Losing Your Head (The Charlie Davies Mysteries Book 1)

by Clare Kauter

  “I need to talk to Tim.”

  “Oh. D’you want me to send him a message?” I asked, gesturing towards the computer.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  I went into the message program and clicked on Tim’s name.

  James is here to see you – waiting at my desk.

  I sent it and ten seconds later I got one back.

  Thanks honey. Be right there.

  Hurry, looks like he might pass out if you leave it too long.

  James gave me another hash brown and I drank some more of his coffee. A minute later Tim arrived.

  “Morning, honey. And you too, Charlie,” said Tim. I smiled at him and he winked back. He turned to James. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah,” answered McKenzie. “Karen’s cleaning up my uncle’s house today and reckons I’ll just get in her way if I try to help. I don’t have anything else to do, so I thought I’d come visit, see if you found anything in those newspapers.” Those newspapers, huh? The ones I’d seen Tim with yesterday? I was going to have to try to find out more about this.

  “Come down to my office, James. I’ll give you an update there,” said Tim.

  “Not willing to do it in front of me?”

  “Using my information would be cheating,” he teased. They left, James leaving his coffee with me.

  Great. So there were potential clues in some newspapers. I didn’t know what clues. I didn’t know what newspapers. What now?

  I got back to work.

  Now that I’d eaten and drunk something I felt a bit better. It really was a good iced coffee. If I’d had one of these, I wouldn’t share it with anyone, let alone my worst enemy. It wasn’t like I had been particularly nice to him. So what was he up to with this ‘nice guy’ act?

  OK, I admit it; I have a very suspicious nature. People can’t be nice to me without me thinking that they’re up to something. What did McKenzie want? To soften me up on the deal?

  I guess this goes to show something. If you asked me to sum myself up in three traits, I would say: ‘no’. But if I actually had to do it, I would probably say: argumentative, under-active conscience, and suspicious. After that would follow clumsy, lazy, pessimistic and many other negative and unflattering adjectives. About my only positive trait is my honesty, and I only ever seem to use that when it’s inappropriate. Like when someone asks, ‘How do I look?’ (Spoiler alert: they don’t really want to know the answer.)

  By lunchtime, I’d had about 500 phone calls and I’d booked them all in on the computer, I’d let a bunch of people in for appointments, and I’d made it through about half of the files (making two copies of all Tim’s info). I’d also, sadly, finished the soy coffee.

  I was doing work for some guy named Panther when the office door opened and Sharps walked in. With food.

  “How you doin’?” he asked.

  “Hungry.”

  He handed me one of his subs. I opened the wrapper to see what was on it. Fancy-looking salad with hummus. I took a bite. This was a good sub. It had proper lettuce leaves on it – like, not just soggy iceberg; this had rocket and baby spinach and that purple one you only get in top quality salads. “I got it from the cafeteria next door.”

  “There’s a cafeteria?”

  “Yeah. It’s joined onto the gym.”

  “Is it a private gym or can anyone use it?”

  “Private. The cafeteria’s private, too. All healthy food, unfortunately.” He’d answered my next two questions without me having to ask. “Do you know what’s going on with your exercise yet?”

  Shit. And I’d almost forgotten about it. “No. I forgot to ask Adam this morning,” I lied. I hadn’t forgotten. I’d avoided the topic.

  “Well I’ll have to remind him then. You’re not getting out of it.” Gee, thanks Tim. Thanks a heap.

  “How nice of you.”

  “Yeah.”

  I tried to change the subject. “Would you like some money for this?” I nodded at the sub.

  “Nah. You can buy me lunch sometime.”

  “I don’t know where to go.”

  He smiled. “It’s a date.”

  “Another date already?” It just slipped out. Really.

  He laughed.

  “What can I say? I enjoyed our last one.” He took a few more bites of his sub before growing serious. “Charlie… You know how I didn’t dob you in for reading confidential files?”

  Oh, shit. “Yes?”

  “And you were so grateful about that.”

  “Yes?” I answered hesitantly.

  “Well, I need a hand with a job after work this afternoon. Nothing hard, just talking to a guy in a pub. I just need to keep him out of the road while I search his office.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “Talking to a guy in a pub?”

  “No, searching –” He cut me off.

  “From what I’ve heard about you, Charlie, you don’t worry too much about the law. What’s the big deal?”

  He had a point.

  “It was just a question.”

  “See ya, honey.”

  “Tim –”

  The door swung shut behind him.

  * * *

  Adam came to visit me at 3:30.

  “OK. You begin fitness training tomorrow at 6 a.m. Someone will pick you up from your house at that time. Be ready. The basic outline of your program is this: first, you and your and trainer jog down here from your house. If it takes you any longer than an hour to get here, you’ll be doing cardio drills on the treadmill and exercise bike.”

  “An hour!” It had taken me longer than that to get here this morning and I’d cut out about a kilometre by jumping through people’s yards.

  “Yes. Next week it will be 55 minutes. Now, should you arrive early, you’ll do some yoga, Pilates or stretching until seven, at which time you’ll start strength and resistance training. That will involve weights, squats, crunches, push-ups – circuit training, you know the deal.” Sure I did. Cough. It involved circuits and stuff. “You do that for 30 minutes. At seven thirty you start self-defence and do that until eight. You have from eight to nine to eat breakfast, have a shower and get to your office.

  “We have ladies’ showers and toilet facilities and a cafeteria at the gym. Any food you buy will go on a tab and it will get taken out of your pay.

  “Tomorrow at 6 you will need to be ready in a tracksuit or other suitable clothes and joggers. You will need to bring work clothes and a bathroom bag for the showers. There are lockers in the showers you’ll be able to use. You can leave your toiletries in there if you want.

  “You’ll be doing exercise five days a week as a compulsory element of your contract, however as a member of staff you’re welcome to use the gym at any time.” Unlikely. I wasn’t going to spend any more time there than necessary. “The gym facilities are private so only our workers are allowed to use them. You don’t have to pay for membership. Any questions?”

  Wow. Someone had given that speech a few times. He spoke so quickly that I had to concentrate hard to understand what he was saying. Especially with the added distraction of that face. Ah, that face. The stuff of both my dreams and nightmares.

  “Will I have one constant trainer or does it rotate?”

  “It rotates. Different people have different methods of teaching and we like you to get a wide range of role models.” Role models? Sure, whatever. Pretty sure my role models weren’t going to be people who exercised.

  “OK.” Great. It meant I was going to get embarrassed in front of a diverse array of people.

  “Anything else? General questions?”

  “Do I have a lunch hour?”

  “One until two. Your calls all get diverted to someone else during that time.”

  “Oh.” I was wondering why I had that big blank patch with no calls. “Another question. Why weren’t there already a phone and a computer and stuff in here when I came last week?”

  “The last girl smashed them up.”

 
“Really? How?” The job was that bad?

  “With a wrecking bar,” he said, completely straight-faced.

  I went very still. That bastard, Tim, had told him about McKenzie’s car!

  “Been talking to Tim, I see.” I tried to sound nonchalant. “Did he tell you anything else?”

  “Yeah. He said he enjoyed having dinner at your house and I should watch out because you’re going to be taking me home next.”

  I was going to kill Tim. Twice, just for added effect.

  By 5 o’clock I’d finished the other half of the files and answered another 500 phone calls. Since it was time to go, I packed up my stuff (remembering my key card) and bolted out the door. Tim came down the corridor just as I was stepping out from behind my desk. He gave me a slow, evil smile.

  “You wouldn’t be trying to sneak out on me now, would you honey?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave me another grin. “I admire your honesty, but it’s not gonna get you out of this. You don’t wanna back out on a deal with me, honey. I take deals seriously.”

  “I don’t like the fact that you told Adam all those things that happened yesterday.”

  “He appreciated it.” Did that mean he had a secret sense of humour?

  Suddenly I had a frightening thought. “You didn’t actually ask James for that DVD of me smashing up his car, did you?”

  “I’m not that bad.” Not exactly an answer, but I let it go, Elsa style.

  I thought for a second, and then sighed. “What do you need me to do?”

  “You just gotta distract an old guy for me. Nothing scary. I wouldn’t put you in danger.”

  I snorted. “Bullshit.” I considered it for a moment. “Do I get paid?”

  He gave me a nicer smile this time. “Yeah.”

  “How much?”

  He told me.

  “Is what I’m wearing OK?”

  Chapter Nine

  Tim passed me a photo. We were sitting in his Porsche, which was parked across the road from a seedy pub. The sign read ‘ill’s Bar’. I think it was supposed to say ‘Bill’s Bar’ but the other letter appeared to have fallen off at some point. Still, since it was a cheap bar on Sump Street, the name ‘ill’ seemed quite fitting. And I was supposed to go in there and chat some 50+ year old guy up. Great.

  I looked down at the photo.

  “This is the target. I just need you to keep him occupied until I come in and bail you out. His name’s –”

  “Larry Jones. I recognise him.”

  “Yeah. Frank’s business partner. He’s a real asshole.” (I know it’s ‘arsehole’ in Australia, but it was Tim’s accent.) “But he hates James too, so you’ve got one thing in common.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “He likes his girls… Exotic. If you feel comfortable with it, faking an accent will probably hold his attention for longer.”

  Hmm. This was going to be fun.

  “One other thing, Tim. Why do you need me to distract him, anyway? If he’s left work for the day, surely he’ll just head home after this.”

  He gave me a gentle punch on the shoulder. “Look at you, using your sleuthing skills. His wife divorced him recently. Took the house, among other things. He’s living at his office at the moment.”

  “OK,” I said. “What nationality does he prefer?”

  Tim smiled. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

  I stepped into the pub and looked around, realising just how heavily I was in the minority here. Now, I’m not talking about being a female, although I was definitely outnumbered in that way as well. What I meant was I was probably the only one in there without a criminal record. That’s not to say I’d never done anything illegal, but at least I was smart enough not to get caught. I doubted anyone else in here could say that.

  I made my way to the counter, well aware that everyone was watching me. This place was the Gregory’s Groceries of pubs. Afraid of change, living on illegal funds, and far below health regulations.

  “Watcha want?” the barman demanded. He was an odd looking fellow, a fact that was not helped by his unfriendly manner. I was finding it difficult to decide whether he’d lost his teeth in pub brawls or whether they’d just rotted away due to neglect. His head was shaved bald, which seemed strange considering he had three day’s worth of beard growth on his face. I immediately got the impression that the majority of his brain cells had been killed off by liquor. This must have been especially detrimental to him as I doubted he’d had that many to start with.

  I was thinking that I’d sooner scoop out my own eye with a spoon than accept a drink from him.

  “I vant a drink. Vot else vould I come into a bar for?” I had no idea what accent it was, but I’d done it now. Time to commit.

  “Waddid ya say?” He looked confused. He probably always looked like that.

  “She said she wanted a drink,” came a voice from down the end of the bar. I looked to see who had said it. Yes! I’d struck gold.

  Larry Jones was staring at me like he’d never seen a woman before. I guess Tim was right about the accent thing. Jones couldn’t take his eyes off me.

  “Zank you,” I said to Jones. “I am glad zat somebody in zis room is culturally avare.”

  He smiled. “What is it you want to drink?” he asked.

  I pretended to think for a moment. Like I needed to think. Like I hadn’t decided the moment I walked in that there was no chance of me ever accepting a drink from that barman. “’Is stupidity ’as put me off my drink. I am zinking that per’aps I do not want to even stay in zis… zis… nesting room for cockroaches.” (Not my wittiest statement, I’ll admit, but I was pretending that English was my second language. Couldn’t be too quippy or people would get suspicious.) I turned and made out that I was going to leave.

  “Wait!” Larry called. I turned around and he continued in a slightly more composed manner. “Don’t leave. I want to get to know you better.”

  This was normally the part where I would have said, “I’m sorry, I don’t date anyone older than Tutankhamen” or “I don’t talk to strange men and, from what I’ve seen, they don’t come much stranger than you”, or even “I have to go, but could I offer you a lift back to the graveyard on my way?”. However, since this was a special occasion, I decided to give the old man a thrill and I sat one stool down from him.

  “The name’s Jones,” he said. “Larry Jones.” Oh, try as you might, Larry, you’re never gonna be James Bond.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Jones.”

  He laughed in a way that made me feel sick, and said, “Really, the pleasure’s all mine. And please, call me Larry.”

  I’d rather not call you at all, I thought. Why had Tim made me do this? Why had I agreed? This was not fun. This was creepy. “OK Larry, if zat is vot you vant. My name is Imaso.”

  “Imaso?” he repeated.

  “Yes. Imaso Pissedoffattim-ski.”

  “Pretty name.”

  Uh huh.

  “Zank you.”

  “So, Imaso,” he said, flashing me what he thought was a charming grin but really looked more like constipation. “Where are you from?”

  “I’m from a foreign country.” Oh, good, that sounded legit. Why hadn’t I just told him I was a Nigerian prince looking to give him lots of money? “I’m having a gap year from school.” That bit was better.

  “You speak very good English. What country is it that you come from?”

  I picked a random country out of the air. “Euthanasia.”

  It was only after I said it that I remembered “Euthanasia” wasn’t a country. He looked dumb enough not to notice that small mistake. I thought that maybe if I acted like that was what I meant to say, he would just ask some dumb question like “Which part of Asia is that?”, or maybe he hadn’t even heard what I said. Most of his attention seemed to be directed at my breasts.

  “Euthanasia?” He looked confused. “I thought that was when you um, you…” He trailed off.

 
“Zat is a common misconception. People zink zat it is just a vord, a… What do you call it? A euphemism. Zey don’t realise zat vord comes from ze name of our country. You know vhy it is named after our country? I tell you. It is because in our country, homicide is legal. You don’t like someone? Easy. Bang and zey are dead. Nobody in Euthanasia does anything wrong by anybody else, because they know what the consequence will be.” How soon could I get an appointment with my psychologist, I wondered? Surely she wouldn’t mind if I called her out of hours with this sort of mental emergency.

  “Really?”

  “One ’undred percent.” Yes, one hundred percent lies.

  “Sorry for my ignorance, but you can really kill anyone you want in this country?” He seemed far too enthusiastic about this.

  “Vell, obviously zere are some restrictions. I mean, you have to be 10 or older before you can kill anyone, and to kill anyone under ze age of five you must have zeir parents’ permission.” I blame my state of mind on my harsh upbringing. Which would be a better excuse if I’d actually had a harsh upbringing.

  “Jeez, I know a few people I wouldn’t mind taking there,” he said.

  “Who in particular?” I asked him.

  “Well, I’m supposed to be meeting one of them here tonight. If you really want to know, you can stay and meet him.” Oh, how could I turn down an offer like that? Answer: quite easily. Plus I already had a sneaking suspicion of who this might be.

  “I don’t know. I’m meeting someone ’ere too. It depends vot ’appens.”

  He looked a bit put out. “Pity. We were getting along so well.” Mmm. It’s amazing how nice I can be when I’m getting paid for it. “Anyway,” he continued. “Tell me more about Euthanasia. It sounds like a fascinating country. Can anybody travel there?”

  “Anybody. Just ask for a ticket at ze travel agency.” Yes. And watch them freak out when you try to give them a description of the place.

  He groaned. “The person I’m meeting just walked in,” he explained. I was amazed that he’d actually noticed someone walk through the door. His eyes hadn’t moved from my chest. I was about to turn to see who Larry was talking about when his ‘friend’ pulled up the stool between Larry and me.