Directive RIP
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17
‘Don’t give another mechanic the chance to do a bad job. If it’s still dropping oil take it back to O’Reilly’s. If you’ve forgotten the address, just follow the oil stains on the road.’
Nashy was looking good in the soft pink hotel bathrobe. After a one hour session of push-ups and sit-ups, she was still pacing the hotel room with a spring in her step.
Furn, feet up in front of the evening news, had over-drafted on more than one glance. The way those toned, fresh as the season thighs disappeared up into past moments was incredibly enticing.
‘Michael, you’re not borrowing my car for lack of guts with a crooked mechanic.’
The Ford Mustang. When Furn had broke up with Azu he had needed to get over two things and one of them was that.
There was a light tap on the door. Furn took with him the gun that lived next to the remote control for moments like these. His bare feet on the well groomed carpet didn’t betray a sound. He got alongside the door and ducked down low as a precaution.
‘Who is it?’
‘The maid,’ came Riley’s dry reply.
‘There’s no need for a secret knock with an attitude like that,’ said Furn, opening the door.
Riley strode deep into the room. Nashy flicked him a preoccupied wave with her non-phone hand. Riley folded his arms and gave the room a grim assessment.
‘You obviously took it to heart when I said you’re not here to save money. The Reagent, no less.’
‘Just testing out the MI’s gold card,’ replied Furn, locking the door again.
‘The doctors think Breeze is a good chance to get through the night. And if he can do that, his chances are looking up.’
‘What about the stillness artist? Has he stuck his head out yet?’
‘Not as yet.’
‘Azu was considering calling Zulma Pei to tell her we won’t be pursuing Savva’s therapy notes, but it sounded too obvious. We’re just going to have to go big to put their minds at ease.’
‘There’s a journalist at the Herald Sun who is working overtime on an extended deadline for tomorrow’s front page. And he thinks he owes me a favour.’
‘Then let’s swing our third strike,’ called out Nashy.‘If I’m going to stay here another night I wouldn’t mind watching myself on TV.’ She pointed to it: it was showing a twenty four hour news station with the sound turned down.
Riley grabbed the remote control and turned it off. ‘I’ve got something for you to do.’
‘Alright, was is it?’ said Nashy, flicking back her damp, fresh smelling hair with the same lack of ceremony it seemed she had ended her phone call with her husband.
‘Breeze’s waterfront escapade is still fresh in the papers,’ said Riley. ‘Another chapter would make plenty of noise.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘There was a lead that never panned out. Janet Murgier an ex-girlfriend of Ray’s. She’s been linked to a couple of armed robberies and romantically to a couple of armed robbers and we were hoping, when things got tight, Ray might show his sentimental side and come trying to sponge off her. Surveillance staked her place out for over a week but had nothing much to report. She occasionally babysat her kid for her mum. But mostly she just returned home from the late shift with a different man and a different TV set under her arm.’
‘Want to have a seat?’ queried Furn.
‘Nah. It’s late and I’ve spent the whole day looking at one kind of technology or another. It tires you out even when it’s state of the art.’
‘So, what about the ex?’
‘Ray’s still on the run and so it would make sense to a lot of people if we went into her place and started busting things up. One thing you can count on is she’d make a noise about it. Not the shrinking violet type. Recently went all the way to court on a measly parking ticket and gave the judge hell. 13 Gilrose Avenue, North Altona is her address. If there’s nothing in the house worth breaking, just stick to smashing the windows and tossing some of the furniture out onto the lawn. The press would be more comfortable taking their shots street side anyway.’
He looked down at his feet and, when no afterthoughts surfaced, promptly exited the room.
Furn took care of the door and faced an uninspired looking Nashy.
‘What’s not to like about that?’ he murmured. ‘Terrorising a woman for the sole reason she’s a big screamer. I’ll be waking early up early for that one.’
He flung himself flat onto the black leather, triple cushion couch, finishing up on his side, his nose wedged between the arm-rest and back.
‘Turn out the light,’ he grumbled.
‘Come with me,’ replied Nashy, having stood her ground.
Furn wrestled his head up just enough that his ears were clear. ‘What?’
‘Like Riley said, we’re watching each other’s back now, and I don’t want you impeded with a stiff neck you got from a night on a couch.’
‘Good point.’ Furn got off the couch and strode into the deluxe bedroom. ‘You’d still better turn off the light.’
Maroon bedspread with purple trim, matching pillows, a holstered pistol on the bedside table and Federal Agent satin lingerie on the floor. That was the scene before him until it got dark. And it was very dark. The blinds were thick enough to block out all the city’s light, the windows thick enough to block out all of its sounds.
Furn felt Nashy slip past him into the bed. They had been together long enough for him to know which side she would take. He couldn’t see if she was still wearing the bath robe but he guessed he knew something about that as well.
What surprised him was once he was in the bed how quickly her hands were upon him, stroking the flatness of his stomach.
‘You’re not worried about Michael, are you?’ he asked.
She whispered softly into his ear, seemingly knowing exactly where to aim. ‘Everyone’s had a chance to be Michael. I’m worried about us. I don’t want you staying awake all night pining over an unobtainable body beside you. It would be detrimental to your aim. If we’re not going to wind up dead partners, we’ll have to do some living.’
The touch was not going away and Furn reciprocated. Her stomach was just as flat and then he went lower. She melted against him with a deep sigh.
Furn felt a pang of regret: he had had a chance to be Michael.