De Luxe

by Lenny Bartulin

  Jack’s nerves jagged.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘A lot of people know Allan Kippax. Including you, it appears.’

  ‘You know who my father is. What choice did I ever have in knowing Kippax and all the others like him?’ Resentment lined her voice like cold lead.

  ‘So what’s he got to do with Beaumont?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘The title of my forthcoming memoir.’

  Claudia took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Like I said, Duncan’s an investigator with ASIC, right?’

  ‘It’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Trying to romance you back from the other side, under direct instruction from the Dark Lord of Construction.’

  ‘Let’s not get into that right now.’

  ‘Believe it or not, I had no intention of getting into it before right now.’

  To his surprise, she smiled then and gave him the sexy gap between her two front teeth as a reward. Brushed the hair over her forehead with long, glossy-nailed fingers. ‘I’m sorry I abused you the other day,’ she said. ‘I was upset, you know?’

  ‘I’ll send you my therapy bills, if that’s okay. With the right care and proper medication, the doc reckons I’ll be fine in about a year or two.’

  ‘Sure.’ The smile lingered for a little longer, then faded. Jack watched her, thinking it was all a goddamn shame, the distance between them.

  ‘Allan Kippax was under investigation by ASIC and Duncan was leading the case,’ she continued. ‘They had a whole bunch of financial stuff on him but nothing that counted as evidence, nothing that could stick. Kippax was slippery.’

  ‘More than your old man?’

  Claudia ignored him. ‘Duncan took it upon himself to push things and organised a meeting with Kippax. Then he led him to believe that ASIC had hard evidence on him and that Kippax was about to get busted.’

  ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘Get a reaction. Maybe start a little panic. Push Kippax into some kind of bad move, I don’t know, something they might be able to use for evidence.’

  Jack almost scoffed. ‘That’s very thin.’ If anybody knew Kippax at all, they would know he did not panic, ever. Not even in a nuclear war. Beaumont might have had the girl, but he was starting to sound like a very average investigator.

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, it worked. After some pressure, Kippax offered up information on my father in exchange for sliding off the radar. Duncan’s bosses approved and the deal was done.’

  ‘You knew all this?’

  ‘No. Not until recently.’

  He frowned. ‘And what … You approve?’

  ‘Duncan has a job to do. And my father can look after himself.’

  ‘Jesus. That’s harsh.’

  ‘Duncan’s going to be my husband.’ A statement of loyalty.

  ‘Well, poor old daddy.’

  ‘He’s made his own decisions and has to live with them. I’m making mine.’

  Jack could not help but grin. ‘And so when did the lovely Duncan Beaumont come after you? Before, during or after the tip-off from Kippax?’

  Claudia straightened up, her eyes narrowing at Jack. ‘I knew who he worked for.’

  ‘The question I asked was when.’ He could see it needling her and he took some pleasure in jabbing the sharp end. ‘But I suppose you could never really know, could you?’

  ‘We met long before any of this.’

  ‘Yeah? How long?’

  ‘None of your fucking business.’

  ‘Fine. No problem.’ He slugged his beer. No wonder Ziggy Brandt was desperate to get Beaumont out of the picture with Claudia. Desperate enough to evict Jack from his home and put the pressure on for help. ‘Can I ask what the information from Kippax was?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know.’

  ‘And how’s that bit of Zen working out?’

  ‘Fuck you.’ She looked down. ‘It’s not like I don’t feel shit, Jack.’

  ‘Does your old man know about —?’

  She was not through with the guilt. ‘Jesus, do you think I’m stupid or something? You think I don’t know how it looks? But what can I say? It’s love, and that’s it. Love, plain and simple. What’s so hard to understand about that? You know about love, don’t you Jack?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said. ‘I got volumes on the stuff.’

  ‘I had to make a choice.’

  Jack started to wonder if he was some kind of sado-goddamn-masochist, sitting there listening to all this. He drank more Heineken and thought about stepping outside for a cigarette.

  ‘You have to choose,’ she added, for the benefit of everyone.

  A pause. Jack let some air in. Then he said: ‘So you think Kippax has got something to do with Beaumont going away somewhere?’

  ‘You say it like you think he’s left me.’

  ‘And? It’s exactly what the cops would imply at this point.’

  ‘That’s why I haven’t gone to them.’

  ‘Maybe you should have tried your luck.’

  ‘How could I? If it is Kippax that’s behind Duncan’s disappearance, I don’t want the cops putting pressure on him. He’s a dangerous man. Who knows what he’s capable of?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s dangerous. Much better to send the pawns in first, huh? Like me?’

  She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms. ‘This was a bad idea, wasn’t it? No chance for us to be friends, even after everything that’s happened between us, and after all this time. Too much to expect you to be an adult, hey Jack?’

  ‘An adult?’ He swore under his breath. ‘A couple of days ago, I was just minding my own business, Claudia, so don’t turn this into a women’s-magazine winter-edition special on dealing with your ex. And if it was, nobody would write in and say that the ex should get the least fuck involved with this scenario.’

  She closed her eyes. Silence nudged in between them, while the bar got louder all around. After a few moments, she reached across the table to put her hand on his forearm. Her touch was like a branding iron burning through his shirt and into his skin. And it was all there now, in their eyes and no denying: she wanted something from Jack and he was going to give it to her. For better or for worse. Because he could not help it and Claudia Brandt had always known it.

  ‘Can you talk to Kippax?’ she said.

  ‘Hey yo, Allan. You haven’t got Beaumont in a dungeon, have you? Like that?’

  She let go of his arm. One word: ‘Please.’

  ‘You’re not telling me everything.’

  ‘There’s nothing else to tell.’

  ‘What about the original version? Unabridged. I got time.’

  Claudia stood up. ‘I’ve got to go.’ She picked up her coat from the chair beside her, slipped her arms into the sleeves and reached down for her bag on the floor.

  Jack said: ‘Does he take you dancing?’

  She stopped then and stared at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t dance. Feel better?’

  He tried not to watch her walking into the crowd but did. His potato wedges arrived just as she passed through the front doors and out onto the winter streets.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, looking up at the waiter. ‘Can I get another beer?’

  ‘Bar’s that way, friend.’

  13

  No sleep. Jack was on the couch under a blanket, the corner lamp like a small moon through fog. Long black, grappa and cigarettes lined up within easy reach on the coffee table. Three o’clock in the morning with a few problems was like having a microscope on your brain, all the details blown up and spinning in on themselves. Lois had left him and was curled up in the armchair. Jack tried a book but reading did not cut it, so he slipped on a DVD: and for one hundred and five glorious minu
tes it worked. Ava Gardner in The Killers, sending Burt Lancaster and every other guy on the planet nuts. Then it was Rita Hayworth’s turn in The Lady from Shanghai, and Orson Welles’ poor little Irishman flipping all the way for the blonde. Guys losing all sense of proportion and taking everything they had to the limit — for the girl, for the goddess made flesh. All it took was just one taste, the shock and heat of it, like nothing before or ever after. Then everything coming on fast and, Christ, no way to stop the descent into the fire, the flames licking and burning. But you wanted it, yes. All of it. And nobody ever went looking for it, searching, that was the thing. It always came looking for you. Lust. Love. Forgetting.

  At some point he closed his eyes: then a knock at the door woke him. Jack struggled off the couch, feeling like an old tea towel about to go to rag. The TV screen hummed, frozen on a black-and-white hall of mirrors. The place smelt like a bar. The curtains were drawn and his senses bleary; he had no idea what time it was. Another knock. He whispered Jesus and ran his hand through his hair and thought about taking the day off to sleep. But when he opened the front door it was like stepping into a waterfall. Fully awake in two nanoseconds.

  ‘Astrid sent me. You must come.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  She looked very warm: knee-length sheepskin coat, matching snow-bunny hat with tasselled earflaps. Long blonde hair spilling out all over a high woolly collar. Loose pale-grey track pants tucked into floppy sheepskin boots. Everything perfectly careless. Her blue eyes looked tired. She stifled a yawn. Maybe they had woken up together? But then what was she doing outside the door? Jack hoped he was not still asleep on the couch.

  ‘She cannot pick you up this morning,’ said the woman in a thick accent. Early thirties with a Brigitte Bardot mouth. ‘You must come with me.’

  ‘Sure.’ He smiled. ‘I’m Jack.’

  ‘Yes, yes …’ she said. ‘This I know. Can we go now?’

  ‘Quick shower and some clothes?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I will be in the car.’

  ‘Where are we supposed to —?’

  A mobile phone started ringing. The woman said Fuck and it sounded good. She struggled with a big woolly pocket and found her phone. Answered — ‘What?’ — listened, then held it out for Jack. She walked off to go and wait outside.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘So Uta made it?’ It was Astrid. ‘Don’t take it personally if she’s grumpy. She’s always like that until about four p.m.’

  ‘Her name’s Uta?’

  ‘Lundevall. She lives with me.’

  ‘Can I live with you, too?’

  She ignored him. ‘Jack, listen. Something’s happened.’

  ‘I know. Now I’m in love with both of you and I don’t know what to do. Help me, Astrid.’

  ‘Duncan tried to shoot Ziggy last night.’

  Jack frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘In the car park, just as he came out of the lift.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘He missed but Ziggy’s a little shook up.’

  Jack grabbed a cigarette from his pack on the coffee table, scratched a flame out of a lighter. He had no doubt the shock would not last. Ziggy would be organising his wrath just about now. ‘Goes with the territory,’ he said. ‘Nothing new for the big Zee. Police get him?’ Jack was thinking he was out of this mess. Brandt and the Beaumont assault charge, null and void. Thinking about Claudia, too.

  ‘No. I was in the car and managed to chase him on foot for a bit, but he got outside and away.’

  ‘Oh well.’

  ‘I’m handling the cops and the media. Uta can drop you off —’

  ‘Excuse me? Drop me off for what?’

  ‘The cops want to speak to you.’

  Christ. ‘What for? I don’t know shit about it.’

  ‘Well, they want to see you. And Ziggy doesn’t want you mentioning the arrangement you had with him, yeah?’

  Jack smoked, said, ‘Right,’ breathed out with weariness.

  ‘Hey, you hit him. They were going to want to talk to you no matter what.’

  ‘You could have told them I was in Sierra Leone, visiting my sponsor child.’

  ‘Maybe write it down for me next time.’

  ‘Like you need a script.’ Jack rubbed the emptiness in his stomach and thought of his bare cupboards. ‘So what if I come round for dinner tonight? Just you, me and Uta. And then, you know, you could go to the flicks.’

  ‘So cruel, Jack. I thought I was the one.’

  ‘Of course, darling.’

  ‘See you soon, Susko.’

  Uta Lundevall drove him in the Porsche to a familiar building in Kent Street. She handled the car with disdain, as though it was there to make her life difficult, like a supermarket trolley with a dicky wheel. She hardly said a word the whole way, just the odd minimum-lip-movement yes or no to Jack’s attempts at making conversation. All he managed to find out was that she was an actress and model from Sweden. Mostly it was just eye-rolling and an expression of unabating annoyance. She was definitely not a morning person. Not that Jack could see it bothering anybody.

  ‘Thanks for the ride,’ he said. ‘And enjoy the rest of your day.’

  Uta leaned over the passenger seat. ‘Tell Astrid not to call me before noon. Yes? Okay?’

  The Porsche sped away. Jack walked down the driveway of the underground car park. His old front door to work, though minus wheels this time. He looked around for cops gathering evidence behind tape or interviewing people, but could not see any. Probably swept the scene last night. He made his way across the concrete. It was a strange feeling, weaving through the cars and the smell of rubber and oil, and the cop-show squeal of tyres as drivers swung around the tight corners. The bleakness of cloudy fluorescent light over dirty grey, the ominous sound of an unseen door slammed in the underground emptiness. It reminded him that the world was round and there was only so far you could go before treading an old path.

  Elevator up to level twenty-seven. Out into a chic white foyer, then down a corridor to reception. Someone came up behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Hey babe. Down this way.’

  Astrid was in uniform again, minus the hat. All-Leather Ex-Cop Driving Services. We Drive Even Better Than We Look. She strode the marble like a catwalk model and turned into a door on her left. Jack followed. It was a meeting room with a long oval table and executive leather office chairs all around. Detective Sergeant Keith Glendenning sat in one of them, grinning like a guy who had slipped past the door without a ticket.

  ‘Mr Susko Books. Nice to see you again.’

  Jack ignored him and turned to Astrid. ‘Uta said not to call her before twelve.’

  She winked at him and left the boardroom.

  ‘In person after all this time, huh?’

  ‘I see you’re still wearing the same suit,’ said Jack.

  The cop frowned, but checked himself. ‘Take a seat, Jack. How have you been? Back with the old boss, I see.’

  ‘I’ve always thought your investigative skills to be finely honed. Best of the best.’

  Glendenning smiled. ‘What’s up, then? You the new muscle?’

  ‘Just visiting, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘I didn’t know you guys had remained friends. I mean, after what happened. You know, Brandt trying to set you up for murder and all that. What, only four or five years ago?’

  ‘My fiancée, Detective Sergeant.’ Jack thumbed the door. ‘Astrid and I are getting married.’

  ‘Former police constable Astrid Thornson? You’re kidding.’

  ‘What can I say?’

  ‘So you turned a dyke, huh? Wow. Good work, Susko Books.’

  Jack closed his eyes and thought of the lovely Uta. Then shook his head in defeat. ‘In my next li
fe, I want to come back as a woman.’

  ‘Only if the gods are kind. You been leading a good and moral life lately?’

  ‘The Dalai Lama won’t stop ringing me up for advice.’

  ‘I hope you’re charging him.’

  ‘Look, Glendenning. I’ve got nothing to do with Brandt, okay? Nothing with him and nothing with the bullets aimed at him. Do you need to write that down somewhere?’

  The detective sergeant stood up and stretched. Yawned. His face was older and darker, though not in a tanned way, and his nose still took up most of the available real estate. Jowls hanging a little lower over a neck that had thickened. Eyes tight-skinned and buried, yet always like they were looking right through you. Brown hair thinner. He looked like a crumpled suit from a Salvos store, but Jack knew better than to underestimate the man.

  ‘How’s Claudia?’

  Jack blinked and hoped Glendenning did not notice.

  ‘I hear she’s engaged,’ he said. ‘That right?’

  ‘You investigating attempted murder or attempted marriage, Detective?’

  ‘Sometimes they’re the same thing.’ Glendenning looked away, thoughts rising into his face and turning it grim. ‘Both can kill you.’

  Jack saw the detective give his wedding ring a twist. Then his hands went into his pant pockets and whatever was ailing the cop’s home life was shelved. Back on the job again.

  ‘Astrid tells me Ziggy ain’t a big fan of the new beau?’ he said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Thought maybe he told you something, too.’

  ‘Why would he?’

  ‘You tell me. You’re the guy beat Beaumont up.’

  Jack now thought maybe he should have hit the prick harder.

  ‘Well?’ said the detective.

  Jack massaged the back of his neck then flopped into one of the executive chairs. ‘The guy gets jealous easily, thinks I’m still interested in his girl or something, I don’t know. What else can I say? Since he’s taking pot shots at his future father-in-law, I’d say the guy’s got more problems than me.’ Jack looked the copper in the eye. ‘I’m just incidental to this, Detective.’