JJ waited with his arms open, looking up at Chloe.
‘Stay here,’ I whispered to her, just before I jumped. ‘Cops aren’t after you.’
‘Fuck that.’
I stumbled a bit as I landed and righted myself just as Chloe flung herself into space, falling towards JJ, a front-heavy human missile.
He caught her, but she landed hard and he staggered back, huffing out air and losing his balance. He swung a hand behind him to break their fall and when they hit the concrete I heard a sharp crack, like a twig snapped for kindling. I hurried over. JJ groaned.
‘You guys alright?’
‘Fine.’ Chloe was dusting herself off.
‘My wrist,’ JJ said.
I heard voices coming from the pub veranda.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We don’t have much time.’
I helped JJ up and we ran to the edge of the roof where I’d last seen Nick. A set of metal rungs had been fixed into the wall as a ladder and he was waiting down the bottom, in an alleyway filled with rubbish skips. As I climbed down he whispered: ‘End of the lane, turn left. Venue called the Demo Club. Tell the others. Meet you there.’ He wedged his hands in his pockets and strolled off, still doing his ‘act casual’ thing.
Chloe got to the bottom of the ladder no problem: all those years of stripping in platforms had made her amazingly agile in heels. As JJ struggled down one-handed, I told her what the story was, said I’d meet them there and hurried off. I didn’t want to get caught, and figured an expectant platinum-haired stripper and an injured poet dressed like a Blues Brother might stand out a tad in Broken Hill.
I turned left on the wide main drag, forcing myself to walk slowly, not looking back at the Silver City hotel. People passed me, heading to the pub. Word had obviously gotten around that something big was going down, and everyone wanted a look-see.
A block later I arrived at a long, low building with signs advertising a Family Bistro, Keno and Live Entertainment. Barrier Social Democratic Club was painted on an awning overhanging the footpath, so I guessed it was the place Nick had told me about.
I smiled at the bouncer, signed in at the front desk for temporary membership, giving a false name and address, and followed a carpeted corridor towards the bistro, where music was pumping. I doubted Nick would be in the gaming room—too many cameras.
The room was large and cavernous and the restaurant was closed, its bains-marie empty. Tables and chairs had been pushed back against the walls, exposing red carpet patterned with yellow swirls, making room for a dance floor in front of a small stage. Coloured spots lit up a four-piece band. They were performing a cover of a Pogues song—‘Fairytale of New York’—and the lead singer was thrashing around drunkenly, doing a very convincing Shane MacGowan impression. The same song had been playing at Nick’s the day I’d stumbled onto Isabella’s body. Seemed like a lifetime ago.
I spotted Nick on the far side of the bar, hidden in shadow, watching the band with a funny expression on his face and drinking something that looked like straight spirits. I guessed if you were going to fall off the wagon then the conclusion of a police pursuit was the time to do it. I walked over.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘That was fucking close.’
He nodded but kept looking at the band.
‘These guys were playing when me and Isabella were here as part of the roadshow. Pogues cover band. Guess what they’re called?’
I shrugged.
‘The Rogues.’ He shook his head and grimaced as he sipped his drink.
The room was crowded with young people, well-dressed men and women in their early to mid twenties, all drinking, some swaying and singing along with the song. It surprised me. Guessed I’d expected a bunch of grizzled, smudge-faced miners wearing hard hats with lights attached to the front, hacking their lungs out into their beers. Place reminded me of a blue light disco I’d been to as a teenager, held at the local RSL.
‘I know you don’t want to tell me, but is Victoria’s connection to Lachlan Elliot the reason Watto tried to kill her? Both her and Isabella knew him, he knew the bikies . . .’
Nick just shook his head.
JJ and Chloe entered the room and were mostly ignored, thanks to the band launching into ‘If I Should Fall from Grace with God’, which inspired the crowd to pogo, link arms and swing each other around as though performing a psychotic barn dance.
I ordered a water—f leeing from the fuzz had made me kinda thirsty—and when Chloe came over she ordered a red wine and a champagne.
‘How’s the wrist?’ I asked JJ.
‘Pretty banged up. Lucky I’m already anaesthetised.’ He looked at Nick. ‘What the fuck’s going on, mate?’
Chloe handed JJ the red and took a slug of the champagne. Nick had just opened his mouth to speak when some drunken patrons staggered by and a female voice said, ‘Disgusting.’
‘You say something?’ Chloe yelled after them.
The group stopped, turned. A large girl with frizzy red hair stepped forward, holding a Bacardi Breezer. She looked Chloe up and down.
‘Yeah, I did actually. I said disgusting. Drinking in your condition. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Chloe bristled and stood up tall on her stupid heels.
‘Ashamed? I don’t think so, love. Pretty soon I won’t be pregnant but you’ll still be an ugly bush-pig.’
‘What did you call me?’
‘Bush-pig. You heard.’
‘Slapper.’
The band had finished their song and launched into a cover of ‘Fiesta’, a fast-paced ditty equal parts Irish-folk-punk and crazed mariachi band. The dancers thrashed violently around the floor.
Chloe and the red-haired chick launched at each other at the same time, all bared teeth and sharp fingernails. I pulled Chloe back, JJ assisting with his one workable hand. The girl’s boyfriend grabbed her, but she broke free and slapped Chloe across the face. I was holding Chloe by the shoulders with all my might while JJ spoke to the boyfriend.
‘Hey, keep a hold of her, will you. This is a pregnant woman here.’
‘Control your own bitch,’ spat the chick.
‘Yeah,’ said her boyfriend. ‘What’s it to you, you fucken boong.’
Chloe and JJ looked at each other and threw themselves at the offending couple as one. I couldn’t hold her. I didn’t try.
JJ shot off a couple of short, sharp punches—not bad considering he only had one hand. The guy staggered back and hit the floor. Chloe leapt at the chick and the two of them fell, Chloe on top, clawing at the girl’s hair and attempting to lift then smash her head against the carpet. The couple’s friends advanced and JJ sent a few wild swings their way but made no contact. One of them picked up a plastic chair and brandished it like he was a lion tamer. I looked to Nick to help and he reluctantly stood up and moved out of the shadows, towards us.
The band played on with lots of brass, whistles and yelping from the singer, but the dancers were peeling off, either to gawk at us or join in. Two big bouncers pushed their way through the crowd, but before they or Nick could reach us the redhead let out a high-pitched screech and Chloe actually got off her and stood still with a strange expression on her face.
‘She’s pissing on me!’ the girl screamed, lying on the floor. ‘The fucking slapper’s pissing on me!’
Everyone stood back and watched. Fluid was gushing down Chloe’s legs, soaking the redhead’s dress, turning it from pale blue to navy. The bouncers finally arrived at the scene.
‘Fuck’s going on?’ one of them said, face screwed up in confusion and disgust.
‘Get an ambulance, mate.’ JJ had his arm around Chloe’s shoulders. ‘Her waters just broke. She’s about to have a baby.’
chapter fifty
The ambulance didn’t take long and I wondered if it had been just up the road, staking out the Silver City hotel. Five minutes later two paramedics were crouched next to Chloe who was reclining on the pub carpet, swearing and clutching JJ’s arm. The
redhaired chick and her mates had scurried off quick-smart, threatening legal action and looking vaguely ill.
Nick nudged me in the ribs. ‘Been nice knowing you,’ he said.
‘Huh?’
‘It’s almost time.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘JJ and I have to go.’
‘What about me?’
‘You’ll be at the hospital with Chloe, surely.’
‘For secret women’s business? Give me a break, Nick, I’m coming to the pub. JJ can’t help. He’s half cut, doesn’t know the plan or what Watto looks like, and—if you hadn’t noticed—he’s got a broken wrist and a better idea of what’s happening to Chloe than I do. He’s going with her, not me.’
‘Fine.’ Nick slammed down the rest of his drink and squatted next to JJ. I followed suit.
‘Mate, I need to borrow your car. Where’s it parked?’
‘Sulphide Street. Couple of blocks. What’s going on?’
‘You’re going to hospital with her and I’m paying the Devils what I owe them. I don’t have time to explain.’
JJ pulled a set of keys from his pocket. Chloe seized my forearm, fake fingernails digging in.
‘I want a contract out on that cocksucker,’ she gasped.
‘Who?’
‘Curtis, the goddamn mother—’ She stopped to let out a primal shriek. The Shane MacGowan lookalike stopped writhing on the stage and peered in our direction.
‘Okay,’ the female ambo said. ‘It’s off to maternity for you.’
‘I’m not due for a month!’
The two paramedics hoisted her onto a stretcher.
‘I’m booked in for a fucking caesarean!’ she yelled. ‘In Melbourne!’
They looked at each other and chuckled.
‘Little bit late for that . . .’ the guy said.
‘My moot!’ Chloe cried.
‘Will I see you later?’ JJ asked Nick.
‘Probably not. I’ve got to disappear for a while. I just wanted to say . . .’ He paused. ‘Fuck it. I’m no good at impromptu speeches. Don’t even know what I think until I see what I write. Cops ask you questions, you don’t know a thing.’
‘I know the drill.’
‘Take care, mate.’
‘Yeah, you too.’
They hugged. It seemed like Nick didn’t want to let go. JJ looked puzzled, patted Nick’s back, pulled away and followed Chloe out to the ambulance. I yelled that I’d catch up with her soon, but wasn’t sure she’d heard.
Fifteen minutes later Nick and I sat in JJ’s old Mitsubishi Magna, across the road from the pub. The hotel was on the outskirts of town, not a grand two-storey job but a squat concrete bunker with a corrugated-iron awning and blacked-out windows. A chalkboard on the side of the entrance advertised topless barmaids and five-dollar steak specials. A couple of Harley Davidsons and a few utes were parked outside. My mouth was dry. Nick gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.
‘Think they’ve got someone watching us?’ I asked.
‘Definitely. Got your gun?’
‘Uh-huh.’ I withdrew it from my bag and rested it on my lap. ‘Reckon there’ll be trouble?’
‘I don’t think they’ll try anything. Want the money too bad, but I’ll check on you from the pub. I reccied the place earlier, and you can see out the windows even though you can’t see in.’
I nodded. He’d thought of everything.
‘Then what do I do?’ I asked.
‘Whatever you want. Go see Chloe. Give yourself up to the cops.’
‘What do I tell them?’
‘Anything. That you escaped my evil clutches. That I killed Geddes. That I’m really Watto or Elvis Mask or whatever his name is, out of my mind on drugs. Just don’t tell them the truth and don’t implicate the Devils. That’s part of the deal, yeah? No one grasses, no one testifies, they’re happy and our families and friends are safe.’
‘So they just get away with it?’
‘There’s no other option. They’ve got too much clout, Simone. It’s why I couldn’t go to jail. They’d have got me in there easier than on the outside.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’m going in. Thanks for this. And once again, I’m sorry for walking into your office that day, for losing you your licence, screwing up your life.’
‘I probably would have screwed it up myself anyway, sooner or later.’
‘You know, I kind of wish I was writing the next Zack book now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the best idea for a female PI. A smart-mouthed, crazy ex-stripper who never, ever drinks green tea.’
‘Bit far-fetched,’ I said.
Nick smiled and got out of the car, then paused with the door open. ‘Oh, before I go—take this.’ He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. It was the last of Liz’s money.
‘Won’t you need it?’
‘I’ll be right.’ He smiled. ‘Bye.’
‘Wait,’ I said. Something had been brewing in my head ever since we’d spoken in his room at the Silver City hotel. ‘You said you thought you knew who the money belonged to, but you were wrong. Was it Lachlan Elliot you ripped off? Victoria and Isabella knew him. He was in with the Devils. What if he was holding on to the bikies’ money and they killed him because they thought he’d stolen it? Kind of makes sense . . .’
Nick just gave me an enigmatic smile, slammed the door and was gone.
I scooted over to the driver’s seat and sat waiting, the gun on my lap hidden by a tourist map of Broken Hill. I was so tense my shoulders were bunched around my ears and my neck felt like a pillar of stone. Nick couldn’t have been in the pub for more than a few minutes but time seemed to have slowed and stretched out, become elastic.
I wished I had a drink. I wished I had a cigarette. I found an old bottle of water rolling around in the passenger side foot-well and had a swig but it tasted stale and chemical, like the plastic had degraded in the heat.
A late model black van with tinted windows cruised past the pub a couple of times, but I couldn’t see who was driving. The vehicle stopped in front of the entrance and a man got out and walked into the building. He was chunky, with long hair and a leather bikie waistcoat.
After an excruciatingly long five minutes a cab pulled up and I nearly had a heart attack, thinking it was a police car. I squinted through the window. The driver got out to have a cigarette and I realised it was the same dude who’d picked up me and Chloe from the airport.
Finally Nick walked out of the pub, got in the taxi and drove away. A minute later the black van came back, the bikie got in and they did the same.
I guessed that was it. Nick had paid them off, was taking his false passport and getting the hell out of dodge. Craig Murdoch, hopefully, was going to dispose of his crazed ‘enforcer’. I didn’t see why he wouldn’t. Surely he didn’t need any more heat and just wanted to be left alone to carry on his business dealings, or work on his documentary or whatever it was he did behind bars. Nick had been right. They’d gotten away with everything, but it was the only way to ensure no one else would get hurt. I should have been happy—it was all over—but an uneasy, dejected feeling settled around me like low-lying cloud.
I wondered what was going to happen to me now that everything was finished. I’d go through a lot of shit with the coppers and they’d know I was lying and never reinstate my licence. My only hope had been the job in Vietnam, but that was up shit creek. There was always stripping to fall back on, but I was nearly thirty and the older you got the worse stuff you had to do to keep up with the younger, hotter girls. Not just nips and tucks but sick shit like sitting on witches hats and popping live animals out of your pussy. Forget erotica, the whole thing turned into a freak show.
What was left? I’d done hospitality and retail and they both made me feel like shooting myself in the head. I could always finish my arts degree, but who ever heard of a BA actually getting you a job?
I started up the Magna and thought about what to do. I could give myself up to Talbot or go see my best friend give birth. Both op
tions were unappealing, but at least the latter would include a celebratory bottle of champagne. I checked the tourist directory for the location of a drive-through and the hospital, and picked up a bottle of Domain Chandon and a sparkly pink bottle-bag on the way.
I dragged my feet into the reception area.
‘I’m looking for my friend, Chloe Wozniak? She went into labour at a pub in town.’
‘The one screaming bloody murder about her caesarean and her fanny?’ the nurse said, smiling. I smiled back.
‘That’d be her.’
‘She’s in the delivery room. No time for the caesar. We told her not to worry, everything would snap back, good as new.’
‘Does it?’
She literally hooted with laughter and slapped her palm against the desk. I resolved never to have sex again.
I heard the screams on the way down the green linoleum corridor. I’d had the misfortune of hearing Chloe ‘make love’ and had always thought it sounded like a person being murdered. That night was worse, more like she was being skinned alive.
The nurse poked her head inside the delivery room and spoke to someone. JJ emerged, wrist in a plaster cast, wearing a gown and gloves, both streaked with blood. He looked beatific.
‘Simone! You made it.’
‘How’s the baby?’
‘Fine. Coming quick though. You might want to gown up.’
I clutched the champagne to my chest as another howl emanated from behind the swinging doors.
‘That sound. Can’t they give her something for the pain?’
‘Too late for an epidural and they don’t want to risk peth. There’s gas but I think it’s doing more for me than her. Doctor’s cool. How’s Nick?’
‘Paid off the Devils and disappeared.’
I quickly told JJ about Nick’s plan.
‘How’d he get hold of a million bucks?’ he asked, incredulous.
‘Not sure. I thought maybe Travis gave it to him. Nick visited the Kit Kat before he came to Broken Hill.’
JJ shook his head. ‘No way. Travis is dead broke. His only asset is his beloved surfboard.’
Thrill City Page 28
