Saving Billie (9 page)

She was half drunk by now. ‘You're a careful type, aren't you?'

‘Middle name.'

She sighed and suddenly looked tired and every day of her age. She fiddled with an unlit cigarette and went into a rambling account of her life, almost from day one to now. Connected narrative wasn't her strong suit and the grog wasn't helping. She and Billie were only two years apart and they'd been very close as kids. Both tearaways, drop-outs, broken home products. In her twenties Sharon had slowed down, married but it didn't last, had a child, gone to art school and now earned her living as a children's book illustrator and giving painting lessons. Billie had stayed on her original track with Sam being about the only good thing that had happened to her.

‘Certainly couldn't call Eddie that,' she said, ‘or Yoli. I got Sam away from Billie a few years ago. I know where he is, she doesn't.'

‘What about your child?'

‘She's fine. I was lucky. Her dad's supportive, sort of. She's in her first year at uni. Flats in Campbelltown, comes home a lot.' She raised her glass, snapped the cigarette in half with her other hand and dropped the pieces into the ashtray. ‘You probably won't believe me, but this is the most serious drinking and smoking I've done in years.'

She hitched at the neck of her top. ‘And I don't normally dress like this. I'm usually in pants and T-shirts, and Billie can't stand to see it. She reckons I'm just proving I've got some qualifications and a real job and that all she's ever been any good at was screwing. So I bought the fags and tarted up, went blonde again even, to try to get her approval and get her away from that place. Didn't work.'

I was finding her impressive and credible, but that alone put me on the defensive. I couldn't count the number of times people, women in particular, had presented one face to me only for me to find that they had quite another. And she'd presented two quite convincing faces already.

‘Look, Sharon, why don't I drive you home and you can get some coffee inside you and straighten up. I'll call my client and talk a few things over with her. I think there's a way forward from all this.'

She nodded and looped her bag onto her shoulder. ‘And you'll want to see some of the books so you can see I'm not lying.'

I grinned at her. ‘Wouldn't hurt.'

‘Suspicious bastard.'

I reached for the cigarettes.

‘Leave 'em,' she said.

Sharon went to her car and retrieved a few folders and a cloth bag, locked the Golf and got into my Falcon.

‘Don't spend up big on maintenance, do you?'

‘It's what's under the bonnet that matters. You wash 'em, they just get dirty again.'

We buckled up. ‘Where to?' I said.

‘Keep going and I'll tell you. I'm out of town a bit, in the hills.'

A bit turned out to be the best part of ten kilometres with a good deal of it on a narrow, climbing, twisting dirt road. I wouldn't have fancied her chances of staying on it unless she could carry her liquor a lot better than it seemed. The hill country had a soothing effect on her and she gradually looked more comfortable, less strained. I'm a coast man myself, trees don't do a lot for me unless they're Norfolk Island pines fringing a beach, but I had to admit the quiet had an appeal. I wound down the window a bit further and sniffed the scents of an Australian bush summer in the making.

As if she was reading my mind she said, still slurring a little, ‘Where d' you live?'

‘Glebe.'

‘Jesus, I lived there a while back. Couldn't hack the pace and the stink now.'

‘Where did you grow up?'

‘Liverpool—worse.'

‘I spent some time there when I worked for an insurance company.'

‘Your lungs must be lead coated. Righto, round here and you'll see a track leading off to the right. Careful now, it's narrow and there's a sort of ditch you have to creep over.'

I slowed down and made the turn. The ditch gave my suspension a workout and then we were climbing steadily again with the trees and scrub close on both sides, almost brushing the car.

‘I found this old miner's shack a few years ago. I'm leasing it now but hoping to—Oh, Jesus!'

The shack was in view in the middle of a small clearing, but so was a 4WD, parked right by the dwelling. Massive John Manuma was standing with his back to the car and arms folded, looking straight at us.

9

I
hit the brake hard. ‘What the hell does he want?' .

Sharon had sobered at the sight of him. ‘The same as you—Sam, to put pressure on Billie.'

Manuma must have recognised my car because he came forward, bent to pick up a solid bit of tree branch and snapped it to a handy length over his knee.

‘Oh, God,' Sharon said. ‘Back up! Go!'

‘No chance.' The track was narrow and trees grew close in on both sides. There was enough space, just, but not the time to do a three-point turn and I didn't fancy reversing at pace on the loose dirt. I left the car in neutral with the motor running, reached into the glove box and unshipped the .38.

‘What're you doing?'

‘Sit still. It'll be all right.'

I got out and let Manuma see the gun. He was about twenty metres away, swinging his waddy. I raised the gun and sighted on his huge chest.

‘Stop there!'

He did, but he was poised to come on. ‘You won't shoot me.'

I lowered my aim. ‘I won't shoot you in the chest, you're right. But I'll put a couple in your legs and what if I miss, go a bit high? I mean it . . . Johnny. Put down the fucking stick, take out your car keys and drop them on the ground or I swear I'll cripple you. I've done it before.'

‘I just want to talk to her.'

‘Sure you do. Well, we might arrange that, but not here, not now.' I moved the pistol a fraction. ‘Do it . . . Johnny.'

He hated me addressing him that way, but he reached into his pants pocket, took out the keys and dropped them without taking his eyes off me. This guy had been in tight situations before and knew how to behave. Me too, but his size and composure were impressive and I knew I couldn't control him without shooting for much longer. Praying she could drive a manual, I gestured at Sharon to turn the Falcon around: my waving fingers said do it slowly.

‘Big mistake, you making.'

‘Shut up!'

I heard the wheels on the dirt, a slight bump, the grind of gears, and then two sharp beeps on the horn.

I backed a few steps and saw he was preparing to rush me.

‘I'm good with this at thirty metres,' I said, ‘bit erratic after that. I'd advise you to keep your distance.'

I retreated. Give him his due, he came after me, closing a little, probably hoping I'd trip over. I didn't. I reached the car, got in and Sharon gave it the gas, slewing back down the track.

‘D'you think he'll follow us?' she said as she got the car under full control and slowed down a touch.

‘Would in an American movie.'

She giggled. ‘I hate to admit it, but that was sort of exciting. Would you really have shot him?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You want to drive?'

‘No, you're doing fine.' I looked back when we hit a straight stretch but there was no sign of pursuit. ‘I took a punt you'd be able to drive a manual.'

‘Are you kidding? We started off in old bomb Holdens and Vdubs. I still like the Vdubs.'

‘Yeah, they're good.' I realised I'd kept the pistol in my hand and shoved it back in the glove box.

‘How many people have you shot, Cliff?'

‘Not many lately and I'm not anxious to add to the tally. The paperwork's horrendous.'

‘You're trying to impress me with your toughness.'

‘Right. And myself.'

We drove on in silence for a while and reached the main road. She made the turn and pulled over. ‘Now what?' she said.

‘My guess is he'll hang around and then probably send someone to keep an eye on the place. You can't go back for a bit.'

‘Great. I've got a living to earn. I've got jobs on hand and a class on Tuesday.'

‘Well, that gives us a couple of days. I think you ought to meet up with Lou Kramer and talk a few things through.'

‘Like where Sam is?'

‘And money to help Billie.'

‘Shove over.' She got out and went around to the passenger side. I slid across as she got in, scrabbling in her shoulder bag. She pulled out her wallet.

‘I've got twenty-three dollars in cash and about another sixty in my keycard account. That's it. My Mastercard's at its limit. How'm I going to get by? I've got no clothes . . . no . . .'

The adrenalin fuelling her through the confrontation with Manuma and the helter-skelter drive had ebbed away. She let her head drop back and her body sag.

I reached over and put my hand gently on her shoulder. ‘You can stay at my place. Lou Kramer's pretty much your size. I'll ask her to bring some clothes. And you can phone your kid and tell her what you need to.'

‘Okay,' she said. ‘Okay. You win.'

But it didn't feel anything like a win. Not yet, not by a long stretch.

I took it easy on the drive back to Sydney to give Sharon time to adjust to what was happening. She looked disconsolate for a while but brightened up when we got closer in.

‘I used to love this place,' she said, ‘the people, the energy, the pubs . . .'

‘I still do.'

‘It's different for men. When a woman reaches a certain age . . .'

‘Come on, that's old-style thinking. Anyway, the thing about Sydney is you can be what you want to be. Young and sensible, old and silly—you'll find somewhere it's acceptable.'

‘You really believe that?'

‘I do.'

‘First I've heard of it. Well, I prefer the country now— the quiet, the routines, the trees and everything.'

I nodded and kept driving. She was well on the way to being her balanced self and she was going to need to be to cope with what was coming. The painkillers had worn off and I was feeling the odd stab around the eye. I must've reacted.

‘What's wrong?'

‘Bloody eye hurts a bit still.'

‘Did this Clement do that?'

‘Not him. One of his helpers.'

‘And you'd like to meet up with him again?'

‘Under the right circumstances.'

‘What would they be?'

‘When the eye doesn't hurt. But the point is there's something big at stake here. I don't know what it is, but Lou Kramer and Billie and Sam and me and now you, possibly, are all caught up in it.'

‘I've been doing some thinking. Maybe Billie's safest where she is with the Bible-bashers, and Sam the same.'

‘Maybe. But d'you think cold turkey and Jesus are really going to work with Billie?'

‘No, but it could be a toss-up between that and millionaires who have thugs to bash people.'

‘Hmm. Let's at least hear what Lou Kramer has to say. Here's Glebe Point Road. Almost home.'

I drove past my house a couple of times, checking the street for anything out of the ordinary. Sharon looked puzzled.

‘What're you doing?'

‘Just being careful.'

A while ago I installed an alarm, and security doors front and back and on the windows. Hated to do it and resented the expense, but a break-in and a nasty encounter with an aggrieved client had made it necessary. I did the unlocking and deactivated the alarm.

Sharon took a look at the two rooms off the passage, glanced up the stairs with its faded runner and two uprights missing on the rail, and went through to the kitchen— renovated in the sixties, but not since.

‘Good place,' she said. ‘Worth a bit.'

‘Bought for a song when Glebe was still Glebe. Have a seat. D'you want coffee or a drink?'

‘I want a sleep.'

‘Upstairs, at the back. Titchy bathroom next door. Should be a towel in it. I mostly use the one down here.'

She smiled. ‘Titchy?'

‘When I was young, little things were called titchy. Small blokes were always Titch.'

‘You probably talked about bodgies and widgies.'

‘That was more a Melbourne thing, I think.' I got her a glass of water and a couple of painkillers. ‘These're for the head. Get it down and then we'll have a talk before I contact Lou.'

She nodded and went up the stairs, dragging her feet. I heard the shower running and then the spare room door close. Cliff the Good Samaritan needed some more Panadeine Forte and a drink.

I did my thing with the names and the circles and squares and connecting arrows and dotted lines in my notebook, while I washed down the tablets with a big glass of cask red. The day had given me quite a few more entries to make. I put a big question mark alongside my note on Mr X and his Beemer's registration number and knew that there at least I was on track to learn something. The day cooled down the way it does at this time of year; I found a clean flannel shirt and hung it on the knob of the spare room door.

‘No, no, no.'

She was moaning in her sleep. Sharon was obviously in better mental and physical condition than her sister, but we all have our demons. I left my mobile switched off and in the car. I'd talk to Lou Kramer when Sharon and I were ready. I was awaiting the bank notice about the dishonoured cheque. Bound to come. Re-present and wait how long? I wasn't prepared to give my client quite everything I knew or suspected just yet. As I'd said to Sharon—call me careful.

I went out to the car and retrieved my mobile and the pistol. I was about to turn the mobile on when the phone in the house rang. The machine picked up.

‘Hardy, where the hell are you? What's going on? I—'

I grabbed the phone. ‘Take it easy, Lou. I'm here. Everything's more or less under control.'