Operation Tomcat

by Tabitha Ormiston-Smith

  Ben thought about this for a moment. “So, do you have any other suspect in mind?”

  “Don’t take the piss, I’m serious. Steiner is just too much of a drunken loser to co-ordinate an operation like that. Look, it’s getting from the dealer into all three of the schools, so someone has to be taking it there, and they’d have to be getting it from him, and they just aren’t. I mean, I live three doors from him and there’s literally no traffic on our street most of the time.”

  “I wasn’t taking the piss, honest. Look, I’ll admit we haven’t got much to go on. It was just the one kid, actually, we got him to the hospital after an overdose and he muttered something in the ambulance.”

  “What? But he’d have been well and truly drug-fucked, he might have been hallucinating or anything.”

  “Yeah, well that’s the problem, see, and when he came round he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t talk to us at all.”

  “Well, I don’t see that you’ve got anything to go on at all, then. Are you even sure that’s what the kid was actually talking about?”

  Ben sighed. “Not really.”

  They left the subject then, in favour of the menu and wine choices, but it niggled at the back of Tammy’s mind all through dinner. She felt there was some connection that she’d missed, something important that would support her firm idea that Fred Steiner, idle, drunken, non-door-fixing waste of space, was not the town drug pusher.

  “Have you managed to get Tom to go into his house yet?” she asked over dessert (tiramisu for them both, with a bottle of champagne. She wondered in passing how a detective constable could afford this kind of meal, and also how a man with such beautifully flat abs could scoff down tiramisu with such gay abandon. He must have one of those metabolisms, she thought enviously, trying not to speculate about how the excess calories could be burned off).

  “Nah, the little mongrel. He just makes a beeline for your house every night.”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “I’m parking a bit closer now, where I’ve got a clear view down the street. I watch him through the night glasses and call him back. Sorry, Tammy, I know you’d like to see him, but he’s supposed to be working. Look, tell you what, we’re not on duty tomorrow, suppose I bring him over for a visit in the afternoon?”

  “Oh, would you really? That would be lovely. I do miss him. I got so used to him, even in that short time.”

  “Sure. Not a worry in the world. Tell you what, I’ll grab a couple of videos too and we can order a pizza, how does that sound?”

  Tammy’s head spun even more than could be accounted for by half a bottle of Merlot followed by champagne. This had the sound of a real date, whatever tonight was. Play it cool, play it cool. He’s probably just being friendly, because of Tom. Don’t make a fool of yourself. Your own husband didn’t want you, you stupid fat cow. This hunk certainly doesn’t, he probably thinks of you as a sister. Just don’t blow it, keep your pride intact.

  “Yeah, okay,” she managed to croak out. “Sounds good. D’you like Schwarzenegger?”

  “What, you love Arnie too? This is starting to sound like a match made in heaven.”

  Shut up, shut up, shut up, Tammy told herself. It was just a silly joke.

  ***

  She was up early next morning, despite the champagne, filled with a searing energy that had her cleaning the house and hanging out all the washing before seven-thirty. She sorted out her tightest skinny jeans and a shirt that would conceal any muffin top that might make its appearance. Dress defensively, that was Tammy’s motto. The thigh-length tunic had a nice casual look, too. The last thing she wanted to do was look like she was trying. A light spray of cologne and a hint of natural makeup, and she was ready. Only five hours too early.

  She settled herself on the sofa with a book, a really good book, but couldn’t concentrate. Every time a car drove past, she found herself looking out the window to see if it was Ben. Don’t be so stupid, she told herself. He won’t even be waking up for hours.

  But it was only eleven-thirty when he arrived, freshly showered, with hair still wet and a sharp, lemony scent of cologne, bringing a bag of DVDs and a huge bunch of yellow roses, and Tom in his basket.

  It was a magical day. This was how life ought to have been with Neville, Tammy thought hazily, a cool film on the box, sun streaming in, pizza with extra anchovies (how amazing was it that they both loved anchovies), a cat purring in her lap. Had it ever been like that, even in the beginning? She couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed around Neville, even when they had been married for years. Somehow a little tension had always seemed to arrive like a breeze on his heels as he came in the door. When he had been off at work, those had been her relaxing times. In fact, she mused, propping her feet on Ben’s lap and lying back on the sofa, she had actually, if she was honest, felt happier when he wasn’t around.

  When he leaned over and kissed her, she didn’t even open her eyes.

  ***

  Tammy drifted through the next morning in a haze of happiness, arranging canned goods with gay abandon, pictures facing any which way. Some were even upside down. When Shona came bustling down Aisle Three in her pink smock, Tammy beamed at her.

  Great happiness, however, does have this one terrible quality. It makes a person relax. Tammy was feeling relaxed, so very relaxed, in fact, that her inner censor completely failed to operate, and when Shona started her usual stroking of Tammy’s arm, she jerked away, screaming “Stop fucking groping me, you sick bitch!” at the top of her voice. Heads turned up and down Aisle Three, a hush settled over the store and someone dropped a jar of herrings with a small, explosive crash.

  The resulting confrontation in the manager’s office resembled an amateur rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody, threads interweaving in a demented polyphony:

  SHONA: I’m just a poor supervisor, I was trying to help her, she doesn’t know how to do anything, she’s rude, she doesn’t let me help her, poor me, I’m the victim here.

  TAMMY: (duplum): She keeps touching me, it’s creepy, she needs to learn to keep her hands to herself, nobody wants to be always getting pawed, it’s disgusting.

  THE MANAGER: (triplum): This has gone far enough, I can’t have screaming and yelling in front of the customers, youse can both take this as your final warning.

  The upshot was that Tammy was transferred to the night shift of shelf stackers, with immediate effect.

  ***

  Night shift wasn’t as bad as Tammy had expected. The store closed at ten, and after that it was quiet; the only sounds were the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and the occasional cheerful cries of the other night stackers, who all seemed to know each other and get on well. They were a scruffy-looking bunch, not particularly presentable and some with questionable hygiene, but Tammy found them restful, particularly the ones who didn’t speak English. There was a supervisor, but he spent most of his time in the back office reading the paper, emerging only for the hourly ‘smoke breaks’ when everyone gathered around the delivery door, puffing away. Tammy didn’t smoke, but felt the peer group pressure enough to carry her out there with them, although she felt a little shame-faced about it. She tried to stand upwind so the smoke wouldn’t stink up her hair, without being obvious about it. Tomorrow she’d bring in a headscarf or something.

  Tammy had a lot of time to think on night shift, the work being more or less purely mechanical (it didn’t really take a lot of mentation to put cans the right way up, whatever Shona had thought), and found herself returning again and again to Ben’s drug case. She was adamant in her belief that Fred Steiner was not the dealer, much as she disliked him and resented his failure to fix her door, and the feeling that she had some piece of information that would further support this idea didn’t go away. Again and again she ran through the facts. It was known that children from all three high schools were obtaining meth. That was one indubitable fact, if only because there had been overdoses and hospital trips by children from all of the schools. Thi
s was why the case was considered of such urgency; it was only a matter of time before someone died. There had been an interview with one of the emergency doctors on the news last night.

  Funny, Tammy mused, there hadn’t been any mention of adult victims. Was it just that kids were more ‘sexy’ in the news sense, eliciting an extra level of sympathy? Children with drug overdoses were always portrayed as innocent victims, whereas an adult with the same problem tended to be viewed far less sympathetically. She must see what she could find out tomorrow. Or really, just ask Ben, she supposed, when she saw him next. He’d be bound to know. That reminded her; she must call him to cancel tomorrow’s dinner; she’d invited him before yesterday’s incident, and now, of course, she’d be having to start work at eight, which made dinner plans rather difficult. Perhaps they could make it a late lunch instead.

  Glancing about to make sure the coast was clear, Tammy pulled out her mobile phone and stepped behind a display of chocolate. She had Ben on speed dial; alright, perhaps she was being a bit premature, but it wasn’t like he’d know.

  ***

  Ben was happy to make it lunch instead, and accordingly, the next day Tammy was once again curled on the sofa watching out the window. There went Vanessa again, loading huge plastic chests into her car for her Home Economics classes. Tammy wondered what sort of a teacher she was, and whether the kids liked her. What a lot of energy the woman had; she’d already been out once this morning, and now she had got back and taken in all the boxes and was busy loading up another batch. What a lot of stuff she had to cart round. Surely the schools had their own cooking equipment? Was it all food? Why didn’t they get it delivered at the school?

  If she, Tammy, were going to teach cooking, she thought, she’d make sure all the pots and things were at the schools. What did they have budgets for, for heaven’s sake? And all the ingredients would be delivered there too, and then she’d get the sixth form boys to lug it all up to her classroom or whatever. She certainly wouldn’t be dragging enormous crates back and forth all day. Just packing them and unpacking them must be a nuisance. She’d have thought Vanessa would have been better organised.

  Here was Ben now. She’d better get the lasagne in the oven.

  ***

  “Gorgeous lasagne, Tammy. I must say, you’re one hell of a cook.”

  “Have some more?”

  “I can’t, thanks, now don’t get me wrong, I would if I could, but three serves is my limit.”

  “Coffee, then.”

  “Ta.” Ben leaned back dangerously far in his chair and dangled his fingers for Tom, who was finishing off his own plate of lasagne, with extra cheese, under the table.

  “Here you go.”

  “Lovely, thanks. And did I mention, Ms Norman, you make a great cup of coffee.”

  “We aim to please.” Tammy sat back down with her own cup. “Actually, this is practically the only fancy thing I know how to make. You might get tired of it.”

  “Never. Never, never, never. I solemnly swear –”

  “-that I am up to no good-”

  “No, no, I solemnly, solemnly and sincerely, no, stop laughing, have some respect, woman! I solemnly and sincerely swear, and declare and affirm, that I will never get sick of your lasagne, so help me God.”

  “And Mrs Marsh.”

  “Yes, so help me God and Mrs Marsh.”

  “Seriously, though, I am rather limited in the cooking department. I ought to get some recipes from Vanessa.”

  “Who’s that, your sister?”

  “No, Vanessa Carlson, she lives just over the road. What’s the matter?” Ben had frozen, all hilarity gone. He was looking at her funny, a slitty-eyed, unfriendly look. A cop look, Tammy realised. As if he’d just caught her speeding through a red light. His voice, when he spoke, was cold.

  “Know her well, do you?”

  “Not really, but she’s my neighbour, you know. Why, Ben?”

  “I don’t want you getting mixed up with them. They’re bad news, her and her husband. Don’t you know who he is?”

  “He’s some kind of business man, she said he was away on business.”

  Ben snorted. “Monkey business. He’s in Port Phillip, doing three years for 15A.”

  “What? Fifteen A what? And what’s wrong with Port Phillip?”

  “Tammy. Port Phillip prison. The maximum security prison?”

  “What, he’s in jail? Vanessa’s husband? I don’t believe it, he can’t be. She’s so.... ”

  “Tammy, I don’t want you having anything to do with her. She’s bad news. Trust me on this, they are not a bunch of people you want to get mixed up with.”

  “Look, I think you’re being a bit prejudiced, Ben. I mean, just because her husband’s done some kind of white collar thingy, it doesn’t mean she’s evil, does it? Poor woman. Imagine the shame of it.”

  “White collar – what are you talking about? I said section 15A. Intentionally cause serious injury in circumstances of gross violence.”

  Tammy was diverted. “Well, it would be, wouldn’t it?”

  “Come again?”

  “Gross violence. I mean, if you seriously injured someone, you could hardly do it without being violent, could you?”

  Ben clutched his forehead and muttered something not very nice under his breath.

  “It’s got a legal meaning. Look, Mario Carlson and his two mates held down a man and smashed both his kneecaps with a tire iron. Because he held out on some drug money. Now do you get it? Stay away from her. I mean it, Tammy.”

  The words ‘you’re not the boss of me’ rose to Tammy’s lips, but she forced them back down again.

  “See, this is why we’re a bit lost on the drug situation,” Ben went on. “Mario Carlson used to run all the drugs round here, but he’s safely out of action, and so far as we’ve been able to find out, none of his known associates have moved into the area. So it’s a new operation, whether it’s a rival gang, or someone just saw an opportunity, or what, and the Drug Squad haven’t come up with anything because they mainly work off people’s records. And it looks like whoever’s running this show hasn’t got a record. Anyway, that’s all well and good, but the Carlsons are bad news, and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t have any more to do with them.”

  Tammy went to the supermarket that night in a very sobered frame of mind. Ben was so handsome, and funny, and cute, and so, well, nice – she hadn’t really thought about him being a cop after the first time they’d met. This new, grim view of him had her remembering how he’d got assigned to Operation Tomcat in the first place – because he had a gun, and was responding to an armed robbery. It was all a bit outside her comfort zone. Had he had a gun on him that afternoon? No, surely not; she’d have felt it when she snuggled up to him, wouldn’t she? Or would she? Tammy had never been out with anyone armed. Neville had worn a sword at his friend’s wedding, but that had been purely ceremonial, and anyway, swords didn’t count, they were like things from the movies. You never read about anyone being murdered with a sword. Or kids accidentally beheading themselves because someone left one lying about, or anything. Swords, Tammy felt, were essentially harmless. They belonged in the world of Ivanhoe, of Richard the Lionheart, not the real world. Guns, now... guns were different. Guns were murder, and terrorism, and sudden, violent death. Also, they made a loud bang, and if there was one thing Tammy couldn’t bear, it was a sudden loud noise. Even a car backfiring several streets away could have her shrieking and jumping out of her skin.

  ***

  Over the next few weeks, Tammy was too busy to worry much about Ben’s concerns. She brought home her first paycheck from the supermarket, and found to her delight that after allowance had been made for rent and food, there was enough for paint. She chose a pale mushroom for the sitting room, with cream trim, and in every spare moment she sanded, scrubbed and filled cracks. Her appalling night job at the supermarket now appeared to her in a different, more kindly light, as there was absolutely no need to appear pres
entable for it, and her plaster-speckled hair and paint-spattered clothes fitted in well with the general air of not very clean neediness that characterised her workmates.

  The days passed in a pleasant round of waking late and working on the walls, followed by a not-too-strenuous shift at the supermarket, a hot bath and bed. She had adjusted well to night work, and enjoyed falling asleep to the pre-dawn warblings of magpies and the cries of bats streaking homeward to their colony by the river. As she worked, her headphones delivered audiobooks of the works of Hope, Trollope and Scott, all downloaded free from Librivox. On her evenings off, Ben always seemed to be available, and they variously attended the local speedway, Latin dance night at the RSL Club, a party given by two of Ben’s police friends, where Tammy was rigorously examined by at least fifteen people, and several restaurants.

  The battered walls required a good deal of repair, and two coats of undercoat were needed to cover the ghastly aqua the former tenants had left, so it was not until the third week that Tammy prised open her can of colour.

  She had left off her headphones for once, wanting to experience to the full this, her first real act of transformation. The house, once a mere stopgap, a refuge of economic necessity, had now taken on for her a significance beyond its functions of shelter and comfort, and represented to her her precious independence, her safety, her complete freedom from reliance on another. It would become a place of great beauty, she vowed, a haven for body and spirit. And if ever she chose to welcome a second inhabitant, well... there were, after all, three bedrooms. Room, perhaps, for a couple, and a cat, and one day a child. Room to live, and love, and grow....

  Tammy realised with a start that she’d been stirring for more than fifteen minutes, and reached for the roller tray.

  As she painted, her thoughts drifted back to Ben, who was never, if truth were told, very far from her mind these days. Was she one of those women who always had to be with some man? She hoped not. She’d seen many of her university friends stuck in appalling relationships, held there by what had always seemed to her a completely unnecessary fear of being alone. And yet, what was the first thing she’d done when she’d been single? Jumped into another relationship herself.