by Clare Kauter
“Whatever.”
“I’m leaving!” I turned to go.
“Say hi to your lover boy for me!” he called as I went out the door. I slammed it behind me. I had not gone soft on McKenzie. Absolutely not.
Had I?
Friday should be declared part of the weekend. No one functions on Friday. Especially not if they’ve spent 6 hours of the last three days doing exercise. If that’s the case, you’re sore, grumpy, and tired, as well as dysfunctional. It sucks.
On top of the completely crap state my body was in, things were even worse when I caught sight of my hair in the mirror. From the state of it I could tell you today’s weather forecast: minor showers in the morning with heavy rain around midday and my hair frizzing up to maximum capacity at approximately 12:22 p.m.
I decided not to bother trying to look professional today. No one else bothered. Why should I? I grabbed a nice pair of black jeans and a cute black and white striped T-shirt, then ducked next door into Lea’s room to borrow a pair of shoes. I settled on a pair of pumps (low-heel) that were black with white spots. I tried them on and they fit. More importantly, I could walk in them. I shoved everything in my bag and got dressed in my stinky tracksuit. I should really do some washing, I thought.
Tim picked me up again. We jogged in the rain. I ran the first kilometre too fast, all the while bitching about Adam. Then I ran out of breath and walked for a while. We got there in 50 minutes and I sneaked into the yoga class.
After that, Tim made me do 50 sit-ups and try to do push-ups and chin-ups. I hadn’t improved. Next he put me on some weird machine which only worked out my arm muscles, but today I didn’t care that it was doing nothing for my arse because according to Will, I had a nice arse. OK, so he would have said that even if I had, like, an extra bum cheek, but whatever.
Tim said I was performing at an ‘almost average’ level on some of the machines today. Yay! I was improving.
For martial arts, Tim took me to a Body Combat class. I enjoyed that a lot more than the one-on-one classes. It had music and it was fun. Plus, there were other people who didn’t pick up the steps as quick as me, which made me feel better. Well, there was that one guy. Admittedly he did have a head injury, but whatever.
That morning for breakfast I had miso soup with brown rice, fresh pineapple juice and the supplements. I sat with Tim and asked him about the case.
“Anything new come up?” I asked.
“No. I’ve tried everything but it’s not getting me anywhere. I don’t suppose you’ve found out anything either?”
I shook my head. “Afraid not.” Apart from the fact that my arse wasn’t fat, thank you very much Tim, and I might have fallen for McKenzie. But that didn’t relate to the case at all, so I kept it to myself.
“Well,” he said. “I’m afraid we’re not having much luck digging your boyfriend out of trouble, honey.”
What? He thought I liked McKenzie as well?
I narrowed my eyes. “He is not my boyfriend.”
He smiled. “Sure.”
When I stepped into the shower, I tried to wet my hair so that I could wash it, but it had frizzed up so much that I could barely get it under the nozzle. When it was finally wet enough I shampooed and conditioned it. I got out, walked over to the sinks, and attempted to run a comb through my hair, but it stuck after about a centimetre. I borrowed another lady’s blow dryer to try and tame it, but to no avail.
The girl who’d lent me a blow dryer came over and introduced herself. “Hi. I’m Lilly.”
“Charlie,” I said, by way of introduction.
“I install security systems.”
“Secretary,” I said vacantly. I was still staring at the mirror in horror.
“Here, sweetie,” said Lilly, handing me a tube of hair gloop. “Use as much as you want. My sister gets it free from the salon for me – she’s a hair dresser,” she explained. “I don’t know if it will completely fix it, but it might help.”
I finished off the tube and my hair looked slightly better than it had at the start.
“Thanks,” I said to Lilly.
“No worries. I know what it’s like. My hair does that too – just, you know, not quite to the same extent.”
There wasn’t too much work for me today. A few folders to put away and three things to research for Adam, plus an envelope with my name on it, containing my pay slip. I checked my bank account and found that the money had already gone in. When I finished the files, I felt my hair and tried not to scream. Maybe I could spend my pay on a treatment.
After lunch, I had no work left. There was nothing for me to do except answer the telephone occasionally and contemplate my scary hair. By the time 5 o’clock arrived, I was more than ready to leave. I gathered my stuff and headed out.
It was pouring. And because I’d jogged here this morning, I had to walk home. I stood out on the sidewalk, wondering what the people watching the monitors would think of my hairstyle. They had a clear view of all angles. It probably looked like my head was being swallowed by a giant blonde spider.
I was panicking about how wet Lea’s shoes were going to get in this rain, when a black Ferrari pulled up in front of me. Hmm. I wonder who this could be?
The door opened and James leant across to speak to me.
“Need a lift?” he asked.
I sighed. My hair was like a blonde fro and my glasses were wet and foggy from the rain. I was sore from too much exercise, grumpy from the rain and I was tired, and now I was being offered a lift home by a guy who was potentially a murderer and whom everyone thought I was in love with.
“Thanks,” I said flatly, sliding in next to him. I pulled the door shut and grabbed the seatbelt. “I hope you don’t mind getting your seats wet.”
“Bad hair day?” James asked. I let go of the seatbelt and reached for the door handle to get out. Only trouble was, I couldn’t find it. Aah! Stupid super-car. I was trying to leave in anger but I was trapped.
James laughed. “Charlie, calm down. I was just joking.”
“I’m leaving.”
He laughed. “You don’t even know how to get the door open. Look, I’m sorry I teased. I like the fro. Besides, you don’t want to walk home in the rain.” He was right. I didn’t.
I pulled the seatbelt over me again and tried to find where to plug it in. James reached over and did it up for me.
“Thanks,’ I mumbled.
“So,” he said when we started driving. “Did you set Larry’s office on fire?”
I snorted. “No.”
“I’m not going to get up you for it,” he said quickly. “That probably saved me from going to gaol.”
“I really didn’t. I just set the fire alarm off. Larry must have torched his own office while everyone was distracted.” We were silent for a while, so I looked around at the Ferrari’s interior, trying to figure out how anything in it worked. “Nice car.”
He was trying to hide a smile. “Not going to smash it up, are you?”
“Not unless you’re planning on turning my bra into a flag again,” I said.
“That was a long time ago, Charlie. I’d like to think I’m a bit more mature now.” Sure, you’d like to think that.
“So,” I said. “What prompted this uncharacteristic act of kindness towards me?”
He looked wounded. “I couldn’t just drive past you. You bring out the worst in me, but even my worst isn’t that bad. Besides, I wanted an update on how you’re going.”
“With the case?”
“Yeah. I thought maybe you’d have something that Sharps doesn’t.”
I raised my eyebrows. I was genuinely surprised. “You have that much confidence in me?”
He smiled. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
“Well, I don’t really have anything at the moment. Isn’t Sarah Hollis supposed to be getting back to Gerongate soon?”
James nodded. “Sunday.”
“Well, we’ll see what happens then.” I realised there was
something I hadn’t asked McKenzie that I’d been meaning to. “James, how did you even meet your uncle? He’s about the only relative of yours I’ve never met.”
He smiled slightly as he told me the story. “We were fundraising for a football trip or something, I don’t really remember. Anyway, your brother dared me to hit Frank up for some money, so I did. He liked my sales pitch, thought it was funny, so we talked for a while. We just got along, you know.” He paused. “I didn’t kill him, Charlie.”
“I know.”
We didn’t speak again until he was about three blocks from my parents.
“Do you want me to drop you off at your parents’ house or somewhere they won’t see?”
I laughed. “At the house.”
I didn’t think it really mattered anymore being seen with McKenzie. In fact, I was kind of hoping that Violet would give up on the idea that I was with Tim if she saw me also coming home with James. She’d realise it was just a working relationship.
James idled out the front of the house. It was still pouring outside. I wondered how wet I’d get dashing from the car to the door. Then I looked down at myself and sighed. It didn’t matter. I was saturated anyway.
“I hate rain,” I said.
James laughed. “Is there anything you don’t hate?”
You? suggested my mind. “Chocolate?” was the response that rolled off my tongue, however, and for once I was glad that my mouth was working independently to my brain. The very fact that I’d thought that was troubling.
That response (the verbal one, not the mental one) drew another smile out of James. He was obviously unaware of the acute internal embarrassment from which I was suffering at this moment. Oh my god. Maybe Tim and Will were right and I had gone sweet on James.
“Bye,” I said, keen to get the hell out of there. I didn’t have time to be doubting my eternal hatred of McKenzie. I had shit to do.
“See ya.”
I turned for the door and stopped. Huh. I’d never actually figured out where the handle was. “Um,” I said. “How do I open this door?”
He reached over and did it for me, trying to hide his smile. As soon as he got it open, I leapt out of the car.
“Thanks! Bye!”
I bolted up to the front door and was about to open it when I heard another car pull up. I thought maybe I’d left something in McKenzie’s car and he’d come back to return it, but when I turned around it was a black Porsche. Tim.
I ran back to the road and jumped in the front seat of the car, next to him.
“Hey, honey,” he said. “Thought I’d go Q The Prince about the killer. Guessed you’d wanna slide along.”
I blinked. “Was that in code?”
He laughed. “I’m going to go visit an informant. He calls himself The Prince. He knows what’s up and what’s going down around town. I’m gonna ask him what he knows about our killer. I hate visiting him, but this time we don’t have a choice. Thought you’d want to know what he had to say.”
“So, uh, who exactly is this… Prince?”
“Ah, well. You’re in for a fun trip.”
We drove for a long time, talking through the case and coming up with nothing new. I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were going and suddenly realized what street we’d ended up on.
“Slade?” I hissed. “Why the hell do we need to come to Slade Street?”
Slade was dead centre of the worst area of the city. All things bad in Gerongate stemmed from here. You could get anything on Slade. Drugs, guns, very cheap (read: stolen) cars; in fact, very cheap anything. Really: forged papers, human entrails – anything. And, apparently, this was where The Prince resided.
“This is where he lives. Anything bad going down, he knows about it. He trades information for money. Well, for other things too, but since you’re still a teenager I don’t think you should know about them.”
“How do you know how old I am?”
“McKenzie. He tells me everything about you.”
I groaned. “Don’t know that he’s the most reliable source.”
He was smiling. “He actually talks quite fondly of you, Charlie. He reckons you’re gonna beat me in this case.”
I laughed. “That’s because I am.”
Tim just smiled. He parked the car and we got out. As he beeped it shut I asked, “Aren’t you worried about leaving your car here? This neighbourhood doesn’t have the best reputation.”
“Everyone knows that you don’t touch a B-Co car.”
Okey dokey.
We walked across the street into a shabby looking block of flats. Like, boarded-up ground floor windows kind of shabby. Tim led me up a flight of stairs and when we reached the top, we walked over to flat 2C. The number was peeling off the door and there was a hole in it where somebody’s foot had gone through. It was taped up but if anything that made it more obvious. Yeesh.
“What’s with the hole in the door?” I asked.
“No need to worry about that,” he answered.
“How do you know whoever did that isn’t gonna turn up while we’re here? What if we’re attacked?”
He sighed. “If you really must know, honey, I did that last time I was here. And don’t worry; no one is gonna come in while my car’s parked outside.”
“Do the people around here think you’re dangerous or something?” I asked.
“Honey, you have no idea.” Tim knocked three times on the door. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. He knocked continuously until finally the door opened. There was no one there. I looked down. Ah. The Prince was a little guy. Seriously, like even littler than me.
“Timothy,” said The Prince. “Back again. Not going to kick my door down this time, I hope.” He turned to me. “You’ve brought someone with you. Name?”
“Charlie,” Tim answered for me.
“Charlie,” The Prince repeated dreamily. Urgh, what a creep.
“What kind of Prince are you?” I asked. “Lord Farquad?”
He scowled at me. Guess he wasn’t a Shrek fan. He turned to Tim and hissed: “Bitch speaks to me that way again, you aren’t getting any answers.”
“Hey, I’m not a –”
Tim cut me off. “Honey, just leave it.”
The Prince walked back into his lair and Tim followed, me behind him. We found ourselves in a little room with a lot of lounge chairs. The Prince climbed up into an armchair and motioned for us to sit down as well. I’d never felt tall before, but when I was able to sit on the sofa next to Tim and my feet still touched the ground, I felt positively gangly.
“So,” The Prince began. “What are we bartering?”
“Money for information.”
“Then what is the girl for?”
“Urgh! Tim, you didn’t mention that I might be part of a payment. Yuck!”
“You won’t be part of a payment, honey. I’m not a pimp,” he told me. He looked at The Prince. “As you well know.”
“I didn’t mean like that,” said The Prince. He turned to me. “We would just kill you and sell your body parts. Nothing untoward.” He said it as thought it was supposed to make me feel better.
“Reassuring,” I answered.
“Now,” said the Prince. “What is it you wish to know?”
He spoke too well to be from this part of town. He sounded like someone who should live on Madison Hill.
“The serial killer the police are looking for,” Tim answered. “The one who got McKenzie.”
“Yes?”
“What can you tell us about them?”
“What would you like to know?”
“What can you tell us?”
“About what?”
“The killer,” said Tim, starting to sound slightly irate.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“The serial killer that you just said you knew about,” said Tim. I could see him breathing deeply in an attempt to calm down. I was starting to understand why he’d put his foot through the door l
ast time.
“I didn’t say I knew about them.”
“Well do you?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know?”
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“Gender, appearance, name, height, anything,” I snapped. Tim smiled slightly at me, then turned back to The Prince and nodded once.
The Prince sighed. “This isn’t going to come cheaply.”
“Just tell us,” said Tim. “Before I get impatient.” I’d never really thought Tim looked all that intimidating before, but right now even I felt a little nervous.
The Prince shifted slightly in his seat, suddenly looking a little less cocky. “Fine,” he said, his voice a slightly higher pitch now. “It is a man.”
“If that’s all you’ve got, buddy –”
“Don’t interrupt,” he snapped. Then, more calmly, “It is a man, but they say for this last one he killed, he had a lady helping. The Rodent is his name. No one knows who he is. He’s not a serial killer exactly. It’s more like he… provides a service for money. Does all his business over the internet so no one can ever identify him. He’s very expensive. Speaking of which, one hundred dollars.” Tim handed him the note and he continued. “The police won’t find him. He’s been doing this for a long time and he knows how to get away with it. Single shot to the head from a distance, then decapitation. That’s his signature. One hundred.” Tim handed over two fifties. “That is all I know.”
“You just payed $200 for that information?” I said when we were back in the car. “What was with that? Is he even reliable? He kept saying ‘they’ say this and ‘they’ say that. Who the hell are ‘they’?”
“If I knew who ‘they’ were I wouldn’t be going to him. Generally he’s pretty reliable. I mean, yeah, it costs a little, but I’ll just tack it onto McKenzie’s bill. Besides, he gave us a lot of valuable information.”
Yeah, right. “Such as?”
“The name ‘Rodent’.”
“Big deal. Unless that’s the nickname of someone you already know, it doesn’t help much.” Tim rolled his eyes at me.
“How do people get names like that?” he asked.
“Being an Animagus?”