KK01 - Wombat Strategy

by Claire McNab

  Another dazzling smile from Lorelei, and she was gone in a swirl of perfume and stardom. I'd been brushed by fame.

  As soon as I'd arrived this morning I'd been taken through the session routine. Before each patient arrived, Oscar Sherwood double-checked the recording equipment. The moment the session ended, the therapist removed the disk and placed it in the patient's file. The normal procedure was to leave files in the therapist's office. At the end of the day there'd be a pile of them waiting for me to take to the walk-in safe, where I'd put each one in the appropriate drawer.

  This wasn't really good enough, having files hanging around all day, where they'd be even less secure than in the open safe. It would be extra work, but I intended to put away each patient's folder as soon as the session ended. If Dave Deer wanted to review something, I'd go and retrieve the file.

  Lorelei Stevens had been the first patient of the day, so I hopped up and went to get her file from Dave Deer's desk. It was gone!

  I heard a faint click as the door to the therapy room closed. I flew over to open it, only to see the other door of therapy room swinging closed. I had to see who had the file. I bounded across to the second door and cracked it enough to look out.

  Disappearing down the private corridor was Randy Romaine, anonymous accountant, a large manila folder casually tucked under one arm. In it, I had no doubt, was the missing file. He disappeared through another door leading to the main office.

  Okay, I had to catch Randy red-handed. But if I nabbed him now, he was sure to come up with some convincing story about how he needed the file for accounting purposes. What I had to do was observe him and see what he did. If Randy hid the file, that might be enough. It would be better, though, if he tried to take it out of the building.

  I meandered in the direction of Randy Romaine's cubicle. He was behind his desk, stuffing the manila folder into a battered brown briefcase. It looked like this time he was taking everything, not just therapy disks. I slipped into the cubicle next to his—fortunately empty at the moment—and waited for him to make a move.

  "Chantelle?" He was on the phone. "Forward all my calls to Gloria. I'll be out for the rest of the day." He left his cubicle and headed ever so casually in the direction of the lift.

  Holy cow! It was time for the little lady to holler. I tried Fred's extension. No answer. I dialed his mobile phone. Got voice-mail. As a last resort, I called the doorman. "Jim? This is Kylie Kendall. Is Fred Mills there?"

  "Fred's just stepped outside for a smoke. Want me to get him for you?"

  "I can't stay on the line. Promise me you'll give him a message. It's mega important."

  "Sure. What is it?"

  "Tell Fred it's vital he meets me right now in the parking structure, level three. It's really urgent, Jim. Really, really urgent."

  "Will do. Parking, level three. You've got it."

  Then I ran like a mad thing through the office, shot past Chantelle, who gave me a startled look, then dramatically slowed when I saw Randy getting into the lift.

  He looked surprised, but not alarmed, when I joined him. He hadn't put the briefcase down but was clutching it so hard his knuckles showed white. He'd already pressed the button for the level three parking, and when I didn't punch a button for another floor, he said, "You're leaving early?"

  "Dentist."

  "A problem?"

  "Wisdom tooth."

  He nodded. "They can be nasty."

  I looked at him sideways. Randy Romaine looked the same as yesterday. A mild, inoffensive accountant. I felt a shiver of alarm. He'd been an amateur stalker, and there were no reports of any harm coming to the objects of his obsession. But maybe he'd done more than stalk and not been caught. A physical confrontation with him would not be a good idea. Fortunately I could leave that to Fred.

  With a pinging sound the door opened at level three parking. Randy got out briskly and set off at a good pace. I looked around for Fred, but he wasn't there.

  Bloody hell! I had to stall Randy somehow. Once he was driving off, it'd be too late. He looked back at me, puzzled, when I called out, "Randy, wait," and took off after him.

  "Look, Kylie, I'm in a hurry."

  He'd reached his vehicle, a white Toyota sedan. Just the sort of car I'd expect Randy to drive. He unlocked it with his remote key, opened the door, and tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat.

  Still no Fred. Time to improvise. Randy was parked close to a concrete pillar, so he couldn't fully open the driver's door. Before he could get in, I inserted myself between Randy and the door. He looked at me with amazement. "What the hell are you doing?"

  "I wanted to have a word with you, in private."

  "I'm in a hurry right now. Some other time."

  Where the hell was Fred? I looked over Randy's shoulder, ready to yell, "This way!" but no ungainly figure in a crumpled uniform appeared.

  "Shit," said Randy, "just get out of the way."

  He attempted to move me bodily by grasping my upper arms, but I resisted. "I'm thinking of buying a Toyota. Would you advise it?"

  "Get the hell out of my way."

  Someone slammed a car door and took off in a squeal of tires. This was desperation time. Randy was stronger than I was and was plainly about to shove me to one side and get the evidence safely out of the building.

  He wasn't taking me seriously, so I found it easy to reach over and snatch the keys from his hand. He was astounded, more than angry. "Give them back to me!"

  He tried to grab them, but I put my hand behind my back. "Randy, we have some things to discuss."

  "Like what?"

  "Like Lorelei Stevens."

  Bad move. His face reddened. Squeezing my shoulder painfully hard, he snarled, "This is so fucking stupid. Stop playing games and give me the keys." When I didn't comply, he slammed me hard against the door. "The keys, you bitch!"

  "Don't make me hurt you," I said.

  This got an incredulous laugh. "You? Hurt me?”

  A final, desperate look around convinced me Fred wasn't going to be my knight in shining armor. Everything depended on me.

  Randy had really lost it now. My ears rang as he backhanded me. "Keys, or I'll break your arm."

  Back in Wollegudgerie, when I was doing my self-defense class at the Police Club, the instructor had said, "If you're about to get creamed, there's no point in being squeamish. You do what you have to do."

  Looking at Randy's contorted face, I agreed with the instructor wholeheartedly. I dropped the keys and did my best to kick them under the car. Randy punched me. My nose blossomed with blood.

  It was clearly time for the Christmas hold. Back in the 'Gudge, we'd all laughed at the name—Christmas hold equals a handful of nuts—but I wasn't laughing now. Tears were running down my cheeks and my nose was spurting blood.

  I squinted, trying to see him clearly, and said, "Randy, you're really asking for it." Helped by the fact he didn't consider me a worthy opponent, I took a deep breath, bent my knees, and grabbed at his crotch. Taking a firm grip, I followed the instructor's advice to pull and twist.

  It was astonishing how well it worked. Randy bellowed and fell to his knees, then toppled over—helped, I confess, with a push from me.

  The lift pinged. Fred came strolling out, thumbs hooked into his belt. His expression changed as he saw Randy groveling on the floor. He hurried over, saying accusingly, "What did you do to him?"

  I indicated my nose. "What did he do to me, you mean."

  Fred's closer inspection of the groaning Randy brought a glare of disapproval. "Could be permanent damage. That's assault, you know."

  I fished around and found a tissue to hold against my bleeding nose. "Take a look at the front seat. Randy's got stuff taken from patient files."

  Fred wasn't listening. He'd gotten Randy sitting up and had a solicitous arm around his shoulders.

  "Jesus Christ," Fred muttered. "These bloody Aussies."

  FIFTEEN

  As soon as he realized what had happen
ed, Dave Deer was on the phone in a flash. If I wanted a lesson in the power of the celebrity in L.A., I got it now. Almost simultaneously, it seemed to me, the following arrived: four Beverly Hills cops, two to arrest Randy Romaine for assault and two to hang around asking questions; two lawyers, one representing Dave Deer and Deerdoc, the other to look after the interests of Lorelei Stevens; one high-powered RR. person for Ms. Stevens—Kristi Jane Russo took over this role for Deerdoc; one physician to the stars, called in urgently by Dave Deer, who immediately announced I was too traumatized to be interviewed by the police at the moment.

  This wasn't true. Granted, I had a pounding headache, a rapidly blackening eye, and my nose was throbbing like the billy-oh, but I could have answered questions. "No way are you speaking to the cops!" exclaimed Dave Deer, who'd taken Fred and me into his office to consult with his lawyer. "Miles? What's your take on this?"

  Miles, a soft, gray man, steepled his lawyerly hands, sent us all a grave look, and said, "At this stage, the less said the better. In that vein, it would be wise, I believe, to provide Mr. Romaine with legal representation. We don't want him to drag any of your clients into a publicity morass."

  Dave went quite white at the thought. "Jesus Christ, Miles. Do it! Do it now!"

  The lawyer slid neatly out of the office, hardly disturbing the air as he moved. Creepy!

  Considering the lengths I'd gone to on Dave Deer's behalf, he was rather low on the gratitude scale. "Lorelei won't be happy if her name's dragged into this."

  "It's not my fault Randy Romaine took that particular file," I protested.

  Dave Deer switched his displeasure to Fred Mills. "Why weren't you on the spot? Kylie called for assistance. Where were you?"

  Fred, with a mean look in my direction, said, "If she hadn't viciously attacked that guy, I could have kept a lid on the whole thing."

  "You'll be next, if you keep that up," I said. It was pleasing to me when a nervous expression crossed his flabby face.

  Miles slid back into the room. "Too late. Romaine's singing," he said to Dave. "Warbling like a canary." The hard-boiled language sounded ludicrous in his precise little voice.

  "Oh, fuck!"

  "I suggest we get Ms. Kendall out of here. Keep her incommunicado."

  Irritated because I was in pain, I snapped, "I'm here, right here in the room. You can talk directly to me."

  Miles's smile was as sincere as a saltwater crocodile's. "So sorry. I didn't mean to offend. You do fully comprehend, I trust, that it would be unwise to speak with the authorities without the presence of an attorney."

  "Why not just tell them the truth?"

  Miles seemed shocked. "I don't believe you understand the ramifications of what you've just said."

  My bedroom at Kendall & Creeling glowed in my mind like a warm and welcoming refuge. I stood up. "I've got a headache and I'm going home."

  After argument about whether or not I should drive, I won out and went down to level three, the scene of my confrontation with Randy. I thought maybe I'd see police tape around the scene, but there was nothing but Randy's white Toyota, waiting patiently for him to return.

  Outside the Deerdoc building media vans were already congregating. I zipped by, dark glasses perched on my swollen nose. At times like this I saw the benefits of having a generic vehicle that attracted little attention.

  I made the Kendall & Creeling car park with a sense of great relief. The high-powered doctor Dave Deer had called in to see me had prescribed a painkiller and rest. Both sounded good to me.

  Melodie shrieked when she saw my face. "Oh, my God! It's worse than Chantelle said! Think you'll need plastic surgery?"

  Attracted by the commotion, Fran and Lonnie appeared. "Jeez," said Lonnie. "Do you want a cold pack? There's one in the fridge."

  "I'm fine."

  For Melodie, that was enough about me. "Kylie, I've got a call-back!"

  "That's wonderful news." She didn't notice my lack of enthusiasm.

  "It's Angel Rejects"

  "I can't hear this again," said Lonnie, throwing up his hands. As he walked off, he muttered, "I've had it up to here with angels."

  "Run it by us again," said Fran, with a wicked smile.

  Melodie took her at her word. "It's like this, see. These angels have been thrown out of heaven. Like, they're in human bodies, and they don't remember they're angels, they think they're contestants in a talent quest. The trick is, no one knows which are angels and which are ordinary people. Angelique—that's me—is sort of the angel liaison between heaven and earth. Isn't a big part yet, but Larry says he's sure Angelique will get more air time later in the series."

  "I don't get it."

  Melodie sighed. "Oh, it's simple, Fran. Listen up. There's some angels and there's some wanna-bes all mixed together and no one knows who's from heaven and who's from earth. At the end of the show the viewers vote for Angel of the Week. If the one they pick isn't an angel, the person loses and goes to hell. If the person is an angel, they get fifty thousand dollars and a chance to compete another week. See?"

  "Never mind," said Fran. "It'll be canceled anyway."

  Really stung, Melodie snapped, "It will not. And who are you to criticize? I suppose Quip's going to be a big success. Like, how many scripts has he sold, huh?" She stuck out her fingers and pantomimed counting them off. "Let's see. One script? Two scripts? What's that you say? Oh. No scripts."

  "Let me at her," said Fran.

  For the first time I was sitting behind the desk in Dad's office, now my office. I'd turned on the computer and was busy checking the zillions of e-mails that had piled up. I hadn't checked my messages since I'd left Australia, and they numbered in the hundreds. A fair portion I instantly deleted, as they were spam. I'd just got rid of the last offer to increase the size of my penis when Ariana knocked at the door.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Fair to middling," I said.

  "Headache?"

  "It's better. I've taken something."

  It was a change, having her come into my office, rather than the other way around. "Take a seat?" I said, feeling for once I had the advantage.

  "Sure. I've come to report on the situation, but first, you did a great job nailing that guy. Congratulations."

  I felt ridiculously pleased. "Thanks."

  "Dave Deer's done his best to contain the damage, and so far he's been successful. The wild card in the pack is Randy Romaine. He's still in custody, but he'll make bail tomorrow. The line he's taking with the cops is that he's a great fan of Lorelei Stevens and on an impulse borrowed the file. You attacked him quite unjustifiably, he says, and he was only defending himself when he hit you."

  "That bastard."

  Ariana half smiled. "The cops didn't buy it. Someone with his record of celebrity stalking is behind the eight ball before he even opens his mouth."

  "So what happens now?"

  "Bob Verritt found his missing teenager last night in Las Vegas. That means he's available to run a fine-tooth comb over Randy Romaine's life. If Romaine's the blackmailer, which I doubt, he's not about to do anything at the moment, now that the cops have taken an interest in him. It's more likely, however, that Romaine was working for somebody else. Bob's following up on that angle."

  She looked at me sympathetically. "That's got to be hurting. Why don't you take it easy, lie down?"

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Of course."

  There was no easy way to get this out, but I had to know. "Did Melodie tell you I'd been reading a book on how to be a P.I.?"

  A faint smile touched her lips. "I believe she did mention something along those lines."

  "I knew it! I knew that guy in the brown uniform would blab."

  "I don't know why you're worried," said Ariana. "It just shows you're taking the job seriously."

  I looked at her closely, thinking she might be having me on.

  "I mean it," she said.

  "Good-oh."

  After Ariana had gone I
went to find a mirror to assess the damage. I'd had a quick look in the washroom at Deerdoc, and my face had looked a bit battered but not too bad. The passage of time hadn't helped, I found. The swelling was more pronounced, and my black eye was distinctly blacker.

  Today was Wednesday. I wouldn't be presentable by Friday. I was about to call Chantelle when she called me on my cell phone. "How are you? I must have just missed you."

  "Lucky you. I look like something out of a horror movie. We'd better cancel Friday."

  "You're breaking our date? No way."

  That warmed me a little, as I'd looking forward to seeing Chantelle outside her work. Perhaps she was destined to play an important part in my future. I could hope.

  Julia Roberts turned out to be my solace for the rest of the day, although Ariana did her share by arranging for a local restaurant to deliver dinner.

  On Thursday, Dave Deer asked me to come into Deerdoc to meet the detectives on the case. He put me in his office and advised me not to volunteer anything. I expected Miles the creepy lawyer would be there, but it seemed the heat was off and I could be trusted on my own.

  The interview was short. It was clear they were merely going through the motions. After the two cops had gone, Dave Deer smiled at me with a certain smugness. "Kept the lid on it," he said. "The media sniffed around but got nothing. Lorelei is very pleased." He rubbed his hands. "I still need you, Kylie. I'm interviewing for a new personal assistant, but in the meantime..."

  He never got to hear my answer. Chantelle appeared at the door. "Dr. Deer? Mr. Perkins insists—"

  She was bodily knocked out of the way by Jarrod Perkins. I'd seen plenty of people lose their tempers, but this bloke beat them all. He was literally purple in the face. The moment he saw Dave Deer, he screamed, "You motherfucking bastard!" In one shaking hand he held a crumpled sheet of paper. "Explain this!"

  Dave Deer zipped behind the protection of his desk. He put up placating hands. "Jarrod, it's me, your therapist."

  "Fuck that for a joke! Some bastard's trying to blackmail me." Perkins stood there panting, poised as if about to attack something or someone.

  Chantelle, eyes wide, hovered in the doorway. "I'll get Fred Mills."