by T. J. Beach
“What?”
“I’ve got his number. I can break it to him gently. ‘It’s all over. Deb’s moved on’.”
“Shut up. Idiot.” She cuffed his shoulder. “Austin’s stunningly attractive.”
“And a decent bloke.”
“Really? You like him. I thought you hated all politicians.”
“I can’t help it. Austin’s got time for people. He’s interested in everyone.”
“He’s an actor,” Debbie said.
“Then he must be the best on the planet.”
“At least now you might stop whinging about being his minder for a week or two.”
“No. It’s worse than watching paint dry. By the way, I should show you the alarm set up. You can tell me if it’s up to mustard.”
“Okay.”
“And what happened at the cricket?”
Debbie blew out a breath. “You wouldn’t believe it. I got sacked.”
Hollins coughed on his lemonade. “You’re kidding! How do you get fired as a volunteer cricket coach?”
“They were quite nice about it, but they made it pretty clear. A teacher from the primary school runs it, Dave McManus. He says my temperament might not suit junior community sport.”
“Bloody hell. What happened?”
“There was an altercation.” Debbie rolled her shoulders and turned back to the crowd. “The little shit totally deserved a telling off, and his dad was even worse.”
Hollins snorted into the back of his hand.
“You can laugh,” Debbie said. “You’re the new coach.”
“Very funny.” He chuckled.
She stared him down.
“No way. I can’t do it. What are you saying?”
Debbie grabbed his shoulder. “You have to. Please. I need you. Lachlan’s being bullied. I’ve got to find out who’s doing it and —”
“Whoa! Lachlan’s being bullied? Who’d bully Lachlan? He wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
“And he’s quiet. He never speaks up or fights back.”
“Oh, hell. Poor little sod. He’s the perfect target, isn’t he? Are you sure it’s a bully? What’s the school doing about it?”
“Nothing. Lachlan’s gone all clingy. He doesn’t want to go to school. You should see the look on his face. It breaks my heart.” She huffed. “You probably think I’m an idiot.”
“No. Not at all.”
“He normally tells me everything, but he will not say what’s wrong. I’m worried sick.”
“I’m getting that,” Hollins said. Debbie put on a cranky face around her kids, but Hollins knew it came from fierce love, pride and protectiveness. “What did the school say?”
“Oh, they rolled out all the platitudes, said the right things, but you could see they thought I was over-reacting. ‘You shouldn’t worry. It’s a lovely class. He’s doing fine, Mrs Haring’. Bullshit! His marks are way down.”
“Have you asked Jenny?”
“She says she hasn’t seen anything, and Jenny does keep an eye out for her brother in the playground, but he’s being bullied. I know it.”
“You thought you’d spot the culprit at cricket?”
“All the boys in his class play cricket. The little rat will give himself away, whoever he is.”
“Okay, I’m in.”
“You’ll do it? Matt would, in a heartbeat. He’s as worried as I am, but he’s on site eight days out of fourteen and most weekends.”
“Yep.” The thought of someone abusing Debbie’s shy innocent lad made Hollins want to lash out. “I’ll do the coaching, and I’ll find out what’s worrying Lachlan if it kills me.”
“Oh, thank you. I really appreciate it. I’ll give Dave McManus a call.”
“Give me his number. I’ll phone him myself.”
She pulled her Samsung out of her clutch bag and searched for the number. “What are you smirking at, Gaz?”
“Sorry. I can’t help it. I can’t believe you got sacked as the cricket coach.”
“Shut up. Here’s the number. Oh my goodness, is that Sophia Pendlebury? Eek! She’s coming our way.”
“Who?” Hollins looked up from copying the number to see Soph descending on them like a goddess from the heavens. She wore a sparkling, off-the-shoulder ball gown and high heels but glided over the lawn. Backlighting from the party framed her, but the glow came from within.
She made straight for them, smiling away half a dozen greetings from couples eager for attention. “Gary,” she called. “I’m so glad you came. Is this your wife?”
“Good God, no.”
Debbie kicked him in the ankle.
“Ouch. This is Debbie Haring, my boss from Ridenour Investigations.”
“Hello, Debbie. Sorry, you looked just like a married couple.”
“I am married. To Matt. He’s in the Pilbara. FIFO.” Debbie grimaced.
“It’s awful the way FIFO breaks up families. The APP ...” She caught herself. “Listen to me. I’m starting to sound like Austin and Glenn. I came to say hello to Gary. We didn’t get a chance to talk today.”
Hollins nodded. Waves of floral scent had paralysed his tongue. He hadn’t been so stricken since Belinda Ford invited him to her birthday party in second form at Billericay Comprehensive.
“Are you married, Gary? Do you have children?”
He coughed to clear the constriction. “Not me. Single and fancy-free. Debbie does the kids.”
Sophia raised an eyebrow.
“Two. Girl and boy. Primary school age,” Debbie filled in.
“Oh, that’s lovely. My son’s a bit older. He’s in New South Wales with his father. I miss him terribly.” She shifted to Hollins. “We’re delighted to have you on the team. Austin says you fit right in.”
“I try to please,” Hollins said.
Sophia leant back, appraising. “You have a commanding presence. Just what we need. You must work out.”
“No, not really. I run now and then. Try to keep fit.”
“Pity. I hoped you could point me to a good gym. I haven’t found one yet and I need to train.” She grinned at Debbie. “At my age, I can’t give producers any excuse to move on to the next generation.”
“Surely, with your career—” Debbie said.
Sophia shrugged. “It’s the way it is for female actors. Where do you run, Gary?”
“Along the beach mostly. I live in a cabin at Summer Dayz Caravan Park.”
That raised her eyebrows. “Really? Well, it’s lovely to meet you both, and I’m pleased you’re working out so well because I made Austin hire you.”
“You did? I heard someone recommended us,” Hollins said.
“Oh, yes. We wanted to hire locally, of course, and you got a very strong referral from Jordan.” She gestured to a slim, older man telling a story to an attentive young couple.
Jordan Verdicatti. Hollins’ blood ran cold.
“He said you were just the man we needed,” Sophia said.
“Did he.” Hollins clenched his jaw.
“Is that …?” Debbie asked.
“Yes. Excuse me a moment.”
Verdicatti waved away his acolytes as Hollins moved in. “Give me a moment, guys. G’day, Gary. Nice to see you again.”
“Wish I could say the same. What the hell—”
“No need to thank me.” He threw his hands wide, enjoying Hollins’ annoyance. “That Sophia’s something, isn’t she?”
“I don’t want you doing me any favours.”
“You made that clear last time we met, as I remember. I thought you were a little ungrateful, to tell the truth.”
“I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“That’s harsh. What’s the problem? When they put out the hint the campaign might need some muscle, your face came straight to mind.” He raised a gnarled finger. “After all, I’ve had reliable first-hand accounts of exactly how useful you can be.” He took a sip from his cocktail glass.
“How did Austin Gould get involved with—”
<
br /> “A prominent Italian-Australian entrepreneur?” Verdicatti smiled. “Why not? I keep my finger on the pulse. You know that. I made a donation, that’s all.” He leaned in close and winked. “I donate to all the parties. You won’t tell them, will you?” He chuckled at his own joke.
Hollins let out a sigh. “Next time you feel the urge to mention my name, don’t. Alright?”
“Oh, I can’t guarantee that. You have skills I can use. My offer’s still open. Give me a call anytime.”
“I completely lost your number.” Hollins spread his hands. “Imagine that.”
CHAPTER FIVE
HOLLINS STORMED AWAY from Jordan Verdicatti straight into Debbie.
She grabbed his arm. “Where’s the alarm system?”
“In a cupboard under the stairs.”
“Good. Show me now. We need to talk in private.”
She dragged him through the house, past the busy caterers, to an oasis of calm in the hallway.
“It’s here.” Hollins reached for the latch.
“Jordan Verdicatti.” Debbie crossed her arms under her breasts.
“Yeah.” Hollins let out a breath.
“You told me you met him once.”
“A couple of times.” He hadn’t told her about the second time. What was her point?
“He’s Western Australia’s biggest gangster, for God’s sake. Jordan Verdicatti recommended you? What the hell?”
“Look. I don’t like it any more than you do. It’s a big joke to him.”
“I’m not laughing. Ridenour Investigations cannot be associated with a mobster.”
“Awesome. I’m done here, then?”
Debbie raised a finger ready to rant, but froze in thought.
Hollins could just about see the gears whirring behind her eyes. “If I resigned, you wouldn’t be able to hang out with Austin Gould and Sophia Pendlebury.”
“It’s not that.”
“It totally is. You are completely starstruck. I meant it about calling Matt.”
“Bullshit. To both.”
“It’s your call. Boss. Take the moral high ground over a detail no one knows and lose a fat, high-profile contract. Do it. Please. No skin off my nose.”
An irritated crease appeared between Debbie’s eyebrows.
Hollins glared right back to cover his discomfort. He didn’t want the work. Why did he bait Debbie? Because they always argued the toss? Or because he liked Austin Gould … and Sophia Pendlebury.
“You didn’t know Jordan Verdicatti put you forward?”
Hollins threw his hand towards the murmur of conversation leaking from the lounge. “Didn’t you just see me in there?”
“It looked like two old mates catching up.”
“We are not mates. I’ve met him twice. Three times now. Are you keeping a log?”
“It’s an issue.”
“Tell me about it! I’ve got a gangster taking the piss out of me. He’s trying to get me to work for him.”
Debbie straightened. “You didn’t mention that.”
“I refused the offer.”
“It’s the kind of thing you tell people. ‘Hey, a mobster offered me a role in his organisation. What do you reckon, Deb? Cool, eh?’ Which role was it, by the way? Head knuckle-dragger? You’d be good at that.”
“You’re missing the bigger picture.”
She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes.
“Austin Gould is taking money from mobsters,” Hollins said.
“What makes you think he knows Verdicatti’s reputation? You didn’t know who he was until I told you three months ago. Austin’s lived over east for about twenty years. No one in the east takes any notice of what happens in WA.”
“Don’t political parties background their donors?”
Debbie rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, stupid question. Politicians will take money from anybody.” Verdicatti had hinted as much. “Not to mention the fact that the great and good of Bell’s Landing seem delighted to make his acquaintance out there.”
“You’re a worry, Gaz.”
“I’m a worry? Why do you think I didn’t tell you Jordan Verdicatti wants me on his payroll? Because I knew you’d react like this.”
They stared daggers at each other.
“We’re going ahead with this contract?” Hollins asked.
She bit her lip. “Yep.”
“Then look at the alarm.”
“Do I need to? It’s zoned.”
“How do you know?”
“There are motion detectors in every room. There’s also a security bar for the cafe windows, which are high tensile security glass, and the front and back doors have deadlocks.”
“Where did you get all this?”
“I keep my eyes open. It’s my job. Is the alarm monitored? There’s a security company sticker on the CCTV out front, but anyone can paste on a sticker. Did you ask if it’s monitored?”
Hollins hadn’t noticed the camera. “I did ask Austin. Yes, the alarm company is in Bunbury, but there’s a guaranteed fifteen-minute local response.” Bunbury was half an hour from Bell’s Landing.
“It’s a good system if the owner turns it on and uses it properly. Most people get sick of setting it off because they forget they left the alarm on downstairs when they went to bed.”
“I’ll remind Austin.”
“Let’s get back to the party. I’m here to network.”
“With the stars. Are you going to get Austin’s autograph?”
Debbie blushed. “I already did. He signed that pamphlet.”
“How about Soph’s? Did you get hers yet?”
“Soph?”
“That’s what Austin calls her. Hey, who is she anyway?”
“Give me strength. You really need to read the papers or something.”
“Why?” The news had nothing but gloom and despair. Even sports results were depressing for a Charlton Athletic fan.
“You need to read the news, so you know these things. Sophia Pendlebury is Australia’s biggest musical comedy star. She’s headlined Broadway shows.”
“Really. That would be why you just about wet yourself when she talked to you.”
“I did not. It was shock. I thought she’d broken up with Austin.”
Hollins grunted. “She had a relationship with Austin? She was all over Glenn, the campaign manager today.”
Debbie shook her head. “They were the hottest romance in Australian show business. After she guest-starred in Warrior of God, they went everywhere together for months, until New Idea had photos of her with Brenton Ingle at a premiere.”
Hollins shook his head.
“Oh, come on, you must have heard of Brenton Ingle?”
“No. But I’m shaking my head at you reading fan magazines.”
“It’s all they’ve got at the hairdresser. There, see.” Debbie pointed out an over-dressed woman slipping a phone into her bag. “I’ll bet half the women here have sneaked selfies with Austin and Sophia in the background. It will be all over the internet tomorrow that they’re back together.”
Sure enough, Austin had his arm around Sophia Pendlebury. She sank her head onto his shoulder as he regaled the Bell’s Landing Shire President with a story.
Hollins set his phone alarm early for exercise before a scheduled breakfast at the Gould place.
Disturbing thoughts of Sophia kept Hollins awake. When she was with Austin, they gave off the vibe of a domesticated couple, casually attentive, little touches, intimate glances, but he’d seen her with Glenn as well. He’d heard enough about actors to believe many took touchy-feely way beyond the limits, but boy it looked like Austin’s squeeze and the campaign manager had a thing on the side.
He was jealous of both men either way.
Not that he’d do anything. Hollins had about as much chance with people who got their pictures in New Idea as Charlton Athletic winning the FA Cup.
Raucous chimes from his phone alarm woke him from a sweaty dream in which he
had to hide Jordan Verdicatti from Debbie.
He pulled on running gear and had a long drink of water straight from the tap while he studied the weather from the kitchen window of his cabin — clear, sunny, pleasantly warm. Like an English summer day, except he’d already seen more sunshine in his first six months in Bell’s Landing than he remembered in his last six years in England. Exile had its advantages.
Hollins swiped Spotify to The Clash, let himself out of the caravan park through the back gate and jogged across the highway and down to the beachside parking lot. As he turned past the Xanthorea with its pole-straight, jet-black trunk and spiky green headdress marking the end of the path, a car door slammed, and a slim figure sprinted after him.
He sidestepped and stopped dead at the sight of Sophia Pendlebury in a pale blue Nike singlet and bike shorts with a ponytail pulled through a pink Quiksilver cap.
She loped past him up the path, calling over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Hollins switched off his music, sneaked a breathtaking peek at a stage star’s behind and took off after her.
“The beach?” she asked as he drew level.
He nodded.
They jogged through the dune grass windrows and soft sand to the firm strip at the waterline, then stretched their pace.
“You’re right,” she said.
“Glad to hear it.” He took a couple more strides and added: “About what?”
“This is better than the beach at Austin’s place. I looked up Summer Dayz to see where you lived. I hoped I’d catch you.”
Hollins couldn’t help a juvenile daydream that she wanted to check out his nuggety thighs.
“Austin’s made light of your role as bodyguard, I’m sure,” she said.
“Something like that.”
“Don’t let him lull you. He’ll play cool and charm you. He does so love people to like him, but politics gets nasty.”
“Like how?” He doubted she meant storming the Bastille, not over a state upper house election in an international backwater.
“There’ve been a couple of incidents. Not much — hecklers, pushing and shoving — but it will escalate when Austin’s message spreads. He’s going to win.”
“So, you went to Jordan Verdicatti.” Not the police or party headquarters.
“It came up in conversation at an event.”