G'Day USA (13 page)

I needed to tramp it up a bit.

And to do that I needed something sharp. It was impossible to keep a beach as large as this one clean. An almost empty bottle of beer rested in the sand by the walkway. I squatted, turned my head to protect my eyes and tapped it on the concrete walkway. And then I hit harder. The damned thing wouldn’t break. I hauled my hand back to hit with all I had when someone grabbed my wrist.

‘
What the fuck?’ I turned, landing on my ass, looking up at Ann, the crazy bag-lady.

‘
Why are you doing that? Kids will cut their feet on the glass.’

I crab-walked back a couple of steps. ‘What? I’ll clean up the mess. Be quiet, okay? I don’t need the attention. ‘

‘
That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you break it if you’re just going to clean it up?’

I struggled to my feet. My dress was hugely impractical when running from the law. ‘Look, Ann, please keep it down. There’s a bunch of people over there looking for me, and they’re not nice.’ She seemed puzzled. Best to change the subject. ‘I need something sharp to cut down this dress. I can’t get around in it like this.’ I hefted the bottle. ‘So if you’ll excuse me I’ve got some breaking to do.’

‘
Wait.’ She dug through her jacket pockets and pulled out a blue-handled kitchen knife. ‘Will this work?’

I looked at it, and at her, my unlikely co-conspirator. ‘This is perfect.’ I accepted the knife and started cutting at about mid-thigh.

She nodded and gently took the knife from my hand. ‘Let me do this.’ And she did. Much better than I could.

I stepped out of the ring of red cloth. ‘Ann, you’re a genius.’

She slipped the knife into her pocket and picked the bottom half of the dress off the ground. ‘Thanks. Can I have this?’

‘
Sure.’ Then I had a thought. ‘Wait. Let me have it for half an hour and I’ll get it back to you, as well as the rest of it. Do you trust me?’

She smiled. She really needed urgent dental care. ‘Of course I do. Will I meet you here?’

I looked around. I didn’t feel like exposing myself on the beach again tonight. I took the bottom half of the dress from Ann and tied my hair in a bun, letting the ends drape across my shoulders. ‘Walk with me. There’s a nice bench you can rest on until I’m finished doing what I need to do.’

She shook her head. ‘You go. I can’t wait around. I don’t belong out there.’ She pointed up 24th. ‘You’ll see me around again. Give it to me then.’

She smiled, turned and walked into the night.

Well, it was now or never. Getting close to midnight and the crowds were dissipating. I went with the theory that if you looked like you belonged, people would believe you belonged. I just needed to get in my place without getting tagged.

I strolled up 24th, trying to keep a balance between casual and slutty. With my luck I’d be propositioned, or pulled up for soliciting. I tried blending in. I was too tall in high school and spent a good deal of time in the early years trying to blend in with the wall. It wasn’t until I discovered tall could get me money as a model, early in Year 12, that my confidence took over and I was paid to
not
blend in. Now here I was trying to undo all that.

It was like I was back in Year 11, trying to disappear in the middle of a crowd. In the middle of an empty street.

But after I turned left on Speedway I
was
in the middle of a crowd. I walked in the same direction as the traffic on the one way street. And I would walk that way until I reached N. Venice and the far corner of my apartment building.

So far so good.

But it was not to last.

About half way up Speedway, right across from Virginia Court, a little crap car pulled up beside me in a cloud of exhaust. The driver tapped his horn and leaned out the window.

‘
Ellie, what the hell’s going on?’

I closed my eyes and swore. ‘Jesus, Charlie, what are you doing out here?’

‘
Looking for you. What about the bullshit this afternoon? It’s true bullshit too. I heard you were evading the police and figured you’d come by here.’

‘
Who else knows?’

‘
Nobody. I came on my own.’

‘
What about Kent?’

Charlie shook his head. ‘Haven’t talked to him since last night. We had beer and pizza at Bart’s place then split up.’

‘
He’s called me a couple of times. Warned me about the police, actually. Now they’re sitting in front of my apartment, as are about two dozen paps. And you’re drawing attention to me, which isn’t healthy. Don’t get yourself involved, mate. Go and pretend you’ve never seen me, okay? If you want to help, let it be known I was seen in Oxnard. Or Simi.’ I picked up the pace and kept my eye on the apartment building in front of me.

He cruised along side. ‘Seriously, Ellie. Let me help.’

‘
Seriously
, Charlie. Fuck off and get out of here. You’re going to get me picked up.’

‘
Why don’t you just go to the police and tell them what happened?’

‘
Because I don’t know what happened. I was framed.’

Charlie laughed.

‘
Shut it. I’m not joking. Get out of here and tell the cops you saw me in Santa Barbara.’

He shook his head, rolled up his window and pulled ahead, turning right on S. Venice.

T
he entrance to the car park, and my way in, sat on N. Venice, about thirty or forty feet behind the cop car. I stood at the corner, partially covered by a mail box. An old guy sat in the stairwell behind me, smelling of cheap wine and urine. He didn’t appear to notice I was standing there, not even five feet from him.

The driveway was lit. A coded keypad provided entrance to the basement car park. Once in there I was in the clear.

I stepped out from behind the mailbox and a pair of bicycle police spun by on Ocean Walk. I almost broke an ankle turning. I tried to be casual walking back toward Speedway. Without looking trampy. Damn this acting was hard.

I gave it a couple of seconds and turned back toward the parking garage. Coast clear. The six-digit code raised the door. I ran in as soon as I could and punched the button to close the door.

I took a deep breath. The elevators ran up the center of the building. Top floor was my place. I took the stairs. Nobody else did and I really didn’t feel like meeting neighbors in the elevator.

My apartment felt different, like I hadn’t been there forever. Hardly six hours had passed since a limo picked me up.

Six hours and a lifetime.

The street lights would have to provide illumination. I couldn’t risk turning on lights or moving near the windows. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled below the window line to my bedroom. The drapes in there were closed. I stood and took stock. No time for a shower, but I had to change cloths. Denims, button down shirt and deck shoes would do. I grabbed a ball cap and attempted to stuff my hair under it. The damned stuff was too long. I took a pair of scissors and was about to do a quickie cut, and stopped.

They’d see the hair in my apartment; no matter how hard I tried to get it all in the clean up, I’d miss some. Then they’d know I cut it. I tapped the scissors on the bathroom sink for a minute, thinking. My old Beetle was in the garage. Still in running order. Nobody knew it and I could use it to get away for a little while until I could sort things out.

So I tossed the scissors on the counter, grabbed my ATM card and the money I had in the apartment - around $500 - and then stopped again. My ATM card would be like a tap on the cops’ shoulder. So only the cash. I tossed the card on my dresser. Just the cash and my phone. And I had to keep my phone off to preserve the battery.

Like a caveman.

A wry smile was better than no smile at all. Enough money in the bank to live comfortably for years and I couldn’t access it. One of the best phones on the market and I couldn’t turn it on.

I took the stairs back to the basement. My new Beetle was blocking in the old girl. The police would probably have broadcast the make, model and tag number. I couldn’t even drive my new car.

I moved the cars around, an exercise in vehicular ballet, and sat behind the wheel of my old VW Beetle.

The car park exit was on the south side of the building, exiting on S. Venice. The opposite side of the building. I should be clear. I plugged my phone into the cig charger and pulled up to the security keypad. I entered the six-digit code, but before I touched the “enter” key the door started to raise. I threw the Beetle into reverse and backed up as a pair of cops walked in. Shit.

One of them recognized me through the car window, placed his hand on his holster and started running toward me. ‘Miss Bourke. Stop the car and keep your hands where we can see them.’

As if.

I looked over my shoulder, backing though the maze of pathways in the garage, the young cops keeping pretty close. I drew them well into the garage before shifting to first gear and flooring it. ‘Sorry boys.’ I hope they were quick on their feet. They split, one of them diving to the floor. ‘Not necessary, buddy. I was nowhere near you.’

I glanced in the rear view mirror. The one on the ground had drawn his gun. Doubt he would use it, but it wasn’t worth the risk. I shifted into second, yanked the car around a corner and made a beeline for the garage door.

There were no shots. I bounced on to S. Venice and headed inland. My plan of taking off in the Beetle was shot. The description and license plate would be on every cop’s dashboard computer within five minutes. In addition to the money I couldn’t access and the phone I couldn’t turn on I had a car I couldn’t drive. Two cars I couldn’t drive. Happy days.

I had to get rid of the old girl quick, before it was seen. The last thing I wanted was a high speed chase. Not in this car. I might be able to outrun cops on foot, but not their cars. A couple of blocks down the road, sirens in the distance, I saw the perfect spot. The Venice Farmers Market had a huge tree-lined parking lot. The gate was closed, but there were gaps between the trees wide enough to accommodate my little car.

I carefully navigated the curb, wincing at the scraping noises that didn’t sound good at all. I turned off the headlights and navigated by the full moon. A nice dark corner, far from the adjacent roads, became its home. I locked her up, gave her a gentle pat on the hood and slipped between the trees.

I was tired and I had nowhere to go for the night. I looked at my phone. I couldn’t call Cathy. She wasn’t back yet and besides, I didn’t want to get her involved with this. And my luck I’d be located just by turning it on. I wasn’t sure how that worked.

There was a cheap hotel about a mile up the beach. Far enough from home nobody would know me. With my face on half the billboards in town I still had the risk that
someone
might recognize me. I had to get rid of the hair. A pair of sunglasses, scissors and an Angels ball cap at a 7-11 would have to do the trick.

I walked a few feet down a walkway by the canal, took a deep breath and started butchering the hair that had made me the poster girl for
Blood Thunder
. It was a crude job. I didn’t care at that point. Each fistful of hair I removed went into the canal. I cut it short enough so the ball cap would completely cover it. I could make it presentable in the motel.

I had to waste a fifty over the room charge to get in. I had no identification and the kid was a little bit of a stickler for the rules. Very little bit, since the fifty shut him up.

The TV was on, the news playing in the background while I attempted to fix my hair. It was a never-ending battle of attrition. By the time I was finished I looked like a tall, flat-chested Anne Heche.

It had been a long day. The shower was refreshing. And toweling my now short hair, I wondered why I didn’t cut it earlier.

Probably because I wasn’t running from the police earlier.

I dropped on the bed and turned up the volume on the news channel. My face was on the screen. The talking head was in mid-sentence:

“
- bizarre twist in the Bart Sweeney acquittal, suicide and then murder case. Sources inside the police department who wish to remain unnamed are telling us the case against actress Ellie Bourke, former lover turned accuser, has become very strong. Evidence at the scene, as well as her actions when approached by the authorities, put her at the top of the list of suspects. If you see her please do not approach her. Call your local police authorities or 9-1-1 immediately. She is considered dangerous.”

Fuck.

I turned off the TV. This was probably on every channel. The kid downstairs, odds on, just saw this also. Staying here would be worse than stupid. And I was just digging myself a deeper hole.

I stuck my nose out the door to the walkway along the second floor of the motel. Quiet still. I grabbed my jacket, made sure I had my phone and slipped down the stairs. I jogged past the office and saw the kid from the front desk talking on the phone. He saw me and started talking more animatedly.

Double fuck.

I hopped across the street, hat pulled down on my head and headed as far from the motel as possible. It was midnight, I was wanted and had nowhere to stay. The news report made it sound like the street was crawling with cops looking for me.