Sharp Shooter

by Marianne Delacourt

  In fact, he seemed so sweet that I was beginning to feel guilty about dragging him out to Bunka. Then again, maybe he needed to pass a couple of my tests too.

  We split the bill and walked back to the Subaru.

  I directed him onto the bypass and out east, remembering my last trip on this road in the Cayenne. I wondered if Nick was enjoying his first night in my house.

  ‘Take the next exit,’ I said.

  We left the highway and merged into the local traffic doing their perennial laps around the streets of Burnside. A crowd of people were street drinking on the embankment near the station. I wondered if Cass and her gang were there.

  ‘Can we take a short detour? I just need to check out a place close by,’ I said.

  Edouardo shot me a quizzical look. It was amazing how handsome his face was at any angle in any light; even the sulphur yellow of the Bunka street lights.

  ‘You thinking of buying property out here?’ he asked.

  I peered out the side window looking for something familiar. ‘Not unless I can afford a full-time security guard. There! Slow down and turn into that lane.’

  He did as I asked, and the Subaru bumped up the laneway alongside Johnny Vogue’s compound. There were no lights on and everything seemed quiet.

  ‘Stop the car and kill the lights,’ I whispered.

  Edouardo complied, then slid his arm along the headrest of my seat and leaned towards me. ‘Tara?’

  Oh my god. Asking him to pull over in a dark place had given him totally the wrong message. Trust a man to think a back alley in Burnside could be sexy.

  Then again . . .

  Edouardo’s lips brushed my hair and his breath fanned warmth on my ear. He smelled of garlic and Indian spices. ‘We didn’t have to drive all this way to –’

  I grabbed his hand in a very un-sexy manner to jerk him out of his hormone surge. ‘Edouardo, this is going to sound a bit demented. But I just have to check something out in this warehouse. Nothing illegal. I just need to have a look inside. Can you sit tight and wait for me?’

  He sat back in his seat surprised. ‘Wha-at?’

  ‘Look, it’s a really long story which involves too many people you don’t know and questions I can’t answer. So I can’t go into it all now.’

  I flipped off the seatbelt. ‘I just want to look in the window and then we’re out of here. OK?’

  It was a bit dark to see his face now, but I guessed he was looking dubious, and a little offended. I would be too, if someone had knocked back my perfectly good sexual advance. I was guessing it didn’t happen to Edouardo too often.

  ‘I s’pose so. But I don’t want trouble with the police, Tara. I’m trying to get a career going. My agency would drop me in a second if they –’

  I traced my fingers across his chest. ‘Cross your heart. No trouble.’ Then I uncrossed my legs. ‘Back in a jiffy.’

  I jumped out of the car and surveyed the options for climbing the eight feet-tall fence. At least there was no razor wire.

  I stuck my head back in the window. ‘Do you have a torch?’

  He sighed and pulled the key from the ignition. ‘There’s a little torch on my key ring.’

  ‘Wonderful. Now I need a leg over.’

  He climbed out of the car and joined me on the bonnet. ‘How will you get back?’

  ‘I’ll find something on the other side to stand on.’

  ‘You sure? What if you can’t?’

  ‘I will,’ I reassured him. ‘It’s a warehouse. Warehouses always have things lying around that you can stand on.’ Hopefully.

  The hoist over was ugly but effective and I crashed down the other side like a cat with no legs.

  ‘Alright?’ Edouardo asked anxiously.

  ‘Dandy,’ said I, picking myself up. Now I was in here, adrenaline was shooting out through my toes. What if I’d missed noticing guard dogs? Or a security person?

  I sprinted across the crumbling bitumen yard to the building.

  Chains and padlock on the door, chicken wire over the dirty glass windows. I spent a few minutes locating a broken crate to stand on to look inside. Edouardo’s little torch worked a treat but the dust on the windows might as well have been curtains. If I could find a little gap to peer in through . . .

  Before giving it deep amounts of thought I reached down and slipped off my heels. Positioning the heel spike inside a loop of chicken wire, I hammered down on the shoe with the palm of my other hand. A chunk of glass cracked off and fell in.

  The alarms went off as I flashed the tiny torch around and got a good look. The building was wall-to-wall machinery. Huge scraper extensions and excavator buckets lay on the ground between the machines like giant discarded shoes. Most of them wore the Caterpillar brand emblem. What was Johnny Vogue – drug baron of the west – doing with a warehouse full of heavy equipment? Was it his?

  Dragging the broken crate behind me I dashed back to the fence. The dogs across the lane in the refrigeration yard were going crazy, baying like hellhounds. Edouardo was pacing up and down next to the car.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he cried.

  The crate collapsed on my first go and I had to reassemble it and prop it against the fence. This time I got up and over, leaving a good scraping of my skin behind. Hopefully the Burnside cops weren’t up on DNA testing.

  I fell into the car and threw Edouardo the car keys. He put the pedal to the metal and we were back in traffic before I could do my seatbelt up.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Accidentally broke a window,’ I said.

  He took a deep breath and I noticed his hands were shaking on the steering wheel. ‘Let’s get your car and get out of here. Then you owe me an explanation and a lot of vodka.’

  He seemed to be taking it well.

  ‘OK. Deal,’ I said.

  Chapter 34

  WE ARRIVED AT BOG’S yard five minutes later. Bog was sitting on the bonnet of my car drinking beer straight from the carton – no esky in sight – under a spotlight.

  He waved and slid off the bonnet when he saw me. Edouardo drove the Subaru up alongside.

  I lowered the window. ‘Evening. Got your message.’

  Bog didn’t answer but he stepped out of the way so I could see Mona. She was clean as a whistle, shiny orange but . . .

  ‘What’s that?’ I gasped staring at the black swirls across the bonnet and down the side.

  ‘Flames,’ said Bog. ‘You said you wanted to race her. Thought I’d throw in an extra for you. Had a set of transfers hangin’ around.’

  ‘N-i-ce,’ I managed to get out. My car looked like a hell-beast Transformer.

  In the seat next to me Edouardo sounded like he was choking.

  ‘Don’t you think it might attract attention?’ I asked Bog.

  ‘That’s the idea.’ He tossed the can away and ripped open another. ‘We got a deal though. Remember? You race, I wrench.’

  ‘But you’re a spray painter,’ I protested.

  ‘Yeah, only cos . . . well I got my reasons. But I got my trade as well. As good a mechanic as you can find.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, stumped. ‘Fair enough. I’ll keep it in mind.’

  Bog cocked his head as a truck turned into the street, headlights off. He flicked us a salute. ‘Time you folk went.’

  I got a cold, shivery feeling. If Bog was up to something illegal I didn’t want anything to do with it. I’d pushed my luck enough for one night. ‘Sure.’ I glanced at Edouardo. ‘Follow me home. We’ll have that drink at The Cocked Dog.’

  Edouardo nodded; a tight jerk of his head that told me he was thinking the same thing as me. It was time to go.

  I jumped out of the Subaru and into Mona. The engine fired up sweetly – so sweetly, I swear Bog had tuned her as well. With one slight depression of the accelerator, and a swing of the steering wheel, I flew out of Bog’s yard and headed down the street towards the incoming truck.

  A quick glance in the mirror told me Edouardo was sticking tight to m
y tail.

  As we crossed paths – two innocent cars happening to be on the same street as a dirty-great-big unmarked truck – two police cars screamed around the corner, sirens blaring.

  Before I took the same corner, I glimpsed the truck being pulled over to the side of the road at the gate of Bog’s yard.

  The rest of the trip home was uneventful apart from my thumping heart, clammy hands, and the hoons that tried to drag me at every set of traffic lights.

  Flames. My flipping car’s got flipping flames.

  How was I going to park it in Lilac Street?

  Worse! How would I tell Bok? Bok loathed all things bogan.

  By the time I turned off Stirling Highway into the car park of The Cocked Dog, I’d pretty well justified myself to Bok in my mind, by deciding the whole thing was his fault anyway.

  Edouardo ended up buying the bottle of vodka and drinking most of it – among other things – and I ended up driving him home. Not before he accidentally tossed a flaming Drambuie over his shoulder (instead of into his mouth) and nearly set fire to the barman’s dreads.

  About then the management decided it was time for us to go, and possibly not return for some time.

  I saw Edouardo to the door of his ground-floor unit in a salmon-brick apartment block in Graylands.

  ‘Thanksh, Tarah,’ he slurred. ‘Never hadda night witha girl like that befoe.’

  I put his key in the lock and opened the door.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ I said, feeling guilty. ‘Sorry.’

  He threw his arms around me and hugged me tight. ‘Don’ ’pologise. ’S’fun,’ he mumbled in my ear. ‘Scary but fun. Like you.’

  I laughed, pushing him away. ‘You’re a cool dude, Edouardo. Take care.’

  His face dropped as he grabbed the door jam. ‘Don’ you wanna mess around?’

  I leaned forward and kissed him firmly on the cheek. ‘Some other time.’

  Chapter 35

  I PARKED MONA A little way up Lilac Street so that it wasn’t the first thing JoBob saw when they looked out of their bedroom window in the morning. Then I crept down the driveway into my flat, past the sleeping birds.

  I was still churned up, so I got on the internet and surfed. By about 3 am I’d established that the machinery I’d seen in Johnny Vogue’s warehouse was mining plant: wheel loaders, dozers and excavators.

  Weird.

  I fell asleep on that thought and woke up six hours later with another.

  Nick Tozzi’s exploration lease.

  There had to be a connection.

  I rang Nick before I got out of bed.

  ‘Tozzi,’ he answered.

  ‘Sharp,’ I replied.

  He paused. ‘Yes?’

  ‘We need to meet. I have some . . . information for you.’

  Another pause. ‘Important?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  He sucked in breath. I couldn’t tell if it was in annoyance, or out of concern for what I might have found out. I ran with the latter.

  ‘I’m having drinks with some business associates at 7 pm tonight. The Cocked Dog. Come along and we can talk there,’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, thinking of Edouardo and the flaming Drambuie.

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘Err . . . well. Can we meet outside?’

  ‘OK. But why?’

  My turn to sigh. ‘I was there last night with a friend. We kinda got . . . kicked out.’

  ‘Don’t tell me . . . you vomited into a pot plant.’

  He hung up, laughing, before I could spit out an indignant reply.

  I spent the rest of the day washing my clothes and moping around the flat wondering what to do with what I’d learned. Did it mean anything at all? I mean, it’s not illegal to own mining gear. Yet the disturbance around those lease documents had been strong.

  By late afternoon I was feeling antsy so I threw on my runners and went for another jog. Things went better this time. I stuck to the fairly level route towards the highway and got through four k’s without any ill effects.

  Feeling cheered up by that, I showered and nibbled on some dry crackers and the last corner of brie. Then I read the daily news on my computer before I got ready to meet Nick.

  Bok rang as I was hunting out one of my old handbags.

  ‘’Lo babe. Where were you last night? I called around.’

  ‘Had a date,’ I said smugly, shovelling things into a worn but still stylish Mandarina Duck satchel.

  ‘You? A date? Who with?’

  ‘Not telling. How’s the ’zine coming along?’

  ‘One minute I think we’re going to make deadline and then the next I lose my lead story.’

  ‘Huh? Really?’

  ‘My major celebrity interview’s fallen through. They’ve coughed up the withdrawal fee but I still don’t have a cover. I don’t think I’m cut out for this type of stress.’

  I grabbed my keys and handbag, and headed out of the flat. ‘Course you are. You thrive on stress. Can’t you get an interview with someone else?’

  ‘I’m trying. No one of any significance wants to do this sort of thing on short notice. They want photo shoots in Bali and blah blah.’ He sounded bone weary.

  ‘Crapski. Sounds like we need a pizza and DVD night.’

  ‘Yeah. Anyway, how are things with you? Anyone tried to run you down since we spoke. Or shoot you?’

  ‘Very funny,’ I said as I left the driveway and walked down the street towards my car. ‘I’m fine. That is . . . oh, bugger . . . I’ll call you back.’

  There was a cop car parked behind Mona, and two cops were looking in the windows.

  As I got closer I recognised Greg Whitehead and his partner, Tony, both lit up by a street light.

  ‘Whitey?’

  He glanced up, smirked, and came over to me. ‘Your car been pimped, Tara?’

  ‘Some nut case graffitied it. I had to get it painted. Nice, huh?’

  Tony looked me up and down. ‘You’re the girl without her pants.’

  I gritted my teeth. One little slip-up and they couldn’t let it go. Men.

  ‘Leave this one to you, Greg, my whopper’s getting cold.’ Whitey’s partner retired to the car and proceeded to bury his face in a Macca’s bag.

  ‘What’s the problem, Whitey?’ I asked impatiently. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry.’

  ‘Got a report of an abandoned car in Lilac Street. Might have guessed it was yours.’

  ‘It’s not abandoned. I just parked it up the street a bit because –’

  ‘Hey, you look hot.’ Whitey stepped up closer and leered down my cleavage. The way things were between me and the local constabulary I didn’t want to punch a cop, but surely a little shove couldn’t –

  My hand shot out and contacted Whitey in the chest, but he grabbed my wrist and held onto it to lessen the impact. We stood there for a frozen few seconds, me glaring, him leering, until the blue BMW roared around the corner and swerved dangerously close to us.

  We both leaped back onto the pavement, the beautiful moment between us broken. Then Whitey dropped my hand and pelted back to the squad car shouting, ‘Park your car in front of your own house in future.’

  With those pearls of wisdom he, Tony and the whopper were gone, chasing the BMW.

  I drove well under the speed limit to The Cocked Dog, not trusting my nerves or my current run of luck to not lead me into a speed trap. I parked in the same car park as the previous night and checked my watch. Five minutes early.

  I sat in the car and fiddled with my hair using the rearview mirror. It was shoulder-length and dark at the moment and didn’t take much work, which was just as well. I studied my face.

  ‘You have a strong face, Tara,’ Aunt Liv liked to say. ‘Strong and handsome.’

  ‘What? Like a guy?’ I’d retort.

  ‘A character face. Perfect for that physique of yours. You’d look silly if you were too pretty.’

  Oh. OK, thanks, Liv. I think.

  Right now m
y reflection told me that my ‘strong, handsome’ face looked slightly harassed. Wild even.

  It also told me that the mysterious blue BMW was parked behind me, wedged under a street light between a slightly bashed-up, old diesel Pajero, and a 300 series Mercedes Benz.

  I flung the door open. This is Australia, the only weapon women carry here is their handbag. Totally effective when it’s weighed down with half a bottle of orange Powerade, breath mints, too many loose coins, and a trashy novel.

  I advanced on the BMW with my Mandarina Duck satchel and lethal intent, but halfway across a hand grabbed my elbow and swung me around – Nick Tozzi looking altogether too damn fine to be alone in a car park.

  ‘Tara? Where are you going? You look like you’re about to murder someone.’

  ‘Th-the car that tried to run me over d-down at the jetty, and then again a few m-minutes ago, it’s over th-there,’ I stuttered.

  I pointed.

  He swivelled and looked across. ‘Are you sure?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘I’ll check it out.’

  I went to follow him, but he turned around and stopped me with a ferocious look. ‘Stay! Jazz, come with me.’

  I suddenly realised he wasn’t alone. There was a guy standing a little behind him, almost as tall but younger and slimmer, and wearing a cap despite the fact that it was dark; Jazz Broad, currently the best power forward in Australia.

  My knees went weak.

  I watched the two giants walk over and around the car, looking in windows the same way Whitey had checked out Mona.

  A few minutes later they returned.

  ‘No one in there,’ said Tozzi. ‘What do you want to do?’

  I patted my handbag. ‘I’ve got the plate number. I’ll take it down to the police station when I leave here. I’ve got a copper who’ll help me.’

  Tozzi smiled; pale giant’s teeth. ‘That’s a relief. I thought they all wanted to put you in jail.’

  ‘Woah!’ exclaimed Jazz. ‘Who pimped that bitch?’

  For one horrible moment I thought he was talking about me, and that I was going to have to punch Tozzi’s best player. To my relief though, I realised he was looking at my car. The flames on the bonnet were glowing fluorescent in the dark. I hadn’t noticed before.