by Logan May
‘Well, that’s easy,’ Carrie said, stabbing another hole in Lukas’ private investigator’s credentials.
‘It is?’
‘Come this way,’ she said wearily. ‘See for yourself.’
Carrie led him through a side door to an outside area of the wharf. Lukas eyed the water uneasily.
‘You don’t mind if I ask you stay out of reach?’ he said.
‘You think I pushed you over the edge?’
‘I’m just kind of generally nervous. It’s nothing personal.’
Carrie rolled her eyes and pointed across the harbor to another wharf. ‘There you go.’
The jetty was busy with a building construction site swarming with workers in bright orange safety jackets. Large cranes winched and swung bundles to and fro. Lukas could hear the sounds of machinery and power tools.
Lukas guessed, ‘Another markets? I wouldn’t have thought the cat painting industry could be so cut-throat.’
‘No, it’s a new terminal—a ship terminal.’
‘What sort of ship?’
‘Cruise ships from all over the world. It’s a booming business and it brings a lot of money to everywhere they dock. More and more are arriving every week. Luxury liners have thousands of people who can’t wait to spend their tourist dollars on the junk we sell. With this new terminal these Wharftown Markets will be prime real estate and I’m guessing someone wants us out so they can bulldoze down the shed and build something bigger and better.’
‘The owners, you mean?’
‘How about the new owners?’
‘You’ve got new landlords?’
‘Come on… again,’ Carrie said, pulling a face and leading Lukas towards the front door. ‘Are you sure you’re a detective?’
The plaque announcing that Windhall Holdings Pty Ltd owned the Wharftown Markets property had been replaced with a new sign. Now it was the Wharf Tourist Retail Corporation. The word “corporation” had an ominous tone about it.
‘Didn’t you notice as you came in?’ Carrie asked.
‘I wasn’t paying attention,’ Lukas said. The private investigation gods were working against him today.
‘Tell me, does anyone ever hire you?’
‘I’m actually quite successful. I’ve even been highly recommended, as a matter of fact.’
‘Really? For what?’
‘For—’ Lukas stopped himself. By the dead guy who was hung next door and used to own this place. ‘That’s confidential,’ he said weakly.
‘Of course it is,’ Carrie nodded.
‘Listen, you’ll see. I’ll find out about these guys and see if they’re the ones pinning dead chickens to your walls. One day, you’ll thank me.’
‘I’m sure we will.’
Lukas thought, Damn it, one overdue bloody phone call and I’ve gone from hero to zero in forty eight hours. I’m the one who got chucked in the freezing cold ocean, for Christ’s sake. Where’s the justice in this world?
Lukas couldn’t help himself. Pride was at stake. ‘Look, Carrie… why don’t you let me buy you dinner tonight? We can chat about everything properly and figure out a plan of attack.’
She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Just dinner?’
‘Sure, just dinner. What else?’
‘So, no going back to your place afterwards to see your collection of spiritual antiquities?’
‘The thought never entered my mind.’ Not with Karen camped in the bedroom. Carrie’s place would be much better.
‘Hmm, it might restore some confidence in you,’ Carrie said, tapping her teeth. ‘Where would we go?’
‘Anywhere you like.’
‘I can never say no to a nice feed of fish and chips.’
‘Sure, why not? Sam And Ellas? No harm in supporting your local business,’ Lukas shrugged. Not exactly the cozy, intimate kind of place he had in mind for some decent groundwork into Carrie’s tight jeans, but cheap and easy.
‘I was thinking more about Romanov’s,’ she said sweetly.
Which was at the opposite end of the culinary scale to even your best fish and chip shop. Lukas’ wallet squeaked in protest. Romanov’s was the most expensive seafood restaurant in town.
‘Fine by me,’ Lukas said, managing to keep a straight face. He took out his phone. ‘I’ll make a booking for tonight, if you like.’
‘That would be wonderful, Lukas. Oh, and I love champagne, don’t you?’
‘On ice, in a bucket.’ Lukas was certain that the Romanov’s champagne list wouldn’t be just cheap fizz.
Carrie happily took Lukas’ arm, leading him back into the markets while he tried to work his phone. ‘I’ve never had a private investigator working for me before. How exciting. And for free, too.’
Lukas gave her a reassuring grin—not entirely sure what just happened.
EIGHT
It took Lukas a while to pin-point the offices of the Wharf Tourist Retail Corporation in a large glass building on the outskirts of the Melbourne CBD. It was non-descript and at the same time someone, somewhere had a lot of money, that much was clear. Lukas browsed the spacious foyer, watched warily by a pretty receptionist waiting for him to come in range. He found a notice board of embossed letters, the type that lets you add and remove words anytime, listing all the companies represented in these offices. The Wharf Tourist Retail Corporation was right down the bottom and Lukas admitted that alphabetically that’s where it belonged. However, the shiny letters suggested this was a new addition to the board.
Lukas sauntered over to the desk. He briefly flashed the receptionist the inside of his new wallet. ‘Hi, I’m investigating some background information on the Wharf Tourist Retail Corporation. Just general stuff. Is there anybody I can talk to?’
She wasn’t so easily impressed, giving Lukas a bright, professional smile that was as solid as a brick wall. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘Well, no—as I said, I’m hoping to talk with anyone who can help. I don’t have an appointment with anyone.’
‘I see, and what are you investigating?’
‘I’m not entirely sure, that’s why I’m here asking for information.’
‘Are you a journalist?’
‘Sort of, I’m freelance,’ Lukas lied.
‘This is for a story that someone has commissioned?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘You’re making it rather difficult for me to decide exactly who can help you, Mr…?’
‘Lukas Boston,’ he said, deciding a business card would only make things worse.
‘Mr Boston,’ she rolled his name around her tongue like she’d tasted something unpleasant. ‘Perhaps someone from our PR department can be of assistance?’
‘Why don’t we try that?’
Anything to get him through a door and away from this perfumed guard dog.
‘Let me see who’s available.’ She picked up a phone and dialed. A moment later she said, ‘Simon? There’s a gentleman here, a Mr Lukas Boston, who is after information on the Wharftown Markets property—’ she listened a while. ‘No, he’s not quite sure what he wants to know or why he wants to know it, or even what he’ll do with the information once he’s got it, but I’m sure it must be very important or he wouldn’t be asking.’ She gave Lukas a charming look.
‘You’ve got it in one,’ Lukas said tightly.
She hung up the phone. ‘Simon will be down in a moment. Would you like to take a seat?’
Do I get a lap dance? I’m sure you’re a ten dollar hooker after hours. ‘I’ll stand and stretch the legs.’
‘Yes, good blood circulation helps as you get older.’
Lukas was tempted to lean over the desk and loudly tell her that he’d been recently asked to act in an adult movie. He was porn star material. How about that for good circulation? However, security personnel were probably just a button-push away.
Long minutes passed and Lukas was beginning to think someone was deliberately keeping him waiting when a smartly-dressed young man came
bounding out of an elevator and advanced towards Lukas with his hand outstretched.
‘Mr Boston, is it?’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Very glad to meet you. I’m Simon Madden. Sorry for the delay. What can we do to help?’
Lukas suffered a fierce handshake. ‘I’m here asking about—’ he began, but Simon cut him off.
‘Let’s go up to my office, shall we? Somewhere comfortable.’
‘Sure, that’d be good.’
Standing next to Simon in the elevator, Lukas said, ‘How long have you been working here?’
Simon cocked a finger at him and smiled roguishly. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Yes, only for a couple of weeks, but I’m right on top of everything. Anything you need to know, I’m your guy.’
‘Oh good, that’s what I figured,’ Lukas said, realising the receptionist had scored another one. Most likely too, Simon had spent the last fifteen minutes being briefed on what to say and do about his visitor.
Simon guided Lukas into a small office and invited him to sit down. Taking his own executive chair behind the desk Simon clasped his hands together and said expansively, ‘So, what is it you’d like to know, Mr Boston?’
Lukas looked around as if curious about the décor. Nothing on the walls or desk suggested this was anyone’s office at all, even if Simon had only been employed here for two weeks. A computer monitor displayed only a screen saver. Lukas decided the hidden camera was inside the carefully-arranged vase of plastic flowers. He was tempted to wave and mouth hello, but it was always better not to let the watchers know the subject was aware of the scrutiny.
But it meant the gloves were off.
‘The Wharf Tourist Retail Corporation,’ Lukas said, pretending to be polite with a humorless smile. ‘That happened pretty fast, didn’t it? Kind of overnight really. What happened to Windhall Holdings?’
‘Yes, I can appreciate your concerns. Our WTR company took over the management of Windhall properties after certain conditions came into play. It was all rather sudden and, to be honest, unfortunate.’
‘What did Edward Rewold have to do with this organization?’
Simon smiled sadly. ‘Mr Rewold was one of our affiliate partners. Now that he’s no longer with us, some of his business interests defaulted into our control.’ Simon spread his hands. ‘It’s a complicated legal process, but the end result is quite straightforward.’
‘You mean, now that Edward Rewold is dead, hanging from the rafters, you own the leases for the Wharftown Markets?’
Simon shifted in his seat. ‘We’re all very upset about Mr Rewold’s passing. It’s tragic.’
Lukas leaned forward. ‘What happens at the Wharftown Markets now? Does the rent go up? Do you get to write new rental contracts with extra clauses that will drive your tenants out?’
‘I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re suggesting, Mr Boston—’
‘Do you know about the vandalism that’s been occurring at the markets, Simon?’
‘Vandalism? No, we’ve heard nothing. Has someone called the police?’ Simon was getting flustered.
‘No, someone called me instead. I get better results much faster.’ Lukas let his jacket gape slightly and made sure that Simon saw his holstered Glock. Simon’s eyes went wide for a second.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr Boston. You’re some kind of expert on vandalism?’
‘In fact, I’m bloody good at it,’ Lukas said and abruptly shoved the computer monitor towards the edge of the desk. The cabling was too short and it stopped safely instead of falling off.
There was an awkward moment.
Lukas pulled out his gun instead. As Simon gurgled in fright, Lukas hammered the butt of his Glock into the screen, smashing the glass.
‘What are you doing, Mr Boston? For God’s sake!’
‘That’s for the dead chicken stunt. The cat stuff I can’t get too upset about.’ Lukas jabbed his pistol towards the vase of plastic flowers. ‘You tell your bosses on the other side of that camera that the stand-over tactics stop right now. The contracts in place stay in place, am I making myself clear? If you want to buy the leases back, you offer what they’re worth with that new passenger terminal going up.’
‘I—I think you’d better leave, Mr Boston,’ Simon said, leaning far back in his chair.
‘I’m going. Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.’
Lukas strutted out and bashed the elevator button with his Glock before putting it away. Luckily, the lift was still on that floor or the grand exit might have been ruined. Once the doors closed Lukas’ fierce expression changed. He had no doubt something awaited him in the foyer.
Two grim-faced security men in military-style uniforms stood ready.
‘We’ve been asked to escort you from the building, sir,’ one of them said in a silky, don’t-argue voice.
‘The door is just there, so I don’t think you’re needed,’ Lukas told them. ‘But just a moment, if you don’t mind.’
They watched him carefully as Lukas walked over to the receptionist, who went pale seeing him coming. Using his fingertips so that the guards didn’t make any silly mistakes Lukas took out a business card and gave it to her.
He said smoothly, ‘If you have any circulation problems of your own, give me a call. Guaranteed, I can fix it.’ Lukas dropped a slow wink. ‘I’m in the movies, by the way, if you know what I mean. I think you’ll find I’ll meet certain minimum requirements.’
She looked up from the card, confused. ‘I prefer women.’
Lukas didn’t miss a beat. He tapped the card once. ‘I do conversions, too. If you want to find out what you’re missing, you’ve got my number.’
He turned around and headed for the door as the security guards lost patience and moved towards him. ‘Yes, I’m going, gentlemen—I’m going.’
Outside, Lukas figured he’d rattled enough cages for one day. Now it was a matter of waiting to see what happened next.
*****
Back in the upper floor office Simon Madden shakily keyed a button on his phone. He said nervously, ‘I’m sorry, I let things get a little out of control.’
‘You certainly did, Mr Madden,’ a gravelly voice replied. ‘I will expect some improvement immediately.’
‘What should we do about Lukas Boston? Do you want me to call the police?’
‘Absolutely not, we’ll deal with this in our own way.’
‘Of course…ah, which is, sir?’
‘I suggest that the next time Mr Boston takes a swim in the harbor, make sure the water is a lot deeper. Do you understand, Mr Madden?’
‘Yes sir, I understand completely.’
NINE
Lukas wasn’t expecting much from the three staff at Rewold Manor. Working for the dysfunctional family probably required some bizarre personality traits of your own in order to cope and Lukas didn’t think he’d be meeting any criminal masterminds.
He started his interviews with Tanya, the cleaner.
She was a weathered-looking woman who, after a life of hard work, appeared older than her mid-thirties. Using the excuse to snatch a cigarette, Tanya sat outside at a rusted garden setting and squinted at Lukas through a cloud of smoke.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ she said without prompting.
‘No one’s accusing you of doing anything,’ Lukas said, lighting up himself. He thought it might form a bond, uniting them through a sacred tobacco addiction. Instead, Tanya seemed annoyed Lukas hadn’t broken out his smokes sooner and offered one of his, saving her a precious fag. ‘I’m only trying to establish some facts, figure out what happens around here. I guess there isn’t much that gets past you, right?’
‘I clean the house. That’s what I do.’
‘Sure, but I reckon you’d see a lot of things? You know, while you’re cleaning?’
‘You don’t see much with your head stuck down a dunny. These bastards have got shit like contact glue. I spend half the day scrubbing the toilets.’
Not quite the insider in
formation Lukas was hoping for.
Lukas deftly showed her a fifty dollar note, made a point of looking towards the house to check nobody was watching, and slipped Tanya the money. ‘Tell me anything you like. Have a big bitch session, if you want. You’d be surprised what I can learn from someone complaining.’
She considered this only half-heartedly despite the fifty vanishing into a pocket. ‘All right, it’s like cleaning a bloody kindergarten, running around all day picking up crap after these people like they’re five years old. I’m surprised they don’t shit in the corners and smear it on the walls. Agatha’s a mobile food disposal unit ‘cept she wouldn’t know how to put a wrapper or a pizza box in the bin, if her life depended on it. Theresa seems to slather make-up and used tissues on everything but her bloody face.’
Lukas could relate to that one, thanks to his bathroom that morning. He nodded sympathetically.
Tanya went on, ‘Corrine goes through more linen than a New Orleans whore house and that Job is even worse. He’s blowing his nose on the bed sheets twice a night, if you get my meaning.’
‘Blowing his nose?’
‘You know…’ She made a pumping motion with her fist.
‘Oh—so Job doesn’t have a girlfriend?’
‘If he does, she must be disappointed he’s so worn out from wanking himself into a coma all the time.’
Lukas pushed that vision out of his head. ‘What about Ted? Does he sleep with Agatha in the same room?’
Tanya drew deeply on the last of her smoke and examined the tip, before tossing it aside. Lukas had his packet in front of her ready. Taking one, she said, ‘He’s got his own room, but she drags him kicking and screaming into her parlour regular-like. She can never get enough of it. The poor prick, it must be like being screwed by a shaved grizzly bear who’s just raided a food waste dumpster. It’s the only thing he’s good for, I reckon. Why else would she keep him around?’
Now Lukas would gladly endure a mental picture of Job masturbating madly, rather than this Agatha imagery. ‘I guess you can’t tell me anything about someone stealing from the wall safe?’
She laughed harshly. ‘It must be the only thing in this bloody house I haven’t cleaned out. Give us another fag for later, will you? I’ve run out.’