‘Your dad?’
‘David Silvagni.’
‘Oh, yes, I can see the resemblance now. It’s just through that door, love, then to your right.’
As I passed the desk, I grabbed the keys, holding tight so they didn’t jangle, and continued out back.
I went to the toilet without going to the toilet, if you get my drift, and then returned the way I’d come.
‘Thanks so much,’ I said.
‘My pleasure,’ said Budgie, before she turned back to the couple. ‘That’s right, any income stream.’
There were eight keys on the ring so I got them copied in three different places – one newsagency and two hardware shops – so as not to raise any suspicions.
Now to get the original keys back to Budgie.
When I returned, the office was empty, and I wondered if the couple had found the right loan for their income stream.
As I walked in Budgie appeared.
‘Dom!’ she said.
How did she know who I was? Had she already been talking to my dad?
‘You know my name?’ I said.
‘Sure, David often talks about you. You’re the runner, right?’
I nodded.
‘He’s such a proud father.’
He is?
‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m having some tummy trouble and your toilet was so, you know, comfortable.’
‘Of course, Dom. Feel at home.’
As I walked past the desk, I put the keys where I’d found them. Again I went to the toilet without going to the toilet. After what seemed like a respectable tummy-trouble time span, I came out, thanked Budgie, and got out of there.
But now there was another three hours until it was dark, and I could risk going back into Coast Home Loans.
I found the public library, and perused the shelves for the right book. When I’d found it, I set myself up in a beanbag. The book was perfect: wide enough, and tall enough, to hide the fact that I was actually asleep.
When I woke again, it was already dark. Time to get to work. I headed off towards the Coast Home Loans office.
As I turned into the main street a kid popped out of the shadows; he didn’t look much older than me.
‘You want some Smoky A?’ he said.
I didn’t have a clue what that was – not even our drug education programs at school had mentioned Smoky A – and I was sort of intrigued.
‘What’s that?’ I said.
‘The best time you ever had,’ he said.
‘What, even better than Disneyland?’ I said.
A voice came from behind him, from the shadows.
‘Luke, what are you doing?’
I knew that voice.
I want a Cerberus. I want one.
‘Anna?’ I said.
The shadow seemed to bulge, and then she was there.
Anna.
Gaunt. Eyes sunk right back in her head.
Her sixteenth birthday had been, what, four months ago?
It was like she’d had about fifty since.
‘Dominic,’ she said. I wondered how she knew my name; I couldn’t remember ever introducing myself.
Luke looked at me and then at her.
‘You know this smart guy?’ he said.
Anna said nothing, but stepped towards me.
I noticed the tattoo on the inside of her wrist – I was sure that hadn’t been there before.
‘You going okay?’ she said.
I nodded.
She smiled – her teeth seemed so white, so clean, when compared to the rest of her.
‘You’re going to make it,’ she said. ‘You have to.’
What is she talking about?
Luke had her by the elbow. ‘We’re out of here.’
‘Let go of her,’ I said, grabbing Luke by his arm.
‘It’s okay,’ said Anna. ‘He’s my bud.’
Luke glared at me and shrugged his arm free.
‘Anna, what’s your number?’ I said as they hurried off, but she didn’t answer.
I stood there for a couple of seconds. What to do? The answer didn’t take long in coming. Do what you set out to do.
Friday
Enter Only
It was break-and-enter, without the break.
A total five-star burglary experience.
However, I hadn’t come to steal anything except, perhaps, the answers to some questions.
I kept expecting it to get ugly.
An alarm system that needed a code? Um, no.
Some sort of motion-detector alarm? Um, no.
Would it prove impossibly difficult to hack into the CCTV system and edit out my presence? Again, um, no.
With my eight cloned keys it was obviously access all areas. None of the seven I accessed, however, proved to be particularly interesting.
I had one key left, but as far as I could see there were no more doors.
I tried to convince myself that it didn’t matter, that key rings all over the world had keys that no longer fitted doors. Locks are changed, doors are demolished, but people don’t remove the orphaned keys from their rings.
I wasn’t convinced, however.
If the text message hadn’t come from the Fiends of the Earth, and I was ninety-nine point nine per cent sure that it hadn’t, then it must’ve come from here.
It was the only place, within the hundred-metre radius, that I had any connection to.
Maybe there’s a door outside somewhere?
I retraced my steps.
I’d finished relocking the front door, when, suddenly, there was a torch beam in my face.
It wasn’t just any ordinary beam, either; it was one of those light sabres made by a Maglite. Dazzled, I managed to lock the door, to slip the keys into my pocket.
I could see my assailant now.
A security guard who, according to his uniform, was from NNS Security. He ticked the usual security-guard boxes.
Big. Tick.
Burly. Tick.
Really, really dumb. Tick.
‘What do you think you’re up to?’ he said.
I knew I could play the same trump card I played with Budgie – the Dad of Diamonds. But something told me that this was a last resort.
‘I was just checking the place out,’ I said, and I made to walk off.
He did his light-sabre thing, however, and I was blinded again.
‘Hey, watch it with that thing!’ I said.
‘Empty your pockets out,’ he said. ‘Nice and slow.’
Once again, I quickly regained my sight. Not only that, I was getting pretty irate. Who in the hell did he think he was?
‘Just because you’re wearing some K-Mart uniform and have got yourself a big black Maglite doesn’t mean you’ve got any special powers,’ I said.
I could see the anger starting to cloud his features. I couldn’t help myself, however.
‘This is public property,’ I said, waving my hand at the footpath I was standing on. ‘And I’ve got all the right in the world to be standing on it.’ I took out my iPhone. ‘If you don’t get out of my way right now I will call the police who, by the way, do have special powers.’
The knuckles on the hand that held the torch were white.
Again, I couldn’t help myself. ‘Because, unlike people like you, the police actually have to do some proper training.’
He brought his arm back slightly, and for a second I thought I’d gone too far, that a Maglite was going to come crashing down on my skull. But the arm returned to its former position, and I knew I’d won this particular battle. I began walking.
As I passed him, he said, ‘You’re going to regret this, Dom.’
I hesitated – how did he know my name?
But again my intuition told me to keep moving, to get out of that place. So that’s what I did, and as soon as I was around the corner and out of his sight I broke into a jog. Okay, it was more of a run. Okay, it was pretty much a sprint.
Now I had another pro
blem: how to get home.
But I should’ve known better. As I reached the main street, a taxi glided up behind me. Luiz Antonio had waited for me, after all.
If I was a man of my words, I would’ve told him to that I didn’t need him and his help, that I could stand on my own two feet.
I wasn’t that man. My words were as phoney as a Double Eagle without the black eye.
I got into the taxi.
And I let Luiz Antonio drive me all the way.
Saturday
Sealands
The next day, when I went downstairs for lunch, Miranda and Toby were already there, already eating.
‘Samsoni found this in the letterbox,’ said Mom, holding up a plain envelope with my name written on it in neat blocky handwriting.
No stamp, no postmark, just my name.
‘Analogue,’ said Miranda, looking up from her pasta. ‘How very quaint.’
I took the envelope and opened it to find a single piece of unlined paper, folded into a square.
As I unfolded the paper, I realised that three sets of eyes were on me.
I turned my back, making sure none of my family could read what was written on the paper.
I KNEW YOU COULDN’T BE TRUSTED DOMINIC SILVAGNI, it said in the same handwritting as the envelope.
Immediately I knew who it was from – Salacia, Goddess of the Sea.
Because I could clearly remember the conversation we’d had in Italy.
What’s the problem, are you angry with me? I’d asked, after she’d grunted at me.
No, not angry, she’d said. It’s just that I don’t really trust you that much.
There’s excited and there’s excited! and there’s probably even EXCITED, but these were pretty inadequate representations of how I was feeling right then.
You can’t text an envelope.
You can’t email one, either.
The only way the envelope, as quaint and as analogue as it is, had got to Halcyon Grove without a stamp or postmark, was if somebody had brought it.
And that somebody had to be Salacia, didn’t it?
‘So Samsoni didn’t see who delivered this?’ I asked Mom.
‘I’m not sure, you’d have to ask him,’ she said.
Which is exactly what I did, dialling him up on the intercom.
‘No,’ said Samsoni. ‘I found it in the letterbox.’
It just had to be her.
And if Salacia was in Australia, then surely her father was too. And if he was in Australia it was for one reason and one reason only: to start searching for Yamashita’s Gold.
But if that was the case, why hadn’t I been given my fifth instalment?
Why hadn’t I been told about it?
Why?
I was already on the move, my brain telling me to go one place, my legs taking me to another.
Quick, outside.
Quick, into my bedroom.
Quick!
Quick!
I ended up tripping up on my own feet and falling flat on my face.
And if you think there’s anything funnier in the whole world than a bit of sibling slapstick, then, sorry, but you’ve probably got that really wrong.
Miranda laughed so much she almost cried.
Toby laughed so much he did cry.
And I learned the same lesson I’d already learnt a million times: don’t rush it!
I picked myself up and I took myself to my bedroom. What I had to do now was work out how I was going to get into contact with Salacia, Goddess of the Sea.
I took out the piece of paper, read it again: I KNEW YOU COULDN’T BE TRUSTED DOMINIC SILVAGNI.
Why wasn’t I to be trusted?
How had I let her down?
But more importantly: how to contact her?
The paper was high quality, the sort they supply in hotel rooms, the sort nobody actually uses any more. Why would you when you have texts and emails and Facebook?
But it was a clue: she was staying in a hotel, a pretty posh one by the looks of it.
Mom was still in the kitchen, sitting at the table, travel brochures spread out in front of her; Beijing, Beijing and more Beijing.
I started the conversation off in the customary manner, asking her when she was going to China.
‘Very soon,’ she said.
But then I hit her with the real purpose of my visit.
‘Mom, what are, like, the ten poshest hotels you can stay at in the Gold Coast?’
She gave me a funny look.
‘I’m probably not the right person to ask,’ she said, and my spirits did an instant nosedive. ‘Why don’t you ask your brother?’
Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of that straight off?
Toby was watching some cooking show, and the mere sight of me set him off again.
‘Man, that was the funniest thing I ever saw,’ he said. ‘My bro, Mr Bean.’
When he’d calmed down sufficiently, I hit him with the same question I’d asked Mom. This time the answer was pretty much instant and comprehensive – I got a list of twelve hotels.
Back in my room, I googled the first hotel on the list, got their number and rang it. After the receptionist had answered I said, ‘I’d like to be put through to Mr Marx.’
‘Do you have a room number for me?’ she said.
‘No. I’m afraid not.’
‘Give me a second.’
I gave her a second.
‘We don’t appear to have anybody by that name staying in our hotel,’ she said.
There were two ways to look at this: either she was telling the truth, or she wasn’t allowed to let anybody know that somebody as famous as E Lee Marx was staying in her hotel.
If the second option was true, then I was wasting my time. But what else did I have? I rang the second hotel. Then the third …
When I got to the seventh hotel, I could hardly believe my ears when the receptionist said, ‘Is that Mr Lee Marx you’re after?’
‘That’s him,’ I said, trying to keep the excitement from my voice.
‘I’ll just pop you through, then.’
The phone rang, and E Lee Marx himself answered, ‘Yes, hello?’
I hung up.
I called a taxi.
And I ran downstairs and to the main gate. When the taxi pulled up a few minutes later, I couldn’t get into it quick enough.
‘The Pacific Regency,’ I said.
The driver was one of those drivers who thinks you’re paying them to talk, not to drive; that the meter is counting the number of words coming out of their mouths, not the distance you’ve covered. He talked about a lot of things, but he really only had one theme: in his day, everything was much, much better.
We pulled up outside the Pacific Regency and I paid him and was just about to get out when something flashed in the corner of my eye.
Somebody was walking away from the hotel: messy blonde hair, singlet and shorts, barefoot.
Salacia!
Driver, follow that Goddess of the Sea! I didn’t say.
Out of the taxi, I took off after her on foot.
During my limited time working for Hound de Villiers PI the on-the-job training hadn’t been great. I really didn’t know much about tailing somebody except for the pretty obvious: you should keep them in sight, while trying to remain out of sight yourself.
Luckily for me, this was a busy part of the Gold Coast and there were plenty of people to keep between me and her.
When she halted at a bus stop, I started to panic a bit.
Damn Hound – what did a professional do in this situation? Get on the same bus, and risk being seen?
But when I saw the bus’s destination – Sealands – I relaxed a bit. It made sense that she was headed there, Goddess of the Sea and all that. So I waited until she’d boarded a bus, and I hailed a taxi.
‘Sealands, please,’ I said, to the driver.
‘Where?’ he said.
‘You don’t know where Sealands is?’ I said.
> ‘I’m new to the job.’
So I had to direct him to one of the most well-known landmarks on the whole coast. When we arrived, I paid him. Got out. And hoped like hell that I had this right, that this had been her destination.
Ω Ω Ω
‘Are you kidding?’ I said to the man at the ticket box.
I hadn’t been to Sealands for ages, and my parents had always paid, so the entrance fee was a bit of a shock.
Especially as it was more than I had in my wallet.
‘No, I’m not kidding,’ said the man. ‘In fact, I have this medical condition called Nokiddingitis, which renders me unable to kid no matter what the situation.’
The ticket man, obviously, was some sort of stand-up comedian, who had to pay his bills by working at Sealands because the world wasn’t quite ready for his comic genius.
‘Is there, like, a discount available?’ I asked.
‘What sort of discount where you referring to?’ he asked, eyebrows slightly raised.
‘Coast Boys Grammar?’ I suggested.
‘You’ve got to be joking.’
‘Miami State High?’ I said.
He rolled his eyes.
‘Discount for somebody who just loves their dolphins to bits?’ I said.
He brought two fingers to his mouth – you’re making me sick – but then he lowered his voice and said, ‘Okay, so how much of the folding do you have?’
‘Twenty bucks,’ I said.
The misunderstood comic genius snorted and said, ‘Who comes to Sealands with only a lobster in their pocket?’
‘A lobster?’ I said.
‘Yeah, a redback, a ruskie, what’s the matter with you kids?’
I wasn’t sure how to answer this, so I said nothing.
Misunderstood Comic Genius said, ‘Give it to me.’
I gave him the note, and watched as the lobster, the redback, the ruskie, disappeared under the counter and, I assumed, into his misunderstood comic genius pocket.
‘You can scoot through that gate over there,’ he said, pressing a button.
Which is exactly what I did.
The dolphin show started in five minutes and I figured that was as good a place as any to look for Salacia. Everybody, it seemed, wanted a piece of Putih, the first white dolphin to be born in captivity, and the only empty seat I could find was in the midst of a tour group of senior citizens from Yamba.
I scanned the other seats, row after row of faces, but couldn’t see Salacia.
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