ARC: Peacemaker (24 page)

“Less than you, I expect, but I do know someone with ties to the Coastal Romani.”

“I wrote an article on the changing face of Rasta, so I’ve still got some contacts there,” she said.

“That’s only two.”

“Hamish will help.”

“Not until you tell me who he is, Caro. I mean, he ran over that guy like he was a road kill. Didn’t even blink.”

“Fine. I met him in East Africa
–
Burundi. He helped me out of a tight spot and I’m repaying the favour. He needed somewhere to lay low for a while.”

“He’s a mercenary?”

“Hamish believes in PE,” she said. “Private Enterprise.”

“Well that’s splitting hairs.”

“As you do when you must. Hamish will watch Africans. It’s a bit of a specialty of his.”

“You mean he’s already doing that anyway?”

“Let’s just say he won’t have to crane his neck.” She tucked her tablet into her bag and stood to stretch.

“I’ll text you if I find out anything,” I said.

“Right.” She headed for the door.

“And Caro…”

She waved without turning back. “I know…
thanks.
”

“Actually, I need you to help me get past my bodyguards.”

“The one in the corridor. That’s easy. Wait five minutes and go down the stairs.”

The thought of going down the stairs in my current state of exhaustion was akin to being asked to climb
up
a mountain. “Thanks.”

“See. I knew you had some gratitude tucked away in there.” She laughed and shut the door behind her.

A soon as she left, I jumped in the shower to revive myself. Another coffee. Grey shirt. Jeans. Boots. Hair pulled back. The mirror reflected eyes that would have done a three-day-binge hangover proud, and some unattractively blotchy skin.

Find Sixkiller, I told myself, and you can get some sleep.

I called Leecey.

“’Lo?” She sounded sleepy.

“Did I wake you? You going to work?”

“Not today. Reduced hours seeing as the park’s shut.”

“Great. Meet me at the Strellis Café on Parkway in a half hour.”

“What f–”

I hung up. If nothing else, curiosity would get here there.

I slammed a cap down over my head, grabbed my kit and peered out the door. True to Caro’s word, the coast was clear. I took the stairs and left by the laundry pick-up exit.

Leecey was waiting for me at a table out on the street. Strellis Café was a tiny Toast and Tart café that struggled to compete with the large Beverage Club franchise down the road. I frequented it because it was close to the South sector tunnel entrance and because I had a thing for supporting indies. The owner, Bijou, had paid last year’s rent on the proceeds of my regular hollandaise eggs, cheese muffin and Russian tea breakfasts.

It meant I always got quick service and an extra-large smile. For the months after Dad died, that smile was the best thing in my life.

“The usual, Virgin?”

“Two please,” I said, nodding at Leecey. “Breakfast’s on me.”

“That sounds ominous. What’s up?” she said.

“Who runs the Coastal gypsies?”

She frowned and picked up the salt shaker, suddenly finding it riveting. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Why I want to know would take me most of the day to explain. I don’t need to meet them. I just need to watch them for a bit.”

“Watch them?”

“Like a stake out. Just see who comes and goes.”

“They don’t like to be followed.”

“They won’t know.”

“I don’t think that it’s–”

“You said you wanted to help me, Leecey.”

“And you told me to stay away.”

I leaned back, hands wide. “Things change.”

She turned the shake a few more times then set it down. “I owe you more than I can ever repay, Virgin, so of course I’ll help you. But you gotta know if they see us
–
”

“If they see
me.
Once you’ve shown me who, you’re out of the picture.”

Her lips pursed stubborn. “I don’t think so.”

I saw her determination and sighed. “Fine. But we have to do this right away.”

“Don’t you mean after breakfast?”

I leaned back to let Bijou place a plate in front of me. The smell of the bacon sent a rush of saliva into my mouth. “Definitely after breakfast!”

She talked about the park murder investigation and Detective Chance as we killed time on the Coast bus trip.

“She’s gunning for you, Virgin,” she said. “Been sniffing around Johnnie.”

“She’s been up to DreamWorks?”

Leecey nodded. “He won’t say nothing to her, but he’s not clean. It won’t help the picture she’s painting. And if he got busted…”

“Shit!”I closed my eyes. My brother tested every shred of patience I ever had and then some. But love was a funny thing. Forgiveness seemed to have no limits until it did.

“I’ve talked to him, Virgin. He knows what’s going on. Hey
–
here’s our stop.”

I nodded, trying to shelve that worry for the moment.

We got off the bus and left the terminal to walk out onto a boulevard of restaurants, sarong booths and the ocean. A tin-pan band tinged and clanged on the boulevard and balloon animals bobbed on sticks in the breeze. The sun was bright and I felt an unbidden rush of pleasure to see the water and inhale the salt in the air.

She haled a taxi which drove us down the boulevard a few clicks until we reached a huge water silo.

“We’ll have to shanks it the rest of the way,” said Leecey.

I paid the cabbie. “Show me.”

After a couple of blocks on foot, we left the Esplanade to travel west and I felt a pang of regret at losing sight of the water.

Within a couple more blocks the retailers had dwindled off and the standard of rental housing had degraded to salt-bleached weatherboard cottages and dank, low salmon bricks.

Another two, and Leecey led me back towards the direction of the beach. Out here, washing was on lines, not in dryers, and gardens were tiny pockets of Bead Weed.

To the north of us lay a long strip of salt marsh and in front, a tufts-of-brown-grass Motor Park.

“They live there?” I nodded at the box-shaped chalets in the Park.

“When they’re not on the road,” she said. “Been spending summer here for as long as I can remember.”

“Who am I looking at?”

“Vandlo and Sabina Heron. Herons are old Rom. Came from England a hundred years ago. Good people but mistrustful and private.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I said.

“I’ll go and pay respects to the Herons and then visit with my stepmother. That’ll give you time to see what you need.”

“Keep an eye on your messages in case shit happens.”

She gave me a thoughtful look and glanced at the bulge in my jacket. “Don’t shoot any of my people, Virgin.”

“Not my plan, Leecey.”

She nodded. “See you in a coupla hours.”

She left the cover of the salmon brick low-sets and hiked towards the front of the Motor-Park, taking a dirt boundary road around to the front boon gate. Two young Romani males came out to greet her.

After a friendly exchange, I watched her thread her way between chalets to the centre of the park. Greyhound-thin dogs leaped up at her as she approached a cabin with a large annex. I couldn’t see who spoke to her from underneath it, but she disappeared inside.

That gave me time to study the landscape around the park. It was almost midday now and the sun bit its way through the sea breeze. The salt marsh baked beneath it, giving up glints of shifting water from time to time.

There was little cover among the low, succulent bush, so I turned my attention to the rows of residentials on the other two sides. No one was about on the streets. Cars sat parked in driveways like hot metal slugs and noise was reduced to the flap of washing, the hum of air cons and some distant TV noise. Across in the Motor Park though there were shouts and the buzz of power drills.

I took binoculars from my back pack and scanned each and every house for anything unusual. One my first pass, I saw nothing but shoes left to shed sandon porches and towels hung across railings.

Where would they watch from, I wondered?

I scanned again, and again until my arms began to ache and my eyes burned from squinting against the glass. I didn’t dare get up and walk along, for fear of being recognized. If the Korax were here, they would likely know me.

I sank back onto my heels and called Caro.

She answered on the first ring. “Anything?”

“Not yet,” I said. “You?”

“Rastas don’t get up before 3pm. Couldn’t be more dull. Where are you?”

“South of Cheyenne Beach.”

“The salt marshes? Nice.”Always one for sarcasm. “But listen. You have any problems, Hamish is just west of you. Call him. I’ll send you his number. Remember to delete it when we’re done.”

“Sure,” I said.“I’ll check back in a while.”

I hung up and got back onto my heels to do another scope.

Leecey had just emerged from the annex with a backward wave and walked down a row towards a smaller, pale blue van with yellow awning. A man called to her from across the way and I held the glass on his for a moment. He looked like the guy in the alley but I couldn’t be sure. If Sixkiller were here, I could ask him…

A woman a few houses away left her front door carrying canvas shopping bags.

I swung the glass to her as she climbed into her car and reversed from the driveway, disappearing up the street with the
zizz
of an electric motor. Pretty most all surburbans had their food home delivered, but there was still the odd pilgrim ready to battle traffic and crowds for the retail experience.

Her real time shopping trip left a clear view through to the driveway of the next house and a hunched figure hiding inside a child’s plastic fort.

I rested the glass against the corner of the salmon brick and ratcheted up my magnification. It was definitely an adult male, not a child, wearing a singlet and shorts.

Now to get closer.

I counted the houses. Seven along. I ducked back down the side of the one I was at and skirted along the back. When I came to correct house, I squatted down behind the vine growing along the back fence and thought what to do next.

I needed help for this, and it wasn’t something I wanted to involve Leecey in. With only a faint sense of misgiving, I called Hamish’s number.

“Yes.” His voice was curt like I remembered it.

“It’s Virgin. I need your help.”

“You’ve made a sighting?”

“Yes.”

Pause. “I’ve got a fix on you. Be there in thirty minutes.”

“But how will
–
”

He hung up.

I spent twenty-five of those minutes maneuvering into a position to see the Korax guy better. That wasn’t easy to manage considering the swing set, pile of grass clippings and an upturned wheelbarrow that impaired my line of sight. I climbed the back fence and half buried myself in the grass. From there I could see his back through the porthole in the kindy
?
gym. Half of his tattoo showed along the singlet line.

“Better hope you don’t suffer allergies,” said a voice from behind me.

Hamish was crouched back at the fence, dressed in jeans and a dark shirt.

“Only way to keep an eye on him,” I said, scratching my arms.

“We should get him moving. Go wait in my car.” He pointed back down the lane. “Blue sedan. I figure the bike halfway along the next block is his. We’ll follow when he runs.”

“What do you mean
when he runs
?”

He gave an odd smile that didn’t connect with his eyes. “Just wait in the car.”

I didn’t much like being told what to do but I
had
asked for his help, so I crawled out of the glass clippings and joined him behind the fence.

“Dust off first though,” he said handing me the keys.

“He’s in the child’s cubby near the front driveway,” I said.

He nodded. “Saw him on my first pass.”

His first pass? I took the keys and headed off down the lane, shaking grass from my clothes.

By the time I’d climbed into the front seat, Hamish had disappeared. The inside was rental-car clean, although something told me this hadn’t been hired through regular channels.

Curious, I opened the glove compartment to see if he’d left any identifying documents but other than the car’s spec chip, it was empty.

Hamish ripped the door open and was in the driver’s seat before I could close it.

“What are you doing?” he said in a voice that froze me.