by Clare Kauter
I grinned and followed her back inside.
“I have onion rings and a bottle of sav blanc on the way up,” she said. “Normally I wouldn’t share, but in honour of you befriending James and me –”
“Technically refriending,” I said.
“Right, refriending,” she responded. “In honour of you taking your first baby step towards maturity –”
“I can revoke your friendship status at any time, you know.”
“Not until after you have a shower and borrow some of my clothes though, right?”
“How did you know?” I asked flatly. My hair was frizzed out to max fro proportions and my dress was still moist and sticking to me in unflattering places. Plus I was still carrying my shoes in one hand.
“Wash whatever it is off and then come back out and tell me what happened.”
“It’s just water,” I said, entering the bathroom. Thanks to my less than stellar balance, I’d fallen in some gross things over the years – bin juice, urine, dog vomit – and much of the time, Celia had been right there beside me. (Not like, right there beside me. Usually she was standing nearby, laughing at me.)
“Sure it is,” she said.
I had a quick shower – only half an hour or so – and pulled on one of the bathrobes. Celia had left some clothes out on her bed for me, so I dried off and got dressed quickly while she was collecting the food from the room service person at the door. She walked back in with her bottle of wine, two glasses and plate of greasy goodness, and we climbed into the double bed.
“Slumber party?” asked Celia with a grin.
I smiled back at her.
“Ye – oh, shit!”
I jumped up and out of the bed, tripping on the covers and smacking the ground with a loud thud.
“You OK, Charlie?” ask Celia, peering over the side of the bed with concern.
“Mmm,” I mumbled into the floor. I’d hit my already injured hands and knees, and the fall had brought back my drug-induced headache. I slowly pulled myself to my feet. “I have to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just remembered I invited someone to my room.”
“Ooh, James or Hot Boss?”
“No, a lady I saw at dinner.”
“Oh, darling, good for you.”
“No, I got her husband to divorce her.”
“Fast work.”
“No, her husband was a sleaze to me while I was jogging yesterday so –”
“You jog now? My god.”
“Not by choice. Anyway, Sheila needed somewhere to stay so –”
“You call women sheilas now? What has happened to you?”
“That’s her name! Although I did say something was ‘grouse’ earlier, so –”
“Grouse? What are you, sixty?”
“I know, right? Anyway, I’d better go back to my room in case she’s waiting there for me.”
Celia nodded. “OK. Well, if you change your mind I wouldn’t mind a catch up.”
I smiled at her. I wouldn’t mind a catch up either. Why had I disowned her, again? (Apart from her getting with James McKenzie and all.)
When I reached my hotel room, Sheila was nowhere to be seen, so I walked right in. I was hallway across the room when I froze.
I could hear someone in the bedroom. Shit – was it Lionel? His cronies? I started to back across the room, ready to run the second I reached the door. Then a voice called out.
“Charlie? That you, darling?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was Sheila.
“Yes,” I answered. “How did you get in?”
“Oh, I spoke to that James McKenzie fellow downstairs and explained the situation. He checked with Adam Baxter, then let me in.”
If she’d just told James that I’d broken up her marriage, then he probably would have known it was true straight away.
There were twin beds in my room, so Sheila and I climbed into one each. I was pretty tired and as much as I wanted to head back upstairs and talk to Celia, I began to fall asleep the second I lay down.
That is, until Sheila’s snoring started.
It was like a chainsaw starting up in the bed next to me every ten seconds. I tried to muffle the sound by putting a pillow over my head, then I considered putting the pillow over her head, then I realised I should probably leave before I did something drastic.
I headed back upstairs to Celia’s room, but when I knocked there was no answer. I guessed she’d probably fallen asleep. Jealous. What now? I couldn’t go back to my room in case I perpetrated the second murder of the night. If James was staying here I’d head to his room (we’d shared a bed enough times now that it wasn’t even weird anymore), but he’d left for a night shift policing after the party broke up.
There was one other option…
I knocked on Adam’s door quickly, before I lost my nerve. It didn’t take him long to answer.
When he saw me, he looked unimpressed. Hey, you and me both, buddy. He was shirtless and dishevelled – I guess I’d woken him up – but I was too tired to enjoy it. I just wanted to sleep in a room with someone who wouldn’t snore. I hoped I wasn’t going to cop a lecture about my behaviour earlier.
“What?” he said.
“Can I sleep here?” I asked. “Sheila snores.”
He sighed. “Fine. But if you’re a sheet stealer, you’re sleeping on the floor.”
He turned and walked back inside as I trailed behind, following him to his room. He climbed into bed and I followed awkwardly, determinedly ignoring his bare chest. Jeez, I was a mess. I didn’t even like the guy. I had no business thinking about his chest. Or his biceps.
“Charlie?” said Adam, pulling me out of my reverie. I was lying awkwardly on the bed, arms straight by my sides, trying to stay as far away from Adam as possible. Heaven help me if my hand accidentally brushed his bare skin. I was behaving like my friends did around McKenzie. (Except he wasn’t their boss.)
“Yes?” I responded quietly. Here came the lecture.
“Don’t go chasing large, psychotic murderers again until you get a little better at self defence.”
“OK.”
Was that it? No massive lecture? He must have been tired. In fact, come to think of it, so was I…
BANG. BANG. CRUNCH.
What the fuck? I wondered, still in a sleepy daze. That wasn’t my alarm tone. So what was that noise jerking me out of my pleasant dream about James McKenzie feeding me grapes?
I felt someone stir beside me and turned me head to look. Oh, right, Adam. I’d slept in his room last night. While dreaming of James. Dear lord. But I would have to worry about that later, because I still hadn’t solved the mystery of what the hell that noise was.
“You can’t just burst into someone’s –”
It was James McKenzie’s voice, but he’d stopped mid-sentence. What was he doing here? I looked towards the bedroom doorway and saw Lionel and two of his cronies (no Coconut Head today) standing there, with James behind them, all staring at Adam and me. The sheets had ridden down on his side during the night, revealing Adam’s shirtless form. I had bunched all the sheets up around myself in my sleep, covering myself entirely. Oh. I guess that meant I was a sheet stealer.
It took me a moment in my half-awake state to realise what was happening, and piece together what this image looked like to everyone else.
“Can I help you?” Adam asked, looking rather unimpressed. He must like his sleep too.
“I – I tried to stop them,” said James. “But they were kind of insistent.”
He was still staring at us in shock.
“We… had been concerned,” said Lionel, choosing his words carefully. “We saw the two of you sneaking around, secret meetings and stolen whispers. I was curious to know what you were talking about.”
He’d come to search the room – to see if Adam was spying on him. I wondered if he’d found a camera or a bug in his room. Maybe, like he was saying, he’d just seen me talking to Adam in private a
number of times and grown suspicious. He probably came here expecting to find computer monitors and headphones littered across the room – but they were all hidden away. Instead, he’d found me in Adam’s bed.
“And has your curiosity been satisfied?” Adam asked, doing a very good impression of someone who was embarrassed to have been caught in bed with me. At least, I think he was acting.
“Yes,” said Lionel. “I think I understand.”
“We were trying to be discreet,” Adam explained. “We tend to… discourage workplace romances at Baxter & Co. I would appreciate if you could keep this to yourselves.”
Lionel nodded. “Of course. Far be it from me to come between two young lovers. I’m sorry to have woken you.”
Lionel turned to James. “I will of course pay for any repairs you may need to make due to my rather… enthusiastic entrance.”
He and his cronies left.
“Did he bash the door down?” I asked James.
He nodded.
“How did you even know they were on their way here?” I asked James.
“Ran into them outside,” he said. “I didn’t know that you’d be here.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.
Adam had leapt out of bed and begun to pull cases from the cupboards.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“He didn’t buy it,” said Adam. “James, help me clear this room. Charlie, go and find Celia. If Lionel thinks she’s in on this then she could be in danger.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Because he’s seen her with James.”
“You think he suspects James, too?”
“Of course he suspects James. He’s a cop.”
Oh, right. Of course.
“Charlie, quickly. We’ll meet you there.”
I left, not bothering to argue. I was still feeling kind of weak and my muscles were aching from last night’s exertion. (As in, chasing down a murderer. There wasn’t any ‘exertion’ of the other kind last night.) I wasn’t going to be any help if Lionel returned.
When I reached Celia’s door, I knocked. When there was no response, I knocked louder and pressed my ear to the door to see if I could hear any noise from within. Nothing. Shit.
The hotel was too up-market for key-swipe doors, so it just had an old fashioned keyhole. I tried turning the handle, but the door didn’t open. Locked. I fished around in the pockets of Celia’s pyjama shorts, grateful that I wasn’t wearing my own clothes when I found a safety pin in the pocket. I would never carry around a safety pin. Celia was so practical. Who knew when you’d have to pick a lock?
It had been a long time since I’d broken into anything, and my B & E skills weren’t really up to much, but after a couple of minutes I managed to pop the lock. As soon as I opened the door, though, I knew Celia wasn’t there.
Everything was in disarray – furniture upturned, vases smashed, cushions scattered in weird places. (Although personally I’ve always thought that scattering cushions anywhere is a bit weird – what exactly is the point of a cushion? Just get a comfy chair in the first place.) She’d clearly put up a fight. I poked around quickly, scanning the floor for bloodstains, but found nothing. Alright, good. So she might still be OK.
Kidnapped, yes, but intact.
I left the room, pulling the door shut behind me but not bothering to lock it, and ran back to Adam’s room. The door was ajar, which was no surprise considering it had been bashed open less than half an hour earlier. The wood around the lock was completely shattered. No way to close it.
I walked in and stopped. The room was empty. Fighting the panic rising in my chest, I tried to look at the situation logically. OK, maybe they’d cleared the room really quickly. Maybe they’d gone to Celia’s room and taken the stairs or something and I’d missed them. Sure. That was probably it.
I headed back to Celia’s room and walked in. Nope. No one here. What now?
My mobile was back in my room, so I had no way of calling Adam, James, or Celia. Not that I thought they’d answer. If I knew their numbers then maybe I could use the room phone, but I didn’t and I wasn’t game to go back for my mobile in case Lionel was in my room waiting for me.
Wait – my room.
Sheila was still there.
Shit.
I picked up the hotel phone and dialled reception, asking them to connect me to my own room. It rang three times before Sheila answered.
“Hello?”
Relief flooded through me at the sound of her voice, but it was short-lived.
“Sheila, it’s Charlie. You need to get out of there ASAP. And if you could bring my bag, that would be great.”
“What’s going on?”
“The people who trashed your yard are here and I think they’re after me.”
“Oh, shit.”
Oh, shit was right.
“Head downstairs, but don’t stop at reception. Get a bus into the CBD and look for a café called See You Latte-r. It’s in a little back street a couple of streets from the bus stop on Peterson. I’ll meet you there, unless you see anyone following you in which case keep going and try to lose them. If we can’t meet at the café, I’ll call you. My mobile is in my bag so listen out for it.”
“OK,” she said. “Oh jeez. I don’t think I’m cut out for this fugitive business.”
“Technically we’re on the run from a fugitive.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Fair enough.
I made my way down to the main lobby and strode across, trying to look as respectable as I could for someone dressed in pyjama shorts, a tank top, and no shoes. Alas, less than halfway between the elevator and the door, I was stopped by a hotel employee.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to ask you to go back to your room and retrieve your shoes. I’m afraid it isn’t permitted to walk in the lobby barefoot.”
“That’s OK. I’m on my way out,” I said, trying to step past him.
“I really must insist,” he said, blocking my sidestep.
“It’s fine, really. I’m just leaving. I won’t be coming back any time soon.”
“You’re leaving without checking out?”
“I –”
I caught him signalling to a nearby security guard.
“Are you fucking serious?” I asked. “I’m a five foot tall teenager. You’re not going to need any help restraining me if I get violent. Just let me leave.”
The security guard reached us.
“She’s threatening to get violent!” cried the man. “I just asked her to put some shoes on to comply with health and safety regulations, then she said she wasn’t going to pay for her room and threatened me!”
I rolled my eyes. “What are you going on about? Just let me leave!”
“Sorry ma’am,” said the guard. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”
He reached for my arm but I pulled it away.
“What are you doing? Why are you trying to detain me?”
“Officer!” the concierge shrieked over my head.
Officer? Oh jeez, were they actually going to get the police involved? Wait, why were there police here?
“What seems to be the problem?” Officer Joe Winton asked, trying to bite back a smile. Oh, good. The police officer in question knew me – he happened to have been friends with James in high school. I guessed that would be why he was here.
“They won’t let me leave,” I said. “They’re trying to detain me.”
“She isn’t complying with safety regulations.”
“Because I’m not wearing shoes.”
“You’re not exactly complying with ‘not being a bogan’ regulations either,” said Joe. “What are you doing? Trashing hotel rooms to annoy James or something?”
The security guard and concierge breathed in sharply in unison.
“She knows Mr McKenzie?”
“Is she a known trouble-maker, officer?”
> “You could say that,” said Joe, trying to keep a straight face and failing.
“Has she damaged property before?”
“Indeed she has,” he answered. “She wrote off one of Mr McKenzie’s cars once. With a baseball bat.”
Actually it was a steel bar – people always got that bit wrong – but I didn’t bother correcting him.
“I don’t have time for this, Joe.”
“I want to know what you’ve got planned, leaving the hotel in your pyjamas. You in a rush?”
“Joe, listen to me,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I need to get out of here. Now.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly more serious.
“I’d rather not say in front of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumber,” I said, flicking my head towards the concierge and guard, who were still standing there watching Joe with a look of awe on their faces. A real policeman! (Clearly they hadn’t gone to Gerongate High like I had, or they would have grown accustomed to having the police around.)
Joe smiled. “I’ll take over from here, gentlemen,” he said, leading me towards the door. “Good on you for keeping the streets a little safer.”
They blushed and tried to look nonchalant about that compliment. Gag.
“You got a car nearby?” I asked.
“Yeah, I just drove over to ask James some questions about last night, actually. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”
“We need to get in your car and start driving. Then we can talk.”
“I’m not really meant to just give people a lift home, Charlie.”
“So arrest me!” I said. “I need to get out of here right now.”
His eyes widened. “Does this have to do with what happened last night?”
I nodded.
“OK,” he said. “Let’s drive.”
Once we were in his car and safely on the road, I explained the story to Joe.
“So,” he said when I’d finished, “There’s a crazy escaped Russian gangster who has kidnapped Celia, James and Adam Baxter, and is now after you as well?”
“Yeah, basically,” I said.
“Charlie,” said Joe. “You’re not still feeling any after-effects from that drink spiking incident, are you?”
I sighed loudly. “No! I know it sounds crazy, and you think I’ve gone mental because you found me walking around in pyjamas with no shoes on, but I swear it’s true.”
