by Brad Mengel
Crown wouldn’t have indicted unless there was a solid case. Making charges disappear, that required some serious clout. It wouldn’t surprise me that amongst The Honey Pot’s clientele would be someone with suitable influence. I pulled out my digital camera and snapped some photos.
Corruption. That I could do something about. I would investigate that further but I was no closer to figuring out why Eadnic was hanging about in an Irish bar picking up bus bait.
The desk appeared to hold nothing else for me, so I moved over to the bookcases that lined the walls. I looked through the shelves. Eadnic wasn't much of a reader, the shelves were lined with DVDs. There was a lot of porn, most of it amateur footage, filmed right here at the Honey Pot and no doubt used for blackmail. The digital camera snapped the wall of videos. I cocked my neck to read the labels to see if there were any names that might give me leads for a corruption investigation.
The carpet that had been my ally a few minutes ago turned on me, hiding the sound of someone approaching. Luckily I heard the door open and was able to hide in the en suite bathroom next to the shelves of porn. I left the door slightly ajar, it was a calculated risk. The slight opening might arouse their suspicions but the click of the latch wouldn’t give me away. I had a better chance of hearing what was going on.
I quickly scanned the tiny room for an exit or hiding place. The minimalist decor offered neither. I just had to hope that the people in the office didn’t need to use the bathroom. I decided that this was a good opportunity to eavesdrop and moved to the partially opened door. The angle was all wrong to see what was happening in the office but whoever was in there had a call to make, In Russian. Seriously, nothing in this case was going my way.
He spoke quickly and I could barely catch anything he was saying beyond the odd da and nyet, let alone understand it. Hopefully the bug was working. I knew a guy, Anton in K’town, who would translate for me. Local legend had it that he was a former interrogator for the KGB. All it would cost, a couple of vodkas. Of course that didn’t help me now.
The phone call ended and the caller began to pace the room. There was a tap on the door and I heard Eadnic boom out “Krasheva”. I risked opening the door further and snuck a peek. Eadnic had moved to the front of his desk and perched on the edge. He was looking over one of his girls. She was dressed in one of those porno schoolgirl outfits, pleated tartan miniskirt and tight white shirt that barely contained the assets. She looked like she was drugged out of her brain.
The matron standing behind the girl appeared to be the girl’s keeper. The woman appeared to be in her sixties with grey hair. She started to speak in what I presumed was Russian. Eadnic put up his hand and stopped the woman.
“English, Olga,” he commanded. “You have to practice, the clients love the accent but not when they can’t understand a word you say. So what magic have you done?”
Olga scowled at the rebuke but visibly brightened and smiled at the compliment. The grin showed something of the beauty she was several years in the past. I wondered if she was one of the women who seduced diplomats for information for the KGB – a honey trap that Eadnic had named the brothel after.
The Russian madam explained the various beauty routines, struggling to find the English words on occasion. It was a litany of waxing, plucking, dying, styling, and extensions. I may have tuned out many of the details. I don’t have much use for beauty routines.
I was more intrigued by the girl’s reaction. Her long blonde hair hung vampishly over one eye but the eye I could see was glazed and she stood there not reacting to anything being said about her. I was certain she was drugged.
There was something familiar about her but I couldn’t place her and from my angle I only had a limited view of her face. Of course, she probably looked completely different than last time I saw her, if I’d ever seen her. I remembered when my sister Lara had her hair and make up done for her school formal, I don’t think that any of us in the family recognised her. Somehow Mum had sprung for some hair extensions … And suddenly I realised that I’m an idiot. I came all this way looking for bus bait with purple hair, listen to Olga talk about dying and extensions, and didn’t make the connection that the blonde bombshell before me was the same girl. Okay, I needed to pay attention more. I was sure that the others would have made the connection earlier.
Eadnic started talking again. “This outfit is fine if she is working here, but I need her to attend Law Society Gala tomorrow.” He stepped forward and gave the girl’s face a closer look. “Make up needs to be more formal, I’m thinking something like when Titania went to Mayor’s fundraiser. That dress she wore will be perfect.”
There was some more discussion between the Russians and all three left the room. I contemplated following them and trying to rescue the girl but this was a sneaky mission and I would be blowing my cover. I hadn’t properly scouted the brothel and had no idea how much muscle was on hand. It sounded like they needed the girl for the next evening. so she’d be alright. Besides I had a plan.
I’m a part time crime fighter; brass knuckles and wireless bugs don’t grow on trees. One of my jobs: a waitress for a catering company. The same company that was catering the Law Society Gala. I wasn’t rostered to work but I was sure the other wait staff wouldn’t object to an extra set of hands.
Before that I really needed some sleep. I retraced my steps and made my way home. It felt like my head had just hit the pillow when the alarm went off. I cursed the infernal machine, turned off the alarm, and slept for another hour.
“Bloody hell.” I said as I looked at the time when I awoke. While I needed the sleep I had stuff to do. I opened the computer and checked the cloud storage. Victory! There were several audio files there. I downloaded them to my phone as I got dressed.
I headed to K’town to see Anton. This was going to be a fleeting visit. I had a couple of other stops before the ball. I found him at his favourite chair watching the greyhounds on the big screen TV at the K’Town Tavern. The tickets in his hands told me that he had a bet or two on.
“The sun is shining." I said as I sat down on the opposite side of the table and passed over a double vodka.
“But the Ice is slippery,” Anton returned. I gave the people I helped this code phrase so the know when one of The Question Mark's "agents" needed to contact them.
"Your dogs running fast today?" I asked making conversation as he sipped his drink.
“Miss Lucy, they run faster than bloody nags I’ve been betting on lately. But I swear that last race cost me a few more hairs.”
Anton was a habitual gambler with a weakness for the horses. The Question Mark helped him out of a problem with his bookie and he helped me with information from time to time. I visited Anton as "Lucy". I've had so many fake identities, there are days I don't know if I'm Chloe or Zoe.
I quite liked the man. He made constant references to his receding hairline often blaming his latest bad bet.
“Now, my babushka, you only bring vodka when you want something,” Anton said after he drained rest of the glass.
“The KGB trained you well,” I joked. “I need a translation, but I warn you that Varan Eadnic is involved.”
“Eadnic.” Anton said the name like it was a curse word, before making a spitting sound. The hairs on his moustache flared as he expelled air. “What has viper done now?”
I gave a quick rundown of the mystery of the girl I saw at the bar as I blue toothed the audio files to him.
“Translation will be ready tomorrow. My niece fell for stories of better life in America, my sister she still weeps in Turmoilistan. Russian pigs, they now try same tricks in my adopted country, I help you.” Anton had a steely look of determination. For all the KGB jokes, Anton wasn't Russian. He was from Turkmenistan, a former Soviet Republic. His antipathy to Russians for what they did to his country made him a handy ally in situations like this.
“I didn’t know, my friend. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told him as I stood. “I’ve got to go now or I’ll be late.
”
As I left, I could see that Anton was looking at the screens and checking the results of the races he missed while we were talking. I had another point of call that I wanted to make before I went to the ball. I went into the ladies toilets and made my preparations. Not all of my informants are as trusted as Anton, so I needed a disguise or two.
I put my hair up in a tight bun, applied some deep red lipstick and a large pair of sunglasses, opened the two top buttons on my shirt, and popped on what looked like a pearl necklace. The best disguises are the simplest.
I found my next informant at his usual spot, selling magazines out the front of Central Station. Simmo was another person saved by The Question Mark. I handed over a fifty and bought a magazine. Simmo was a professional informant, paying him with a fifty was his signal that someone wanted information.
"A pineapple, she wants something, Lily," he greeted me. "I told you last time was it. I'm out."
"It wasn't her fault that you got shot. If you hadn't tried to tip off Big Jim that she was after him, he wouldn't have the chance to shoot you," I pointed out.
"Jim only shot me because she turned up," Simmo muttered.
"And if she hadn't followed your treacherous ass, she couldn't have saved it. That's the second time she rescued you. You owe my boss." I smiled.
Simmo's shoulders slumped. "Add a lobster and I'll help."
Another twenty bucks and it might not even pan out. Bloody cheeky bastard. "Piss off and give me my change," I hissed.
"Alright, alright. Let's not get carried away here. Don't worry about the lobster. Can't blame a bloke for trying." Simmo rubbed the Southern Cross tattoo on his forearm.
“I know that your profits went up about 20 percent with your arm in a sling. So she helped you already. Have you heard anything new about Varan Eadnic?”
The colour drained out of Simmo’s face. He held out the money, “Here’s your change, Miss. I ain’t messing with the Russian Mob and none of the other vendors will help you, not with this.”
It was the reaction I was half expecting from him. Simmo had a very strong sense of self-preservation.
"Keep it. I’ll be back later for some information, put out your feelers.” Sometimes he needed a push to help me.
The city hall clock showed that I had quarter of an hour until the Law Society Ball. I cursed. The argument with Simmo had chewed up more time than I'd wanted.
Luckily for me, the ball was in the City Hall Ballroom, which was only a few hundred metres down Ann Street. I walked through the main entrance off King George Square and down the hallway to the ladies room. My face was flushed from the brisk walk up Ann Street and my mind was racing. I was going to be late to my shift.
I grabbed a handful of toilet paper from one of the stalls and scrubbed off the cheap red lipstick that was part of my Lily camouflage. As I looked in the mirror, I saw a crazy looking woman frantically scrubbing her lips. What was I doing? I was going to endanger my real identity to save this girl. There were several of the others who would have a legitimate reason to be at the ball. I started to calm down. I realised that I was treating this like a proper catering shift. God, I suck so hard at undercover. I was going to race in and make myself memorable. Which is the exact opposite of the sneaky undercover plan that I had.
I sat on the toilet seat and took a few deep breaths. I was calm and composed. A few sheets of toilet paper and I carefully removed the lipstick. Next I pulled out the bun and put on the wig I usually wore as the Question Mark. The costume jewellery disappeared back into my bag. As I always say the simple disguises are often the most effective. I stashed the bag in the air vent above the toilet.
Now I was ready to make my way into the ballroom. It was a simple matter of grabbing a tray of drinks and circulating the room. I made sure that there were no special drinks on the tray. We used a straw to signify a special order.
My eyes swept the room looking for the girl. I was also keeping an eye out for Eadnic or any of his goons. So far I had no joy but I did catch sight of the catering supervisor. Of all the supervisors working for the company, it was the one person I didn’t want to see. Matthew McArthy. We called him the “Little General” because he was most often the shortest person in the room and he definitely suffered from Short Man syndrome. He was the most anal of all the supervisors - look up the definition of micro manager and his picture is right there. This was a problem. He’d most likely memorised the staff roster and he’d be the one to notice if there was an extra member of wait staff. I had to get out of there quick.
At that point I spotted Eadnic’s lawyer, William Dawton. The buttons on his vest strained against the pressure of his gut. Many might write him off as fat and lazy, but Dawton was one of the most successful criminal defence barristers in the state. One may have been forgiven for thinking the brunette on his arm was his daughter as there was at least twenty years difference in their ages. Looking at her, I had the feeling that I knew her from somewhere else. The condescending look she gave me as she took a glass of sparkling white wine from my tray only strengthened the feeling.
The rings on her finely manicured fingers tapped against the glass as she sculled the lot. "Hey, girl. I'm empty," she called above the din of the crowd.
I took the empty and watched as she snatched another glass from my tray. Her move nearly upset the tray. Yeah, I knew her. She was my older sister Shazza's best friend Tammy. Last I'd heard the scrag was the envy of the neighbourhood appearing on the cover of Zoo magazine. If you'd asked me to pick the next place I'd run into her, a guest at a swanky ball would not have been on the list.
I followed Dawton and Tammy for a bit. My tray was running low on drinks and there were too many empties. If something didn't happen soon, I'd have to head back to the bar and risk The Little General noticing me.
Dawton disappeared for a minute and when he came back he was escorted by my bus bait. Had I not seen Olga's make up job from the night before, I don't know if I would have recognised her. She didn't appear to be drugged but there was something off.
Dawton took the young woman to meet a tall and distinguished looking man. In his late fifties, his picture had appeared quite frequently in my newsfeeds. Godfrey O'Sean was being talked up in political circles as the next Chief Justice. There had been an announcement last week that the current Chief had been appointed as Governor so there had been a lot of coverage for O'Sean. He had presided over several of the recent high profile trials of the last few years.
A profile in The Courier Mail a couple of months back covered his legal career, but it also mentioned that he was a widower with a teenage daughter. There was a family shot in the article of O’Sean and his daughter. That's who the girl was. Melody O'Sean. Suddenly the whole thing made sense. Eadnic wanted a Chief Justice in his pocket. No wonder Dawton had been so sure that the charges against the Russian would be dropped.
Introduce the Judge to a young woman he wouldn't recognise because of the change in hair and makeup but may remind him of his wife. If hanky panky follows, it would be a perfect plot to blackmail the judge. If that fails a phone call to the Chief Justice advising him that they have his daughter with the threat of releasing to the media that the girl was a runaway working as a drugged up hooker. Or a combination of both.
I had to get the girl out of there and fast. There was a police beat shop front across the road on the Adelaide Street side of the Town Hall where I could drop her.
Of course, it wouldn't be that simple. I could feel The Little General's eyes boring into me. There was also the matter of two rather large Slavic looking gents, bulging muscles a sure product of steroid abuse, hovering around the Dawtons and the O'Seans. I was fairly certain that I had seen one of the bruisers with Eadnic at MacCafferty’s at the start of all this.
I needed a distraction and fast. I was trying to think of one when it happened. Tammy had spotted the last glass of sparkling wine on my tray. She snatched it and slammed the empty on the edge of the tray. Ordinarily, I may hav
e worked harder to prevent the glasses falling, but I wasn't missing this opportunity.
The hand holding the tray flicked it and sent the dregs of several drinks and nearly a dozen glasses over Tammy. If I wanted a distraction, she more than provided it. A screech that would have put an air raid siren to shame emanated from her mouth. The silence that followed was almost oppressive and every eye was on Tammy. Well almost every eye. I felt a hand on my left shoulder. I spun around and lashed out with my right fist. There was a satisfactory crunch as I felt The Little General's nose compress under my fist. In all fairness, I didn't realise it was him until too late. Hopefully, it happened too quick for him to see who punched him. I needed this job.
I took my opportunity and snatched the runaway. She didn’t resist as I grabbed her arm and headed for the door of the auditorium. The tapping of her heels seemed unnaturally loud as we reached the tiled foyer. I turned left at the doorway heading toward the ladies room where I had stashed my bag. There wasn’t much time and the steroid twins were sure to be following us.
I placed the girl in a cubicle. “Stay there and take off your shoes.” I whispered, not wanting to give away our location. I pulled the mask out of my bag and quickly put it on. I’d risked my secret identity enough for one night. I then pulled on my knuckle dusters. I’d been itching to use them ever since this had started. I slung the bag onto my back.
“Let’s go.” I told the girl as I peered around the door. If we went left we would be out on King George Square and from there it was a short run to the Police Beat on Adelaide Street. Of course the Steroid Twins took that moment to come out of the Auditorium.
“Hey!” yelled one. I pulled the girl to the right. The hallway led to a side exit on Ann Street. The hallway curved and we were out of sight for a moment. I pushed the girl against a doorway and dropped to one knee to set up an ambush. I heard what I presumed was Russian curse words come closer. One of the steroid brothers nearly tripped over me as he raced around the curve. I landed a mighty uppercut on his groin. I know that steroid abuse shrinks the balls but my brass knuckles smashing against even that tiny target was sure to cause considerable pain. I confirmed this from the grimace on the Russian’s face as he curled up into the foetal position on the floor. I was sure he would sing castrato for the police.
Behind us I could hear people streaming out of the Auditorium. While it was possible that we might blend with the crowd, the other steroid twin was there. No, it was better that we went to the Ann Street exit. There'd be less people, which would minimise the