Sharp Turn (18 page)
I chased after him, but got caught behind an old Kombi van. With traffic coming the other way, I couldn’t overtake.
The sedan turned left into the road that ran through the middle of Cottesloe golf course. Not prepared to lose him, I overtook the Kombi on the left side and pulled a sudden left-hander. Seconds later, a police siren went off.
Crap! I pulled over feeling absolutely pissed off.
Not only had I lost my tail, I was about to get booked.
The officer who climbed out of the squad car and walked up to my window was an all-too-familiar figure.
‘Hello, Constable Bligh.’
‘Tara.’
We stared at each other in a weird kind of stalemate.
‘You were speeding and overtaking dangerously,’ she said finally, and pulled her biro from her top pocket. ‘Can you tell me why?’
I glanced in my mirror. Bill Barnes was sitting in the car with his head bent over a packet of fries. ‘Umm . . .’ I had nothing. ‘I was . . . in a . . . hurry?’
‘You appeared to be chasing that dark sedan.’
‘What sedan?’
‘The one that was speeding down this road ahead of you.’
‘Another car was speeding? Why did you let them go and stop me?’
We eyed each other steadily. I sensed she wanted to say a whole lot more. Instead, she wrote me a ticket.
Thrusting the fine in the window, she leaned in close. ‘I’ve already given you a friendly warning, Tara. Don’t get mixed up in this stuff.’
With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off back to her car.
I got a nasty feeling right below my two serves of cheesecake. Who the hell was driving the sedan? And what was Bligh holding out on me about?
I
WAS A FEW
minutes late to pick up Cass but she was too excited about her new purchases to care. I dropped her at Lilac Street and changed into some gym gear, heading straight back out again to
Rather Be Dead?
Plenty of nervous-glances-over-my-shoulder-looking-for-dark-sedans later, I parked in the underground car park and went upstairs to the gym. It took me forty minutes into the toughest level on the bike before I began to settle. When the program finished, I wobbled my way over to the bench press with a severe case of jelly legs.
‘Whoa there,’ came a deep voice from behind me and a strong hand steadied my swaying gait. Nice Guy, his palm cool on my back.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
‘You okay?’
‘Jelly legs from the bike,’ I explained. ‘Had a weird day. Needed to work some of it out of my system.’
His green aura expanded a little and the greyness shrank. He was in a pair of cut-off track pants and a tight tee. Okay, I couldn’t help but notice. He had a man’s physique without Tozzi’s extra kilos. Ed was muscled but barely out of his teens. Nice Guy was kinda perfectly in the middle of them.
‘Snap,’ he said, nodding in sympathy. ‘You want me to spot your weights for you?’
I gave a tentative smile. ‘Sure.’
We didn’t talk much while I grunted my way through three sets but I got an eyeful of his chest as he bent down to help me rest the weights. When I’d finished, I towelled off while he leaned against the bar rest.
‘You want to catch a bite sometime soon? I could cook for you,’ he said.
I froze mid-wipe. The question was totally unexpected and I had more than enough on my plate right now without contemplating a date with another guy. Still, I thought about it for a moment. I mean, it looked like Ed wasn’t being exclusive, so why should I be? And part of me wanted to get closer to Nice Guy’s calm green aura.
‘Um . . . maybe. Yes. Err . . . I don’t know. No.’
Instead of being offended by my indecision, he laughed. ‘Ah well, I’ll be here for a few more days if you change your mind.’
I gave him a smile and stood up. ‘Thanks for spotting for me. See you next time.’
My legs got me outside with some decorum, which was just as well because he watched me all the way.
Cass was in bed flicking through the cookbooks when I got home.
‘Dinner’s in the fridge,’ she said without looking up.
I peered into the cold cavern that normally only housed dried-out cheese and soured milk and saw a cling-wrapped plate of a delicious-looking chicken salad. My cheesecake over-indulgence had long worn off and my mouth was watering so I hurried to have a quick shower.
When I returned, I grabbed my plate and settled on the couch. ‘You make this?’ I asked.
She nodded. ‘Joanna showed me how. I never thought about putting meat
in
a salad before. Joanna says it’s all about the dressing. This one’s orange and pecan.’
I shook my head in wonder. Joanna’s interest in Cass was unnerving me. What could the vampire lady be planning?
Once the food hit my stomach, fatigue followed, making it too hard to worry much about Joanna. I checked my phone. Two missed calls from Nick Tozzi now. I contemplated ringing him back then dropped the idea. He’d just try to make me explain something I couldn’t.
‘Same again tomorrow?’ asked Cass.
‘Tomorrow I need to concentrate on Team Chesley. They use their own caterer, so they won’t come by the van.’
‘I can ask T-Dog.’
‘Yeah, do that. And I’ll talk to Sharee again. We’ll need to finish on time though. I have to get to the Aprilia office in Fremantle before 4 pm, see what I can find out about Clem’s and Dave’s backgrounds. Then I’ve got some other things to do.’
It was kinda weird having to share my schedule with a sixteen-year-old.
Cass looked a bit down in the mouth.
‘I’m going to a friend’s to get some self-defence lessons. Why don’t you come along?’
Her face sparked up. ‘Cool.’
We arrived at Hoshi Hara’s a little after seven thirty. I’d lent Cass some exercise gear, but my spare sneakers were way too big so she’d settled for bare feet.
After the introductions, Hoshi took us to the sleep-out, which he’d decked out with rubber mats and a boxing bag.
‘You stand there.’ He positioned us opposite him.
‘Now watch. I teach from gendai budo. Today, judo kata.’
He proceeded to demonstrate a range of quick movements like a strange dance.
Cass looked unimpressed.
‘Now you grab me, Missy. Grab me hard from behind like attacker,’ Hoshi told me.
He turned around and showed me his back, hobbling a few steps like a little old man. I did as asked, lunging forward to envelop him in a bear hug. The next thing I knew I was upside down and looking at his crotch.
He peered down at me. ‘Easy peasy Japanesy.’
Cass burst out laughing.
The evening progressed from there. I learned two important things before we headed home: how to break a grip, and to never let a fourth-dan judo black belt use you as his throwing partner.
Cass led the way out to the car and I limped after her.
‘I look through that list you sent, Missy,’ Mr Hara told me before we got in. ‘Nothing for girl Louise. For girl Kate, though, one name I know.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘Fat Frog.’
‘Fat Frog?’
‘Yeah. He gimme nightclub job you do tomorrow night.’
‘He’s the owner of the club? And his name’s really Fat Frog?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Hoshi. ‘Funny coincidence.’
Gibbs on
NCIS
didn’t believe in coincidences and neither did I. ‘Do you have the list?’
He disappeared inside for a moment and then returned with a sheet of paper.
I read the name he pointed to. ‘Vatroque.’
‘Hai. That’s what I say.’
My phone woke me in the wee hours again, right in the middle of a dream where Hoshi was throwing me off the Freo bridge.
‘What?’
‘Tara, it’s Bolo Ignatius. I’d like to use your bodyguard.’
Adrenaline coursed into my sleepiness. ‘Problem?’
‘Someone tried to break into my house while I was asleep.’
‘Tried?’
‘My burglar alarm tripped.’ He sounded rattled.
I took a deep breath. ‘Give me your address and I’ll bring my guy over there right away.’
‘Thanks. Money isn’t a problem, you understand. But I don’t want the police involved.’
‘Got it.’
But I didn’t really. What possible reason did Bolo have for keeping the police out of the picture if his life was being threatened? I was starting to have some doubts about my client.
I tried Wal. No answer.
Dragging myself out of bed, I pulled on jeans and put a track top over my pyjama tee-shirt.
‘Tara?’ said Cass sleepily.
‘Won’t be long. Go back to sleep.’
Wal’s new place was only a few minutes away so I was banging on his door before my brain was properly awake. He opened up dressed in a pair of jocks and holding a pistol. Nothing about his manner suggested he’d been asleep.
‘You didn’t answer your phone,’ I said.
‘Turned it off when I was trying to get to sleep.’
‘Doesn’t look like it worked.’
‘Nah. Freakin’ medicine. Can’t get it right,’ he growled. ‘One minute I can’t stay awake, the next I can’t sleep.’
I glanced nervously at the gun. ‘Can you put that damn thing away?’
He shrugged and stepped aside to let me in. ‘Wassup?’
Even in the dim light of his bedside lamp, I could see Liv’s finishing touches around the room: a bedspread, a new blind at the window.
‘Bolo just called me,’ I said. ‘He wants protection. Someone’s been at his house tonight. Can you stay with him for a few days?’
Wal pulled some clothes on – jeans, a tee-shirt and a pair of running sneakers without socks. Then he went to the narrow cupboard, unlocked it and lifted out a familiar kitbag. ‘How serious are the threats?’
‘Not sure,’ I said. ‘They might just be trying to scare him. But they might not.’
I showed him the picture Bolo had sent me of the man hanging from a noose. He nodded as if drawing a silent conclusion and removed a couple of objects from the bag.
I glanced away. Best not to know too much about Wal’s weapons’ stash. I assumed he had a gun licence but I didn’t know for sure. As for his knives . . .
Satisfied that he had what he needed, he locked up, zipped the bag and walked to the door. ‘Let’s ride.’
I stopped outside Bolo’s place – a mansion a couple of streets away from Millionaires Row, and also uncomfortably close to Johnny Viaspa’s house. We walked up to the elaborate front door and knocked. Bolo peered out of a nearby window then I heard the beep as he cancelled the alarm and opened the door.
I did the intros and reassured my client that he was in good hands. And he was now that Wal
couldn’t
go to sleep
.
The two men shook hands and went back inside together. I heard another set of beeps as Bolo reset the alarm.
On my way home, I did a spur-of-the-moment dogleg so I could drive past Viaspa’s house on Coke Road. I’d been keeping my distance from this area lately, having no desire to run into Viaspa, and even less desire for the cops to see me in the vicinity of his house. Fiona Bligh and Bill Barnes were decent, fair-minded cops, but Cravich and Blake – the pair who’d wanted to stripsearch me on one particular occasion – were looking for any excuse to cause me grief. But at 3 am, with no one on the roads, one little peek wouldn’t hurt.
I slowed down as I passed Viaspa’s wrought-iron gates. The ambient street light and my speed afforded me only a quick glimpse down the long driveway to his house, but I managed to identify two of the three cars parked there. One was the jumped-up limo Viaspa liked to be driven around the city in; the other one, tucked down the side, looked identical to the sedan that had been tailing me.
All sense of caution flew out the window into the night. Taking a right-hand turn at the next intersecting street, I parked around the corner and slipped my self-defence spray into my pocket. I couldn’t afford pepper spray so I was making do with good old-fashioned olive oil. It only stung a little but it made everything damn hard to see.
Walking back down the road towards Viaspa’s house, I realised I probably looked like I’d just escaped from an institution: bare feet, pyjamas barely disguised by crumpled jeans, and a track top with a hole in one elbow. I pulled the hood around my face and hugged the shadows.
One pass of the front gate revealed a blinking security system and a wall that was over three metres high. Luckily there was a side gate in line with the sedan. I’d have to trespass onto next-door’s property to peek through it. From what I could see, the neighbour didn’t have garden alarms. I didn’t give myself more than a second to think about whether it was a good idea or not before I was over the neighbour’s low front fence and feeling my way along their side wall.
Oww
. Something spiky jabbed my butt through my jeans. Cactus. I moved back to avoid it and stepped into another plant.
Jeesus, what was this? The Arizona desert?
