Simone Kirsch 02 - Rubdown

by Leigh Redhead

  ‘A bad vibe?’ He shook his head and slipped a CD into the player. Nina Simone, ‘Mood Indigo’.

  ‘Good chase music,’ I said.

  ‘I give good chase.’

  We were on Punt Road now, heading south, and Alex sped up and overtook the Audi and a couple of other vehicles.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I twisted in my seat to check Wade’s car was still there.

  ‘Only amateurs tail someone from behind.’

  I watched the Audi in my side mirror. They indicated left and turned onto High Street. ‘They’ve turned off!’

  He smiled, took the next left, turned left again, then right on High. The Audi was right in front of us.

  ‘Now you’re showing off,’ I said.

  Emery pulled over and Alex did the same, half a block behind him. We watched Emery and Billy enter a shopfront but couldn’t make out the sign on the door, so got out and crossed to the other side of the road. We strolled along for a bit and pretended to check out the display in a furniture shop. I glanced back once. The glass door they’d gone in read Bootcamp Personal Training and stairs led to a unit above.

  ‘What are they doing at a personal trainer’s this time of night?’

  ‘Maybe it’s Blaine’s trainer. Maybe he’s getting a post-game rubdown.’

  ‘No way. His team would have their own masseurs. Their own trainers too.’

  The plate glass in front of us was like a mirror. I could see lights on in the upstairs unit, but nothing else through the thick blinds.

  Alex came up from behind and wrapped his arms around me. It felt so nice and warm that I momentarily forgot myself and leaned back into him. He held me tighter and kissed my neck and I tilted my head and closed my eyes.

  ‘Shit, Alex. This is not right.’

  ‘It feels right.’

  I drew in a sharp breath as his hand slid under my jumper, across my belly and onto my breast. My brain said no but my body had other ideas.

  ‘But Suzy.’

  ‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’

  Bullshit. I dragged his hand out of my top, turned to face him and changed the subject.

  ‘Any way you could find out about Bootcamp Personal Training and who owns it?’

  He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a cold cop stare. ‘Think you can flutter your eyelashes and I’ll go do your dirty work?’

  ‘No,’ I lied.

  He shook his head and crossed the road back to the Commodore. I waited for a break in the traffic and followed. I hadn’t even shut the passenger door when he revved the engine and cut in front of a tram. The bell dinged and Alex shoved his arm out the window and gave the driver the finger, then gunned it south on Chapel Street just as the light was turning red.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m taking you home.’

  ‘So I’ll see you tomorrow at the squash courts?’

  Alex stared straight ahead as we shot across Dandenong Road, past the Astor Theatre. ‘I don’t want to see you until you’ve grown up a bit.’

  I snorted, halfway between a laugh and a cough. ‘Grown up?

  Yeah, cheating on your girlfriend’s real grown up.’

  At the bottom of Chapel he indicated left and turned onto Brighton Road. ‘I don’t have time for prickteases,’ he said.

  I twisted around in my seat and stared. ‘You think I’m a pricktease?’

  He said nothing, just accelerated until he was doing ninety in a sixty zone.

  I laughed at him. ‘Let me get this straight. You’ll only see me if I fuck you.’

  He scowled. ‘That what you really think I’m about?’

  ‘I do, actually. And here I was thinking you wouldn’t mind doing me a favour after I helped you out last year.’

  Now it was his turn to laugh. ‘Helped me out? You almost got me fucking killed.’

  ‘I thought we were friends.’

  He braked hard at the intersection of Brighton and Glenhuntly Road. ‘Simone, we were never friends.’

  That stung. I lifted the door handle but it was centrally locked.

  ‘Let me out of the car.’

  ‘I’m taking you home.’

  ‘Let me out of the fucking car!’ I started hitting buttons on the console, trying to unlock it. He got the shits and punched a switch on the driver’s side door. ‘Piss off then!’ he said.

  I slammed the door and jumped onto the traffic island and when he got the green arrow he took off in a cloud of burning rubber. What was his problem? I was so goddamn sick of moody men. I ran across the road to the Elsternwick Hotel, ordered a double Jameson’s with a beer chaser and bought a packet of cigarettes. I wrote a few notes about Emery and Billy going to Bootcamp, but mostly smoked, drank and brooded. Alex was the one with the girlfriend. He had no right to get angry at me. That was it. I was through asking him for help. I could cultivate another source. Chloe had heaps of coppers twisted round her little finger.

  Surely one of them would help me out.

  After two more doubles I was pretty wasted and tottered across the highway to McDonald’s. Fuck the no-carbs thing. I stuffed salty fries in my mouth as my boots clip-clopped down Glenhuntly Road towards home. I was so intent on munching down my junk food that I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me until it was too late.

  Chapter Eleven

  A massive arm gripped my waist from behind. A gloved hand clapped my mouth. The McDonald’s bag slapped the pavement and I was lifted like a child, legs kicking the air.

  He carried me away from the main road, down a path that ran by the canal, and I struggled uselessly against a wall of muscle. My arms were pinned to my side. My heart felt like it would burst out of my chest.

  There were no houses along this part of the canal, just Elwood Primary with its darkened playground and the deserted secondary college across the water. He slammed me down on the dirt beside the school fence. Air rushed from my lungs and I gasped for oxygen like an emphysemic old man.

  Terror surged as I looked up. The body hunching over me was mountainous. Reptilian eyes glittered through slits in a black balaclava. I started to scream, but he smothered my mouth. I bit and tasted leather, kicked out my legs. He dropped onto me and subdued them with one powerful thigh.

  His hand snaked up my top, grabbed my breast and squeezed.

  Holy shit. I was going to get raped, two blocks from home. Every muscle strained as I tried to resist, but I couldn’t move, pinned like a butterfly to a board.

  The expressionless head moved close and a long pink tongue flickered out of the mouth hole. It slid all over my face, chin to forehead, over my eyelids, nose and lips. The sticky saliva trail smelled metallic, like tooth decay, and I gagged. His tongue slithered in and out of my ear and he whispered, ‘Simone, should have stayed in the sex trade instead of poking your nose in other people’s business.’

  He tugged my jeans so hard the button popped off and the zip came down. I couldn’t believe this was happening and writhed, in vain, when suddenly the weight lifted.

  Incredibly, he stood up, laughed and strolled off around the corner of the school.

  I jumped up and bolted back to Glenhuntly Road, then all the way home, lungs burning. I deadlocked the door and raced to the bathroom, my first thought to wash off the hideous, drying slag. After handfuls of foaming facial cleanser and hot water my hair was wet and my face tight and pink.

  The phone rang. If it was Alex calling to apologise, I’d tell him what happened and he could come round. All was forgiven.

  ‘Hello?’

  Goosebumps pricked my arms as I heard my attacker’s voice:

  The World Trade Centre was a boxy grey building on Flinders Street, across the river from the Exhibition Centre and casino.

  I wasn’t sure any trading went on but I did know Victoria Police had offices there, Ethical Standards included.

  I walked through the lobby, following signs down a carpeted corridor to the Docklands gym. Every second person wor
e police ID on blue and white string and looked me over. It was probably the pink polka dot singlet and tight white pedal pushers. Couldn’t be helped. Just when you least expected it Melbourne hit you with an un s easonably hot day. I’d been listening to the Beach Boys all morning in honour of the heat and to buck myself up and get over the night before.

  A sign on the gym window advertised Fifteen Minute Butt Buster Class—The Fastest Way To Tone Your Butt. I didn’t have any major butt issues since I tended to gain weight around my stomach. On a good day I was pretty much straight up and down.

  On a bad I was an apple on toothpicks.

  The gym was nothing fancy. Reception desk, fridge full of sports drinks and a room jammed with weight machines and cardio equipment. I climbed a flight of stairs. On my right a wood panelled sauna and spa were wedged between changing rooms, to the left a catwalk looked down on the squash courts. I leaned against the blue metal railing and checked out court number two. Alex was wearing white and running around like a maniac, grunting and swatting at a teeny-tiny ball, his shoes squeaking on the wooden floor. I’d never seen him in shorts and checked out his legs while I had the chance. Not bad.

  Muscular and kind of hairy. His opponent was slimmer than him, with pale skin and red-gold hair. Looked about twenty-five from where I stood, and had nice pins too. What a perve.

  Alex won, but his friend didn’t seem too fussed. When they climbed the stairs, towels around their necks, I pushed off from the railing.

  ‘Hey.’

  Alex pulled up short when he saw me and gave me a look like I was a dogshit he’d narrowly avoided stepping on. ‘Didn’t think you’d show.’

  His friend looked from him to me and back again.

  Alex said, ‘Sean, this is Simone Kirsch. Simone, Detective Senior Constable Sean Shields, Asian Squad.’ He stalked off to the change rooms.

  I stuck out my hand and Detective Shields pumped it up and down. ‘Simone, finally we meet. I’ve heard so much about you.’

  I raised my eyebrows. Up close I guessed he could be early thirties, but boyish looking, with a passing resemblance to Ewan McGregor. He even had a slight Scottish accent.

  ‘Alex tells me you have information on Wu Chan,’ he said.

  ‘I have photos.’ I patted my bag.

  ‘Great, let me get cleaned up and I’ll take a look.’

  Ten minutes later they were out, carrying sports bags and racquets. Alex wore a suit and Sean was dressed in jeans, a blue Bonds t-shirt and Converse All-stars. Alex took off down the stairs. Sean and I trailed behind.

  ‘Should we go to a café or something?’ Sean asked.

  A couple of boofy guys leaned against the reception counter as we passed. One tall and fair, the other squat and dark. Loose singlets revealed back hair and a layer of fat that hid any muscles they may have had. They waited until we’d passed, then murmured, ‘Pooftas.’

  Alex stopped at the doorway and turned round. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard, Christakos,’ said the short one.

  The fair guy started barking, ‘Woof woof. A dog and a fag.

  Give the dog a bone.’

  The short one laughed like this was comedy gold. I knew a lot of other cops didn’t like Ethical Standards, called them dogs.

  I hadn’t thought they’d be that blatant about it.

  The tall guy stared at my tits. ‘Why don’t ya try a real man sweetheart, ’stead of hanging out with a couple of woolly wooftas?’

  Sean walked right up to him and smiled. ‘You know, homophobes act the way they do because they’re repressing their own pent-up desire for the same sex. Admit it, McPherson, you want me.

  The truth’ll set you free.’ Then he winked and blew the guy a kiss.

  McPherson went bright red and took a step towards Sean.

  Alex got between them and I started inching forward, figuring I could always jump on someone’s back and swat at their head like girls do in the movies.

  ‘You fucking wog.’ McPherson raised his fists and the muscle-bound manager bolted over from the Pec Deck and slapped his palm on the counter.

  ‘Oi! Not in my fucking gym. I’ll ban the lot of you. I’ve got you on fucking camera.’ He pointed to the closed circuit unit on the ceiling.

  The cops stared at each other, no one wanting to back down.

  Sean was grinning at the two boofheads, making them madder, and Alex had this look in his eye like he wanted to kill McPherson. I recognised that look. I sometimes got it myself.

  Finally McPherson laughed and nudged the squat guy. ‘Come on, Davo. Don’t wanna touch the fuckers anyway, probably got AIDS.’ They strutted off to the bench press.

  Out in the corridor Sean slapped Alex on the shoulder. ‘Just like old times, hey?’ He turned to me. ‘Sorry about that.

  Occupational hazard when you work with dumb-arse rednecks.

  Let’s go to a café and check out these photos. Coming, Alex?’

  ‘Gotta work,’ Alex grunted and disappeared up an escalator.

  ‘Dunno what’s up his arse,’ said Sean.

  We left the building and Sean led the way across Flinders Street to the Grand Hotel, an Italianate sandstone building with an outdoor café. We sat under a red and white umbrella and I ordered a double espresso and a mineral water. Sean asked for a pot of tea and a salad sandwich and sparked up a Marlboro Light.

  ‘Go health, Detective Shields,’ I said.

  ‘Christ sake, call me Sean. Tell you the truth I’m not that fucking into squash. Any sport for that matter. It’s more an exercise in male bonding and the only time we ever meet up without getting smashed. Can I take a look at the photos?’

  ‘Sure.’ I slid the packet across the table. ‘What was that about at the gym?’

  ‘Meatheads. Went through the academy with Alex and me.

  Couldn’t handle that we were smarter than they were. I know for a fact McPherson’s failed the detective exam twice.’

  He examined the photos and told me the woman in the pink suit who’d met Neville at the flats was indeed Wu Chan, illegal brothel operator and Nev’s defacto wife. Despite Wu’s youthful looks she was actually forty-three. They’d been together for more than twenty years and had a six year old son. Neville’s mistress turned out to be Ling Sun, a good friend of Wu’s who’d started as a working girl before moving on to managing some of Wu’s brothels. Some friend.

  In turn I sketched what I’d been doing, leaving out Vincent’s name. I showed him the brochures for the travel agency and the Gold Coast apartments and mentioned that Tamara might have had something on Neville Annis. He looked doubtful and I told him I hadn’t believed it either until last night.

  ‘Why, what happened?’ He poured tea into his cup, added milk and sugar.

  I told him about the argument with Alex and when I got to the part where I was attacked, inexplicably started to cry. Man, how embarrassing.

  He reached across the table, squeezed my hand and passed me paper napkins from a metal dispenser. I gradually got the story out between sobs.

  ‘Jesus, mate. I’m sorry. Want me to report it?’

  I shook my head. ‘No point. There’s no evidence. I didn’t see his face.’

  ‘I can run a trace on the call he made. What time was it?’

  ‘About nine.’

  ‘Give me your phone number.’

  I wrote my home number on the back of one of my cards.

  ‘Do you have any idea who attacked you?’

  ‘Someone big. Maybe Craig Annis, but I don’t know. I never heard Craig’s voice.’

  ‘What you up to for the rest of the day?’ Sean asked. He took a bite of his sandwich. It was wholemeal with a lot of alfalfa sprouts.

  ‘Dunno. Probably typing up the report for my client and trying to stay away from big guys in black balaclavas. Why?’

  ‘Fancy going for a drive?’

  Sean wanted to see the flats, so we left my car in the Trade Centre car park and drove to Clayton in his white Saab. It
was old and a bit dented, but spotless inside. He turned onto Citylink off Flinders Street and we drove past the Rod Laver Arena. The Yarra River was on our right, Olympic Park on the left. Sean lit a Marlboro Light and stuck a CD in the player. Nina Simone again.

  ‘Alex played that last night.’

  ‘Music’s one of the things we’ve got in common. We clicked right away when we met at Glen Waverley Police Academy in the early nineties. Both been to uni, played instruments, liked jazz. We used to be in one of the police bands. The Jazz Squad.’

  ‘Alex was in the police band?’ I tried to imagine it, couldn’t, and realised I hardly knew anything about him except that he was moody, a great kisser and pretty damn good with his hands. ‘What does he play?’

  ‘Piano. Keyboards.’

  Well I never. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Clarinet. It’s a bit nerdy, isn’t it? Saxophone’s a lot sexier. And I sing a bit—not very well.’

  ‘Did you study music at uni?’

  ‘No, languages. I speak Vietnamese, Cantonese, Mandarin, French, German, Italian, Spanish. I’m currently learning Thai.’

  ‘Are you shitting me?’

  ‘No. Once you’ve learned a couple it gets easier.’

  ‘Talk about cunning linguist!’ I know, it was corny.

  Sean said, ‘You reckon I never heard that one before?’ But he smiled at me.

  ‘Sorry. Your accent, you’re originally from Scotland?’

  ‘Emigrated here with my mum and sister when I was fourteen.’

  ‘Why’d you join the police? With all those languages you could have made a lot of money.’

  ‘I’m not in it for the money,’ he said, and left it at that.

  As Nina sang ‘My Baby Just Cares for Me’, Citylink turned into the Monash Freeway and all I could see was shrubby trees, concrete noise walls and massive electricity pylons. I stuck my hand out the window to float it on the warm air. Sean was one of those people you meet who instantly feel like an old friend. He was also the kind of person who can’t stay quiet for long.

  ‘So what’s going on with you and Alex?’ he said. ‘That was weird this morning.’

  ‘Nothing’s going on between us.’