Ecstasy Lake

by Alastair Sarre

  ‘Here’s to risky meetings,’ she said. We clinked.

  ‘Exactly how risky is this one?’

  ‘Very, if Harlin finds out.’

  ‘He doesn’t own the copyright.’

  ‘He thinks he does.’ She took a hefty sip of her drink, which was not easy to do because it was frozen. Her face was flushed with alcohol.

  ‘How many of those have you had?’

  ‘This is just my third. Not that it’s any business of yours.’

  ‘You like a drink.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So nothing. I like a drink, too.’ I tasted my drink and liked it. There was salt and lime on the rim of the glass. She was looking at me over her glass.

  ‘It relaxes me.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ We sipped some more. It was a race to the bottom. I surveyed the restaurant. It was about half full and very noisy. A kid, aged about ten, bumped our table as he attempted to run from an older kid, presumably his brother. He didn’t succeed and copped a whack on the back of the head. He started to bawl.

  ‘Why meet here?’ I said to Melody.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s one of the few places I know Harlin will never come. Plus I like the margaritas.’

  The father was at the counter paying the bill. He grabbed the older brother by the scruff of the neck, and for a moment I thought he was going to belt him. But he held back, perhaps because he didn’t want to do it in front of witnesses.

  ‘How long have you been with Harlin?’

  She put her glass down. ‘Years. Seven. Too long.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, way too long, I guess. It’s toxic.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Harlin has a temper. An evil temper. He is also insanely jealous. If he catches us together like this, he’ll probably kill us both.’

  ‘Why are we meeting? I’ve forgotten.’

  She gave a quick smile, and then shrugged. ‘I’m not going to live my life in fear. But you should know the risk.’

  ‘I’ve met Harlin, remember.’

  ‘And yet you put your phone number in my coat. That was a stupid risk.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m stupid.’

  She made a quick movement and put her hand on mine. It was instinctive, but it made my heart jump. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ She withdrew her hand. ‘I like risk.’ She ran her tongue along her upper lip.

  The waitress brought a plate of nachos. Melody looked at it and gave a little twitch of her nose.

  ‘Way too much cheese,’ she said, and ate some anyway. ‘Tell me something?’ She wiped a crumb from her mouth. ‘What do you see in Tasso? I know he’s rich, but you don’t seem the sort of person who likes rich for rich’s sake.’

  ‘We’ve been friends for years.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer the question. I don’t think I like him. I’m curious why you do.’

  ‘Tasso has his flaws.’

  ‘Such as the way he views women.’

  The waitress came to take our order. ‘Two more again, thanks.’ We looked at each other as the waitress lowered the flag and took our empty glasses.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘We’re just vaginas on legs to him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. He likes women.’

  ‘Does he? He likes vaginas.’

  ‘Of course he likes women. He’s just not interested in relationships.’

  ‘Which was my point, I think.’

  ‘I suppose you could call his attitude to women a flaw. Perhaps his main flaw. But he has strengths.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘He’s loyal. Tasso always looks out for his friends. He might scold them and yell at them. He might make fun of them. But in the end he’ll always look out for them.’

  ‘And that’s what you like about him?’

  ‘I like that he’s loyal to his friends. He’s also smart, funny, generous.’

  ‘So you’re prepared to overlook the way he treats women.’

  ‘I don’t overlook it. But the women he takes to bed are over eighteen. Just. Presumably they can make decisions for themselves. He doesn’t hit them, he’s always charming, he gives them money and jewellery and apartments. As far as I’m concerned, they can decide for themselves if it’s worth it.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Is that not correct?’

  ‘They might not always have a choice.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Forget it, then.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll forget it.’

  ‘What shall we do now?’

  ‘What would you like to do?’

  She looked straight into my eyes. ‘Drink another couple and then dodge the breathalysers back to your place.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Have I shocked you?’

  ‘No. What I mean is, yes. Am I just a dick on legs to you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You’re kind of blunt.’

  ‘Life is short. Why waste it being reserved? I like you, you like me. What’s to stop us having a fun evening?’

  ‘Harlin?’

  ‘Only if he finds out.’

  The waitress came with the drinks. I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for frozen margaritas anymore. We sat for a while in silence, drinking our drinks and nibbling our food.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ I said.

  She looked like she didn’t care much. ‘Why not? Is there someone else?’

  I thought for a moment, wondering how much I should say. ‘There was someone.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘Was. But I’m not sure I can be with someone else. Not yet. Not someone like you.’ I couldn’t take my eyes off her exquisite lips.

  ‘What do you mean, someone like me?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I heard the chatter and clatter of the restaurant for the first time in a long time. ‘Anyway, it’s too risky for you.’

  ‘As I say, life’s short. Sometimes you’ve got to take a risk. I thought you were a risk-taker.’

  ‘You’re mad at me.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m mad at you. Maybe we have misunderstood each other.’

  ‘Maybe. I want to see you again.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To clear up the misunderstanding.’

  ‘I should go.’

  The restaurant ordered her a taxi and we waited for it outside under a gnarled old plum tree, its fruit already fallen. It was a moonless night, a night without prospect, a night made for empty hearts. There was the smell of rotting fruit. The taxi arrived and hit us with its headlights. She took my hand and led me away a few steps, out of the glare. She kissed me on the lips. It only lasted a moment, but it seemed as if the moment froze. She tasted of salt, lime and alcohol. It was a margarita kiss, a dangerous kiss, an edge-of-the-abyss kiss. It was the kind of kiss that could drive you mad or to do bad things, or maybe good things. It was a hell of a thing to do to a man. She turned and made her way to the taxi. I waved her goodbye. Then I had to sit down for a while, among the rotting plums.

  13

  Tasso was his usual noisy self the next day. I don’t know when he did his thinking, but he always seemed to have a plan. He called me to his office.

  ‘As I said, we need to dig up dirt on Hardcastle. I’m confident there’s no shortage of it.’

  ‘I don’t think we ever decided how we were going to do that.’

  ‘We start by watching him. How’re you going with the application?’

  ‘Fine. It would help to know which lease we’re applying for.’

  ‘I know it would. But we need to take a few more security steps before I tell you that. I’ve asked Goldsworthy to install a safe in your office. You’ll need to keep all your work in it.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘So I guess you’re free now until the safe is installed.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I want you to watch Hardcastle.’

  Goldsworthy arrived, bearing a hard-s
helled briefcase. From it he extracted a device that looked a little like a two-way radio base station. He turned it on, studied it for a while, and put it on the floor in a corner of the office.

  ‘Your cell phones won’t work when this baby is on,’ he said. ‘And nor will any listening devices that may be installed. We’ll sweep the premises regularly, of course, but when you’re having highly private conversations it won’t do any harm to have this thing on, just to be on the safe side.’

  He pulled several catalogues from the briefcase and we leafed through them. They displayed a disturbingly wide assortment of bugs, phone-cloning software, keystroke loggers, GPS trackers and miniature cameras.

  ‘It’s all surveillance and counter-surveillance stuff,’ he said. ‘The range is unbelievable, as you can see. It’s all legal unless you use it.’

  ‘I don’t see any drones,’ I said.

  Goldsworthy stared at me in his humourless way. ‘That’s another catalogue. You need a drone?’

  ‘Not particularly. It would be cool, though.’

  Goldsworthy deadpanned me again and switched his gaze to Tasso.

  ‘To start with, I want to listen in on Hardcastle’s office,’ said Tasso.

  Goldsworthy made a show of cleaning out his ear. ‘Too much wax,’ he said. ‘Or maybe it’s the jammer. Whatever, I didn’t hear you just then. I can get you anything you want from these catalogues within a day, some of them within an hour, except maybe a fucken drone—’ he flicked a curt glance at me ‘—but I can’t help you install it unless it’s on your own premises, and even then the legality of self-bugging is thin. So for fuck’s sake don’t tell me what you want this stuff for.’

  Tasso had circled a few products with a pen. Goldsworthy looked and nodded. ‘Good selections.’ He circled a few more. ‘If cost is no object, it won’t do any harm to have a choice. Some of this I can have here by this afternoon. What you do with it then is your business.’

  ‘Okay, I’ve got that message,’ said Tasso. ‘You’re not going to get your hands dirty.’

  Goldsworthy held out his hands to show how clean they were. ‘I can’t afford to, Tasso, you know that. My company gets caught bugging someone’s office and I’m out of business that day.’

  ‘If you can get us the gear, we’ll figure something out.’

  Goldsworthy left soon after. Tasso looked at me. ‘How do you feel about planting a bug?’

  I laughed. ‘Goldsworthy won’t touch it, but it’s okay for us, with only a few billion dollars at stake.’

  ‘It’s because we have a few billion at stake that we need to take the risk. And you know me. I’m a gambler. I’m betting you won’t get caught. Besides, there’s nothing official tying you to me, not yet. I can hang you out to dry.’

  ‘You would too, you bastard.’

  ‘But you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. Just say so. There are other people I can use. It’s just that I trust you more than anyone else.’

  We chatted for a while about how it might be done and I said I had an idea.

  ‘It might cost you, though,’ I said. ‘Got any spare cash lying around?’

  Tasso opened a cupboard fixed to the wall to reveal an electronic safe. He tapped in a few numbers and opened it. He took out an A4-sized envelope and threw it on the coffee table.

  ‘Take what you need.’ I looked inside the envelope. It contained several bundles of hundred-dollar notes. ‘Each of those bundles holds fifty notes.’

  ‘I won’t be able to account for this,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t need to; it’s my personal money. I don’t need to know what you do with it, either. Just get the job done.’

  I took two of the bundles, put them in an envelope, and put the envelope in the front pocket of my jeans. Then I made a phone call.

  Goldsworthy returned in the afternoon with a large black duffel bag full of gear. He shut the door of my office, pulled out another jammer and turned it on, and dumped the contents of the bag on the floor. He explained each item—how it worked and how to set it up. After he left I put everything back in the duffel bag and took it with me when I left for the night.

  Shovel had lost hair since I’d last seen him, when he’d helped me burgle a place. But what hair he had was still blond and curly, and he still had a barely discernible beard and a gold earring in his left ear. We met in the same beer garden at the Edinburgh Hotel. It was one of those long amber evenings when the lucid light of a low sun and the lusty buzz of alcohol combine to give the world momentary clarity and meaning. Groups of friends or work colleagues seated at tables, drinking their drinks, laughing and talking, in love with the light and maybe, while the light lasted, with each other.

  ‘You in fucken trouble again?’ said Shovel, after we found a table and perched ourselves on high stools. He was wearing reflective sunglasses that I supposed were a tool of the trade.

  ‘No, but I have a business proposition for you. Assuming you’re still in the same industry.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m still in the same fucken industry, if you want to call it that. Just as well, mate. Most of the blokes I know are getting laid off or only working part-time these days. Either that or they’re working up in the fucken mines. I’m about the only bloke I know who’s still in full-time employment. Fucken globalisation, that’s the problem.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘We’re all getting swept away on the big fucken global tide, mate.’ He swept his arms in an enactment of the global tide.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yeah, I think. Look at Holdens. Gone to fucken Thailand or somewhere, and three thousand blokes looking for work.’ He was talking about a car manufacturer that had recently announced it was closing its factory in the city’s north. Just another blow for the badlands. Shovel’s face had about the right number of lines on it for a man in his early forties, but it looked harder, less good-natured, than it used to, even in that golden light. Maybe, like me, he was worried he had been hollowed out, and if you only have a shell you had better make it a hard one.

  ‘My problem’s more local than global,’ I said.

  ‘So let’s hear it. Your business proposition. How much?’

  ‘I’ve got ten grand in my pocket.’

  I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but I wasn’t feeling any love. Young folk were smiling and laughing in the reflection, like remembered moments. Shovel looked around him, no expression on his face. Then he stood up.

  ‘Let’s go for a drive.’

  We didn’t talk much as we drove in his van down Sturt Road towards the sea. I watched as the sun slipped smoothly past the horizon like an old coin into a money pocket. The magic had gone from the light now, leaving a world of dull shadows. We parked on the esplanade at Brighton and Shovel turned in his seat to look at me. Beyond the esplanade, the black water lurked, with barely a ripple.

  ‘Leave your phone here, your watch and your sunglasses.’

  ‘You worried about bugs?’ I said. ‘Everyone’s bloody paranoid these days.’

  ‘Of course everyone’s bloody paranoid.’

  I put the requested items in the centre console. We got out of the van and he led me onto the beach. Many people were roaming it, inhaling the sea air and feeling the sand between their toes. We walked to the water’s edge and waded in about twenty metres until we were knee deep. Shovel had dispensed with his sunglasses. With a sudden movement he grabbed me and slung me into the water. I went under and resurfaced with water up my nose.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ I regained my feet and gave a farmer’s blow to clear my nose.

  ‘Tell me what the fuck’s going on.’ He kept his voice low.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A business proposition? You expect me to buy that? Ten fucken grand, just like that?’ He pushed me in the chest. ‘Hold out your arms.’

  I held out my wet arms.

  ‘You are bloody paranoid,’ I said. He frisked me and found the envelope in my jeans containi
ng the ten grand. He peered into it and fingered the notes inside. They were wet. On the beach, a barefoot oldish couple walking hand in hand and dressed in matching yellow shirts were showing an interest in us. Shovel gave me back the envelope and I put it in my jeans. He demanded my wallet and I gave it to him. He combed its contents. They were wet, too. He returned the wallet to me. The couple had moved on, with a backward glance or two. They probably thought they’d just seen a drug deal going down.

  ‘What the fuck’s this about, Westie?’

  ‘Shovel, the better question is what the hell’s the matter with you? You got irritable bowel syndrome or something? You’re acting like a dick. This is about nothing but business. You now know I actually do have ten grand. There’s nothing sinister about it, other than that it requires your skills. Jesus.’

  He stared at me, the anger in his eyes fading, to be replaced with something that looked more like pain. Then he turned towards the west, where the flat black line of the horizon was the only thing to be seen.

  ‘Lesley’s fucken left me.’

  ‘Lesley? Your missus?’

  He swung his eyes back to me. ‘No, Lesley me fucken shaggy dog. Of course Lesley me missus, who do you think? She’s fucked off with some muscle-bound twat and now she’s trying to get her hands on me money. I thought you might of been part of some fucken sting or something to put me inside.’

  ‘Come on, Shovel, you should know me better than that.’

  He checked on the horizon again, then back to me. ‘Yeah, I probably should. Sorry. I must be having a midlife crisis or something. The magic’s gone, mate. Everything’s turning to shit.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your missus. Would ten grand make it better?’

  He grunted. ‘It might help. Temporarily. That’s why I was so suss. It sounded too good to be true.’

  ‘You’ve got to earn it.’

  ‘Now you’re going too far the other way.’ He was still looking forlorn, like Lesley his shaggy dog, so I clapped him on the shoulder and led him out of the water. ‘She never asked me where all the money came from, y’know, and I never told her,’ he said. ‘She was just happy to fucken spend it.’