room and we’ll show you how it’s done, Aussie style.’

His mates laughed and broke into a chorus of, ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie, oi, oi, oi.’

Didn’t these dickheads ever learn?

I pulled my notebook from my purse, dropped the accent and poised my pen. ‘Hi, guys, Sandra Billings, journalist with
The Age.

Care to comment on allegations the AFL has a culture of misogyny and male bonding through group sex?’

I’d blown my cover, but it was worth it to see their faces.

Just then I clocked Blaine on his own, coming out of the bathroom. I left the footballers pale and trembling, hurried over and cornered him by a bronze statue.

‘Hi, Blaine.’ I used my normal voice.

‘Oh hi. You’re that German porn star.’

‘That’s me. Can I ask you a couple of questions? When I’m not engaging in kinky sex I moonlight as a private detective.’

‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘You don’t sound German.’

‘Well spotted. I think your sister Tamara was murdered. Any idea who’d want her dead?’

‘Wha-what?’ He stared across the room, trying to catch the bodyguard’s eye. It didn’t work. From the tilt of the big guy’s head it was obvious he was checking out celebrity cleavage from behind his shades.

‘Did Tamara ever ask you for money to buy a couple of apartments in Queensland?’ I moved in close and held on to his jacket so he wouldn’t run off.

‘I couldn’t give it to her. Dad’s invested all my money in trust.’

Still looking around. Big as he was, he was only twenty years old.

‘Do you know a transsexual prostitute named Lulu?’

‘Na … no.’ He blushed.

‘Don’t lie to me, Blaine. She was at the funeral, fighting with Billy. What were they fighting about?’

‘I don’t have to talk to you!’ He shook me off, eyes glimmering with tears, and disappeared into the crowd. I saw Chloe looking for me and waved her over.

‘Come to the loos,’ she said.

The marble bathroom was enormous. Twin sinks, lights around the mirror and a spa with city views flanked by two toilet cubicles.

I set my drink down and reapplied lip gloss.

Chloe clutched my arm. Her eyes were glassy and she was chewing on the inside of her cheek. ‘Emery and Billy want us to come to the Daily Planet. They’re gonna hire the Roman room and a couple of girls and have an orgy. What do I tell them?’

‘Don’t worry, babe. I’ve blown my cover anyway so I’m just going to hang a slash then we sneak out, okay?’

We retired to separate cubicles and as I peed I heard the door open and high heels clattering.

‘Can you believe Emery and Billy brought those two skanks?’

It was Veronica.

‘I know. It’s sooo wrong. Did you hear one of them is a porn star?’

‘That is sooo gross. And that stripper? God knows how she ever got on TV. She’s ugly and she has a huuuge arse.’

Uh-oh. I whipped up my undies, but it was too late. Chloe’s cubicle door banged against the wall. I opened mine and saw Veronica and a skinny blonde from a home renovation show huddle together and squeal.

‘Huge arse?’ said Chloe. Marilyn had gone and Frankston bushpig had taken her place. ‘What would you know, you anorexic bitch?’

Veronica’s leg was trembling, but she tossed her hair. She was, after all, Veronica. The DIY chick, Carlee I think her name was, clung to her arm.

‘Sluts like you don’t belong at the functions I go to,’ Veronica said. ‘You’re a wannabe. I’d rather hang out with the latest Big Brother evictees than a ho. Why don’t you get back under whichever rock it was you crawled out from.’

Chloe straightened up to her full height of five foot four in platform heels and puffed out her chest. ‘At least I don’t sing crap songs and pretend to be a virgin.’ And then she went for her.

Veronica and Carlee screamed and ran through the door back into the party but Chloe was right behind. She leapt onto Veronica’s back and knocked her to the floor, scratching and spitting.

Veronica held up her hands and wailed, ‘No, not my face!’

Carlee tried to assist by hitting Chloe on the head with a small jewelled handbag. The rest of the guests surged forward to see what was going on.

I didn’t much like Veronica, or her music, so I let Chloe lay in a couple of punches before I tried to pull her off. Damned if I could detach her. She had the strength and fury of a cat in a flea bath.

The bouncers descended. I was lifted into the air, dress riding up, and had a sickening flashback to being attacked by the canal. It took two of them to wrench Chloe off Veronica, one at her shoulders, the other holding her ankl es, and she writhed like an S11 protester, screaming and calling everybody motherfuckers. Emery, Billy and the bodyguard were on the other side of the room, trying to push through the party-goers and straining their necks to see what was going on.

Veronica struggled to her feet and smoothed down her hair.

‘Those two started it! Throw them out!’

The bouncer chucked me over his shoulder and my wig fell off.

Emery’s eyes grew wide! He turned to buzz-cut. ‘Jurgen! It’s her!’

Jurgen made for me but the crowd held him back. The bouncers threw us in the hallway and locked the door. I pressed the button for the lift and willed it to come quickly.

Chloe picked herself off the plush carpet and started kicking the door. ‘Come out, ya cunts, I’m not fucking finished with youse yet!’

The elevator pinged and the door opened. I grabbed Chloe’s arm. ‘We better get out of here.
Now
.’

Sean and I drove down Royal Parade past Melbourne uni. Oak trees lined the wide boulevard, pale sunlight glimmering through burnished leaves. It was about seventeen degrees, positively balmy for Melbourne in April.

We were on our way to visit Curtis and the rest of the A-team at St Vincent’s. Although A was an ambitious letter for us. I wouldn’t have called us Z exactly but we did hover around the arse end of the alphabet.

Stopping behind a green tram I watched the doors fold inward and young people with books and backpacks scuttle out.

In our jeans and tshirts Sean and I could have passed for students ourselves, except that we had slightly more pressing concerns than late essays and whether to see a band at the Arthouse or the Tote on Friday night.

Sean slid his hand onto my inner thigh and squeezed. Jesus.

We’d only just done it, but suddenly I was ready to go again.

I leaned over and kissed his freckled arm. His phone rang and he moved the hand to answer it. Probably just as well. Didn’t want to have to change my knickers this early in the day.

As the call went on his mouth turned down. ‘Yeah, mate. No, I completely understand.’ He pressed end.

‘What’s up?’

‘Friend I was going to rent my flat to heard about the shooting and got cold feet. I can’t find someone in a week.’

‘What about an estate agent?’

He shook his head. ‘Wanted someone I knew so I could leave all my stuff in the spare room.’

‘Curtis is looking for a place.’ I said.

We found Curtis lying on his side, bandaged arse poking through his hospital gown. His laptop was on the bed next to him and one hand flew across the keys.

He looked up for a second. ‘Hey, don’t mind me. Gotta deadline. Human interest story for the
Sunday
Herald Sun . Caught in the crossfire. The day I took a bullet by Curtis Malone.’

Chloe sat on a grey vinyl armchair, cutting out articles from women’s magazines and fixing them into a scrapbook with a glue stick. She jumped up and hugged both of us, took the bunch of gerberas I’d bought in the lobby and arranged them in a vase before fussing around Curtis.

‘You okay, baby? You want a drink? Packet of Twisties? I could go to the machine.’

‘No thanks.’ Curtis kept typing.

Sean and I looked at each other.
Baby
?

‘How’d you shape up after last night?’ I asked.

‘Not bad. I’ve got the black doctor to help me through.’ She pointed to a litre bottle of Coke. ‘Hey. It’s Mr. T.’

Tony stood in the doorway wearing khaki shorts and a multicoloured Hawaiian shirt. Faded tattoos twined around his solid arms and hairy legs and I could see why he would’ve been good at undercover. He looked more like a crim than a cop.

To Tony’s horror Chloe ran over and wrapped him in a hug.

She could be quite touchy-feely, and I guessed the shooting had made her feel bonded to everyone, kind of like we’d been to summer camp together.

Tony nodded at Sean and me over her shoulder, patted her back and flushed red beneath his olive skin. When she let go he pulled a box of Roses chocolates out of his shorts pocket and placed them on the table next to Curtis.

‘There you go, mate, how you holding up?’

‘Yeah, not bad. They’re letting me out in a couple of days.

Thanks for the chocolates, Mr. T.’

Tony shook his head and dragged a plastic chair over from the other side of the room.

‘Get anything on Wade?’ Sean asked.

‘Nah.’ Tony sat with his legs wide apart, jiggling the left one.

‘Bloke’s a cleanskin. Financially secure, investments aboveboard.’

He turned to me. ‘I’ve talked to my solicitor. Knows the Private Agents Act inside out. Reckons it’s going to be dicey, but he’ll represent you. What’s been happening at your end?’

Sean was leaning against the foot of the bed. ‘Fitzroy CIU thinks the shooting was related to Neville Annis. Payback for Craig.’

‘What do you reckon?’

‘I don’t buy it. Simone and I were responsible for setting the operation in motion but Vincent Pirelli shot Craig. Besides, Neville’s still in hospital.’

‘Chloe and I went to the Tamara Wade Benefit last night.’

I perched on the arm of the chair next to her. Tony raised his eyebrows and I outlined what had happened, fully intending to gloss over the debacle at the end of the night, until Chloe butted in and recounted her cat fight with relish, leaping out of her chair to re-enact the struggle.

‘What a disaster,’ Tony groaned.

‘Not entirely,’ I said. ‘I found out Tammy hit her brother up for money to buy an apartment. There was no love lost between Tammy and her stepfather, and Billy hated her too. He and Blaine were lying when they said they didn’t know Lulu, I could tell.’

‘And we found out Emery and Billy go to the Daily Planet when they’re after a root,’ Chloe said.

Tony leaned forward, elbows on his knees. ‘Daily Planet? I know someone who works there.’

‘In the biblical sense?’ Curtis smirked.

Was it just me or was Tony blushing again?

‘No. Can’t work undercover for ten years without meeting half the working ladies in town. I could give Dahlia a call, see if she knows anything about Wade.’

‘Great,’ said Sean. ‘Meanwhile Simone and I are off to the Greyhound tonight to take in a drag show.’

Tony shuddered. ‘Better you than me, mate. How about the drug dealing ponce Tammy used to go out with? What’s his name—Damien?’

‘Tomorrow at Wicked. You right for eight in the morning?’

‘No worries.’

Tony said goodbye and I followed him out into the corridor.

‘I’m really sorry about this mess,’ I said, almost adding that it wasn’t my fault until I remembered that it was.

‘That’s okay, kiddo. Shit happens, we’ll sort it out.’ He gave me a small smile. His tone of voice didn’t match his words.

Back in the room Sean was telling Curtis about the flat and Curtis was nodding his head and saying, ‘Fantastic’.

Chloe stuck one final article in her scrapbook, slapped it closed and handed it to me.