Sharp Shooter

by Marianne Delacourt

  ‘I dug around.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? Jees. I’m trying to understand why I’m getting shot at, and why cars are trying to run me over. You owe me some kind of explanation, Nick.’

  ‘Shot at?’ He sat up straighter.

  ‘You first,’ I said firmly.

  He sighed. ‘There’s no vendetta. But our families do go back a long way. You’ve gotta understand people like him and me, Tara. Pride is everything for us. Johnny thinks I’ve done better than him. Married better. My business is lucrative and legal. He wants a piece. He’s always wanted a piece. Things have been harder for me lately, and he’s seen an opportunity to bring me down.’

  I let that digest. ‘Does it include wanting your wife?’

  Had I really said all that out loud? I glanced quickly at his fists. One smack from his giant paws would likely put me in hospital for a month; one twitch of those giant fingers could strangle me in an eye-blink or two. Amazingly, though, his fists weren’t clenched, or twitchy.

  I summoned the courage to look back at his face. His expression, lit by passing streetlights, was so distressed, I wanted to cry. I felt the warmth of his aura contract away from me. What had I done?

  ‘Nick, I’m sorry!’ I blurted. ‘That was a stupid thing to say.’

  The limo’s flicker went on as it left the road and parked outside Liv’s apartment.

  I grabbed the door handle. ‘Look, I’m out of line. I apo –’

  He wrenched my hand back. ‘You started this storyline, Tara,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Now see it through. Why did he try to rob me?’

  It was a plea, hidden in a demand.

  It prompted a blinding thought. Barbaro had said something odd to me. Where’s the stash?

  ‘What if he was only making it look like a robbery?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think that Barbaro meant to plant something. Maybe drugs. To create problems for you.’

  Tozzi looked well and truly sober now. ‘It would. Other than the obvious, I’m trying to get extensions on my loans. A drug offence wouldn’t fill the bank with confidence in me. What made you think of that?’

  ‘I overheard Viaspa say that he’d stick coke up your arse if he had to.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Seemed like an idle threat, you know. A joke.’

  He let out a breath. ‘But the police didn’t find drugs.’

  ‘Did they put a sniffer dog through?’

  Tozzi shook his head.

  ‘Of course not,’ I answered for him. ‘They were too busy looking for what had been stolen. Maybe Barbaro panicked when your mother interrupted him, so he made it look like a robbery, tipped a few things over, and dumped the stash somewhere on the way out. He didn’t have it when the police arrested him.’

  We looked at each other.

  ‘The garden!’ we said simultaneously.

  Tozzi leaned forward and slid open the privacy window. ‘Take us to Eireen’s.’

  Chapter 45

  EIREEN DIDN’T SEEM PERTURBED to see her son letting himself through the front door in the wee hours. She was dozing on her chair, feet tucked under a mohair rug even though it was warm, and resting on her footstool. The TV carolled an old musical.

  ‘Who you got there, Nick?’

  ‘It’s Tara Sharp, Mama. We just need to look for something in the garden.’

  ‘Joanna’s daughter? Better than that skinny wife of yours.’

  ‘Where’s a torch?’

  ‘Under the sink.’

  He dropped a kiss on her head. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  She nodded.

  I followed Tozzi through the house to the kitchen and out the back door. It felt weird to be standing on Eireen’s back porch in the middle of the night, staring down to the back lane that I’d chased Brains along.

  ‘So tell me what happened,’ said Nick flashing the torch around.

  ‘Barbaro came out right here. I could see him in the porch light. I was over next door, on top of the fence.’

  ‘Show me which way he ran.’ He took my arm as we walked down the steps.

  I didn’t resist. ‘This side of the lavender bushes, I think, then straight to the gate.’

  We walked the route several times without luck.

  ‘Do you remember seeing him throw anything?’

  I stopped and thought. So much had happened since that evening that the memory of it was starting to blur. ‘The alarm went off and he ran straight at the gate.’ I retraced to the back gate. ‘He shook the gate and couldn’t get it open. So he backtracked and took a run-up.’

  ‘Back-tracked? How far?’

  I took half a dozen steps backwards and out a bit.

  ‘Stop,’ said Nick, and came over with the torchlight. He searched in a circle around me.

  ‘Nothing,’ he pronounced. He was starting to sound tired and pissed off. ‘How did you talk me into doing this?’

  ‘I didn’t. You told your driver to bring us here.’

  He stalked off towards the house, leaving me in the dark.

  Then I remembered something. ‘Nick. Bring the light back,’ I called out.

  He stopped, swore, and came back to me. ‘Look, Tara –’ ‘Shut up!’ I snatched the torch from him and shone it along the fence line. One direction was lawn. The other direction was a hedge of well-clipped rose bushes.

  I got down on my hands and knees near the hedge and waved the beam among the thorny stems. There it was, about halfway in and halfway down – a small packet of silver alfoil, dangling.

  ‘I can see something,’ I said, reaching towards it.

  ‘Let me look.’ Nick hunkered down next to me so quickly that his large body banged against mine, knocking me forward into the bush.

  I copped a face full of thorns as my fingers closed on the foil.

  ‘Yeeooow!’ I screamed.

  A giant hand grabbed my neck and hauled me backwards so that I fell on my arse.

  ‘Tara, I’m so sorry.’ Nick grabbed the torch and was peering at me. ‘Oh shit. I’m sorry.’

  I felt the blood trickling down my face but my attention had already moved on. With shaking hands I opened the silver packet.

  Nick shone the torch at it and we stared at the pile of white powder. ‘Coke,’ he said.

  ‘You’d know more than me,’ I said. ‘Never done anything much more than smoke pot.’

  ‘Me neither,’ he confessed. ‘But I’ve seen Toni with it.’

  We stared at each other. Dogs were barking in the nearby yards. Next door’s perimeter floodlight activated.

  ‘I think we should go.’ He shut the foil and took the drugs from me. ‘I’ll deal with this. You go back to the apartment and bathe your scratches.’

  Suddenly my face began to hurt. I was tired. I nodded. ‘Good idea.’

  I slept for three hours, dreaming about Barbaro wrapping my head in barbed wire while Johnny Vogue laughed. I woke with a sore face and my mind racing over last night’s conversation with Liv.

  Fundraisers. FUNDRAISERS. Of course!

  I rang Craigo straightaway.

  ‘Hi Tara.’ He sounded sickeningly bright and chirpy.

  ‘Are you going by the gym on the way to the meet?’

  ‘Yes. I’m picking up some water bottles. Why?’

  ‘There’s a newspaper cutting on the noticeboard for an over-fifties fundraiser.’

  ‘I know the one. What about it?’

  ‘Can you bring it with you? I need to look at it.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t forget, Craigo. It’s important.’ I let ‘grave’ slip into my voice.

  ‘Everything alright?’

  ‘I hope so,’ I breathed. ‘See you soon.’

  I sprang out of bed, determined to bury my concerns by cooking a sumptuous breakfast.

  Wal wandered out just as I reached the height of my culinary frenzy, and I plonked a plate of scrambled eggs topped with caviar in front of
him. Without a word about the state of my scratched face, he sat down at Liv’s petite-but-elegant wrought-iron-and-glass breakfast table, and started shovelling it down.

  As I crunched my four pieces of toast and honey, and gargled on a large glass of French-vanilla milk, I watched him. In his t-shirt and dangerously worn jocks, he seemed to be slipping down on the gaunt side of healthy for a guy who was normally stocky.

  ‘You been eating properly, Wal?’

  He shrugged. ‘Sometimes. If I don’t fall asleep and forget. Doc’s given me a prescription to help with sleepin’ an’ all but –’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Can’t afford it now I’m out of work.’

  ‘Can’t afford what?’ trilled Liv. She appeared from her boudoir in a floaty pantsuit and divine barely-there makeup. Her upswept hair gleamed like the crown jewels under lights. A chunky necklace finished off her outfit perfectly; slightly eccentric but so interesting.

  Wal’s fork clattered onto his plate and he just stared at her.

  Liv isn’t beautiful like the Antonia Falk-Tozzis of the world, but there’s something utterly glamorous about her. Five years junior to Joanna, she looked twenty years younger. Her skin was many-avocado-facials lovely and her figure svelte. Mum always claimed it was because Liv’d never had children.

  I could buy that.

  ‘Tara, what on earth happened to your –’

  ‘I’m OK, Liv. Long story. Please don’t ask.’

  She stared at me for a long moment then moved her inspection onto Wal’s state of undress. ‘Wallace, where are your pants?’

  ‘Um –’ he started.

  ‘A gentleman never appears without pants at breakfast.’ She perched herself on the breakfast bar stool and poured an orange juice from the jug I’d filled. Liv could do haughty better than anyone when she put her mind to it.

  ‘Sorry, Lavilla,’ said Wal, turning a shade of tomato.

  I sucked in my cheeks, and bit on them to stop from laughing.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he added as an afterthought, then jumped up and headed to the laundry.

  When we heard the toilet door close, Liv rounded on me.

  ‘Now Tara, I let you off last night because you were clearly exhausted. But you must tell me what on earth is going on?’

  I gave her the version I’d given Dad. Wal and I had been assisting the police with an investigation, things had heated up and now the cops had told us to lay low. I added the bit about the dead bird under my windscreen wiper and the blue BMW trying to run me over, just so that she knew it was serious.

  Her eyes shone with excitement. ‘Wallace told me he was the security executive for a private-investigation firm.’

  Executive? ‘Err . . . yeah . . . we’re sort of . . . working together for the first time. He brings certain skills to the table.’

  ‘Oh?’ she raised a wicked eyebrow.

  I couldn’t believe it. Gorgeous, sexy, wealthy, smart, independent Aunty Liv was being flirty over psycho, down-and-out Wal. Then again, Joanna had often alluded to the questionable nature of some of Liv’s past lovers. I’d thought she was just being snobby.

  Take a breath.

  I mean there was no doubt that Wal was completely smitten with her. But that was to be expected. Liv had laid a carpet of broken hearts and bruised egos across Australia.

  I had to put a stop to this particular conquest right now. ‘He’s just been diagnosed with narcolepsy,’ I said. ‘It’s making it hard for him to earn a living.’

  Liv’s lips twisted in sympathy. ‘Truly? Poor man.’

  Poor man? I picked up my toast and began swallowing it down rapidly. First, Tozzi’s strange behaviour, and now Liv’s; the world had gone a little tilted.

  ‘Liv, I have to run in a team triathlon this morning,’ I said, seeking safety in a change of subject.

  Liv lifted one perfectly drawn-on eyebrow. ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘Quite,’ I reassured her. ‘Very public. I run, I come back here. No one’s the wiser.’

  ‘Well, if you say so dear.’

  ‘I don’t want to go home yet, though. You know, in case the house is being watched. Could I borrow some running gear?’

  ‘Of course!’ She clapped her hands. ‘I’ve got just the thing. Used to do a spot of jogging. But what will Wallace do while you’re away?’

  I hadn’t thought that far. In fact I had no idea what to do with Wal at all. I kinda owed him. ‘Well, not a lot, I guess. Except stay quiet until the cops come through.’

  ‘Excellent. He can help me with my shopping. We’ll have a little luncheon party after your event,’ she said, then disappeared back into her bedroom.

  ‘Liv – luncheon party?’

  She popped her head around the door. ‘Just something casual, darling. I mean to say, you’ll be pooped.’

  Chapter 46

  I ARRIVED AT THE tri-meet just in time.

  Liv had given me a lift in her Saab after we’d agreed that Mona – who was safely tucked in the basement – would be like flashing a neon billboard in a blackout for anyone on the lookout for me.

  She dropped me at the Perry Lakes Stadium and I threaded my way through the gathering competitors, trying to ignore the glances I was getting from all the hardened tri-nuts, and the reason why I was getting them.

  ‘Tara?’ called out Craigo. ‘Over here.’

  My hunky gym instructor stood in a huddle of other hunky guys near the registration tent. They stared at me openmouthed as I approached.

  ‘Morning,’ I said, lifting my chin, trying to brazen it out. ‘The cat scratched me, and I had to borrow some clothes.’

  Craigo looked like he might pee his pants, but he manfully introduced me. ‘Tara, meet Lewis. He’s swimming for us. And James, he’s support crew. And you know Petey.’

  Pete was one of Craigo’s more regular shags; a handsome, slim young man with blue, baby-doll eyes. Right now those eyes were popping. ‘Cat scratches! Black sequins! Gold lamé!’ he exclaimed. ‘You didn’t tell me she was a tranny!’

  The four of them burst out laughing as I mumbled an explanation about not being able to get into my flat. Then I got busy filling out the rego form.

  That done, I went over the route with Craigo. He’d stopped hee-hawing by then, but every now and then he bit down on his bottom lip. I’m not really sure what that meant. I didn’t dwell on it.

  To tell the truth, I was getting a little prickly feeling on my skin that could have been pre-race nerves. Or something else. I kept glancing about, thinking I saw Sam Barbaro’s face every time a dark-haired guy came my way.

  ‘Are you listening, Tara? If you deviate from the course you’ll be disqualified. They’re strict on that sort of thing.’

  ‘Relax, Craigo,’ I said, tapping my head. ‘Got it in here. Now, did you bring the photo?’

  He reached into his backpack and produced a photocopy of the newspaper clipping. ‘Is this the one?’

  ‘Sweet,’ I said, snatching it from him.

  ‘What’s so secret service?’ he asked.

  I stared at the photo. There he was, in the middle of the second row – my suited man. Same bulky shape, same round face. I traced my finger along the credits. ‘Jensen Bridges. Who is he, Craigo?’

  Craigo was staring at me. ‘Tara, what’s going on?’

  ‘I’ll explain after the tri, but it’s really important that I find out what he does for a job. Do you know?’

  ‘He’s a minister for something or other. Most of them are politicians, or lawyers. Those two are doctors.’ He pointed to two in the front row. ‘They’re two of my most well-heeled clients.’

  ‘Minister for what? What’s his portfolio?’

  He shrugged, and I sensed his discomfort so I let it go. ‘Never mind. Thanks, you’ve been a great help.’

  ‘OK. Well, good luck. I’m heading down to the bike start. Lewie’s a strong swimmer, I’m expecting him out of the water first.’

  Bugger! They’re seriously hoping to win. I ope
ned my mouth and shut it again. It was too late to start making excuses about my lack of fitness and sleep. ‘Luck,’ I said.

  ‘Back atcha.’ He disappeared into the crowd and left me to it.

  I climbed the stand behind the start/finish line of the run, and stood in the back row while I called Smitty.

  ‘What do you know about a guy called Jensen Bridges?’ I asked, without preamble.

  She paused for a moment. Smitty took Who’s Who questions very seriously. ‘He’s Julie Bartlett’s cousin. He went to law school in the States, and then came back here to go into politics.’

  ‘State or federal?’

  ‘State, I think.’

  ‘Do you know what his portfolio is, Smitts? It’s important. Really.’

  ‘Let me check with Henny. I tend to haze out when I hear the word “politics”.’

  I counted the flags fluttering along the back of the grandstand while I waited. There was only a light wind. Perfect conditions for running.

  ‘Henny says he’s in sport and recreation,’ said Smitty, when she came back on.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, disappointed. ‘Is he sure?’

  ‘Darling, Henny’s never wrong, you know that. Wait – oh, hang on . . . apparently Bridges only shifted there very recently, after someone retired. He used to be in mines and petroleum.’

  ‘True?’

  ‘Darling!’ she said, meaningfully.

  ‘Tell Henny I love him. I love you both.’

  ‘Good luck with the race, T. See you after.’

  I sat down and let it sink in. The minister for mining was in bed with Johnny Vogue, which meant that whatever scam they were running on assay reports had to be bigger than just Nick Tozzi’s exploration lease. This was the leverage I needed to get Johnny Vogue off my case.

  With trembling fingers I rang Peter Delgado.

  He answered quickly, in a distracted voice. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Tell Johnny Viaspa that I know who his bent politician is. I’ll keep it to myself if you back off and he shelves his plans for damaging Nick Tozzi’s life.’

  ‘Tara Sharp?’

  ‘Yes. Tell him to leave Tozzi and me alone, or I’ll blab to every newspaper in the country that he’s in bed with Jensen Bridges.’

  The silence on the end of the phone was protracted. ‘You know who you’re blackmailing, don’t you?’