Simone Kirsch 01 - Peepshow

by Leigh Redhead

  ‘It’s not Farquhar,’ I told him, ‘it’s Alex.’

  Alex took his hands off my shoulders and looked Mick up and down. ‘Is this hillbilly your boyfriend?’ he sneered. ‘Spare me.’

  Mick was on him in a second. He pushed Alex’s chest then swung a punch. Alex dodged and Mick’s fist bounced off the side of his head. Alex staggered back a couple of steps and then came at Mick.

  Mick was taller than Alex, and more muscular, but Alex had some pretty nifty moves he must have picked up at the police academy.

  Alex squared up to punch Mick in the face and when Mick put his fists up and leaned back to avoid it, Alex kicked his feet out from under him and Mick hit the ground. Alex jumped on top of him and Mick sucker punched him in the mouth before Alex grabbed his hands and then they were rolling around in the gutter, silently wrestling.

  There was something kind of sexy about two hot guys grappling around like that.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘do you even know what you’re fighting about?’

  They wrestled for a bit longer, grunting with exertion, slowed down gradually and eventually stopped.

  They stood up and Mick spat on the ground. Alex wiped blood off his lip with the back of his hand and both kept eye contact like a couple of alley cats. If they’d had tails they would have swished them slowly from side to side.

  Mick pulled a crumpled rollie from his shirt pocket and lit it. A vein in his temple throbbed and his hair was damp with sweat.

  Alex tucked his expensive olive shirt back in and coughed. ‘Anyway, Simone, give me a call.’ He walked towards Barkly Street and for a second it looked like Mick was going to go after him. Instead he dragged so hard on his cigarette it imploded at the butt.

  ‘Fucken jacks, what did he want?’

  ‘He says it wasn’t him who dobbed me in to Farquhar.

  He wants to help me.’

  ‘He wants to fuck you.’ Mick laughed mirthlessly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was obvious, the way he looked at you. He was all over you.’

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  ‘Are you going to call him?’ he asked.

  ‘Fuck Mick, I don’t know. Probably. I need to get Farquhar off my back.’

  ‘Fine.’ He turned and stalked up the lane to the pub and I was left standing there thinking, what the hell was that all about?

  I got back to the pub as the band started up again and sat at the bar drinking champagne until the gig was over. Mick didn’t look at me once. The band began to pack up their gear and one of the backpackers put Oasis on the jukebox and cleared out most of the rockers.

  Betty disappeared into the toilets for a really long time. I had to pee myself so I went in. One of the cubicles was locked and I bent down to look under the door and saw her two-tone saddle shoes. I used the next cubicle.

  ‘You all right in there?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah.’ Betty sounded funny.

  I flushed and went out to wash my hands. The lock on her cubicle clicked open and Betty came out with her head back, holding a wad of toilet paper to her nose.

  ‘Fucking nosebleed.’ She threw the bloodied paper in the bin and looked at herself up close in the mirror.

  After ten seconds a fat trickle of blood seeped from her left nostril.

  ‘Aww fuck.’ She returned to the cubicle for more toilet paper, sat on the lid and tipped her head back again.

  ‘Do you want me to get Johnny?’ I asked.

  ‘I said I’m fine, just fucking leave me alone.’

  Back in the bar the band had packed up and Mick was talking to the blonde with the tattooed wrist over by the stage. She was touching his forearm again, tapping it to make a point, and they were both laughing.

  Blood rushed to my head and I marched to the bar and ordered a double Jameson, straight up. I knocked it back in no time flat and ordered another. Mick and the girl were leaning against a wall now, still talking. Cosy.

  Betty came out of the bathroom and her and Johnny sat off in a dark corner. It looked like she was crying.

  They got up and Johnny put his arm around her and she leaned on him as he walked her out of the pub.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore and went up to Mick, stood there. They ignored me.

  ‘Hi,’ I said. Both glanced over and kept talking.

  ‘Are you pissed off at me?’ I addressed the question to Mick but blondie looked at me and smirked.

  ‘I’m not pissed off at you.’ Mick’s voice was flat.

  ‘You can do what you like.’

  ‘Well fine, I will then.’ I looked in Mick’s eyes and didn’t know what I saw there. Fathomless pools? A murky swamp? He looked away and I walked out of the pub.

  I wanted to go straight-backed and dignified but was so pissed I bumped my hip into the pool table on the way out.

  I crossed Barkly Street and tried to hail a taxi. All occupied. Johnny and Betty were down the lane beside the pub. Betty vomited in the gutter and Johnny held her hair back. I started walking, stunned, numb. How had everything shifted so suddenly between Mick and me?

  I became aware of a car slowing down behind me, following. Not again. I turned and saw four hoons in a hotted-up Monaro with Pplates and a thudding stereo.

  ‘Hey, babe.’ The guy in the front passenger seat leaned out the window. ‘How much?’

  I ignored them and kept walking.

  ‘Don’t be like that, we got money.’ He held out a ten-dollar note. ‘How much for a suck, baby?’

  The other guys laughed and I felt rage, red hot, behind my eyes. I approached the car and kicked the passenger door, over and over, until the metal buckled.

  The car sped up and the hoon yelled back at me: ‘You’re fucking ugly anyway, slut.’

  I cried drunken tears as I wobbled home on my high heels. When I got there I drank some more and listened to every depressing song in my CD collection. Mick didn’t call.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Monday 24 November

  The next day I called Alex from a public phone and arranged to meet him on the hill at Point Ormond, near Elwood beach. I jogged there, ducking down cobbled lanes and sprinting across sports fields to shake off any surveillance. It was a bad day for a run, clouds hung low and heavy and the air was thick, oppressive. As I laboured up the hill towards the white wooden beacon my neck itched with sweat and my puffy eyes stung from crying the night before.

  I leaned against the wood and stretched out my quads. You could see everything from the Elwood hill, the city skyline, the Westgate Bridge, the Bellarine Peninsula on a clear day. Alex walked up from the other side, past a grove of scrubby bushes where guys cruised for other guys.

  ‘You look like shit,’ he said.

  ‘Who’s talking?’

  His lip was cut and swollen and his cheekbone grazed.

  ‘Nice guy, that boyfriend of yours. You’ve done well for yourself.’

  ‘Forget him,’ I said. ‘Let’s talk about Farquhar.’

  ‘What happened when he arrested you?’

  I told Alex about the arrest, Farquhar threatening me, and my flat being broken into. ‘Has he contacted you yet?’

  ‘No. Maybe he’s forgotten about it. Maybe he just wanted to scare me off.’

  Alex shook his head. ‘He’ll contact you soon. I know him, he’s got something in the works. He’ll want you to have sex with someone while he films it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s the way he operates. What did you think he’d want you to do? Run a couple of suits to the cleaners?

  ‘We think he’ll contact you at work. It’s pretty hard to hide a wire when you’re naked, so we want you to wear these.’ He pulled a small brown envelope out of his shirt pocket and tipped a pair of earrings onto his palm, big and gold, with a cluster of fake pearls.

  ‘I can’t wear those,’ I said.

  ‘Why not, you’ve got pierced ears?’

  ‘They’re off, totally eighties. I wore something similar to my Year T
en formal.’

  ‘They need to be big to hide the transmitter. Besides, I hear the eighties are back. Put them on.’

  I slipped them in my ear lobes.

  ‘It’s the only way,’ said Alex. ‘Farquhar’s not going to approach you anywhere that might be bugged so I want you to work the Red tonight, every night until he shows up. Go along with everything he says. Someone from my team will be following you until this thing goes down. Wear the earrings everywhere until then, OK?’

  His mobile rang and he answered, listened briefly, then hung up. ‘The transmitter works fine.’

  ‘Go along with everything he says?’ I repeated.

  ‘When exactly does the cavalry come and rescue me?’

  ‘We want you in the room with the mark because we need all the evidence we can get. You don’t actually have to go through with it though, unless you want to.’

  ‘Prick.’ I punched him on the arm and he smiled for the first time, then winced as blood oozed from his lip.

  ‘You never told me who you’re working for,’ he said.

  ‘I’m guessing the family?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, and left it at that.

  ‘Don’t get too involved with them, they’re into some pretty heavy stuff. You don’t want to be tied up in it when it comes crashing down around them. And it will.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I said. I wanted to tell him then about Chloe but I couldn’t. I still didn’t completely trust him.

  I didn’t trust anybody and I wasn’t going to shoot my mouth off with radio transmitters for earrings. ‘There’s just one thing I want for helping you out.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A copy of Frank’s autopsy report.’

  Alex groaned. ‘I can’t—’

  ‘Yes you can, if you set your mind to it.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for helping us out, Simone. I had the wrong idea about you. You’re a smart girl.’

  ‘Woman, Alex. Are all you cops so un-PC?’

  ‘’Fraid so,’ he grinned.

  At home I lay in bed with tea bags on my eyes to bring the swelling down and fell asleep for a couple of hours.

  I woke at five and got ready for work, washing my hair, putting on makeup and painting my nails. I was about to leave when I heard a knock.

  So much for the security door downstairs.

  I took a deep breath and reached for the knob.

  Farquhar? Sal?

  I opened it.

  Mick leaned against the hallway wall, looking the worse for wear. He was smoking a cigarette and held an almost empty bottle of bourbon under his arm.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  I nodded and he walked past me and sat down heavily on the couch.

  ‘Did you call him?’ He swigged from the bottle.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who do you reckon? That fucking jack.’

  I sat next to him and whispered in his ear: ‘That fucking jack is going to help me with the you-know-who situation.’ I shook my head. ‘Jesus, what’s your fucking problem, Mick? Everything was going fine and then out of the blue you attack him then act like you don’t even know me for the rest of the night. That really hurt.’

  ‘You’ve got to understand—’

  ‘No, you’ve got to understand. I’m not going to put up with this shit. I went through it years ago. It’s so unnecessary.’

  ‘It was my first instinct,’ he said, head in his hands.

  ‘It’s like, I dunno, you want to push someone away before they do it to you.’

  ‘Well, you did a great job of pushing me away. You and that blond bitch. Did you fuck her?’ The words just burst out.

  ‘Yes.’

  Tears pricked my eyes. I thought he would at least lie.

  I flung open the front door.

  ‘Get out.’

  He came up and kissed me, breath sweet with bourbon. I tried to move my mouth away but he held my face and pushed his crotch into mine.

  My brain went into meltdown and all my resolve was lost. Suddenly I was hungry for him, hungry for his cock.

  I bit his lip, hard, and he pulled my black skirt up and shoved my knickers to the side. He leaned me against the wall. I wrapped my legs around him and he pushed his cock into me, fucking me standing up. The door was still open and any one of my neighbours could have walked by. I clawed his back with my nails, wanting to draw blood, hurt him, mark him.

  ‘I hate you,’ I gasped, ‘I fucking hate you.’

  I did. I hated the hold he had on me.

  It spurred him on and he fucked me harder, deeper, like a man possessed. My head banged against the wall and the wall shook. It was so intense I thought I’d pass out.

  When he came he said he loved me. Must have been drunker than I thought.

  I told him I had to work and kicked him out, had another shower, fixed my makeup and called a cab.

  It wasn’t until I got in the taxi that I realised I’d had the earrings on the whole time.

  Twenty minutes later I walked up the stairs of the Red, smelling cheap perfume and stale cigarettes. It was seven o’clock and three girls danced on podiums. One of them was Dakota and when I waved she deliberately ignored me. What was up her arse? A few guys milled around but I couldn’t see any corrupt policemen. I went to the girls’ room and had just changed into my red latex outfit when Aurora walked in wearing a fuchsia dress slashed to the groin. She already had a couple of hundred dollars in her garter.

  ‘Simone.’ She hugged me then held my shoulders, concerned. ‘What’s been happening? I heard there was a scene at the St Kilda Inn.’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  She let go and I crammed my bag into my locker.

  ‘Tell me over a drink,’ she said, ‘and don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d lose the earrings.’

  We sat at the bar drinking champagne.

  ‘Fill me in,’ said Aurora. ‘Mick leaves a party last Thursday, goes to your place, and the two of you disappear for two days.’

  ‘Portsea.’

  ‘So I hear. Nice and romantic, then a punch-up at the pub and you leave separately. What gives?’

  ‘Mick got jealous, attacked a guy, then we had a fight.

  I saw him half an hour ago but I don’t know what’s going on between us.’

  ‘Who was the guy Mick was fighting with? Someone told me it was a cop.’

  ‘I can’t tell you what’s going on right now. Maybe in a few days.’ I touched the earrings self-consciously.

  ‘If you’re in some kind of trouble, if you need any help, I’m here for you.’ She touched my arm. ‘All the girls are.’

  Jim came up then, walkie-talkie crackling. ‘What’s going on, ladies? There’s a table full of guys, no one talking to them. Have your little gossip session in your own time, that’s not what I pay you for.’

  ‘We’re independent contractors,’ said Aurora, ‘you don’t pay us at all.’

  We wandered over to the table of suits and Aurora perched on a chair in the middle and went to work.

  I was watching, trying to figure out how she did it, when I felt a hand on my arse. Occupational hazard. I turned around to tell the guy to quit and came face to face with Dick Farquhar.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘How much?’ Farquhar asked. He wore his corrupt detective on a night out look, a short-sleeved shirt patterned with swirls of red, blue and green. Abstract parrots? Wiry grey hair sprouted from the open neck.

  ‘How much for what?’ I tried to remember to breathe. In, out.

  ‘A dance.’

  ‘Twenty for two songs, fifty for ten minutes in the private room.’

  He set his scotch on a nearby table and reached into the back pocket of his tan pants for his wallet. It was bowl shaped, moulded to his arse. He took out a fifty and shoved it roughly into my top, the plastic scratching my skin.

  ‘Follow me.’ I grabbed a tape from the bar and led him towards the private rooms, feeling dizzy, still not bre
athing right.

  I took him into the first one we came to but Farquhar wanted to choose his own. Paranoid. He sat down and smiled and his teeth didn’t glow.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked.

  ‘Take your clothes off. I did pay for it.’ He sipped the scotch and his mouth made a wet smacking sound.

  I stood up, unzipped my top and chucked it in the corner. I was about to do the same with my shorts when Farquhar laughed and held up his hand. ‘Whoa,’ he said, ‘not much of a dancer, are you? Put on some music, shake that ass.’

  I glared at him, jammed the cassette in and pressed play. Some sleazy R&B number came on, the singer crooning about rubbing his baby up and down. Great. I moved awkwardly to the music, taking off my hotpants and bra. Farquhar stroked himself through his trousers.

  Apparently there was a cock somewhere under that stomach.

  ‘You’re not allowed to do that,’ I told him.

  He laughed. ‘I can do whatever the fuck I want.’

  I shed my bikini bottoms with minimal grace and swayed in front of him. He leaned over and grabbed my arm, pulling me onto his lap. A small hard bulge pressed into my left butt cheek and one of his hands cupped my boob and wobbled it. Very erotic.

  I looked around the room for a deadly weapon.

  Ashtray to the head? Stiletto heel through the eye socket?

  ‘We’re going to the Uptown Hotel on Queens Road.’

  His breath was hot and sticky in my ear. ‘A conference is winding up soon and there’s a man I want you to seduce. I’ve got a couple of grams of coke. If you can get him to imbibe, so much the better. Meet him in the bar, take him to your room and confine most of the action to the bed. That’s all you gotta do. One night, and I wipe the slate clean.’

  ‘Where’s the camera?’

  ‘You don’t need to know.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t go for it?’

  ‘You’d better make sure he does. Just don’t tell him you’re a stripper, I don’t want him to get suss. I’ll have someone watching you every step of the way so don’t do anything stupid. Be a good girl and I destroy all the paperwork and forget I ever caught you following me. Think I can’t tell when someone’s got me under surveillance?’ He shook his head. ‘Twenty-five years I’ve been in this game. Fucking amateur.’