Peepshow (24 page)

Chloe turned up at two-thirty wearing cut-off denim shorts and carrying plastic shopping bags full of munchies and cheap champagne. I asked how the filming had gone the day before.

‘It was so much fun.’ She sat on the lounge and put the bags down with a clink. ‘We did a re-enactment on a boat down at the marina, an interview at the studio and then got some footage of me dancing at the Red. The sound guy sat in as a lap dance customer.’

‘Jim didn’t mind?’ I asked.

‘Are you kidding? Free advertising. After the shoot me and the crew went to the pub. Man those guys can put away some piss.’

I didn’t ask what happened after the pub had closed.

‘So you’ll be infamous by Monday night.’

‘Yep.’ She pulled out a tiny plastic bag. ‘Bit of Louie before we go?’ Speed.

‘Nah. I’m starting with Torcasio next week. Better stay on the right side of the law.’

‘Suit yourself. Get hideously pissed. Throw up. I’ll be too busy talking some poor bastard into a corner to hold your hair off your face.’ Chloe went into the kitchen and poured Coca-Cola into a glass. She grabbed a teaspoon, scooped some speed out of the bag and stirred it into the drink, then licked the spoon and drank the coke in one go.

‘More lamb for me then.’ I took a lunchbox and a wooden salad bowl out of the fridge. The lamb cutlets were marinating in a mixture of Dijon mustard and chopped rosemary and the salad was Greek with Dodoni feta, kalamata olives and a sprinkle of fresh oregano.

Chloe had a party pack of Twisties, a jumbo box of Chicken-in-a-Biscuit and a quarter ounce of weed.

We caught a taxi to Prahran. The speed was kicking in and Chloe wiggled around in her seat, asking the driver if she could smoke and he could turn up the music.

I watched Punt Road slide by, feeling nervous inside.

I had to see Mick again, not to mention a whole bunch of people I’d lied to and deceived. And I wanted to find out about the tattoo, but couldn’t think of a way to bring it up without sounding like a jealous bitch.

The front door was open and we trekked through to the large back yard. Girls from the club and members of the band sat in the sun, drinking and listening to James Brown from speakers facing out the back door. Some had come with children and partners and the kids ran around in circles, screaming, just like at any normal suburban barbecue. Well what had I expected? It was just weird seeing everyone in the daylight, unnatural almost.

I did a quick scan and couldn’t spot Mick. His Ute hadn’t been out the front—maybe he’d already gone back to New South Wales.

Aurora and Betty stood by the barbie. It was a big Beefmeister, old and weathered with a rusted plate and rotted wood. The laminex kitchen table was full of salads and supermarket packets of sausages and chops.

Aurora waved us over.

‘We brought food.’ I held up my bowl.

‘Simone brought food, I brought Chicken-in-a-Biscuit,’ said Chloe. We put our stuff down on the table and Aurora kissed us and thanked us for coming. She handed us plastic cups filled with champagne.

I studied Betty from behind my sunnies. She wore fifties film star sunglasses, red with diamantes at the sides, and a rose printed halterneck dress with a full skirt. She looked thin and pale but otherwise all right. No blood streaming from her nasal passages, no convulsing on the ground.

Betty smiled. ‘If it isn’t the Agatha Christie of the stripping scene.’

She may have been insulting me but I decided to take it as a compliment.

‘I love your dress,’ I said. It was true.

‘A friend of mine got it for me from a vintage clothing store in LA.’

Well well. We were actually having a normal conversation. The day was looking up. If I could get on with Betty then everyone else was a cinch.

Chloe held up her clinking plastic bag. ‘Where can I stick these bottles?’

‘The fridge is pretty full,’ said Aurora, ‘but Johnny and Mick will be back soon with some ice.’ She looked at me when she mentioned Mick’s name and I kept my face neutral and pretended to be interested in the overgrown pumpkin patch by the back fence.

‘Well,’ said Betty, ‘I’ve had enough of being straight.

Who’s for a line?’

Aurora shook her head. ‘Later.’

‘No thanks,’ I said.

Chloe smiled. ‘Why the fuck not. I’ve got some Lou and some smoke.’ They linked arms.

‘Speed is such a gutter drug,’ said Betty as they headed towards the house.

‘Well la-di-fucking-da. You don’t have to have any.’

My cup was empty so I grabbed one of Chloe’s bottles and began unwrapping the foil.

‘When do you leave?’ I asked Aurora.

‘I fly out tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Soon.’

‘Yeah. Actually I was packing and there’s a whole bunch of books I was just going to throw out. You’re welcome to them if you want. I’d give them to Betty but she doesn’t read anything written after nineteen fifty-nine. There’s some true crime, a novel by Hanif Kureishi, and a great book on evolutionary biology.’

‘Sure, that’d be great.’ I popped the cork and Aurora waved to Jim and Flame, standing at the back door. He wore baggy shorts and had skinny white legs and she was practically unrecognisable in jeans and trainers, a baseball cap hiding her red curls. Even in flat shoes she had a good couple of inches over her boyfriend.

Aurora went over and hugged them. They both had the bewildered look of nocturnal animals, removed from their burrow in the middle of the day.

I stood alone by the table, feeling awkward. I wished I had a cigarette but they were in Chloe’s bag.

Dakota approached me, a little blond girl hanging on to her hand.

‘Hi, Vivien,’ she said. ‘I heard what happened. How you going?’

‘I’m all right.’

‘This is my daughter Tahnee.’

The girl grabbed on to her mother’s miniskirt.

‘Tahnee, say hello to Vivien.’

I crouched down. ‘Hi, how old are you?’

‘Thwee.’ She hid her face against Dakota’s leg.

‘She’s shy,’ Dakota explained. ‘Not like her ma.’

She refilled her plastic glass with champagne. ‘You know I wanted to apologise for being nasty the last time I saw you.’

‘You were nasty?’ I vaguely remembered one time at the club when she had acted a little weird.

‘I feel really bad. It was after Sexpo. Ebony told me you were a private detective and I just thought you were, like, lying to us all, spying on us, so that’s why, you know.

But now I know about Sal kidnapping Chloe, well, I can see you were doing it for the right reasons. So, like, yeah, I’m sorry.’

‘That’s OK.’ God, how could I have been so naive as to think it wouldn’t have got all over Sexpo? I wondered who else had known I was investigating the murder. And when. I turned my gaze to the house where Aurora was talking animatedly to Jim and Flame. Johnny squeezed past them carrying two bags of ice, wearing frayed shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and lipstick.

‘We come bearing ale,’ he announced theatrically.

Mick was right behind, a case of Coopers on each shoulder, the sunlight hitting him. How was it that Mick always seemed to get himself lit just so? On stage, in broad daylight, he seemed to catch the light and reflect it. I became aware of a voice in my ear.

‘. . . to the club?’ Dakota was talking to me.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Are you coming back to the club?’

‘No. I’ve actually got some real life detective work coming up.’ I tried to focus on her but it was difficult.

‘How exciting. I should get you to check out my ex. He says he’s not working, to get out of paying maintenance, but I reckon he’s getting cash in hand.’

‘Can I have a cigarette?’ I could see Mick out of the corner of my eye, breaking down the bags and pouring the ice into a concrete laundry tub. He ripped open a carton and arranged stubbies in the ice. Dakota handed me a Horizon and lit it while Mick grabbed a beer and held the bottle to his forehead. He leaned back against the peeling weatherboard wall, twisted the cap off the bottle and looked directly at me as he drank. I felt an electric jolt in my chest and groin.

‘Hi, Vivien.’ It was Jim, grinning behind opaque black Raybans. His short-sleeved navy shirt showed off his jail tattoos and he stuck out his hand and I shook it.

‘Congratulations,’ he said.

‘What for?’

‘You’ve become a bit of a celebrity around town.’

I wondered what part of town exactly. ‘Shucks,’ I said.

‘You know I’m in negotiation to buy the Red from Sal’s wife,’ he said, ‘so if you ever need a job . . .’ He ripped a bourbon can from a four-pack and wandered off to talk to some dancers. I looked around, trying to avoid Mick’s gaze. The place was really filling up. At least thirty people stood around drinking, some more kids had arrived and a couple of dogs chased each other around. Johnny had started blackening steaks on the Beefmeister and the music was louder, faster, some kind of neo-rockabilly. Half the Red had turned up, as well as the rest of the band and their assorted hangers-on.

‘Vivien!’ Anais crossed the yard in pinstriped pants and a tight black singlet, the outline of her nipple rings visible. She threw a container of falafels and tabouli on the table and hugged me. ‘Way to go, knocking off that pig Farquhar.’

‘I didn’t exactly—’

‘Anais!’ Chloe bounded into the yard like an overexcited puppy and jumped on her so that they both tumbled to the grass, squealing. Chloe was going off today, and who could blame her? Stuck on a boat for two weeks. I wished I could have shared her enthusiasm but I felt kind of flat. Mick had disappeared from the laundry tub and I took the rest of the champagne over. I shoved the bottles in the ice, my fingers smarting from the cold, wiped my hands on the back of my jeans and went inside to the toilet. All that cheap champagne. When I left the loo I heard music coming from down the hall, Mick’s room. I took a deep breath and walked to his door. It was open and Mick sat on the bed playing his guitar along to a Johnny Cash record, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He put the guitar down when he saw me.

‘Hey,’ he said.

I closed the door behind me and crossed my arms. ‘Hi.’

‘I missed you.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up and moved towards me. I stepped back. ‘How come you and Aurora have the same tattoo?’

‘What?’

‘You know what I’m talking about. The one that looks like Medusa. Yours is on your shoulder and hers is next to her pussy.’

Mick hesitated. ‘I dunno. I saw hers and liked it. Got it done. You can never have too many tattoos.’

‘You saw hers? Must have been getting up close and personal.’

He didn’t reply.

‘What did you say the picture meant?’ I asked.

‘Strength, I think.’

‘Not passion?’ I turned to reach for the door but Mick held me from behind.

‘Is that what this is about? You don’t have to worry about me and her. It was just a short fling. Over before it began.’

I felt the heat of his body pressed against mine and smelled his scent: sweat, tobacco and clean washing. Mr. Cash was singing about falling into a burning ring of fire, and Mick pushed my hair away and kissed my neck.

One of his hands was on my breast and the other trailed down into my pants and I wanted him so much I was instantly wet.

One more time, I thought, one last hit then I quit for good.

But I surprised myself. I turned around, pulled my arm back and punched him in the face.

Pain radiated out from my knuckles and Mick touched his cheek, more shocked than hurt. Now we were even.

‘Goodbye’s all we got left to say,’ I said.

‘Steve Earle,’ he replied.

I walked to Chapel Street to find a cab and saw the tattoo parlour’s neon lights. It was worth a try. I pushed the door in and a buzzer went off. Thousands of pictures of tattoos plastered the walls and a couple with multiple piercings sat on a couch flipping through plastic folders full of photographs. The high whine of a tattoo needle filled the air. I went up to the counter and a guy with a goatee came out from the back, through a red beaded curtain. The multicoloured tattoos down his forearms reminded me of Mick and I was sure I’d seen him before at one of their gigs.

‘How can I help you?’ he smiled.

I smiled back. ‘I think a friend of mine got a tattoo done here and I’d like to get the same one.’

‘What was it?’

‘I could draw you a rough picture.’

He handed me a pencil and a piece of scrap paper and I drew Mick and Aurora’s tattoo and slid it over to him.

‘So you’re friends with Betty?’ he said. I nodded slowly. Betty? ‘Yeah, she got this one about a month ago. Came in with a guy and a hot blond chick and they all got the same tatt.’

My mind reeled. It was suddenly hot and airless inside the small shop.

‘What does the picture mean?’

‘Fucked if I know. Looks a bit like Medusa though, from those ancient Greek legends.’ He looked at me.

‘Are you all right? Do you want a drink of water?’

‘I’m fine.’

The sound of the needle stopped abruptly and the curtain clicked as the blonde with the wrist tattoos came out. The one Mick had shagged.

The counter guy turned to her. ‘You finished up, Delores?’

Delores. Yeah right. Her real name was probably Tracey.

‘Yeah, I’m off to the barbecue—’ She stopped short when she saw me.

‘Hey, Delores,’ I said, ‘better get your arse into gear, everyone’s wondering where you are. Mick in particular.

He’s all yours. Go get him, tiger.’ I gave her a wink and she stared at me, dumbfounded, while I walked out of the shop and into a Silvertop taxi.

By the time I got home I was distressingly sober. I contemplated getting stuck into the cask wine but made a plunger of coffee instead and took all my case notes and spread them on the lounge-room floor. I checked dates. I thought back to what had happened after Sexpo.

I wasn’t sure of a motive and a lot of things didn’t add up but I was getting a very bad feeling about the whole thing. I needed to make a couple of phone calls. First I called my mum. The phone rang for ages and when she final y answered she sounded drunk. Drunk was good.