Grand Slam (18 page)

Monday. The start of the Australian Open tennis tournament. Emilio's first match was tomorrow, in the afternoon. I needed to find the amulet. I needed to break into Mrs Booth's house, but when? While the police were supposedly hunting for the perpetrators of the lunch heist, they presumably weren't concerned about the amulet, and that was a good thing. I didn't want them to find a fake lucky charm. But how could I find the real one and do all the other things I needed to do, including being at Emilio's beck and call? I did need to go to the tennis though. Quite apart from Emilio's demands, my job required that I be there. Tennis Oz would expect to see me. But, problem: what to do with Charlotte? Rosalind fixed that.

‘I want you to take Charlotte to the tennis. Show her what you know about sponsorship.'

‘It's a bit soon to teach her that stuff, isn't it?'

Rosalind gave me one of her I-can't-believe-you're-questioning-my-direct-order looks and as I backed out of her office, she said, looking at the work on her desk, ‘I hope you're close to finding that lucky charm. God help you if you don't.'

God help me this, God help me that. I wish God would just get on with it and help me. When I got back to my desk, Charlotte was holding out my desk phone. With a small smile she mouthed, ‘It's the tennis people.'

‘Thanks.' But before I took the call, ‘You didn't happen to bring a sunhat by any chance?'

She shook her head.

I spoke into the phone, ‘Erica Jewell speaking.'

It was Desi, my contact at Tennis Oz, who didn't bother with any how-are-yous. ‘You need to get here. We've got a situation,' she said. And hung up.

I looked at the phone, then at Charlotte. ‘Do you have sunscreen?'

As we crossed the river and approached Rod Laver arena, I could see the ‘situation'. My heart sank. A small group of protesters – about eight people – stood on the corner of Swan Street and Batman Avenue, holding placards with all kinds of awful, badly spelled messages about how horrible and unethical Dega Oil was and, by association, Emilio Méndez. I drove slowly by, parked illegally and called Rosalind.

‘You'll just have to fix it.' She hung up.

Perfect. Maybe I could send Charlotte to fix it. She could beg them to go away or invite them all to my mother's for a game of bridge.

I drove into the Rod Laver Arena players' and officials' parking area. Teresa was waiting by the entrance for me. I wondered what she'd told the police about the disappearing limo driver.

Charlotte and I got out of the car. Teresa spotted me and headed my way, frowning at Charlotte.

I introduced them. ‘Charlotte works with me.'

Teresa walked away, expecting us to follow.

I said, ‘Any news on that limo driver?'

Teresa was apparently deaf. She walked on without response. I stopped, touching Charlotte on the arm to indicate she should also stop.

Teresa said, ‘Please come this way.'

‘I have to see the tennis people first.'

‘About the protesters?'

Shit, she knew. ‘Yeah.'

‘I hope you can do something about them. Emilio will not wear your logo.'

‘What? But he has to!'

She looked at me as though I was crazy and said, ‘Hurry back to us. There is something else.'

Teresa said she'd meet me in the players' café. I indicated for Charlotte to follow Teresa while I made my way to the Tennis Oz office.

‘You're causing us a giant headache, Erica,' said Desi. ‘The lunch heist was bad enough and now this.' She waved her hand out the window of her office.

‘The heist wasn't our fault.'

‘Indirectly it was. Dega is Emilio's sponsor and it was Emilio's event.'

‘But . . .'

‘I'll tell you what the protesters want, and we can talk about what to do.'

I walked, my head full of worry, to the players' café, thinking about what Desi had told me. What the protesters wanted was Emilio Méndez off the tournament. As if. And it was certainly not a solution Tennis Oz would consider. Emilio was a huge drawcard.

The players' café was buzzing, not so much with people as with a vibe. The Australian Open tennis is such a big deal in Melbourne and people come from all over the world to watch it. I found Charlotte, sitting by the window, and joined her. There were a few other familiar faces there, incluing Vladimir Vavilov with his coach. Vlad was still looking sad or angry or something. Maybe he just always looked like that. Maybe he was nervous about his first match, which was today. Not that he had much to worry about because he was number one, and he was probably facing some poor no-seed.

‘I'm having coffee,' I said to Charlotte. ‘You want one?'

‘But we've already had one coffee today.'

‘Well, I need something, and it's too early for whiskey.'

She blinked at me.

‘Just kidding. Coffee?'

She nodded. ‘All right.'

I returned with our drinks but before I sat, I saw Teresa at the doorway across the room. She held up a hand, waving for me to come. I told Charlotte to wait. Teresa and Emilio were in the corridor. They were arguing quietly – hands waving.

Teresa said to me, ‘We must not call the police.'

‘What about?'

‘This peoples,' said Emilio. ‘They cannot get away with it!'

‘The protestors?'

Teresa pushed a folded note into my hand and I opened it. In rough newspaper cutouts it read: DEGA = D
EAD
E
MILIO
G
AME
O
VER
.

I almost laughed. ‘They made a mistake.'

Teresa said, ‘What is mistake?'

I pointed. ‘The acronym doesn't work. See? The last word should have started with A.'

Emilio said, ‘You see, Mother Teresa?
Es estupido
. The police will find them and put them in jail for stupidness.'

Teresa said, ‘This is important, this mistake?'

‘No, not important. Why won't you tell the police?'

‘Emilio does not want this attention. With the loss of his
amuleto
it is difficult enough for him to concentrate on his game without the fuss of police making questions.'

Emilio said, ‘Because, remember Emily, you lost
mi amuleto
. That makes it so much harder for me.'

‘Anyway, I think we need to take this note seriously.' I gave it a flick with my fingers. ‘Where did you find it?'

‘It was left at the reception desk of the hotel.'

Which meant whoever left it knew where Emilio was staying. Not that this was a clue – Emilio's hotel was no secret as they, too, were sponsors of the tennis. But this was certainly a problem.

I addressed Emilio. ‘You remember Jack?'

‘Your friend with the beautiful blond girlfriend?'

‘That's the one,' I said through clenched teeth. ‘He's kind of a . . . security guy. And he's got friends in the police force. He could do something quietly. Do you want me to call him?'

Teresa said to Emilio, ‘I do not think we need a private investi­gation, my darling.'

I kept my eyes on Emilio. For some reason I wanted him to trust me, not her. ‘I think you do, Teresa.'

‘I am concerned for Emilio's attention to his game.'

Emilio held my gaze. ‘
Si
, Emily. I think that would be an acceptable option.'

Jack answered straightaway. ‘Hey.'

‘I've got a problem.'

‘I've been trying to tell you that. His name's Emilio Méndez.'

‘Well, it's gotten bigger.'

‘How?'

I told him about the environmental protesters and the threatening note.

‘Are you thinking the protesters had something to do with the note?'

‘Maybe. They say they want Emilio off the tournament.'

‘How many protesters?'

‘Seven or eight.'

‘Interesting.'

‘Why?'

‘A serious protest by environmentalists would attract thousands.'

‘What are you saying?'

‘I'll handle the protesters.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘Don't worry about it.'

‘What will you do?'

‘Has Emilio had any other direct threat? Apart from the lunch heist and train incident.'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Tell him we'll meet this afternoon.'

We hung up and I wondered what Jack planned to do with the protesters. A part of what Jack's secret Team does involves sneaking around at night and dealing with bad people in a way that ensures the bad people never get a chance to do what they'd planned to do, maybe like blowing up something that involves lots of innocent lives. Surely Jack wouldn't just go and, you know, ‘deal with' those protesters?

I found Emilio and Teresa in the players' café, sitting at a table near Charlotte, who was staring at Emilio. I told Emilio that Jack would come to see them this afternoon, that they could trust him, and that he would fix everything. I didn't know if he
could
fix everything, but Teresa still looked worried.

Emilio stood. ‘And now we must eat!'

I indicated for Charlotte to join us, and she was by my side in a flash, gazing at Emilio, smiling hungrily.

‘Who is this?' said Emilio.

‘This is Charlotte. She works with me.'

Emilio went to kiss her and I hoped it would be on the cheek, but Charlotte threw an arm around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

I gasped, ‘Charlotte!'

Emilio laughed. ‘I wish you were so passionate with me, Emily.'

Charlotte looked for all the world like a love-sick puppy.

Emilio looked at her, amused, as though she
were
just a puppy. ‘She will watch the tennis, yes?'

‘Er, yes. Wherever I am, Charlotte will be with me.'

He gave me a horrified look. ‘
All
the time?'

‘Between nine and five, yes.'

Teresa said something in Spanish.

‘We must eat!' Emilio said and sent Teresa to fetch food for us all.

I hadn't wanted to be at the meeting between Jack and Emilio but they both insisted. Jack said
he
might carry out the death threat if I wasn't there to act as a buffer (Emilio wasn't that annoying was he?), and Emilio just because he wanted me to be wherever he was. The meeting was to take place in Emilio's hotel suite with Teresa there too. Emilio had given Charlotte two tickets for Vavilov's match, which she was now enjoying with whomever she found to go with her at the last minute.

And something else happened. The limousine company contacted us to say they had the runaway driver and they wanted him to meet us, explain why he'd abandoned us on the train line. The limo company said it was up to us if he still had a job.

I called Jack and told him.

‘Tell them I want the driver in Emilio's room when I get there.'

‘What will you do?'

‘Talk to him.'

‘You won't be mean to him, will you?'

‘Erica, the guy left you on a train line with a train coming. You could've been killed.'

‘So you're saying you
are
going to be mean to him.'

I heard his sigh. ‘You need to know something about this limousine company.'

‘What?'

‘It's owned by mafia. Russian mafia.'

I didn't say anything for a minute. What did that mean? ‘You think Teresa knew that when she booked the driver?'

‘I don't know. It's a legitimate business, but I happen to know who owns it, and it might have something to do with what happened to you.'

‘More Russians.'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘Any thoughts?'

‘Yes, but just so you know, Vavilov's team is helping the police with their enquiries.'

‘Enquiries about . . .'

‘All the shit that keeps happening to you.'

‘Right. Vavilov is Russian.'

‘That's right.'

‘And I suppose Russian people want him to win.'

‘I suppose.'

‘So you think maybe Vavilov's mates are trying to get Emilio off the tournament.'

‘I don't know. But I've got a list of favourite theories and it's right up there.'

Emilio, Teresa and I waited in Emilio's hotel suite. The limousine driver — the Danny de Vito lookalike — was there too, sitting on the edge of a chair, fidgeting, checking the time, watching the door. I thought about the movie
Romancing the Stone
. Danny de Vito was a baddie in that, but a funny one. The driver hadn't said much but I noticed he did have an accent, and I assumed it was Russian.

Emilio yabbered Spanish into his phone, Teresa was at the dining table reading her romance novel, and I paced by the window: back and forth, back and forth like a caged lion, chewing my nails. Not that lions chew their nails. Maybe they do. But my anxiety had nothing to do with death threats and protesters, not even about the driver, and everything to do with the meeting that was about to take place. Actually, not the meeting per se, but more about Jack and Emilio being in the same room, Emilio with romance on his mind, Jack with murder.

There were two sharp raps on the door.

‘I'll get it.' I ran to open the door. And caught my breath. Wearing a super-serious tough-guy face was Jack, sexiest man on the planet in perfect-fitting jeans and a plain white, untucked shirt with sleeves rolled up, unruly hair, perfect body, perfect face, etc., etc. And Joe, a fraction shorter than Jack but still about six foot three, brick shithouse, army hair, Ray-Bans, black tee with army camouflage pants and full-sleeve tattoo on the right arm, barbed-wire tattoo on the other, circling his massive bicep. My boys.

Someone else stepped up behind them, having been delayed perhaps by the weight of her boots. Sharon Stone was wearing a tight black sleeveless leather bodysuit. She carried a full-faced black motorbike helmet under her arm and a leather jacket (black) was slung over her shoulder.

‘Hey,' she said.

It took me a full five seconds to stop gawping at her. ‘Hi.'

I turned and they followed me into the room. Before I could make any introductions, Jack approached the driver, fisted his shirt and lifted him off the chair so his feet were swinging. Teresa and Emilio both shouted, I let out a squeal and Joe and Sharon flanked Jack.

The driver clung to Jack's wrists, yelling in Russian.

‘Who ordered the hit?'

‘No hit! There is no hit!'

Jack shook him.

‘I scared! I so scared!'

Jack dropped the driver, who fell back on the sofa. He talked rapidly in Russian, wiped his hands over his face. Jack gave him a smack across the head.

The driver's hands were up. ‘Okay, okay. The limousine stop. It not go. I so scared and I run.'

‘Why were you scared?'

The driver pointed at Emilio. ‘Much trouble for me.'

I said, ‘You locked us in!'

‘No! No, I not. The door, it no open inside. I run.'

‘You had time to open the door for us.'

‘No time. You busy in back.'

The blush started at my toes and flooded my body. I avoided looking at Jack, and mumbled, ‘I think you're just a big coward.'

‘
Da
.' He nodded.

Jack had been watching me, letting me have my say, and he was now probably contemplating the ‘you busy in back' comment. Emilio and Teresa sat at the dining table, wide-eyed and silenced by Jack's brutish interrogation methods.

‘And now I have to decide what to do with you,' Jack said.

‘I know about men at heist. Men with guns.'

‘The charity lunch?'

‘
Da
.' He nodded. ‘They no Russian. They pretend Russian.'

Jack, Joe and Sharon glanced at each other.

‘How do you know?' asked Jack.

‘I watch the television. I hear. They pretend Russian but they no Russian.'

‘Where are they from?'

He shrugged.

‘What about it?'

The driver shrugged again. ‘I help so you know I am not bad person.'

We all watched the door close after the driver. I said to Jack, ‘Do you believe him?'

‘We'll see.'

He turned his attention to Teresa, no friendlier than he'd been with the driver. ‘Why did you book that limousine company?'

Teresa opened her mouth and closed it again. ‘I think . . . it is one of the recommended companies for the players.'

‘No, it's not.' Jack pinned her with his glare.

She shrugged. ‘Then, I cannot remember where I got the name.'

‘
Conveniente
.'

Open-mouthed and infuriated, Teresa turned to Emilio.‘
Estas personas se atreven —
' she spat.

Emilio stood, smiling broadly. ‘Teresa has told the police the information.' He walked quickly across the room. ‘Come now, let us be friends!' He caught Jack, Joe and Sharon in a group hug. An embrace Jack quickly removed himself from but poor Joe seemed frozen with shock. Only his expression – what I could see of it under the glasses – changed very slightly. Sharon hugged back.

Emilio chatted nonsensibly, hands waving. Jack didn't say much. He stood very tall and aloof, chin high, regarding Emilio down the length of his perfect, straight nose. Mr Cool. He was taller than Emilio, probably by four inches. Joe and Sharon checked out the room, walking slowly around it, lifting things and inspecting under them.

‘This room been checked for devices?' Joe asked me.

I shrugged.

Jack said, ‘Let's get on with it,' and indicated the dining table.

Teresa rang for tea and coffee. Her hand shook as she held the phone. I didn't believe she'd have anything to do with the threats against Emilio. She adored him like a son.

Joe and Sharon stood like sentries on either side of the dining table. They looked like secret service people or something, all serious and scary. Was it deliberate, I wondered, that they looked so intimidating? Probably.

I tried to sit at the end of the table – away from everyone – but Emilio wanted me next to him, with Teresa on his other side. Jack sat opposite. Sharon was behind Emilio. Joe stood behind Jack. Emilio put an arm along the back of my chair and I jumped up.

‘Goodness! Is it hot in here?' I looked for a way to open the windows.

‘They do not open,
querida
. Come. Sit.' Emilio patted the chair next to him.

I glanced at Jack. His eyes were on me, serious. But I knew those telltale eyes, and part of him was enjoying watching me squirm.

‘Please,' said Emilio to Jack with a wave of his hand. ‘Tell me what you need.'

‘Show me the note you received. The threat.'

Emilio pushed the note across the table. Jack read it – I could see from the look on his face, the slight twitch of his mouth, that he saw the mistake in it – and Emilio leaned toward me so our shoulders were touching.

I jumped up again. ‘I think that was room service at the door.'

‘No, it is not,' said Teresa. ‘I will answer when they come.'

I sat. Emilio shuffled his chair closer so he didn't have to lean to touch me. He addressed Jack. ‘Please, continue.'

I couldn't look at Joe. I was worried he'd pull a gun on Emilio and shoot him, right there and then. The whole business was making me sweat and fidget. I shuffled around on the chair.

‘What is wrong, Emilita?'

‘Um, I've got a sore back.' I stood. ‘I'll just stand for a while.'

Emilio took my hand, tugged it. ‘Here, sit on my knee and I will rub your back.'

I snatched my hand away. ‘It's fine. Really.' I moved away.

‘Why don't you lie on my bed? I will give you a massage later.'

I gave a high-pitched hysterical-sounding laugh, stepping side­ways so fast I nearly fell over. ‘No, I don't need a massage!'

Jack cleared his throat.

‘Actually, I feel a bit faint. I think I'll just go lie down over there.' I pointed at the sofa.

Emilio stood, taking my elbow, supporting me. ‘But no! My Emily is unwell? Come. You will lie on my bed. I think you must be very frightened and worried about me.'

Jack's face was in his hands. I tried to move away from Emilio.

Jack looked up at me. ‘Will you be all right, Emily?'

‘I'll be fine. Thanks for asking. I'll just go over here.' I shuffled away from the table. ‘Don't mind me. Carry on with the meeting.'

I flopped onto the sofa with relief, and threw an arm across my forehead. Actually, it felt pretty good to lie down. I gave a big sigh, and closed my eyes.

I was woken by a gentle shaking and soft calling, ‘Emily . . . Emilita . . . it is I, Emilio. Wake now. Come. We must return to the tennis.'

I opened my eyes. Emilio was sitting next to me on the sofa. He leaned in and lightly kissed my lips.

‘Oh!' I scrambled back, as far as I could go, glancing around the room, looking for Jack. Had he seen that? Emilio kissing me? Where was everyone?

‘Are you well now? You were sleeping. There was a little bit of snoring.' He stroked my face. ‘
Usted es tan irresistible
! I cannot wait until the tournament is finished, and we can finally —'