Sharp Turn (7 page)

‘Wha-at? Belly up? You mean dead?’

Ed’s voice could get quite high when he was shocked. Not girlish exactly, but definitely not macho.

The front door was flung open, saving me from further explanations.

‘We’ll talk about this later,’ whispered Ed, as Mrs Hara huffed out onto the veranda.

‘Tara Sharp, why are you parking in my lavender bush? Tell me why I should not chop your tyres into little pieces,’ she demanded.

Crap. I grabbed Ed by the hand and dragged him over to her, positioning him so she got a full view of his beautiful face.

‘Sorry, Mrs Hara, I need to keep my car out of sight.

I brought my friend Edouardo for dinner. I hope that’s okay. You met him at my Aunt Liv’s a while ago.’

Her thunderous expression changed into a smile as bright as a lighthouse beam. ‘Aaah, Edouardo, from the old country.
Si
. Are you Italian?’

‘Spanish,’ he said apologetically. ‘Half.’

‘Never mind, you still like to eat,’ she said, crooking a finger and waddling off into the house.

Mrs Hara’s waddle was deceptive. For a large woman she was nimble on her feet when she needed to be, and silent. A large Italian ninja. One time she’d caught Hoshi and I eating chocolate biccies and emptied out all his saki bottles as punishment.

Eireen Tozzi scared me, but Mrs Hara turned my brain to brine.

Hand in hand, Ed and I followed her down the hall of their modest cottage in a not-so-modest suburb. You got that sometimes in Perth: incongruities in suburban planning. Not that the Haras didn’t have money. They just didn’t like the tax man to know about it.

The kitchen was a homey room, ordered but bursting with furniture, utensils and delicious aromas. My mouth watered at the smell of lasagna and garlic bread. The window ledge had been given over to a row of blue and white china ducks; not Mrs Hara’s favoured Wembley Ware, but nearly as ghastly. The marron plate that had cost me my Mandarina Duck handbag to buy sat in pride of place on a lace doily in the centre of the kitchen table. Seeing as I’d just endangered Mrs Hara’s lavender, it was probably the only thing standing between her butcher’s knife and me.

Oh, and Ed, of course. Beautiful men always put Mrs Hara in a better mood.

Mr Hara sat at the kitchen table flicking channels on the TV positioned on the wall near the fridge. ‘What put the wind up you, Missy?’ he asked without taking his eyes off the news.

‘Hi, Hoshi.’ I sat down on the chair next to him.

He turned his ageless Eurasian face to me and gave a smile. ‘Your aura’s all messed up.’

‘You remember Edouardo?’ I said brightly.

The almond eyes slid over Ed and back to the TV. ‘Sure, sure. The young one.’

I felt a hot flush begin at my belly button and work its way up to my face. It was true, Ed was younger, but I didn’t need it pointed out so baldly.

‘Hoshi, turn that thing off,’ said Mrs Hara.

She slammed a huge dish of lasagna down on the wooden table, following it with a plate of hand-sized slabs of homemade garlic bread, Greek and French salads and a dish of baked eggplant drizzled in herbs and oil.

Ed couldn’t help an involuntary gasp of pleasure.

Mrs Hara’s frown shifted to a smile and I breathed out in relief.

We made companionable small talk and ate until I could no longer convince my stomach it had any space. While Ed and Mrs Hara cleared the table, Hoshi tapped my hand.

‘You do me a favour, Missy?’

‘Sure,’ I said, drunk on pasta and garlic love.

‘I gotta nightclub job on Friday night. Boss wants me to go watch the crowd. Been having some trouble there. Need to see who.’

That should be simple enough, I thought. Even though auras could be a bit indistinct at night, there was usually enough movement and glow in a crowd to see disturbances.

‘Mrs Hara doesn’t like me to go out so late. I’m thinking maybe you take the job, get the money,’ he added.

‘How much?’

Hoshi and I were always very direct about money. It was one of the reasons I liked working for him. That and the fact that he’d helped me turn my curse into something that could earn me a living.

When I’d met Hoshi, I’d been about to commit myself to an asylum. Seeing auras and being hypersensitive to people’s body language had been driving me totally nuts. I hadn’t been able to keep a decent relationship or a job. My life was crap. And lonely. Bok understood about the aura stuff, but dear Smitty just thought I was ‘different’.

Since learning I wasn’t the only one who could see such things, and finding out how to better manage my gift, my life had gained a semblance of control. Bottom line: Hoshi had saved me from myself. I could never say no to him if he asked for a favour; the money thing was just a formality.

‘Hundred dollar to turn up. Two hundred dollar if you find who cause trouble.’

Wow, things were looking up in the finances department. ‘Sounds okay. Now I need a favour in return.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Speak.’

‘Can you teach me some self-defence?’

‘You mean fight-fight?’ He made punching movements with his fists. ‘Take many years to learn my stuff. Much discipline.’

I sighed. ‘I know that, but Sammy Barbaro’s been found floating under a Freo jetty. I’m feeling a little insecure.’

‘Viaspa?’

‘I’m guessing.’

He got up and went over to a narrow sideboard. From inside the carved doors, he produced a tall narrow-necked bottle of clear fluid and four shot glasses.

‘Some things can be quick. You come soon, we practise.’

I nodded and lifted the shot glass he handed me to my lips. ‘Scull!’

‘Kampai!’ he replied.

Chapter 6

E
D DROVE ME HOME
, on account of Mr Hara breaking out the Sambuca and me being such an obliging guest. Thing was, Sambuca made me horny as hell and by the time Ed pulled up outside Lilac Street, the idea that he’d drive home and come back with the car in the morning seemed to have been forgotten.

We canoodled down the driveway, past the sleeping, covered galahs and paused near the pool gate. Things got hot and heavy pretty quickly from then on. I began to pull Ed down onto the grass but he resisted.

‘What about your parents?’ he muttered.

The thought of JoBob flashing a torch on Ed’s shapely naked butt penetrated the Sambuca haze in my brain and I lurched towards the door of my flat instead.

While I scrabbled around in my beach bag for my key, Ed’s hands began to wander to places they’d hereto never ventured. For a younger guy he seemed to know exactly what was what. Overcome by a wave of pure lust, I left the key in the lock and turned back to those warm, insistent fingers. I swear I couldn’t help myself when I pulled Ed’s shirt over his head and unzipped his jeans. The jeans slid down his legs, leaving him naked apart from a pair of moonlight-enhanced Hello Kitty briefs.

I began to purr. And then giggle.

‘Tara, let’s get inside,’ he said helplessly. ‘Remember. Inside.’

I saluted and giggled again. ‘Yes, sireee, Captain Ed.’

Then I ran my fingers down his muscled torso. He sucked in his stomach and Hello Kitty grew.

‘Tara,’ he said more urgently. ‘In!’

Before I could turn back towards the door, it slid open and a body barrelled out, taking us down like a pair of bowling pins. I landed on Ed, and another body landed on me. A cool hard object dug into my neck.

‘Freeze,’ said a familiar voice.

I did just what the man said, sobering up in less than a gulp.

‘Wal,’ I whispered. ‘It’s Tara and Ed. Put the gun down.’

‘Fuckin’ wankers. Sneakin’ up on a man when he’s sleepin’.’

‘Wal,’ I said. ‘It’s Tara. I’m coming home. Into
my
flat. You’re staying with me.
Remember
?’

The pressure on my neck eased a fraction. ‘Teach?’

‘Yeah. That’s right.’

Wal began to mumble; a slur of disjointed words I couldn’t understand. Something about his voice sounded odd, like he was half-drugged or dreaming.

OMG, Wal was sleep-assaulting.

‘Tara?’

Ed quivered underneath me. I could sense his urge to try to fling both Wal and me off. He was big and strong enough to do it, but Wal knew how to handle himself. And he had a gun.

‘Don’t move!’ I whispered in Ed’s ear. ‘He’s on medication and he’s sleepwalking. God knows what he’ll do.

Let me try to wake him up first.’

We lay there, the three of us, in an unpleasant human sandwich. I felt all the warm fuzzy sensations brought on by a good meal, a little too much grog and some foreplay draining away. They were replaced by a knot in my gut, a pounding heart and an unwelcome desire to pee.

‘Wal,’ I said more firmly, ‘it’s Tara Sharp. Put the gun down and get off me.’

‘Dirtbag!’ he growled in response and dug the muzzle deeper into the back of my skull. ‘Gonna blow your brains to shit kingdom.’

‘Tar-ah!’ Ed sounded a tad hysterical.

I didn’t blame him. Our dates never seemed to go well. The first one had ended in us nearly being caught in a police bust. I wanted to say I was sorry but a sudden cold wet sensation kept my apology unspoken. Water spray drummed into my side and splattered my face.

Wal, shocked out of his sleepwalking mind-state, shifted his weight.

Ed and I rolled, tossing him sideways. I dived for his shoulders and Ed crashed across his legs. As I dropped my considerable bulk onto Wal’s forearm, a heeled boot came down on his hand, forcing him to release the pistol with a yelp of pain.

I grabbed the weapon and leaped away.

The light from a mobile phone flicked on, showing me the owner of the boot: a dark-clad figure with a pale face and heavily made-up eyes. Who the hell . . . ?

‘Cass? Is that you?’

‘Yeah. Sorry about the water. Thought you could use some help.’

I took care to point the pistol at the ground while I grappled for something sensible to say in the circumstances. Cass was a kid who’d helped me out when I was doing some undercover work in the Bunkas, a less than salubrious area of Perth. I’d told her to call me if she ever needed help, but I never expected to see her in my back yard in the middle of the night.

‘Boss?’ That came from Wal, along with a groan. ‘Whass goin’ on?’

Cass directed her phone light at the tangle of arms and legs that was Wal and Ed.

‘You’ve been sleepwalking,’ I said. ‘You attacked Ed and me when we were coming in. Lucky Cass here turned the water on you. Woke you up.’

‘That my piece you got?’

I nodded. Water dripped from my chin and nose. I really wanted to wipe my face but I wasn’t letting go of the pistol until I was sure Wal was properly with us.

‘You awake?’ I said.

He shook his head like a dog shedding water and extricated himself from underneath Ed. Then he stood up and reached out his hand in apology.

‘Sorry, man. Musta been them sleepin’ pills the doc gave me.’

Ed got to his feet and accepted the handshake. ‘S-sure, Wal. Wouldn’t be taking them again though.’

A light came on along the back of the house, flooding the swimming pool but leaving us still in the dark.

‘Tara? Is that you?’ called my dad.

Crap.

‘Inside. Quick!’ I hissed at the others.

Half-naked Ed moved quicker than anyone else, scooping up his shirt and pulling up his pants as he went.

Wal was next, grabbing his piece off me as he scuttled past.

I bent down and seized the snaking hose and jerked my head at Cass. She dipped around behind me and did a fierce scramble through the sliding door just as the garden light went on. This one bathed me with its fluorescence.

My father stood there in a dressing gown and slippers, clutching a metal garden rake.

‘It’s okay, Dad. I was watering the garden and I slipped over in the dark.’

His shoulders hunched in irritation. ‘What in God’s name are you watering the garden for at 1 am? You scared your mother to death.’

‘I . . . errr . . . was doing it as . . . err . . . um . . . a surprise for you.’

I tried to beam with reassurance, but my dad had seen that before.

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No, Dad,’ I said meekly.

‘Then turn the hose off and go to bed, Tara. We’ll speak in the morning.’

‘Sorry.’ I suddenly felt seventeen again: well-chastised and guilty.

The lights went off abruptly, leaving me to find the tap in the dark. Hose duly turned off, I entered my flat wet, dirty and agitated.

Ed, Wal and Cass were towelling off. Fours mugs were already set out on the sink next to a tin of Milo and the kettle was on. So was my bedside lamp, giving a soft focus to the mud and grass stains on the floor.

I was about to demand that no one stood on my clothes when I suddenly realised they weren’t strewn about. In fact, the flat was neater than a pin, clothes folded over the hanging frame and the bed made. A whiff of Jif assailed my nostrils. I stared at the sink; it gleamed in the lamplight.