Hard Yards
Page 37
Andrea perched the Ray-Bans on top of her hair. ‘Not until about an hour ago. I’ve been … tied up.’
‘I know the feeling,’ he said. ‘And apart from that, how have you been, Andrea?’
‘Fine,’ she said brightly – the way people do when they are anything but. Barrett noticed it and felt perversely pleased – he wasn’t the only one under the pump.
He proposed a toast: ‘Here’s to … less interesting times ahead. And much more Bollinger.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ she said. They sipped.
‘I couldn’t help it, you know,’ he said, after a silence.
‘Help what?’
‘Falling for you. I didn’t plan it that way.’
‘No-one’s blaming you for anything, Barrett. You’re the one knocking yourself out. Look at you.’
He had indeed looked at himself that morning. He hadn’t shaved for three or four days, and his face was thinner. The flesh was harrowed, and the cheekbones and jawline more prominent, as if the skull were trying to burst through the skin. He looked five years older. He looked like one of those middle-aged, homeless men who are seen shuffling aimlessly around the city. On top of which his vision, he had noticed, had developed an intermittent cloudiness, which might be the beginnings of cataracts.
‘So why did you come?’ he said.
She seemed unprepared for the question. ‘Oh … I don’t know. Impulse, I guess. I wasn’t going to, then I thought, why not?’
It sounded false. He didn’t respond, leaving the ball in her court. When she’d sipped some Bollinger she said, ‘I’m leaving.’
‘Leaving where?’
‘Palm Beach. Sydney. Australia. The whole thing.’
‘I see. Why?’
‘I’ve been offered a position in Los Angeles, and I’ve decided to accept.’
‘And what sort of position would that be?’
‘Publisher-in-chief of a new food magazine. It’s called Friar’s Table.’
‘One of Rupert’s?’
‘It is, yes.’
‘Sooner or later, everyone in the publishing world works for Rupert.’
‘I’m looking forward to the challenge. It’s very exciting.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’
‘What about Todd Bowman?’
She gave a short laugh. ‘What about him? Todd’s … harmless.’
By which she seemed to mean she wasn’t fucking him. Bowman, it appears, was only the Candyman.
‘Beats me what you see in someone like him.’
‘He’s fun. And I guess … he makes me feel a little younger.’ In response to his blank expression she added, ‘Is that such a bad thing?’
‘Not at all. I never figured you for the insecure type.’
‘I’m not insecure.’ She said, a little louder than she intended. Then she repeated herself, more softly. ‘I’m not insecure.’
A silence fell between them, then he said, ‘Los Angeles, huh. Shouldn’t have any trouble getting good blow there. They’ll probably pay your salary in blow.’
‘If you’re going to keep making cracks like that, I’ll go right now. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.’ And she actually reached towards her bag.
‘I’m sorry, Andrea. I’m sorry. It’s been a … a heavy few weeks one way and another. I don’t know what I’m fucking doing anymore.’ She looked anxiously around, as he had raised his voice sharply for the last part. No-one took much notice. When she looked back at him, she saw his eyes filling. He covered his face with his hands, propping his elbows on the table and knocking over one of the empty schooners, which rolled onto the floor. Now they were attracting attention.
‘I don’t know the whole story, of course, but I’ve picked up parts of it. I know you’ve had a tough time. I can see that.’
‘I’ll live, I guess.’
‘I’m sure you will. You always do.’ She gave him a soft smile and took his wrist in her hand, drawing it away from his face.
‘You are one beautiful babe, Andrea. Los Angeles doesn’t deserve you.’
‘I would say there are probably half a million babes in Los Angeles who look exactly like me.’
‘Then they don’t need one more.’
‘I’ve already put the house on the market.’
‘When do you take up this position?’
‘Two months from now.’
‘Maybe I should go with you. You’ll need a bodyguard in Los Angeles, as well as an arsenal of nuclear weapons.’
‘Thanks for the offer.’
‘What about … that other matter? Have you had any problems?’
‘I’ve had a couple of interviews with the fraud squad.’
‘And?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t think they want me particularly. It’s hard to tell. They don’t give much away.’
‘No.’ He drank some champagne, keeping his moist eyes on her as she went in and out of focus. ‘Anything else?’
Clearly she understood what he was driving at. ‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ she said. ‘The day after your visit, I phoned the Dee Why police and told them I thought Pivarran might be the bomber. They searched his house and found sticks of dynamite that matched the ones used to make the bomb. They’re all from the same batch that was stolen from a building contractor in Liverpool or somewhere. They also found wires that were off-cuts from the bomb wiring, and downloaded information from the Internet on bomb-making. Exactly the same type as the one planted under your car.’
‘That sounds pretty conclusive. And who was the offsider?’
‘Oh, they got him too. That was Marvin Singh. Knock shop owner and general thug for hire.’
‘So they’re both in custody?’
‘Yes.’
‘Strange. They didn’t bother telling me any of this.’
‘I think it’s only really happened in the last couple of days. I was only told yesterday.’
‘Well … I guess I haven’t been answering the phone, anyway.’
He topped up both flutes.
‘What about the good Doctor Murray?’ he said. ‘Have they picked him up too?’
‘I don’t believe so. They’ll get Pivarran and Singh, and they might get me, but they won’t get Murray. He’s too good.’
‘He is good, isn’t he? He’s so good he’s not human. You know, earlier today – I mean, a lot earlier – I did some scouting around. I knew Murray’s address, so I went to his street and did some door-knocking. Asked his neighbours if they’d noticed a red Mustang at Murray’s place about six weeks ago. It was a long shot. Everyone said no until I got to a guy who looked like Midge Farrelly, the surfer, when he was young. He was a Mustang freak. Said he saw a lovely red one, 1989 or 1990 model, parked behind Murray’s Porsche Boxster in his driveway at around that time. How about that for a coincidence?’
She shook her head. ‘You never give up, do you?’
‘No. I thought I might go and pay the good doctor a home visit. Clear the air once and for all.’
‘I would’ve thought you’d had enough.’
‘Not quite.’
She sipped and said, ‘Tell you what. Instead of doing that, why don’t you come back to my place. Crash for a few hours, then I’ll cook up a storm for dinner. Provided, of course, you promise to eat it.’
‘Dinner? Christ. I haven’t eaten in days … weeks. I think the last meal I had was at the Bayswater Brasserie.’
‘… Well?’
‘So what’s this – a consolation prize or a sweetener?’ Andrea merely shrugged.
‘You’re offering me a choice between kicking in Murray’s teeth and going back to your place? Hell, that’s no choice. Fuck Duncan Murray.’
‘He’ll meet himself coming the other way one of these days.’
‘If so I hope the encounter will be a bruising one for both of them.’
She laughed, and so did he. He could feel his spirits lifting by the second.
‘You wouldn’t make
me drive home after all that, would you?’ he said.
‘No, I wouldn’t do that to you.’
He killed a half-smoked cigarette. ‘And … did you come here to tell me that – about Pivarran and Singh?’
‘I guess I did. Nearly everything you said that night was on the money. You might say I was in denial at that stage.’
‘Sometimes it’s not a bad place.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well … damned if I do either.’
‘Come on, then,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
They started to leave – then he went back and grabbed the Bollinger bottle from the ice bucket.
‘Here. Take this. It’s still half-full. Cost me an arm and a leg.’
She laughed again. ‘And how am I going to carry that in the car?’
Handing it to her he said, ‘Hold it firmly between your legs. Try not to go over any bumps. Otherwise …’
She threw him a sideways look and said, ‘I’d say it’s the only action I’m going to see today, anyhow.’
Following the Range Rover from a safe distance, he marvelled at how fortunes can suddenly swing around. From the pits of a black, black tunnel he could feel himself emerging into this perfect Palm Beach afternoon. Life didn’t seem so terrible now. On top of that, he had a Dolphin cheque for a hundred and fifty thousand Yankee dollars, which was locked away in the safe at home until he could locate Geoff’s children to give them his share. That was his next project, and one he was looking forward to, which made for a welcome change. He slid in a Carl Perkins CD and listened to the late, great Carl boppin’ the blues. Now he was tapping his thigh and picturing Andrea in the Range Rover with the champagne bottle between her thighs. He was pretty damned sure he could go one better than that, despite her disparaging wisecrack. Already he could feel a serious boner shaping up. So she was going to Los Angeles – but not today. Today – and tonight – she belonged to him. Who could want more than that?
Rock and roll.
Epilogue
CHAMPION SPRINTER DELFRANCO DIES SUDDENLY
Denver, Colorado
The world of athletics was shocked to learn of the death of the world’s fastest man, Titus ‘Bunny’ Delfranco, who collapsed at his home outside Denver yesterday.
A spokesman for the Delfranco family told a media conference that the 20-year-old sprinting superstar had been out walking his dogs early in the morning, returning around 8 a.m. and complaining of severe chest pains.
‘He slumped unconscious on the kitchen table, and despite intensive treatment from paramedics and doctors, could not be revived,’ the spokesman said.
‘Initial diagnosis suggests his heart gave out. Naturally, the whole family is completely devastated.
‘He had only begun his life and sporting career. He was yet to become the man he would be.’
Ironically Delfranco survived an attempt on his life during the Sydney Olympics three months ago, apparently carried out at the instigation of the religious sect, Seed of God, which is currently under investigation by the FBI.
His premature death has prompted comparisons with former Olympic champion, Florence Griffith-Joyner, who died of a heart attack at the age of 38 amid claims she had been a long-term drug user.
‘These stories are completely without foundation,’ the spokesman said.
‘Bunny was tested for drugs on numerous occasions and he always came out clean.
‘He didn’t take drugs. He didn’t need to. He was simply the fastest man ever born.
‘The rumour-mongers were shown to be wrong in Florence Griffith-Joyner’s case, and they are dead wrong in Bunny’s too.’
AAP
About JR Carroll
JR Carroll lives in Melbourne, where he was born and raised. A graduate of Melbourne University, he worked as a teacher for a number of years before turning to full-time fiction writing. His first book, about the Vietnam War, was Token Soldiers. This was followed by a series of crime thrillers, including Catspaw, No Way Back, Out of the Blue, The Clan, Cheaters, and Blindside. His latest crime novel, 8 Hours to Die, will be released by Momentum in January 2014.
Also by JR Carroll
No Way Back
Out of the Blue
The Clan
Cheaters
First published by Pan Macmillan Australia in 2000
This edition published in 2014 by Momentum
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Copyright © JR Carroll 2000
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