by T. J. Beach
“Oh, nothing really.”
“Bullshit!”
“Yeah. She’s … not always noted for her discretion.”
Sophia snorted. “I can imagine that. She lined up the Goon Squad, told them what was what and had them eating out of her hand for the rest of the night. She was marvellous.”
Hollins sighed with relief. “Good. So, why do I have the pleasure of sharing my beer?”
“I want you to make the right decision. You have Austin’s future in your hands.”
“I do? How?”
“He wants to visit this woman with the missing son, Wendy something.”
“Okay.”
“You can’t let him.”
“Why not? He cares about people. He wants to help. Have I got it all wrong? Is it an act?”
“No. That’s Austin one hundred per cent, and it’s going to ruin him. It’s the wrong move at the wrong time. The campaign is in trouble.”
“You’re kidding me! Everyone loves Austin. He’s getting terrific crowds.”
“The polls say different. The Australian People’s Party is lagging badly. If there’s not an uptick soon, we may as well pack our bags and go home. The punters might roll out to get his autograph, but the fans are going to vote Liberal or Labor.”
“The graffiti business?” Hollins asked.
“Weirdly, the APP went up in the polls after the graffiti — a sympathy bump, I suppose — but it’s dropped back again. The main parties go right past all the family-friendly policies and support for Australian workers and call us anti-refugee Nazis. Glenn’s tearing his hair out.”
“Concerned because he brought Austin into this?”
Sophia stared at the silent TV screen. “No. I put them together.”
“Austin must have believed in it to give up his TV career.”
She shook her head. “You’ve got it back to front. His TV career gave him up.”
“It said on Wikipedia that the producers approved another series of Warrior of God.”
“Does it still say that? They made the announcement at the launch of the last series, but venture capitalists bought the studio, cut back on promotion, and the last season didn’t rate well. The new episodes get delayed and delayed again. They’re letting Warrior die. The producers won’t admit it because it might affect re-run audiences. Warrior is done. Austin hasn’t worked for eighteen months.”
“Really? Can’t he do movies or something? Another show? He’s a big star.”
“He won two Gold Logies, but that makes it worse. He’s typecast. Half the people he meets on the street call him D’Arcy or Pastor. There aren’t too many roles for priests who know jujitsu and solve crimes. Glenn told me about the APP and how it will change Australia for the better, and I suggested Austin should stand. I persuaded him it would be his next great role, a chance to help people in real life instead of thirty-minute episodes of let’s pretend. The campaign is turning into a disaster, and it’s my fault.”
“Austin sees it that way?” The star didn’t come across to Hollins as the sort to lay blame.
“He doesn’t say anything, but I can read his moods. Did you know his kids are in Victoria? He’s really close to them. The divorce was amicable. She’s in the business.” Sophia shrugged. “But I talked him into politics, and a state election in his hometown seemed the perfect opportunity. He hasn’t seen his kids for three months, and his eldest daughter is having a high school crisis. Austin talks to his son and daughter every night on FaceTime. He finishes the calls with tears in his eyes. He looks at me — and I know.”
“Wendy Tupaea?” Hollins felt a need to turn the conversation back to its main purpose.
“I’m sure Austin’s reaction is linked to missing his kids. He’s got it into his head that he’s the father.”
Hollins coughed. He hadn’t seen that coming.
Sophia plunged on. “He’s hoping he’s the father. He wants another son. Here. A family reunion. He doesn’t appreciate how wrong this is. It will destroy him.”
Hollins didn’t see how. Austin using his public presence to champion the cause of a worried mum would play right into his D’Arcy Shawcross persona. The public would love it. Debbie would stand a much better chance of reuniting Wendy and Keith-Devon.
“It’s sordid,” Sophia went on. “This stupid woman turns up with her photo and grubby connections with used car salesmen.”
“I thought sex was just sex for actors,” Hollins said.
Sophia frowned.
“A bit like used car salesmen,” Hollins added.
“Nothing like used car salesmen. APP is the family values party. Do you have any idea how the major parties would exploit an Australian People’s Party candidate with even the hint of an illegitimate child?”
“With a Maori mother.”
“That’s not the point.” Sophia looked away as she said it but snapped back to Hollins. “Austin is a babe in the woods — naive beyond reason. We have to save him from himself. You can help. He trusts you. He’ll listen to you, especially with your connection to Debbie … and Wendy.”
Hollins swigged his beer, more inclined to encourage Austin than dissuade him. He hedged. “Austin doesn’t trust you? How about Glenn?”
“Glenn’s always been the nearly man. There was a group of us at university, all friends together in the beginning, equals, all going places. Half of us have had decent careers in the industry, the other half are all happily married with other careers. Glenn was the most intense of us all, and still is. He’s worked more than any of us — he tries so hard — but he’s never quite found his niche. Politics is a big chance, and perhaps his last. Glenn’s the one with political ambitions. Bringing Austin Gould made him a star in the APP. Success with Austin would open doors. Now his opportunity is going to shit. Failure with such a high profile candidate will chuck him back on the scrap heap. The polls are killing him. When Austin suggested a meeting with this Wendy, Glenn lost it completely. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Glenn angry before, but he shouted at Austin, called him an idiot. Austin hates it when people treat him as stupid. It plays into his artistic insecurities.”
“So, the bodyguard is your only hope.”
“You’re much more than a bodyguard, Gary. Please help.”
She leaned towards him, pleading, a sophisticated, beautiful actress, in his living room, drinking his beer and begging for assistance.
Hollins drank the rest of the beer after Sophia left.
He toyed with the idea of calling Debbie. He’d have to tell her Austin wanted to meet Wendy, but he didn’t want to do it half pissed, or so he told himself.
In bed, he fancied he could smell his last girlfriend, Kerry. A stupid idea. He laundered his single set of bedclothes every week.
Debbie’s call woke him up hours later. “It’s on. Get moving.”
“What? What’s on? For Christ’s sake, Deb. It’s four o’clock in the morning.”
“Exactly! The security cameras pinged at the campaign office. It’s being graffitied again.”
“Call the cops! What do you want me to do?”
“Come with me. Matt won’t let me out of the house unless you go as well.”
Hollins groaned. “Don’t get out of your car until I get there.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HOLLINS PARKED HIS ute next to a Bell’s Landing cop car flashing blue and red strobe lights onto defaced Vote Gould signs.
Debbie stood, arms crossed, frowning beside a uniformed constable.
“We missed them,” she called as Hollins walked across to join them. “I’m just showing Constable Blair the pictures.”
The policeman nodded to Hollins.
“They’ll be better on the laptop,” Debbie said. “Look, here they drop all their stuff and take off.”
Hollins snorted, in their retreat the vandals had left a vital word in the abuse unfinished after the letters F and U. They'd abandoned their paint and brushes on the pavement.
“I reckon the
y heard me coming.” The constable shrugged. “I was only three streets away when the call came through from dispatch. They were gone when I got here.”
“They left their tools.” Hollins pointed out the brushes and paint.
The constable leaned down to right a tin leaking crimson.
“Fingerprints?” Hollins asked.
“They wore gloves.” Debbie stabbed her finger at her phone screen. “And caps.”
“The pictures aren’t very clear,” the constable said.
“You can blow them up on your computer screen. I’ll edit the file and send it through if you give me an email address.”
“That’ll be good, but don’t edit it!”
“There’ll be hours of people going in and out of the store yesterday. You want that?”
“Yeah, cut that out,” the constable said. “Thanks. There’s not a lot more I can do here. I’ll cruise around. I doubt that I’ll see them.”
At that moment, Austin’s Lexus pulled up behind Debbie’s Camry, closely followed by Glenn’s hired SUV.
Austin stood between the cars, raised his hands like a Jesus statue and swore. “Why?” he asked.
Glenn hurried to his side. “Because they’re animals! They’re hypocrites. They call us right-wing agitators but look at this! Hate. Filth. We’re going to have to do something.”
Austin dropped his hands and turned to his campaign manager. “What do you mean, Glenn? You’re not suggesting we graffiti the Labor office, are you?”
“Maybe the Greens. No. No.” He sighed. “We have to take the moral high ground, I suppose. Forgive the vandals. Drum the party line. Our policies are sensible, practical and good for Australia because workers and families will be better off, but that won’t convince the biased, left-wing media. Only people who don’t understand or don’t care about Australia would call us racists. The media are the racists. They’re anti-white.”
Austin nodded. “High moral ground. Got it.”
The way his mouth set into a thin, determined line could have been a clip from Warrior of God. Pastor Shawcross had the same look in every episode at the tipping point where he resolved to rescue a troubled parishioner whatever the personal risk.
“Maybe I shouldn’t say anything about the other candidates being racist?” Austin asked Glenn.
“No, don’t do that. They’d turn it back on us. The media turn everything against us.”
“Hmm. Oh, Constable, thanks for coming out at this ungodly hour.” Austin made for the policeman, hand extended.
Sophia sidled over to Hollins and Haring. “Gary, Debbie.” She held Hollins’ gaze for a meaningful instant he took to be a reminder about keeping Wendy away from Austin. “This is shocking. I never imagined people could be so stupid, but I guess that’s politics. Don’t they say no one ever failed by underestimating the voters’ ignorance?”
Hollins nodded. If Sophia didn’t say anything about Wendy, he wouldn’t. He wanted to have that conversation with Debbie alone. “Does Austin realise the policeman can’t search for the graffiti artists while he’s talking to him?” Hollins asked.
“Oops, probably not,” Sophia said.
“Never mind,” Debbie put in. “That bird’s flown, but we caught them in the act.”
“You were here?” Sophia’s eyes went wide. “I thought the police stumbled on them.”
“No. Our video cameras picked up the movement and sent an alarm to my phone.”
“Really? We have cameras?”
“Austin didn’t mention it?”
“No. This is great news. We’ll catch the bastards.”
“Maybe not. The pictures aren’t that clear, but the policeman got here within minutes, which I guess minimised the damage.”
Sophia placed a hand on Debbie’s arm. “Sorry to be so cynical, but the worse the vandalism, the better for Austin.”
“How does that work?” Debbie asked.
“The campaign got a sympathy uptick in the polls after the last graffiti blast,” Hollins added.
“But when the police arrest the scum who did it, we’ll have you to thank,” Sophia said. “Outing the culprits will be even better publicity.”
“And the right thing to do,” Hollins mentioned.
Sophia pursed her lips at him.
Glenn pivoted from eavesdropping on Austin’s conversation with the policeman. “Did I hear that correctly? We’re going to arrest the vandals?” He stepped across to join them, arms folded, eyebrows bunched. “How’s that?”
“Ridenour Investigations put up cameras and caught them on tape,” Sophia said.
“Motion-activated, networked surveillance cameras. They collect a lot of rubbish — through the day — but we got every second of the painting,” Debbie said. “Three guys in caps and overalls.”
“Where are the cameras?”
Hollins strained to pick out the tiny lenses and pointed for Glenn. “There … and there. Debbie did all the work. She’s our technical guru.”
Debbie snorted. “Don’t put yourself down, Gary. Your help was invaluable.” She winked at Sophia. “He held my tools.”
Sophia chuckled.
“Hell’s teeth,” Glenn said. “I mean, that’s good. When can we see the pictures?”
“I’m sending them through to the police. Would you like a copy?”
“Thanks,” Glenn said. “How is the video stored?”
“On a disk, in the camera.”
“There are two discs, one for each? Can you give us those?”
Debbie shrugged. “Sure.”
“The police will want to deal directly with the campaign staff, I expect. We’re the victims, after all.”
“It’s no problem,” Debbie said.
The heart-to-heart between Austin and the constable broke up with more handshaking. Glenn excused himself and took Austin aside, reaching for his phone.
“He’ll call the media,” Sophia said.
“That would be the evil, biased reporters who favour the left and distort APP’s policies?” Hollins asked.
“That’s them, but they can also put us on the morning news.” Sophia spread her hands to frame the graffiti. “Dramatic dawn shots of Austin surveying the damage. The campaign goes on.” She went to join the strategy discussion.
“Was Glenn asking for the discs a bit weird, or was it just me?” Debbie asked.
Hollins shrugged. “I guess we can always check the pictures on the campaign computers. I wouldn’t mind having a look.”
“Dead right, but you don’t need to. I’ll download it all onto my computer to edit the tape for the police.”
Hollins shook his head in wonderment. “Is there no end to your brilliance? Video security expert, goon squad whisperer.”
“Goon squad what?”
“I heard they were meek as a flock of baby lambs after you talked to them.”
“Hmmph. I heard you nailed it at the cricket coaching.”
They looked each other up and down. Hollins guessed they’d be thinking the same thing. The mother wrestled the testosterone-fuelled rednecks into line. The so-called hardman wowed the primary school children.
“Sorry I didn’t call,” she said. “I was a bit late getting back from Austin’s events. They do drag on, don’t they?”
“They do.”
“Matt said the kids just loooved you.” She snorted derision. “Do you have any suspects for the bully?”
“No. I don’t think it’s the rude kid, Dan.”
“I agree. Matt does, too. That kid is a snotty little rat in general, but he’s not the one. Matt didn’t see anything suspicious.”
“Me either, but we’ll stay on it. I need to talk to you about something else. Come over here.” He led Debbie well out of hearing range from Glenn, Austin and Sophia, now busy on their phones. “Sophia came around to my place last night.”
“To Summer Dayz?”
“What’s wrong with Summer Dayz?”
“Nothing, for a caravan park. I can’t picture
Sophia Pendlebury in your cabin.”
“She looked pretty good on my sofa.”
“Gary!”
“But then she’s not a snob like some people I could mention. She told me Austin wants to meet Wendy Tupaea.”
“Fantastic. Wendy will be delighted.”
“But Sophia wants me to put a stop to it.”
“Yeah? How? Why?”
“She says Austin trusts me—“
“Pffft.”
“And she says Austin wants to promote the search for Keith—“
“Even better.”
“Because he thinks he’s Keith’s dad.”
“Shit!”
“And he’d love to have another son, but Sophia thinks a brown illegitimate child would destroy Austin’s political credibility.”
“Well, stuff them both.”
“Sophia didn’t say brown.”
“But you think it’s a factor?”
“Could be. I think Sophia’s right about Austin’s career.”
Debbie shrugged. “The poor man can go back to making millions as an actor.”
“Apparently not.”
“So, you’re not going to use your mystical power over a double Gold Logie winner to talk him out of meeting Wendy?”
“No.”
“Good. I’ll be off then. I need to edit those tapes and get Matt down with the ladder to replace the discs in the cameras—“
“You let him help?”
“He’s my husband and therefore my slave.”
“Talking of weird mystical powers.”
“It’s love, Gary. You might find out what that’s like one day. If you can get over your pathetic lust for Sophia Pendlebury.”
“I’ll always have the memory of my sofa.”
“Eeewww. I don’t want to hear your fantasies. And as soon as I’ve sent the files to Sergeant Radford at the police station, I’m going to tell Wendy she’s got a meeting with Austin Gould.”
Debbie knocked on Wendy Tupaea’s motel room door four hours later.
“The door’s open.”
Debbie let herself in. “Hi, Wendy.”
Keith’s mum turned from the open suitcase on the second bed. “Oh, I thought it would be the manager. Hi, Debbie. I was about to call you.”