Sharp Shooter

by Marianne Delacourt

  I felt a huge relief. She actually liked him. He soothed her.

  She climbed over Bok to get out of the booth, taking a second to whisper something in my ear before she did.

  ‘If you, and that delicious man of yours, ever want a threesome, you can find me here on Saturday nights,’ she said.

  I nodded, unable to think of a suitable reply.

  As the two of them left, Lloyd stopped just short of having to use a fireman’s lift. I could picture them in twenty years.

  She’d still be getting pissed and picking up strangers, and he’d be . . . well . . . maybe that would depend on what I said to him when he rang me on Monday morning for my assessment.

  And what would I say? Whatever it was, it might affect the rest of Lloyd’s life. I used to malign clairvoyants and palm readers for the same thing: the power of their suggestions influencing a person’s life decisions. And here I was, running the same agenda.

  ‘Can we please go?’ said Bok. His hair was now in three braids, one of which had been curled up and pinned into a bun.

  I giggled and slung my arm around his neck. The D&S and the shooters had started to make me feel a little woozy. ‘Home, Martin!’

  Chapter 21

  I SET THE ALARM for 5.30 am, slept through it, and woke up at 6.30. That left me fifteen minutes to get dressed and fifteen minutes to drive to A Place On the River.

  I cribbed five minutes to throw on some makeup, telling myself the roads would be quiet at that time.

  Dress. Check.

  Sandals. Check.

  Handbag. Check.

  I ran out the door at 6.55 am, stopped for thirty seconds to rip the cover off the birds, and then belted up the driveway to Mona. And read Bok’s text saying that he couldn’t make it (YAY!), telling myself that the roads would be quiet at that time.

  Down the highway – through three suburbs in seven minutes – only to get caught in a road detour at the last set of traffic lights before the river.

  I finally arrived breathless and sweating (having run the whole length of the pier to the restaurant) at 7.15.

  Bok had been right, the place was closed on Sunday mornings.

  I leaned on the railing to catch my breath and stared into the water, feeling kinda stupid and deflated. Was Nick Tozzi having some kind of weird joke with me? Or had his PA made a mistake?

  As I turned away to head back to my car, a voice called out. ‘Tara!’

  Nick Tozzi was standing on a low jetty along the side of the restaurant that faced out towards the centre of the river.

  I should say now that the Swan isn’t a meandering little snippet of a thing, but a deep blue, immensely dignified river of sweeping proportions: ideal for yachting and water-skiing and board-sailing. A Place On the River kinda dangled on the edge of a long pier that floated out on the Swan like a piece of bait on a hook, daring a high tide to come in and swamp its expensive jarrah floors.

  With relief I waved and made my way towards him down a set of bleached-wood steps and through an unlocked barbedwire gate.

  His caramel aura burned golden bright against the sparkling water, making it almost impossible to look straight at him. I fumbled for my sunglasses and, fortunately, got them on before I reached him.

  He smiled and shook my hand formally. On the little table behind him was a thermos, two mugs and a paper bag. ‘Thanks for coming. I hope you like croissants?’

  I noticed then he was wearing tracksuit pants and an old windcheater. ‘I hope you don’t mind me being overdressed.’

  ‘Sorry, I should have explained. I hate overeating at breakfast. I know the owner of this restaurant well and he lets me use this place out of hours, as long as I feed the cat.’ He pointed at the fat moggy watching us from the top of a wide spit post. ‘If I don’t bring my phone, I get to eat in perfect quiet. Sometimes I even bring a fishing rod.’

  But do you bring your wife? The question burned on the tip of my tongue. ‘Sounds like a good arrangement.’

  He waved his hand in a gentlemanly gesture. ‘Please have a seat. Do you take sugar in your tea? I forgot to bring some.’

  ‘Is there honey for the croissants?’ I asked.

  He reached for the paper bag and fished out four little sachets.

  ‘Phew!’ I gasped in mock relief. ‘I think I’ll survive.’

  He laughed, and suddenly it was like we were old friends. We sat and chatted about our favourite bakeries, the best tackle to use for bream, and the NBA finals. As we did, his face relaxed and his aura subsided into something less fluorescent.

  We ate the croissants over the paper bag and swept the crumbs between the planks to the fish.

  When our chitchat eventually ran out we sat in companionable silence and stared at the scant morning river traffic: a rowing eight going home and the South Perth ferry in the distance.

  He was right. It was peaceful. I hadn’t had breakfast outdoors in ages.

  I’d almost forgotten I was there for a reason, when he finally cleared his throat. ‘Tara, what were you doing at one of Johnny Vogue’s parties? It’s presumptuous of me to ask, I know, but he’s not good company.’

  I dragged my gaze from the pearly morning blue of the river and risked removing my sunglasses. He was leaning forward, his forearms resting on the table – not trying to intimidate – but signalling how serious he was. It was important he could see the earnestness in my eyes too.

  ‘Before I answer that, you have to tell me something. At that party when I told you I used to play basketball, you said “I know”. What did you mean?’

  ‘You don’t remember, do you?’

  ‘Uuh?’ I shook my head. ‘Remember what?’

  ‘Do you remember your under-sixteen state championships?’

  I sat up straighter. ‘Yep, I’ll never forget them. We played the Fremantle Cougars in the grand final. We beat them by two points on the buzzer.’

  ‘You beat them by two points on the buzzer.’

  I blushed. ‘Lucky shot. Can’t pin a whole game on the last two points scored.’

  ‘Yeah. But not everyone can step up under pressure. You like to win.’

  I stared at his face. There was a whole bunch of things going on there. I tried to blank out his words and concentrate on his micro-expressions – the tiny fleeting facial movements that everyone made. What I saw was conflict. And his aura was giving faint flickers.

  ‘Tara?’

  ‘Uh, sorry. Just remembering. So what does that have to do with you knowing me?’

  ‘Do you remember the Cougar’s assistant coach?’

  I screwed up my face as I tried to recall the game. The coach of the other team I knew well, but the assistant . . . I had a vague picture of a tall, incredibly skinny guy with acne and dark hair.

  My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. ‘Hookman! You’re Hookman?’ I stared at the width of his shoulders and couldn’t equate them with that skinny guy of twelve years ago. ‘What did you do, swallow the entire North American supply of steroids?’

  He looked slightly affronted, then laughed. ‘Are you always so straightforward?’

  ‘Only when I’m shocked.’

  ‘Well, in answer to your question, no, I was clean. But I did a ton of weights. I had to – to survive.’

  ‘Wow.’ I sat back in my seat as I processed what he’d just told me.

  ‘Now it’s your turn. How did you come to be hanging out with the likes of Peter Delgado?’

  I sucked in a large breath and expelled it. Then I gulped down my last mouthful of tea. It was a good brew, with tea leaves in the bottom. Russian, I thought.

  After Peter Delgado’s warning phone call the night before I’d decided not to tell Nick Tozzi too much. But knowing he was Hookman changed things. Silly isn’t it? I didn’t know Nick at all, but now it felt like I did.

  It was the same as the old school tie, or the kid next door to you as you grew up, or vacation friends. Some associations – however brief – give you belief in a person. Or
maybe it’s a case of context. Whatever the case, I found myself spilling most of the truth.

  ‘My work is kinda unusual.’

  He smiled. ‘Why am I not surprised?’

  ‘Well . . . I specialise in non-verbal communications,’ I explained. ‘I have my own business. Peter Delgado approached a . . . company I . . . sub-contract to, and I ended up with the job (well that was pretty much true, leaving out Hara’s warnings and the bonus enticement). Delgado wants me to get close to you.’

  ‘Me. Why would he want you to do that?’

  I broke out in a light sweat. I liked Nick, and for some ridiculous reason I trusted him, but he was a powerful business man. You didn’t get to be that by being sweet and fluffy. I had to be careful here. ‘You’re the best one to answer that.’

  ‘Is he working for Johnny Viaspa?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, honestly. ‘It seems that way.’

  ‘Viaspa’s a criminal, Tara, and you’re not. You’re straight up and honest.’

  For some reason I felt he’d given me a huge compliment of which I wasn’t worthy. Not while I was holding back on him. Or maybe that’s what he wanted me to think. I glanced at his aura. It was stable enough. ‘I overheard Johnny Vogue talking about you and your wife.’

  ‘Antonia?’ Nick’s aura flared so strongly I had to shut my eyes for a second and wait for the after-image to fade.

  When I opened them again he was staring at me with such intensity that my heart began to pound. Nick Tozzi was a hard man to deny.

  ‘He was on the phone to someone after you left the party, just before the police bust.’

  His frown deepened. ‘I heard about the raid. Wondered how you fared.’

  ‘I knew one of the cops, so after they asked me a few questions, they let me go.’

  ‘What did Viaspa say?’

  ‘I think he wants to ruin you financially,’ I said.

  ‘What about Antonia?’

  I shrugged and looked back at the river. ‘He said something like “she’d come crawling”.’

  Nick leaned across the table and grabbed my arm. ‘You’re not inventing this are you, Tara? To wind me up?’

  I pulled my arm from his grip, got up and stuck my hands on my hips. I could feel my chin jutting out a mile. ‘Excuse me? You’re the one who was just telling me how honest I was. I didn’t have to come here today. I sure as hell didn’t have to tell you anything. In fact, I wish I hadn’t. It’s just going to cause me aggravation. Thanks for breakfast.’

  I grabbed my handbag, marched off through the gate and up the steps before he could reply. By the time I was at the end of the pier, I’d cooled off a little. I guess it’d been a shock for Nick to hear that Perth’s crime lord had marked him.

  Still, I felt tingly, and upset.

  As I left the pier and started to walk across the empty restaurant car park towards Mona, a blue BMW came from nowhere, straight at me.

  Chapter 22

  I FROZE, NOT KNOWING which way to jump.

  A shout from behind me urged me to run. It snapped my paralysis and I leaped back onto the pavement. I saw some things really clearly: scratches on the duco, a plastic spider swinging from the car’s rear-vision mirror, the mask and hoodie that hid the driver’s identity.

  A split second before the car smashed up over the curb, I threw myself backwards off the retaining wall and into the river.

  There was a loud thunk, followed by a roar of acceleration, and the car drove off, leaving me a quivering mess in the water.

  The next thing I knew, Nick Tozzi was pulling me to my feet and talking quickly at me. ‘Are-you-alright? What the hell was that? Tara, are you alright?’

  I couldn’t stop shaking. My back hurt and my calves and elbows were bleeding.

  ‘Shit!’ he said. ‘Here.’ He yanked off his windcheater, leaving himself bare-chested, and slipped it around me.

  At any other time I would have drooled at the sight of such a mountain of muscular flesh, but right now I barely registered.

  ‘Is the Monaro your car?’

  I nodded.

  He picked me up and carried me over to it. I leaned against the bonnet while he fumbled in my bag for the keys. When he got it open he levered me down into the passenger seat.

  I continued to shiver.

  ‘I dropped the thermos on the pier. I’ll just grab it.’

  I grabbed his arm in alarm. ‘P-please d-don’t l-leave m-me,’ I stammered.

  He hesitated and nodded. ‘Move over,’ he said, then got in and put his arms around me.

  I burrowed into his shoulder like a little kid and we sat like that until the worst of my shaking abated.

  I raised my head eventually. ‘S-sorry, Nick. S-scared the crap out of me.’

  His face was a mixture of emotions which I wasn’t in a clear enough mind to decipher. ‘Any idea who that was?’

  ‘Not exactly . . . Peter Delgado warned me off talking to anyone. But I didn’t think he meant it this seriously.’

  This time Nick gave me the exact same look Bok had the day before. ‘Tara, I don’t know at what level you’re involved with these guys, but I’d say you’re out of your depth.’

  ‘I can see that. Just not sure how to swim back to the shallows.’

  ‘You said you worked for someone else. Can he help you?’

  ‘He’s away,’ I said flatly, feeling kinda strange now, like I might be sick.

  ‘I think you should contact him and let him know. I also think you should go to the police.’

  I thought of Cravich and Blake. It’d just be my luck if they got the case. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘When then? On the way to the mortuary?’

  I could see he wasn’t joking.

  ‘OK. I know someone at the local station. I’ll talk to them.’

  ‘You live alone?’

  ‘No. Out the back of my parents’ house in a self-contained flat.’

  ‘I assume you don’t want to tell them about this. Have you got a friend who could come and sit with you for a while?’

  I thought about it. Smitty would be having her one sleep-in for the week, but Bok might spare me an hour. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, reaching into my handbag to find my phone. ‘I’ll drive you home. You call them on the way and get them to meet you there.’

  ‘What about your car?’ I glanced around the empty car park. I didn’t want him to drive me home because I had a strong suspicion I was about to start crying and not stop.

  ‘No problem. I jogged here.’

  He stuck the keys in the ignition and Mona growled into life. He caressed the steering wheel. ‘Haven’t driven one of these since I was a teenager.’

  ‘Yeah, well be nice to her, she’s touchy.’

  ‘What woman isn’t?’ he said and reversed out.

  Chapter 23

  I RANG BOK ON the way home. I didn’t have to explain, he could tell by the tone of my voice.

  ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes, T.’

  ‘Thanks, hon.’ I glanced down at my wet, sandy dress. ‘Bring a coat for me. Love you.’

  I only ever told Bok I loved him when something terrible happened or I was really drunk. I think this morning’s episode qualified as the former.

  I glanced across at Nick Tozzi. His face was in a grim set, and from what I could see his aura had hardened. His hands moved restlessly on the wheel like he wanted to punch something. I detected micro-expressions that signalled controlled emotions.

  ‘That your boyfriend?’ he asked.

  ‘No. My best friend,’ I said. ‘Turn left off the highway at the next lights, third on the right. Number 25 Lilac Street.’

  His hands relaxed a little then and we continued in silence while he followed my instructions.

  ‘Park on the road. The driveway is for my parents and their birds.’

  He raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask.

  It made me remember something though. ‘There’s another thing I should tell you.’<
br />
  He groaned as he turned off the key and snapped the hand brake on. ‘More?’

  ‘I caught a burglar the other night.’

  His eyes widened. ‘What do you mean by “caught”?’

  ‘Well, I just collided with him, the police caught him. Here’s the thing,’ I finished. ‘The woman he tried to rob was your mother.’

  ‘That was you?’ He gave me a strange look.

  A car pulled up behind us. I glanced in the rear view and waved at Bok. ‘Thank you for everything. Do you want to borrow my car to drive home?’

  ‘No. Keep your head down. I’ll be in touch.’ He got out of the car and jogged off down the street.

  I’ll be in touch. What did that mean?

  A moment later Bok tapped on my window. He held a coat in one hand and a white paper bag in the other: vanilla slices, bless him.

  I shimmied into the coat then got out and locked the car.

  Without a word, he slung his arm around my shoulders and we walked down to my garage together. Even if JoBob happened to be looking out the window they wouldn’t stop me for question time if Bok was there.

  After showering, I got changed and lay down on the bed. While Bok made us both some tea and found two saucers for the slices, I told him what had happened. He brought a tray over and sprawled across the end of the bed.

  ‘You should call the cops, T,’ he said between mouthfuls. He liked to eat vanilla slices the proper way, in sharp, precise bites.

  I glanced over to the fridge where I’d stuck Bligh’s magnet. ‘If I do that I’m going to have to tell her that I think Sam Barbaro tried to run me over.’

  ‘Why do you think it’s Barbaro?’

  ‘He told me he’d get me.’

  ‘Might have just been talk.’

  ‘Might have. Might not. Delgado posted bail for him, Bligh said so. Seems coincidental that Delgado then warned me not to talk to anyone.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘If I go and see Delgado tomorrow, maybe I can make this all go away.’

  ‘But what are you going to tell him? That you’ve told Nick Tozzi you’re supposed to be spying on him?’

  I sniffed, and before I knew it, was bawling, tears dripping off my chin onto the vanilla icing.