Ace was so happy that manipulating Mirage was such an easy task. He couldn’t wait to add more names to her hit list and then he would kill her himself.
Chapter 6
Matt was staring at the bar admiring the way his drink cast an amber shadow.
“Lemon lime bitters. My friend will have another of the same.” Matt looked up at Cynthia who had sat down heavily on the stool beside him.
She did not look happy.
“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked.
“No. Couldn’t sleep.”
Matt could see that her eyes were red and she wore the same clothes that she had been wearing all day. “There’s something else Cynthy, what is it?”
Cynthia paid for the drinks and took a sip. She felt like she needed something stronger, but it was refreshing.
She put the playing card on the bar in front of him.
“What’s this?” He flipped it around looking at the front and back.
“I found it in my apartment.”
“Yeah? Everyone has a set of playing cards at home somewhere. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
Cynthia shook her head and drank some more. “Matt, someone searched my place…”
“What do you mean ‘searched’?”
“… And trashed it. Everything is ruined or broken.” Cynthia looked Mat in the eyes, hers glittered with tears.
“Jesus… Cynthy, I’m so sorry. What did they take?”
“I don’t know, maybe nothing. They just left that card.” Cynthia took another sip to suppress a sob.
“That really sucks. Do you need somewhere to crash?” Cynthia nodded slowly. “Okay, your welcome to stay on my couch.” He slid the card back to her. “Any other trace of who might have done it?”
“Just the card.” She took a deep breath. “Do we tell Bronson?”
Matt was thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t think so. He will offer you anything, and you don’t want to be in his debt.” Cynthia’s eyes were fixed on the bar. “He’s our boss and he’s a gangster after all is said and done.”
The two of them finished their drinks and caught the next taxi back to Matt’s apartment.
Cynthia had never visited Matt’s apartment before. The agreement the two of them had for their working life was that they didn’t discuss their lives outside of work. Their homes and their habits outside of work were kept private. Matt had no idea where Cynthia lived and she had no idea where he lived.
It turned out that Matt lived in quite a nice two-bedroom house in Carlton that overlooked the gardens.
“Well, hear it is. Sorry about the mess.”
Cynthia looked about, fascinated by the interior of his home. Seeing Matt’s house was like being told a secret that she had been dying to hear.
There were bookshelves everywhere. Matt’s house was full of novels. There was shelf after shelf of them, and even more in stacks on the floor and on tables.
“Wow,” she laughed.
“Yeah, I read a lot.”
Cynthia wandered through the towering piles of books, glancing at different titles and the different genres.
“I thought I read a lot. This is a private library.”
“Hmm, I should sell some.”
“What’s this?” she pointed to the spare room. Its walls were completely covered in sheets of paper and magazine clippings. She could see a few portraits pinned to the walls over the sheets of notepaper.
“That?” he rubbed at his smooth chin. “I’m a bit of a writer too. That’s just how I plan everything out you know?”
“I’m impressed Matt. I had no idea you were creative too.” She smiled and nodded.
“You’re creative?” He smiled. “I knew you must have been a creative person. The way you pick up pieces of bone when you find them on the roadside. Normal people don’t do that.” He chuckled.
Normal People.
Cynthia’s face lost its smile and she stared blankly.
Matt tried to cheer her up, “So what do you create?”
“I…paint, mostly. I just try to channel my feeling onto the canvas. The work we do doesn’t always make you feel like the best person in the world, you know? So I try to empty that unhappy feeling onto the canvas.”
Matt nodded and leaned against the wall. “I know what you mean.”
Cynthia slumped into the couch and looked up at him. “What do you write about?”
“Umm, I write young adult fiction mostly. I try to censor the harsh realities of my own life into something that makes me happy.”
“Isn’t writing about freedom of opinion and not having to censor yourself?”
“I don’t know. I guess it is for some, but I like writing about a world where my characters don’t see the things we’ve done and dirty deals that our employer has made. The drugs and violence are real enough in a young person’s life, as they get older. My passion is to give them an adventure where they can experience the hard choices and take the risks.” Matt smiled at her. “In my books people don’t hemorrhage inside when they are hit by a car and they aren’t betrayed in ways that they can never forgive. They aren’t soft, but they aren’t our lives either.”
“Your books? Have you published?”
“Yeah, quite a few. Mystery and detective type stories. The Next Tuesday, The Mutant Contract, Summer Diaries, Nowhere to Fall…”
“Nowhere to Fall? I’ve read that. James Langdon, he wrote that.” Cynthia exclaimed.
“Yeah, he did.”
Cynthia raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You are James Langdon?”
“I…could be.” He smiled mischievously.
She shook her head. “Firstly, wow, secondly, congratulations and thirdly, you are so going to get me signed copies.”
“So what can you tell me about your break in?” He called from the linen cupboard.
Cynthia moved some books off one of the two armchairs and sat down. “Well,” she said thinking about the scene, “they came in through the window.”
“’They?’”
“There were four different footprints. They tossed my paint from one end of the apartment to the other and then they walked through it. Wasn’t a smart move on their part, but we aren’t detectives and we aren’t in a position to accuse anyone of committing a crime.”
Matt came back with a sheet and a fresh doona. “What kinds of shoes?”
“Pardon?” Cynthia hadn’t thought about that. “Umm, some had a diamond pattern others had a sort of zig-zags.”
Matt was tucking the sheet around the couch cushion as he thought about the evidence. “Diamond shapes? Flat soles?”
She nodded. “That sounds like skate shoes.”
“Yeah. Very popular amongst men and women from age Fifteen to Fifty.”
“Yeah. Thanks for narrowing it down.” She muttered sarcastically.
“Don’t doubt me yet. You never know when something will become relevant. What else?”
“They didn’t steal anything, at least as far as I could tell. And they over turned the whole place. And left the playing card.”
“Did you check your door?” Matt finished making the bed and stood in the doorway of his bedroom yawning.
“Yes.” She shrugged. “Nothing. It wasn’t touched. They came in through the window and they left through the window.”
“It isn’t your average breaking and entering is it?”
“Not really.” Cynthia crawled under the doona.
Matt looked exhausted. The only rest either of them had had was in the car that morning when they had taken turns driving.
“Let’s just keep it from Mr Carlyle for now. He doesn’t need to know any more about us. He calls, we do the jobs, we go home. It’s simple and we don’t have to feel like lapdogs.”
“I agree.” Cynthia said as she closed her eyes. “I still want to kill the bastards.”
Matt smiled and went to bed.
Both of them were dead to the world almost instantly.
Chapter 7
/> The car ride to Bronson Carlyle’s apartment building took Forty-five minutes and it took another ten to get to the penthouse.
Cynthia and Matt had agreed to keep the matter of her break-in a secret.
The two of them had slept most of the morning until Mr Carlyle sent them both a text. They got breakfast at a drive through and had stopped to buy a new coat for Cynthia on the way.
They were still sipping their coffee when the elevator opened.
“You sleep alright?” Bronson was in usual black suit with a lime green shirt.
Matt and Cynthia, both in shirts pants and thigh length coats, nodded and said they had.
He offered them a seat on his lounge suite.
“Those two you put out of action last night, they weren’t Doyle’s.” Bronson sipped his orange juice as he stared out at the city through the massive windows that lit the apartment.
Matt’s nose crinkled. He had deduced that they had to be from someone as influential as Doyle.
Matt was a strong man, but Bronson Carlyle did not employ him for his ability as a henchman. Being an amateur detective meant that his talents were utilized to trace evidence back to his competitors or to recognize loose ends that needed to be neutralized. This was vital for helping Carlyle avoid the attention of the authorities.
Right now he stood in the penthouse beside the lounge suite shaking his head in disbelief.
“Then who? Who would have the resources or the inside knowledge to trace us to that particular place? We have only ever disposed of one other liability out there. If this mystery player had the resources to trace that mission, what’s to say they haven’t or won’t hinder or expose other ‘out of town missions’.” He sat down heavily and stared out the window, still shaking his head.
“I understand what you are saying Mr Claire, but Doyle is off the list of suspects.” Bronson sat the glass on the coffee table and slid his hands into his pockets.
Cynthia could see that Matt was lost in thought and mulling over the problem. “So do you want us to explore this further?”
“Maybe.” Bronson wandered back to the kitchen. “One of my employees was found dead this morning in Club 160.”
“And you think it is linked?” Matt’s ears had perked up at the idea of investigating a murder.
“I dunno. I just thought it was worth you having a sniff about. I want to stay the hell out of it if I can. It was John Parks, my accountant. It may not be linked to me, but the last thing I need is the fuzz comin’ round here asking questions.”
Matt nodded. The police would have been all over the scene if it had occurred in a prestigious Melbourne nightclub. Police in the city aren’t stupid, they can work out whether a murder is the result of a drunken brawl or a crime related killing. Some Melbourne detectives are already suspicious of Bronson Carlyle’s business exploits, the appearance of two of his employees at a crime scene would only draw attention to him.
“How do we get close?” Matt asked after consideration.
“My son, Tony, owns the club. He will get you anything you need.”
Cynthia looked up at Bronson who now stood staring out the window again. “Tony? Wasn’t he working in Vegas?” Cynthia had met Tony twice before at Bronson’s old residence but he hadn’t said much to her. He was a very handsome guy. He was lean and muscled, not like his father.
“’Was’… He has been back for three months, and he’s already a pain in my arse.”
Matt rose from his chair and Cynthia followed.
Bronson nodded to his two employees. “Tony will meet you at the Ice-Bar. He’s laying low while the police are all over his club.”
They nodded their understanding and headed for the elevator.
There was work to do.
A murder in a nightclub is very public. The likelihood of it being a gang killing was very slim, unless someone was being very brazen about the threat they were making.
***
The Ice-Bar was empty, as any bar should be at Ten Thirty in the morning.
There was a barman, a rough guy with a grey goatee and another well-dressed man sitting on a barstool.
This was Tony Carlyle.
The barman nodded to them as they entered through the old wooden door. “Tony, your Dad’s people are here.”
Tony saw Cynthia and smiled. “Deadfall, I haven’t seen you for ages.”
Cynthia nodded a greeting and she acknowledged Tony’s flirtatious grin, but there was something about him…
Matt stepped forward to shake his hand. “Matt Claire, always a pleasure.”
Tony shook Matt’s hand and offered the two of them stools at the bar.
“Three vodkas, Jules. The good stuff.” Tony winked to the barman who nodded and bent down to retrieve a bottle from a low cupboard.
“Last night,” Matt began, “what happened?”
The barman gave them each a small glass with some of the clear drink in the bottom.
“I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. I run three of the main strip’s best nightspots. I’m responsible for them running smoothly every night and there’s even more pressure on a weekend. The numbers of people that rotate between all three clubs, and not just mine is huge. It’s great revenue, but it’s hard to monitor.”
“You weren’t there?”
“No, I was there. I just arrived a moment too late. I didn’t witness anything leading up to the attack and my security footage only shows a man in black.”
“No face?”
“None. He had a balaclava on. He must have brought it in in his pocket and put it on before he killed Johnny.”
Cynthia swirled her drink around and took a sip. It tasted like any other vodka, but she wasn’t an expert. “How was he killed?”
Tony sat back a little on his stool to look her over. “It was a stab to the heart.”
“A bit precise.” Matt sat up. “That’s a little unusual isn’t it?”
Tony shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose it is. That’s just what happened. My security got there just as Johnny hit the floor. There was no sign of the killer. We even checked the footage from the door. Nothing.”
Matt rubbed at his clean-shaven chin. “So we have an unidentified killer, who kills by stabbing to the heart. They are also a master of disguise.”
“Yeah,” Tony grinned. “A bloody ninja.”
Cynthia got up from her stool and wandered over to look at the posters on the walls.
They were all posters of different bands that had played at the bar over the years. Some of the artwork was vintage and tattered, which appealed to her artistic tastes. She would have loved to take some of them home with her. Then she remembered her sacked apartment.
“I wish I could see the body or the crime scene. This is bullshit, I can’t learn anything this way.” Matt said as he finished his drink.
“Sorry man. That’s all I’ve got. I told the old man that I had nothin’ but he insisted on you guys coming down here.”
“You said your security got there. They must have seen the body right?” Matt raised his brows. “Where can I find him?”
Tony sat watching Cynthia for a moment before replying. “I can get you a number,” then he nodded towards Cynthia, “if you can give me one.”
Matt smiled and shook his head. “She’s my partner, Tony.”
“Come on. If she isn’t interested she’ll say so. She’s a big girl, she can decide on her own.” He finished with a mischievous grin. “Come on…”
“Fine,” Matt said reluctantly.
Cynthia was an adult; she could make her own decision.
Mat scrolled through his phone in search of Cynthia’s number while Tony found the number for the security guard that he had promised.
Cynthia was oblivious to their whispered words. She wasn’t interested in the detective work that Matt was so passionate about. Her mind lingered on the destruction of her apartment and all the mementos and personal things that were too ruined to keep.
Personal things.
>
There was something that she should have retrieved from her apartment.
Her personal diary.
Cynthia had been writing in the diary since she was in high school. She had written about her crushes, her friends and the lyrics of her favorite songs, like any teenager. But this diary also documented every feeling she had as her family broke apart and the abuse she and her mother suffered at the hands of her stepfather. These were dark thoughts and they were detailed. She used to read these parts of her diary at least once a year to alleviate some of the guilt she felt. She knew that her troubled home life was not her fault, but her stepfather’s death was.
That was a secret that she fiercely guarded, and she had left it in the sacked apartment.
She reached out to touch an old photo that was on the wall. It was a band standing together for a group photo. She had no photo’s to rescue from the ruin of her home, just that diary.
She took a deep breath.
She will need to tell Matt that they needed to make a stop after they were finished interviewing Tony Carlyle.
Cynthia kept looking at the photos and posters on the walls, regarding them as though she were in an exhibition.
But she knew she was distracting herself.
She needed to get the diary. The feeling made her stomach twist and she felt nauseous.
At least while they are at her apartment Matt can apply himself to examining the scene.
She looked over to where the two men were at the bar exchanging numbers and decided that it must be their time to leave.
“You ready, Miss Abell?” Matt said as he finished shaking hands with Mr Carlyle Junior.
“I’m ready,” She said to Matt before smiling a good bye to Tony, “it was nice to meet you again, Tony.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you.” He looked her confidently in the eyes, “I’ll see you round, Miss Abell.”
The two of them left the Ice-Bar and went out to their new silver Honda sedan.
“What is it?” Matt said as he climbed into the drivers seat.
Cynthia pulled her seat belt on and stared out of the window. “Matt, we need to stop by my place. I left something there. I completely forgot about it last night.”
Deadfall: A Post-Humans Story Page 4
