Sharp Turn (23 page)

‘I need to pick your brains,’ I said.

He sighed. ‘I was just about to eat dinner.’

‘It’s nine o’clock.’

‘I’m living on the edge,’ he retorted.

‘What do you know about the state of Bennett’s Hardware?’

He took a mouthful of his dinner and chewed in my ear for a bit.

‘Well . . . I’ve heard the receivers are moving in next month.’

‘That far gone?’

‘Don’t quote me on it. But I don’t think you’ll find I’m wrong.’

Garth
hated
to be wrong.

‘So they’ll be selling off their assets?’ I asked.

‘It’s the usual procedure.’

‘What about the Bennett racing team?’

‘That? Well, I imagine it’s been bleeding the company for years. In fact, it’s probably the reason things got so bad for them. Always a mistake mixing your passion with your work.’

That was such a Garth comment. Most people aimed to find a way for their passion to intersect with their work. Garth aimed to keep them separate. Mind you, I wasn’t sure that Garth knew what passion meant.

‘So even if the racing team had a good result for the season it wouldn’t help the company?’ I asked.

‘Not even a drop in the ocean of their debt. Why? What are you up to?’

Garth always made it sound like I was a criminal.

‘Just doing some background work on a client’s case.’

‘You’ve got another client? How did that happen?’

Garth thought my whole ‘business’ was a joke, but he was still happy to charge me for business consultations.

‘I need to come and see you soon about insurance and things,’ I said.

‘I’m an
accountant
, not a broker.’

‘Come on, Garth, you know a bit about everything.’

‘That’s true,’ he said smugly.

‘And that’s because you have no life.’

I hung up before he could reply. You had to get the last word with Garth or he became insufferable.

I reflected on what Garth had told me before moving on to the Rileys. It seemed my gut instinct was right: Bennett probably had too much going on to be targeting Moto-Sane. I spared a second to mourn the death of another independent business before putting through a call to Crack.

‘Sable’s Bar, Crack speaking.’

‘Crack, it’s Tara. I know you’re working so I’ll be quick. Do you know anything about Frank Farina’s reputation with women?’

He hesitated. ‘He’s a player.’

‘He do kinky stuff?’

‘Doubt it. Look, I gotta go.’

‘You busy?’

‘Yeah. Bolo Ignatius just brought in a large group.’

‘Bolo? Is there a red-headed guy with him in black jeans and a black tee-shirt who looks like an old rocker?’

‘Yeah. How’d you know?’

‘Is he asleep?’

‘Yeah, out cold in a chair near the door. I went by to check he wasn’t dead.’

I groaned. ‘Do me a favour. Go by again and wake him up. Tell him I sent you.’

‘Sure.’

He hung up and I got on with the Riley search, finding only uniformly decent comments about Gig Riley on all the forums and blogs I checked. Seemed as if he was the most loved guy in local bike racing.

And his father the most hated.

I was still leaning towards Riley Senior as the architect of Bolo’s problems. He seemed to have the strongest motive, and the right disposition to do such a thing. He’d trodden on and broken more toes than a medieval torturer. There were plenty of articles about his aggressive business mentality, but it was the business forums that had the more personal comments. One anecdote recounted how he’d sacked an employee for excusing himself to go to the toilet while serving a customer.

A disgruntled customer had posted numerous accounts of Riley refusing to honour warranties, which had resulted in Riley’s Tyres being investigated by Consumer Affairs. He’d also gone head to head with the Wanneroo Raceway owners over a number of things including delayed upgrades and permit changes for practice days.

In short, Riley Senior was a hostile, argumentative bastard who was in a hurry to get wherever the hell he was going. His one vulnerable spot seemed to be his only child, Gig.

I made a call to Lloyd Honey. Lloyd and I had an arrangement. He had access to a great deal of information. Being an ex-client, he helped me out, and I tried not to overuse his resources.

‘Lloyd?’

‘Ms Sharp.’

‘Tara,’ I said for the umpteenth time. ‘How can I ask you for favours if you call me Ms Sharp?’

‘Tara then. How can I be of service?’

‘I wondered if you could find out the names of all the companies two local businessmen own? Doesn’t matter how small. Their names are Robert Riley from Riley’s Tyres, and Bolo Ignatius, the sporting goods franchiser. Also, I need to know who owns a company called Instant Security.’

I could hear him typing the names into his computer. ‘As is our arrangement, Tara, I’ll do my best. I would ask you, though . . . how is Lena Vine?’

‘You heard . . . about . . . Audrey?’

‘Yes. Terrifying news. Lena and Audrey were very close.’

‘I don’t suppose you have any ideas who might be behind it?’

‘Lena doesn’t discuss her business with me. To my knowledge, though, she’s an excellent businesswoman with some strong principles.’

‘Oh?’

‘She’s the president of SDIP.’

‘SDIP?’

‘Stop Drugs in Prostitution.’

I began to get a tingling feeling. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. Ninety percent of WA brothels have signed on for it. Lena is very charismatic. Now, let me see what I can find out for you on these gentlemen.’

‘Thanks, Lloyd. I’ll do my best to help Lena. But I’m not a trained investigator.’

‘You have other talents. Goodbye, Ms Sharp. I’ll email you through my findings.’

‘Tara,’ I reminded him, but he’d already gone.

I settled back with Google. Connections were finally starting to forge in my brain. Lena was trying to stamp out drugs in her industry. Her security guy was recommended by a company in which Viaspa – Perth primo drug lord – was a silent partner. And Leonard Roc was conveniently outside checking a faulty security camera leaving Audrey to answer the door and get hit by a drive-by shooter. Unfunny coincidence. If Lloyd confirmed Viaspa’s involvement with Instant Security, I’d go back to Lena with what I knew.

But that didn’t explain Louise’s odd reaction to my questions.

Paralanguage and kinesics could sometimes be misleading. One time I’d tried to smack down my female boss because I thought she was persecuting my co-worker. Turned out his frightened and disturbed body language around her was because he was happily playing Bottom to her Top. Observing the energies around people was one thing, interpreting them correctly was another! Hoshi Hara had helped me a lot, but I still made mistakes.

Spookily, my mentor rang me right then.

‘Missy? Jus’ checking you still do job for me tonight.’

‘Yes. I’ll be at the club at ten.’

‘Good, good. You park behind the club. Fat Frog show you around.’

I yawned and stretched. Time to get changed into something club-ready. Bok would be here soon.

As I wriggled into stockings and tight black dress, a wall of tiredness hit me. I was running on only a couple of hours’ sleep, and Joanna’s lemon chicken was sucking up all the available blood in my stomach. I went to the fridge and spied a carton of fresh orange juice.

Damn, I was going to miss Cass when she left.

Chapter 22

T
HE
G
ALLERY NIGHTCLUB WAS
situated just off the main strip of Northbridge in a little side street not far from Ed’s modelling agency and an Indian restaurant we both loved. While Bok negotiated the busy streets and found the alley that ran behind the club, I wondered how Ed’s nose was and if I’d ever hear from him again. I should check up that nothing was broken.

Maybe in a day or two, when he might consider speaking to me.

‘Birds got your tongue?’ asked Bok as he pulled into a spot that read ‘The Gallery – Staff Only’. We’d changed the old saying about cats a few years ago when JoBob first brought Brains and Hoo home.

‘Just thinking about Ed,’ I said.

‘You really know how to show a fellow a good time, my girl.’

I pulled a sad face. ‘Come on – let’s go find the Fat Frog.’

Bok trailed me into the club. He liked to hang back and see what was happening from a distance before he got involved. I, on the other hand, hated taking things slowly and would rather plunge in; which I did as soon as I reached the posse of bouncers and door staff.

‘Tara Sharp. I have an appointment with Mr Vatroque.’ I waved back at Bok. ‘This is my colleague Martin Longbok.’

One of the door staff let out a fan-girl squeal. ‘Martin Longbok. Wow! In our club?’

She proceeded to tell the bouncers how famous Bok was, and how having him in the club would be totally rad, especially if he mentioned them in his magazine. Before I knew it, we were sitting in a private lounge above the dance floor, sipping drinks from cocktail glasses while we waited for the Fat Frog. Unfortunately, mine was non-alcoholic. I was working, and Bok and I had already agreed that I would drive us home in his car.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were famous?’ I said.

Bok gave me a wink. ‘Not famous. Just terribly cool. There’s a difference.’

‘Whatever. Next you’ll have groupies.’

‘Already do.’ He slipped his iPhone out of his pocket, thumbed through some pages, then handed it to me, grinning. His Facebook ‘Like’ site had 3175 members.

‘Shut the fuck up!’

He shrugged. ‘The magazine has a page too. You should get one going for your business.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s not the kind of work you want to advertise. Clients don’t want anyone to know they’re using me. Word of mouth is better.’

‘Speaking of clients, how did the brothel visit go?’

I rolled my eyes and handed him back his phone. ‘Guess who I saw there?’

‘Ummm . . . I give up.’

‘Whitey.’

Bok wrinkled his nose. ‘Dirty little toad. No wonder June is off her rocker.’

‘That’s what I thought at first. Turns out he was working undercover.’

Bok’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What?’

‘Creep’s been made detective.’

‘Kidding? Right?’

I sighed. ‘Nope. One of the employees was shot right outside the front door. I’m also looking into it for the owner.’

‘Shot. Like, in cold blood?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘I haven’t seen anything in the papers.’

‘I know. Strange that.’

The door opened and a round ball of a man whose arms and legs seemed to sprout at odd angles around his abdomen entered. The Fat Frog!

‘Mr Longbok. What a pleasure to have you in our club. Can I get you a fresh drink?’ His accent was slightly European, though it could have been a complete fake. I wasn’t boned up on foreign intonations.

Bok gave an appreciative nod. ‘Thank you . . . err . . . ?’

‘Vatroque. Claude Vatroque.’

I stood up. ‘I’m Tara Sharp, a colleague of Hoshi Hara’s. I believe you were expecting me?’ I said, seeing that I was in danger of being totally ignored.

The Fat Frog danced on the balls of his feet. ‘Oh, of course. Come this way, Ms Sharp. Mr Longbok, I’ll send a hostess in to take care of you.’

I raised my eyebrows at Bok. A hostess?

Bok gave a cool nod. ‘Thank you.’

Vatroque took me downstairs and showed me the complete layout of the club. The internal fixtures were pretty new, and the DJ was housed in a booth, which, Vatroque explained, moved on a gantry back and forth across the top of the crowd all night. Right now, while the club was still pretty quiet, it was sitting at home base near a set of stairs.

‘We believe the same group is causing trouble each week,’ Vatroque said, ‘but our staff cannot locate them exactly. By midnight, the floor is chock-a-full.’

‘Chock-a-block,’ I corrected. Maybe he really was European. ‘What’s up there?’ I pointed to the area we’d just come from, but further along.

‘We ’ave three private rooms; the one Mr Longbok is using, and two others. They will be of no consequence in your appraisal.’

He was so firm about it that I immediately knew I had to get a look inside them. The fact that Vatroque was one of Lena Vine’s – or Kate’s – clients was zinging across my radar. ‘So the troublemakers are just down here?’

‘
Oui
.’

He led me to the bar and introduced me to the manager. ‘The staff will endeavour to help you throughout the night. But feel free to join your friend Mr Longbok at any time should you wish to take a short break.’

His meaning was clear.
Keep your behind down here
with the ugly masses.