by Nick Place
‘Even I didn’t know about this one. It’s like a secret bonus stage,’ replied Laver.
He and Damian were sitting in his lounge room, playing PS3 and drinking beer at 11 am. Breaking all the rules. Well, all Laver’s rules. Drinking hours were a little more flexible in Damo’s world.
Slattery had phoned at 7.30 am, politely suggesting Laver take a few days off. Sounding more tired than Laver, which was an achievement. Clearly the debacle of his half-arsed murder investigation had done the rounds. Laver was just praying he didn’t get a call from Broadbent. Hated to think of the expression that would be on Strickland’s face right now.
‘Did you play last night?’ he asked Damian, who was looking seedy and enjoying the early beer just a little too much.
‘At the Espy. Quiet crowd.’
‘Which band?’
‘Helping out a mate’s band. Nightmare Scenario.’
‘Good name!’
‘And appropriate, given how bad the drummer was. I’ll get you a T-shirt.’ He fell silent as he finished off the level, fingers a blur on the controller. Sighed contentedly and sipped his beer. ‘So what happens now?’
‘Dunno,’ Laver shrugged. ‘Slattery suggested I not turn up until I actually want to ride the bike around. That means I’m technically not working, which might throw the whole “suspended from Major Crime but on full pay” thing out the window. Flipper won’t talk to me, because the attempt to apprehend the hippie’s boyfriend was such a Hall of Fame fuckfest. And, even more than before, nobody will listen to a word I say regarding potential crimes.’
‘I believe you’ve redefined clusterfuck.’
‘Oh, without a doubt.’ Laver’s head was pounding, and it wasn’t the early beer.
Damo said, ‘So Flipper isn’t talking to you at all?’
‘Well, he rang to say CCTV at the airport had picked up two men wandering to the taxi rank from outside the airport – as in, from the direction of where the private detective was murdered. Smart way to leave a scene, actually … walk to the airport and join the throng heading in all directions. They just didn’t realise the security cameras watch the surrounds as well, from before the long-term car-park exits.’
Damian hit the button to start the next stage of his game. ‘What does that all mean?’
‘It means there’s a very good chance, in Flipper’s eyes anyway, that the big gorilla with the orange mohawk wasn’t remotely involved in Thirsk’s death.’
‘The gorilla only being a figment of your imagination anyway as far as the other police are concerned.’
Laver gave his mate a look. ‘Are you helping?’
‘Sorry. Just trying to lay out the reality for my own understanding.’
‘It’s pretty simple,’ said Laver. ‘I’m fucked.’
The security buzzer from downstairs interrupted. Laver wandered over and pressed the button. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s Cecy.’
Laver raised his eyebrows to Damian and said, ‘Come up.’
‘I’ll just lock up my bike,’ she replied, and the speaker went silent.
Damian was grinning faintly. ‘So, Marcia is officially history then?’
‘This is a work colleague, Damo. Keep it in your pants.’
‘You can talk. Maybe you should play this rogue cop thing all the way?’
‘She’s young, Damo. And untarnished by the life, so far. And likes to play it by the book.’
Damian shrugged and reached for his stubby. ‘Turning up at your place, unannounced. Off duty. Very professional behaviour.’
Laver found himself wondering.
In the end, a strange thing happened. Cecy gave Laver a hug, meaning it. Then they sat around, Laver in his own world, just letting the conversation drift by him as Cecy and Damian yarned easily about music, talking about bands Cecy liked that Laver had never heard of. Bliss n Eso. Drapht. The Herd, and that band’s alternate-reality incarnation, Horror Show. The Hilltop Hoods. He might have heard of that last one on Triple J. Turned out Cecy and Damian had both been at the concert where Tim Rogers from You Am I, Josh Pyke and others covered The Beatles’ White Album.
Damian, inspired, put on some music as they talked. Cecy, on a day off, drank a beer from the stubby, laughing her barking laugh at Damian’s rock ’n’ roll stories. Laver, still quiet but feeling himself coming out of his funk, wondered when he had last heard genuine laughter in his living room. It felt strange, with Cecy in his home and Marcia gone in a puff of smoke. He briefly wished for a joint but, thinking it might send him into a downward spiral, stuck to sipping beer. Contemplated how few of his police colleagues over the years had ever been to his house, or vice versa, beyond an all-in barbeque. And here was this rookie cycling cop …
And then Damian, all traces of his hangover gone, was leaping to his feet.
‘We’ve been sitting around too long.’ He pointed at Laver. ‘What you need is sunshine and exercise.’
‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’ Laver asked, horizontal, one arm dangling to the floor where he was clutching a beer. Looking like he may never move again.
‘No. He’s totally right,’ Cecy said, getting to her feet. ‘You need to move.’
‘You’re outvoted, Rocket,’ Damo said. ‘Move your arse.’
Laver didn’t have it in him to argue and so they hit the road on their bikes, Damo in front on his city cruiser, Cecy and Laver on their cop bikes but not carrying all the usual kit. Laver muttering, but Cecy just laughing at him.
They headed away from the city, following Damo as he hooked into a bike trail, and suddenly they were on the banks of the Yarra, cruising along the river, gazing at the astonishing houses that sprawled on the other side of the river and dodging the occasional walkers and joggers. Laver realised after a while that his butt wasn’t even particularly sore.
‘You look like you’re getting some riding legs, Rocket,’ said Damo, cruising effortlessly beside him.
Cecy, just behind them, called, ‘Why do they call you Rocket?’
Damo turned and said, ‘That’s a disgrace. You’re un-Australian! Do you really not know why anybody with the name Laver would be called Rocket?’
‘Um, no.’
‘Give her a break, mate,’ Laver panted. ‘She’s Colombian, for Christ’s sake. How many Colombian tennis players can you name?’
‘Well, none,’ conceded Damo. ‘But then again, no Colombian has won a Grand Slam. Twice.’
‘It was a while ago. Have you noticed Cecy is a bit younger than us?’
The suburb of Richmond turned into Hawthorn on the other side of the Yarra, as they swung west towards Collingwood. Damian took them to the Abbotsford Convent, an old complex that was saved from developers and instead transformed into a collection of cafés and artist’s spaces; freelance writers huddled in what used to be the nuns’ chambers. At Handsome Steve’s House of Refreshment they sat on a balcony, enjoying the sun, and then cruised back to Laver’s apartment block.
Laver couldn’t believe it. He felt clear-headed, sweaty in a good way and in love with cycling.
‘That’s a minor miracle,’ he said.
‘We’ll have you bush-bashing before you know it,’ said Damo, before waving and riding off to get ready for that night’s gig.
Laver was still feeling great, right up until he arrived home and checked his message bank.
‘Tony, this is Marcia. Your stuff is in a suitcase on the nature strip outside my block. If you want it before it’s stolen, you had better get moving. And I won’t be here so don’t bother knocking.’
‘I need a drink,’ Laver announced.
‘Is Marcia your girlfriend?’ Cecy was loitering near the door.
‘I think the tense would now officially be past,’ he said, rooting around in the fridge. Heard the words leaving his mouth. ‘My ex. Beer?’
‘Not for me,’ Cecy said. ‘Best not to drink too much and ride.’
‘Who breathalyses a bike rider?’
‘It can happen
.’
‘Not if you’re on a cop bike.’
‘That’s not really the point though, is it? We’re supposed to set an example.’
Laver shrugged, opened a beer for himself and toasted her. Then poured her a glass of water.
‘I think my example-setting days might be as dead as my engagement.’
‘Oh wow, engagement! I’m sorry.’
Laver swigged. ‘Me too. It’s all gone to hell. Maybe it already was before the shooting, but it feels like the relationship died with Coleman. It’s hard to explain.’
‘You don’t have to. It’s private.’
He looked at her and she was not meeting his eye, sipping her water and suddenly looking awkward. A single woman in a single man’s house.
‘Hey Cecy?’
‘What?’ Apprehension in her voice.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, okay. I think you are very beautiful and fun and you rock in just about every way but we’re workmates and there’s an age difference and I really don’t think I’m a person anybody wants to be in a relationship with right now.’
‘Tony … Rocket … It’s not like—’
‘Mates, okay?’
He raised his beer and she suddenly smiled and clinked her glass, sitting down beside him on the couch. ‘We were always mates, dickhead. Now, if we’re making speeches, it’s my turn.’
‘Uh oh.’
‘In all your howling at the moon, especially about how nobody will listen to you now you’re in Siberia, or whatever you call it, you’ve forgotten one thing. I saw those guys as well, in Smith Street. I was outside the café. I saw them come out. I heard the big one, with the orange hair, say, “That cop was trouble.” You’ve never considered this, but I have an antenna as well. And mine was going crazy too.’
‘I sort of promised Slattery I’d keep you out of it.’
‘Why? Who says you have the right to stop me doing my job?’
‘Jesus, Cecy.’
‘Let me finish. All I’m saying is that I want to keep an eye on those two as well. I’ll help – and not as a favour to you, because we’re mates and all, but because we should. It’s our job. All your precious senior cop friends, the ones who are wiping you at the moment, they haven’t seen these two. I’m only new and haven’t dealt with many criminals yet, but I’ve seen you work. I trust your instincts. And I trust mine.’
‘Cecy, politically—’
‘Fuck “politically”, Tony. All I’m saying is that if we can get a name or if you see them again, I’ll help. From what you’ve said, they’re definitely up to something.’
She sat back, speech over. Looking spent. ‘Jesus, give me a beer after all.’
Rocket went to the fridge and threw her a stubby. Clinked beers and meant it. ‘Well, cheers. It means a lot to me. More than it probably should to a tough-guy career cop, but the goalposts have moved. Just keep it on the quiet with Slattery, all right?’
‘Sure. I’m not career-suicidal, you know.’
They drank in silence until she said, ‘Standish says he’s in, as well, by the way. Will do anything you ask.’
‘Now I know you’re bullshitting.’
She laughed, the sound exploding into the room as she threw her head back.
Cecy drank some beer, frowned and said, ‘Now all we need is a name.’
‘We might have “Stig”.’
‘Oh please. That can’t be real.’
Laver sighed. ‘Who knows what the hell “real” means anymore?’
Jake’s wet dream: alone in a dark room with Lou. Except that the room was the main floor of the Groc-o-Mart, cavernous at night, aisles stretching into the gloom.
Lou was on her knees yanking boxes of dishwashing detergent off a low shelf, then peeling the stickers and carefully placing them above the brand name on each box.
Jake loomed over her to see which sticker she was placing. Was it ‘This product is truly green’ or ‘Not as green as they’d have you believe’? Both in wattle-green lettering on a subtle yellow background.
From here, he could see down her shirt to the curve of a pale breast: the line of a bra. Lace.
But the worst thing would be to get caught looking. He focussed on the label she was sticking onto the box.
It was blood-red lettering on a black background and read: ‘Buying this? Why not just drown the polar bears yourself?’
Jake read it again.
‘What’s that sticker?’
‘It’s one I thought up after we’d talked about it.’
‘You can’t put that on a box.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, crap. Barry will have my balls.’
Lou looked up at him and he worked extra hard to keep his gaze from her shirt.
‘Jake,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘You were always going to cop it for this. We may as well make it count.’
‘But it’s one thing to tell people if a product is environmentally friendly. It’s a whole other thing to rip into it, like this.’
Lou shrugged and went back to the label, a curl of green hair flopping down to meet her chin.
‘It’s just a matter of wording. This will catch people’s attention.’
‘But Lou,’ he protested.
Lou looked at him again and her face was set, eyes shining.
‘We’re at war, Jake. The future of the world is at stake. Don’t get squeamish on me now. I thought you were this totally committed environmental warrior.’
‘I am,’ he said weakly.
‘Then walk the walk, soldier.’
He stood up, dry mouthed. ‘I’m going to keep putting on the stickers we agreed.’
‘Good for you,’ Lou said, concentrating on her work. There was a long pause. ‘Hey Jake.’ Her voice softer now. ‘I’ll buy you a drink after.’
‘You will?’ He winced as he heard his voice rise.
‘Definitely.’
And then they heard a car pull up outside.
‘Fuck!’ she said. ‘You said there was no security.’
‘There isn’t,’ Jake whispered. ‘Not until 5 am. Quick, follow me.’
They pushed the stickers under the shelf and ran, crouching, towards the front, where the registers were.
‘Not the back?’ Lou hissed.
‘Nowhere to hide,’ Jake whispered urgently. ‘Trust me.’
The car’s engine had stopped, but another car was approaching.
‘Oh shit, gotta be the cops,’ Lou said quietly.
Jake didn’t answer. He took her hand – took her hand! – and led her into the small storeroom to the side of the registers, where the cigarettes, flowers and papers were kept.
They heard a key in the lock of the front entrance.
‘Get down,’ he whispered.
Lou did, crouching behind some wilting bunches of flowers. Bizarrely, she found herself enjoying their fragrance.
Jake was listening to somebody entering the Groc-o-Mart, charting the footsteps to the security panel and then hearing four beeps as the security code was entered. Another beep was supposed to turn off the system, but instead it turned on.
‘What the fuck?’ said Barry’s voice. Jake’s heart lurched.
Five more beeps re-entered the pin and turned off the system. Then there was silence.
‘Hello?’ Barry raised his voice. ‘Anybody there?’
Lou and Jake looked at each other, big-eyed in the tiny dark room.
They heard Barry sigh. ‘Fucking security. May as well just leave the door open while they’re at it. Jesus.’
‘Clear?’ said a new voice.
‘Yeah. The alarm hadn’t been turned on. Probably since security checked the place a couple of hours ago. I don’t know why I pay the bastards.’
‘Fascinating. Barry, you know who we are?’
Lou’s eyes widened even further. She pulled Jake down so his ear was next to her mouth and breathed more than said, ‘Stig.’
Jake’s heart pounded so loudly that he th
ought it might be heard.
‘Yeah, I know who you are,’ Barry was saying. ‘I can’t believe you’d contact me. You want to get me killed as well as you?’
‘Nobody has to be killed. I’m offering you an opportunity.’
‘Jenssen offers me plenty of opportunities already. Why would I piss in that nest?’
‘Because Jenssen will never know. And you could make a lot of money without having to funnel any of it back to Queensland.’
They could hear the faint crinkle of packaging being opened.
‘Tell your mate to stop stealing cigarettes.’
‘Mate, please. This is a business meeting.’ Stig’s voice was exasperated.
They heard a dismissive snort.
‘Okay, tell me,’ Barry said.
‘It’s simple.’ Stig’s voice was confident. ‘You buy our stuff off us now, for cash, and bury it for a while. I’m guessing nobody among your distributors knows how often shipments arrive. In six months or maybe a year, you slide an extra batch out there and when the proceeds come back, they’re all yours.’
‘Why in six months?’
‘Because that will put distance between us going missing and the extra turning up on the street.’
‘Why does that matter if nobody’s looking? I thought Jenssen would never know.’
‘Just because Jenssen doesn’t know doesn’t mean he isn’t keeping an eye on things. I’m treating him with respect, as you should with me.’
‘Some opportunity. Work my arse off not to get killed.’
Now Stig sighed. ‘No, make a lot of extra money very easily. Barry, I’m saying that if you’re careful, as you should be and as you’ve proven for years now that you are, you’ll be okay. Why do you think we’re meeting now, after midnight, instead of during office hours?’
Jake’s leg was cramping as he crouched but he didn’t dare shift his weight. Lou was looking at the floor, listening intensely.
Barry’s voice said, ‘What do you two get out of all this?’
‘Payment up front. At a cheaper rate because we’re not waiting for returns.’
‘So I’m buying outright? Taking all the risk?’
‘Shit, Barry. You think we haven’t absorbed some risk over the past week?’