“Say, how long have we been doing this… thing?” he asked.
I tried to recall exactly. We’d met in a Western Quarter bar where he’d been working on stage and Caro and I had been drinking. While Caro put a lynch move on some guy, I’d got maudlin about my dad. Heart had walked into my craziness and hadn’t been fazed by it. That day was the best sex I’d had in a century.”Bit less than a year, I guess.”
“Yeah, well since that night we met, I’ve had six or seven more guys with ego haemorrhages come after me. Some of them bring their mates. So yeah, I’m learning how to stand up to them.”
“You could always get another job.” The words just fell out.
He took a sip of his tea and looked away, his mouth tightening.
“Jeez, I’m sorry Heart. I don’t know where that came from. I’m the last person to tell you what you should do with your life.”
He shot me a sideways glance, saw my apology was real, then laughed. “You sure are.”
The moment of tension between us eased.
“So, should I be worried that the cowboy will come after me again?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I said a little grimly. “I’ll sort that out.”
He nodded in satisfaction. “I have to go, but I’ll come back tonight and stay for a bit if you like?”
Part of me thought the idea sounded nice. It was creepy living with a fluorescent outline on my floor and two dead bodies on my mind. But part of me resisted, not wanting to give up my privacy, even for my lover.
I liked Heart a lot and I loved being intimate with him, but I still didn’t know him all that well. Not share-a-bathroom-every-day well, at least. And then there was Aquila to consider. What if my “disincarnate” aka imaginary friend decided to visit? I wasn’t sure I could handle the strain of hiding my hallucination from him.
He could see me wavering.
“I’ll cook,” he said.
I felt my eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really.”
I put down my tea mug and draped my arms over his shoulders. “Please. Please. Come back and stay.”
TEN
Heart left me feeling better about some things and worse about others. It was almost dinner time and today had been a wipeout of police interviews, a few drinks and then the odd thing in the alley.
First, I went down to the foyer and unlocked my post box. The package was there, still wrapped in my scarf, and I tucked it inside my jacket for the ride back upstairs.
Once inside again, I set it on the coffee table and called Caro.
“Where the hell have you been?” she snapped. “I’ve been worried sick since you hung up on me.”
“Ummm… Stuff… to deal with…”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Stay there, I’m coming around.”
“No, Caro. Caro…?”
Crap.
I went into my bedroom and tucked the camera into one of my spare work boots in the bottom of my cupboard. As an afterthought, I pulled the bedcovers up and washed the extra tea mug. Caro had an eye for detail that made me nervous.
By the time she arrived, I was scanning tattoo sites on my tablet.
She followed me around the body outline back to the couch.
“I think we should make up a name for him,” she said.
“He had a name. They told me down at the police station. Leo Teng.”
“Not the actual dead guy; I mean the drawing of the dead guy. Two different things. Let’s call him John Flat.”
I frowned and shook my head at her. “You’re certifiable, you know. Anyway, I hope they’ll let me rub it out soon.”
“That patch of floor will always be where the dead guy lay. You might as well give him a name and welcome him in.”
She was probably right, but for now, I just tucked my feet underneath me so I didn’t touch the marks.
She glanced at my tablet. “You find out anything more?”
“Not yet,” I said. “You?”
“No. But I got a name for you. Kadee Matari.”
“Who’s that?”
“You’ll find him in Divine Province.”
“Yeah, but who is he?”
“I don’t know exactly, but apparently, if you’ve got any Vodun happening, he’s the one to talk to. Your bone feather might be in his wheelhouse.”
“Your intelligence sources tell you this?”
She smiled in a slightly devious, very Caro way. When my friend had a purpose, she was straight and true. But the means by which she got there… well, I’d made it my business not to ask. Rangers were too hamstrung by their connection to the law to approve of half the shit that Caro did.
“Divine, huh?” I said.
“You want me to come with you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Divine spanned two or three suburbs south of the Western Quarter: Moonee, Calder and Mystere - a little slice of the city that had been market gardens back in the day. Genuine veggie growers first, then hydroponics druggies, naturists and hippies. After that, the alternative spiritualists moved in. Dad had told me a fair bit about its history because he had lots of theories about social demographics and city geography and crime.
Now, of course, there was no bare land to be had other than the park. Only varying densities of city living.
I hadn’t been down that way in a while. Not since I’d been following a lead on Dad’s death. Some parts of Divine were safe for strangers: the commercial section where people went for psychic and tarot readings. The rest was most definitely not somewhere you went without an invitation and a guide.
Ordinarily, I stayed clear of the place. The bundles of bones knocking together in the breeze, trippy music and smell of sacrificial animal blood were way too hostile for my taste.
The idea of going there with Caro set my stomach churning. She had survived war spots and even been kidnapped once in Afghanistan, but Divine… Her blond hair and bright attitude would be like offering a virgin to an angry deity.
“I’ll take Nate.”
“See what the man’s really made of, eh?”
“Something like that.”
“So, what did the police say?”
“You know a detective called Indira Chance?”
She frowned. “I think I have. Met on the Riggins case. Middle-aged, panda eyes, saggy tits. Bitch on a windmill.”
“That would be her,” I said. “Riggins? He was the one who murdered his whole family and boiled them in drums?”
“Yeah. She was running point on the mother’s murder and getting nowhere when some young hotshot detective connected the dots. She didn’t take being sidelined too well when the case broke. Decent detective but as vindictive as hell.”
“Can you find out about her background for me? She likes me for the murder in the park. Actually, she’d like me for both deaths, but Nate is actually on video for one.”
“Don’t stay mad at Totes. He’s a dick, but he did you a favour by having the place wired.”
“It’s still creepy,” I sighed.
“You got to respect the level of his obsession with you.”
“Totes isn’t obsessed with me. He’s just… a loser.”
“That boy is way too smart to be a loser. You remember that, Ginny.”
I made a contemptuous noise.
“But I’d be careful he doesn’t get jealous of stripper-boy.”
I gawked at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Heart Williams. You think you can keep that kinda thing from me, girl?” She lifted her chin, a gleam of triumph in her eyes. “Though I’m a little hurt you didn’t say anything.”
“You know Heart?”
“Darling, every woman with a pulse in the Inner City knows about Heart. He’s the whipped cream and nuts on the ice cream and chocolate sauce.”
I stared at her suspiciously. “You saw him leave my place.”
“No. But the womanly grapevine is unfailing when it comes to
something… someone so delicious.”
My face burned. “Can we talk about something important?”
“Sure, Ginny. But let me say, I’m glad you’re getting some.”
I glowered at her. “This is why I don’t tell you things.”
“Prude,” she said.
“Voyeur!”
She relented. “You should find someone in Divine who knows what the bone feather means. And maybe even the tattoo. When will you go?”
I checked my tablet for the time. It was still early. “Think I’ll catch some dinner and head over there later tonight.”
“And the cowboy?”
“Let me worry about him. You find me anything you can on Detective Chance. And Leo Teng.”
“Yeah, boss girl.” She got up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Course, I could just go talk to her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, last time I saw her, she was skulking around the sidewalk outside your lobby.”
“Here? Now?”
Caro gave me a wave. “You’re welcome.”
The door shut after her with a bang. Caro loved an exit.
I tiptoed around John Flat and went into to the kitchenette. The fridge offered up a nub of salami, some blue-vein cheese and two soft carrots. I grabbed the cheese and sausage and carved slabs. Dropping them on a plate, I returned to my perch and did a bit more digging online while I munched.
The tattoo came up on a couple of forums but never associated with any explanation or comments, almost like it had been seeded there as a message or code.
Frustrated, I got up and retrieved the box from the park from my work boot. It needed a clean, so I took it into the kitchenette and wiped it over with a dishrag. Definitely a camera. But what had it been recording and how did I retrieve the footage?
A quick search online told me it was a pinhole security cam with a built-in motion detector that had been around for years but was still a big seller. Trouble was that the data card was missing.
Shit!
I put it back in my boot and thought about what to do next.
Food. Then Mystere, I decided.
I used the building intercom to call down to Sixkiller’s room. No answer. It was possible he’d gone to sleep – jet lag and whatever. Even so, concern began to trickle into my stomach, imagining the damage he could do alone in the city.
I returned to my bedroom and grabbed a light black overcoat. I didn’t usually wear my piece after work, but the way things had been…
Within a few minutes, I was banging on his door. The guy in the next apartment came out in his dressing gown to see what all the fuss was about.
“You seen him recently?” I asked.
“You mean the cowboy with the TV twang?”
“Yeah. That’s him.”
He shrugged and turned to go back inside. “I mind my own business.”
Right.
I pounded again, hard enough to wake him if he was sleeping. Still nothing.
Where…?
I called Totes. “Where are you?”
“Still at work. Police have been in and out all day, taking pictures and samples.”
“Have you seen the Marshal?”
“Sixkiller? Only with you this morning. Why?”
“I can’t find him.”
“It’s dinnertime, Virgin. He’s probably gone out for a bite.”
“He’s not that sort,” I said.
“You saying he doesn’t eat?”
I thought of the soup he’d ordered at the food court. “Apparently not.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Forget it. Just call me if you hear anything from him or about him.”
“Always.”
A thought occurred to me. “Totes, do you have his apartment wired, too?”
Silence.
“Answer me or I’ll dismember Princess Puti.”
Puti was his number one doll. The one he never took out of her dustproof, fireproof, shockproof casing.
“Virgin!” He sounded horrified.
“I mean it.” And I did. I was still pissed at him for spying on me.
“Well, I had a surveillance bug in there, but he found it.”
“Crap.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“Is he smarter than you, Totes?”
“His detection technology is newer,” he replied flatly.
I’d got under his skin about something. Good.
I hung up and thought for a moment. Not much I could do except get on with my own investigations.
I checked the time. It was just past the first sitting at most places for dinner. Maybe I’d go have a meal in the Western Quarter and then head on to Divine. See what information I could shake loose. I had a picture of the bone feather on my phone and I knew someone who might help.
My enjoyment of the T-bone and coleslaw at Dabrowski’s Steakhouse was spoiled by the fact I had a cop sitting in the opposite booth pretending to eat curly fries. He’d been waiting outside the lobby of my apartment and had inexpertly tailed me this far. Indira Chance must have gone home for the night.
I forked mushroom sauce onto the meat and chewed slowly. Leaving through the kitchen door might be an option but was a pretty predictable way to try and shake a tail. If he was working with anyone else, they’d be watching the other exits. That left me only one option.
I signalled the waitress, Greta, over to me.
“You ready for your soft serve, Ranger Jackson?”
“No thanks, Greta. But I could do with a little distraction.”
She poked at her ringlet-curled mountain of hair with her stylus and hitched her hose up by pinching at the waistband through her uniform. “You mean that copper drowning in chicken salt over there?”
“That’s him. Is Chef Dabrowski in the kitchen?
She nodded.
“Time I told him personally how good his steak is.”
She grinned at me. “So you should.”
“If you could block my policeman friend’s view of the front door for a few seconds, I’d be most grateful.” I placed the cost of the meal and a generous tip into her hand.
She winked and made a beeline for the opposite booth. Just before her plus-size girth bent in front of the cop, I leapt up and headed for the door. Once there, I opened it wide and let it swing shut. Then I ducked back and around a pillar into the kitchen. The peep-through window let me see the cop push past Greta and race out the front door. She went straight after him, chasing payment.
After an embarrassed exchange of cash on the pavement, he disappeared into the throng outside.
I grinned and turned around to find the entire kitchen staring.
“I’m… er… just…”
Chef Dabrowski stomped out of his office to see what had caused the staff’s paralysis and spotted me, saving them an explanation. His demeanour switched from stormy to sunlit in less than a second, and a moment later, he scooped me up and pressed me hard against his all-in-one chest and belly.
“My little girl,” he crooned. “You never come to see me anymore.”
I arched back a little to catch my breath against the raw garlic and onion on his breath. “Not true, Chef. I eat here once a week. I just don’t like to bother you. You’re a busy man.”
“Just like your father,” he cooed. “So humble.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Dad and Chef went back some ways. Not sure how it began, but Dad lent him some money to start the business. Chef paid it back years ago, but their bond had endured. You give a person a start in life and they’re unlikely to forget it – the decent ones, at least. And Chef was more than decent, if a little overpowering. When Dad died, he’d sent me a home-delivered meal every Monday for a year until I insisted he stop.
The door behind us swung open and Greta waltzed in, balancing a stack of trays. “He’s gone, Virgin. Lit out like a cricket up front of a tornado when I told him you’d headed Parkside.”
; I expelled a breath. “Thank you, Greta. Chef, I have to go, but the food was the best, as always.”
His beam got wider and his grip loosened. “I launch ze new menu in two days. You must come and mingle. We drink Starka.”
“Na zdrowie!” I lifted an imaginary glass.
“Na zdrowie!” he shouted in delight, flinging an arm back. “Bring a boy. Or a girl.”
I blushed some. Chef Dab was almost as bad as Caro when it came to fussing about my love life.
“Ping me an invitation,” I said, taking the opportunity to slip out of his armlock.
I pecked Greta on the cheek and headed right on out of there before he gave me a giant serdelki sausage and some sauerkraut to go.
ELEVEN
I couldn’t help but feel a bit jumpy on the taxi ride out to Divine, constantly checking the rearview to make sure I wasn’t being followed.
If the driver noticed my agitation, he didn’t say anything except “I stop here!” when we got to the Laksha station.
The never-seen-better-days station house was the only stop along the rail line near Divine after it left the Western Quarter on its way south to Jesbo and Big Domain. It seemed like even the train didn’t want to come in any more contact with Divine Province than it had to.
It had taken me almost an hour to find a taxi driver who’d drop me at Laksha after dark, and even then I’d had to pay in advance. I barely had time to close the door before he was spinning the wheels to leave.
That left me facing the chicken wire and splintered weatherboard of the stationhouse alone. Where a spluttering sodium light would’ve completed the uneasy atmosphere, a brilliant high-wattage spotlight perched and rotated on the roof instead – lending it a less seedy-slum and more concentration-camp ambience.
I wondered whose initiative that had been to put that up, Aus-Police or Neigbourhood Watch? The Watch had developed teeth as the police force’s recruiting dropped off in the last ten years. Suddenly, no one wanted to be paid to enforce the law s of the country in general; everyone just wanted to join the Watch group and take care of their own small community.
Dad had seen it coming and been appalled. It was one of the rare issues we disagreed upon. I figured it was better when each community took responsibility for itself rather than relying on the government to make everything better for the whole. Dad said it led to bad decisions and persecution. I told him I thought there was plenty of that the way things were – how could this be worse?
Peacemaker Page 6
