Peepshow (16 page)

‘Won’t I? Seven witnesses, all of them police officers.’

‘It’ll get thrown out of court.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘These amendments are relatively new and the government wants to show they’re not all talk when it comes to the tough new laws. There’ll be lots of publicity, the media loves this stuff.’

‘Look,’ I said, trying to reason with him, ‘what’s this all about?’

Farquhar’s eyes narrowed and his avuncular bad guy act vanished. He leapt out of his chair so suddenly it tipped over and was at my side with a speed that belied his size. Face pink with fury he hauled me out of my chair and slammed me into the wall so my head went thwack and things became brown around the edges. He raised his fist and I squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation of the blow. Instead he punched the wall so hard it shook. He was close and I smelled fried chicken and underneath that a rotten smell like tooth decay. Sweat beaded on his forehead and the open pores of his nose.

His breathing was rattly and deep.

‘What’s all this about?’ he bellowed. ‘What’s all this about, you stupid cunt?’

I turned my face away from his fury and the specks of spittle flying in my direction but he grabbed my jaw, turned it back and spoke through clenched teeth. ‘It’s about you trying to fuck with me, following me around with your brand new inquiry agent’s license, taking me for a mug. You’re playing a very dangerous game, Simone. Who are you fucking working for?’

‘No one,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

He slapped my face with a meaty palm and brought tears to my eyes. ‘Don’t bullshit me.’ His hand was clamped on my upper arm, fingernails digging in.

‘I’m investigating Frank Parisi’s murder,’ the words came out in a rush. ‘It’s for a girlfriend of mine, she’s in trouble because people think she had something to do with it and I’m trying to prove she didn’t.’

‘And you reckon you’re going to pin that fucking wog’s murder on me?’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing worse than a stripper thinks she’s got a brain. You’ve got no idea who you’re messing with, do you? People have disappeared for less.’ He cocked his hand like a gun, stuck it between my eyes and laughed. ‘But then I thought, shame to waste such a nice piece of arse. If you were more of a dog, who can say?’

Farquhar let go of me and stalked back to his chair, sat down and dunked some more fries.

‘Siddown,’ he ordered, and I did. ‘This conviction can ruin your life, I’ll make sure of it. I’ll be pushing for jail time and you can kiss your license goodbye as well as any other job worth having. However, if you want to make it up to me,’ at this he smiled, ‘I can make it go away. In fact I’ve got something coming up you can help me with. You want to be a good girl? Help me out? Make it go away?’

I wanted to kill him but I nodded instead. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Nothing yet, I’ll tell you when the time comes.

Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. So don’t go leaving town or crying to any other coppers ’cause I guarantee it’ll get back to me. I wasn’t even here tonight, darling, I was investigating a case in Geelong, so . . .’ He gathered up the KFC detritus, placed it in the bag and swept crumbs off the table. ‘I’ve got your number and address. I’ll be in touch.’

He let himself out the door and I began to breathe.

Five minutes later Sorenson uncuffed me, handed me my stuff and told me I was free to go.

I knew something was wrong as soon as I let myself into the flat. It was dark although I’d left a lamp on when I went out. I switched on the overhead light and looked around, couldn’t see anything out of place. The newspaper was still on the dining table where I’d left it, next to a bowl containing the remains of a tuna salad, but something didn’t feel right.

I crept into my bedroom and switched on the light.

The noticeboard was gone.

I felt violated and angry. Someone had been in my space.

My first instinct was to call Alex’s mobile and it went to voicemail.

‘Thanks for sicking Farquhar onto me, you lying scumbag piece of shit. Was it you or him who broke into my flat?’

Kelvin was beside himself with worry and apologised profusely when I called to let him know I was all right. I assured him it wasn’t his fault, I was fine and no charges were going to be laid.

When I got on to Mick he was home at Betty’s and it sounded like another party was going on. I wondered if the blond tart with the tattoos was there. Meow.

‘You took your time,’ he said.

‘I got arrested.’ Now I started blubbering. What a baby. ‘I’ll be straight over.’

‘You don’t have to—’ He’d already hung up.

I jumped in the shower, washing my hair and scrubbing myself to get the stench of Farquhar and fried chicken out of my pores. I slathered on mango body butter and slipped into grey tracksuit pants and a pale blue singlet. My hair was wet and I didn’t bother with makeup. If Mick didn’t like it, tough.

He arrived a few minutes later with a six-pack of beer and a bottle of wine.

‘How you doing?’ He touched my shoulder.

I sniffed. ‘OK, considering.’

He went to the kitchen and opened the wine and ripped a beer off the sixer for himself.

‘What’s going on?’ He looked concerned, not like an arrogant guitar player at all.

I had no idea if my flat was bugged so I suggested we go for a walk. I took him down Broadway towards Glenhuntly Road and turned left at the Elwood canal.

We found a bench and sat down beside the oily black water, crickets chirruping and bats flying overhead. Mick drank a beer and I swigged wine straight from the bottle.

He rolled a cigarette, gave it to me, then started one up for himself.

‘I lied when I said I didn’t do anything apart from strip,’ I said, and told him everything. Sal kidnapping Chloe, going undercover at the Red, following Farquhar and Alex to an illegal brothel, and my arrest.

Mick didn’t say anything, just sat there and smoked.

I had expected more of a reaction.

‘You’re not surprised I’m a private investigator?’

I asked.

‘I knew there was something different about you, and not much surprises me anymore.’ He put out his cigarette. ‘What’s the favour this Farquhar character wants you to do?’

‘I don’t know yet. He’s going to contact me. He has a history of setting up his colleagues and filming them with hookers and drugs.’

‘Nice. Do you think Farquhar killed Frank?’

‘I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he was demanding protection money so the club never got raided.’ I shrugged. ‘I’m just guessing.’

‘Are you going to go to the cops?’

I shook my head. ‘Sal reckons he’ll kill Chloe if I contact the police and the last time a girl tried to dob in Farquhar she ended up dead of a suspicious heroin overdose.’

We walked back to my place, and in the interior stairwell Mick said, ‘Want me to sort them out?’

‘For god’s sake,’ I whispered, ‘thanks for the offer but one’s a cocaine kingpin and the other one’s the police. They have guns. It’s my problem. I never should have laid this shit on you.’

Inside my flat I put on a Cowboy Junkies CD and Mick turned to me: ‘It’s my problem now too.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘There’s something going on between us,’ he said.

‘Don’t tell me you don’t feel it.’ He took my hand and put his lips on my wrist and sparks shot up and down my veins.

‘Do you use that line with all the girls?’ The words almost stuck in my throat. He shook his head and traced my lips with his fingertips and the fluttering in my belly became unbearable. He pushed two fingers into my mouth and I sucked on them, my blood on fire. We were standing in the middle of the lounge room and his hands were twined in my hair pulling my mouth onto his. He tilted my head back and sucked and bit my neck. My knickers were soaked and I felt him hard beneath his jeans.

Mick picked me up and carried me to the dining table, sitting me down and sweeping the newspapers and other crap onto the floor.

‘Mick,’ I whispered, ‘someone might be watching the flat.’

‘Then they’re going to get a good show,’ he said, laying me back and taking off his shirt. I stared at his tattoos and his muscles, finely honed from years of physical work. My eyes trailed down his flat stomach to the line of hair that disappeared into his jeans, to the bulge in those jeans. He slid my top over my head and dragged my trackie daks and sodden underwear off.

When he leaned over to kiss me his brass belt buckle was cold against my stomach.

He whispered in my ear, ‘You are so fucking beautiful,’ then kneeled down in front of me, opened my legs and put his mouth on my pussy. He knew exactly what he was doing and he slid two fingers inside as he licked me. I tried to pull him up to fuck me but he didn’t stop until I came. I lay there, legs shaking, breath ragged, and watched him unbuckle his jeans and then he leaned over me, holding my wrists above my head and looking into my eyes. When he finally pushed his cock inside me it felt enormous, hard as steel, and my mind and body were white light, white heat.

The next day we drove to Portsea and got a room at the pub. I’d called the Red and told them I was violently ill.

Jim wasn’t happy but what could he do? I had to get away, get my head together, and I didn’t think the Mornington Peninsula counted as leaving town. Besides, there was sex to be had.

We holed up in the room and fucked on the bed, the floor, the dresser, the shower, in front of the mirror.

I couldn’t get enough of him and the more I got the more I wanted. Mick seemed to feel the same way. In between we drank and smoked cigarettes and talked, the intimate, heads together, endlessly fascinated talk of new lovers. Mick was gradually explaining the meaning of his tattoos. A clock without hands represented his time in prison, a jaguar was for a friend who’d died in a mining accident and a guitar for the first time he’d played on a stage. A flaming crown of thorns stood for his Catholic upbringing and a Medusa-like figure on his right shoulder blade symbolised strength.

We emerged at dusk, sore and hungry, and wolfed down steaks from the bistro at an outdoor table overlooking the darkening waters of the bay. A cover band started up and we watched it, drinking whisky and kissing until the bar manager told us we’d better leave.

We stayed Friday and Saturday night. Mick had to be in Melbourne for a show at the St Kilda Inn Sunday and I had to get back too. Guilt about Chloe was seeping in.

I knew I’d been escaping the whole situation, drowning it out in sex and booze and infatuation. I had to get my shit together, put my plan back into action.

Mick dropped me off at my flat and asked if I wanted him to stay with me but I said no. I needed Sal to contact me and I didn’t think that would happen with Mick around. We arranged to meet at the pub at seven, before the show.

I slept for a couple of hours then got up and had a strong coffee and put on a black dress with small red roses and a push up bra. I was waiting at the bus stop for the 600 when a familiar black sedan pulled up. I stuck my thumb out and Sal opened the back door.

‘Boy am I glad to see you,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t give me a lift to the corner of Barkly and Grey, could you?’

Sal smiled. ‘Certainly. Did you enjoy Portsea?’

‘Didn’t see much outside my hotel room,’ I said.

‘I’m aware of that. Do you have any information for me?’

‘I know who the killer is,’ I said.

‘Who?’ Sal leaned forward.

‘Let me talk to Chloe first.’

Sal got out his phone.

‘Chloe?’

‘Maaate!’

‘How are you?’

‘Not bad. Blue’s massaging my feet. He’s quite good at it. When are you going to get me out of here?’

‘Soon, I’ve found the killer.’

‘Who?’

‘Tell you later.’

‘I can’t wait to see you. I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed. And I’m so bored. We watched every fucking action movie ever made so I decided it was time to educate Blue about classic movies so I got him to get
Beaches
, you know?’

Chloe’s taste in flicks was terrible.

‘And he really loved it. He was crying at the end.’

I heard Blue say, ‘No I didn’t,’ and ‘No I wasn’t.’

‘And we’ve also hired out
Titanic
,
Speed Two
,
Dead
Calm
—’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘Can you hang on a minute?’

‘Sure.’

Chloe was silent and I strained for some clue as to her whereabouts. Sal realised I was up to no good and hung up the phone.

‘Who’s the killer?’

‘Detective Senior Sergeant Richard Farquhar,’ I said.

‘They argued before Frank was killed.’

Sal nodded slowly. ‘Proof?’

‘Not yet but I’ll have it by Thursday. More proof than you’ll ever need.’ It was an outrageous bluff but I said it with such confidence Sal seemed to believe me.

‘Good,’ he said, a little surprised, and let me out at the pub. I went straight in to the bar in the middle and watched Mick set up on stage. He wore the black cowboy shirt and his hair fell over his face as he bent to tune his guitar. The drummer said something and Mick tipped back his head and laughed. Golden stage light illuminated his face and I squeezed my thighs together and felt short of breath. Control yourself, girl. What’s the female version of pussy-whipped—cock-thrashed?

‘You and Mick, hey?’ Betty propped herself up at the bar next to me. Her eyes were glazed and she swayed slightly.

‘Yeah, me and Mick.’

She took a Lucky Strike out of her bowling bag and tried to light it with a box of matches. She couldn’t get the matches lit and they kept falling to the floor. I took the box and struck one up for her. She blew smoke in my face.

‘So how are you doing?’ I asked carefully.

‘Fucking great,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been to sleep for three days and I’m not even tired.’

‘Is Aurora coming tonight?’

‘How the fuck should I know? I’m not her mother.’

Betty laughed crazily, sat on a barstool, and put her handbag on her lap. She rummaged through until she found a tiny plastic bag of white powder, scooped some out with her fingernail and snorted. I looked around, paranoid. Betty sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then spotted a friend across the bar. She slid off the stool and tottered over. I was relieved.