Stage Fright

by Marianne Delacourt

‘Jeez, Slim, where’s your pride, man?’

  He stiffened and his aura solidified a little. ‘I got pride.’

  ‘Bullshit you have.’

  This time he really sparked. ‘Don’t go speakin’ to me like that, bitch.’

  I grinned. ‘Never thought I’d be happy to hear you call me that.’

  He paused, his aura positively bristling, and then suddenly grinned back at me. He glanced over at Stuart. ‘I’m hungry, man. Need me some of your Ossie hotcakes.’

  Stuart let out the breath he’d been holding. ‘Already on their way, Slim.’

  The rapper nodded his approval. ‘I’ll go grab a shower.’ He got up and left the room, his swagger and his aura restored.

  ‘Good job,’ Stuart said to me when the bathroom door closed and we could hear the shower running.

  ‘Don’t let him get the self-pity happening. He’s got to move on from the past.’ Not quite sure when I turned into Dr Phil, but I was flying on instinct and auras, and it felt right.

  Stuart nodded. ‘I’ll tell Juanita as well.’

  His phone belted out a line from a Slim Sledge song and he fished it out of his pocket to read the message. When he’d read it, he held it out for me.

  The Frankston, Kingsford Smith Drive. 1 pm. Sofia. x I raised my eyebrows in query.

  ‘It’s a boutique hotel on the way to the airport,’ Stuart explained. ‘Low-key but expensive.’

  ‘How long to get there?’

  ‘Fifteen, twenty minutes by taxi, depending on traffic.’

  ‘I’ll go soon then. Find a way in before they set up.’

  Stuart took his phone back and pursed his lips.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  He pressed his forehead with his thumb. ‘I know I’m paying you, Tara, but this could be dangerous. I mean, someone tried to burn down my home. Who knows what else they’re planning?’

  I wasn’t going to let him wimp out on this now. ‘Listen, Stuart, Wal’s in a bad place, you’re in a bad place, Slim’s in a—well, god knows where he is, but it isn’t a place I’d want to be. Johnny Viaspa’s involved, which means at some point he’ll come after me as well. I couldn’t walk away from this if I wanted to.’

  He took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Alright. But if anything looks dangerous, call the cops. Promise?’

  ‘Promise,’ I said. ‘And you promise me something.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Don’t tell Bon Ames where I’ve gone.’

  ‘Okay. Why?’

  ‘Just promise.’

  He nodded. ‘I booked your flight. It’s leaving at eight tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m heading back to Inigo’s for a shower and change and then I’ll get over to the Frankston. Keep Slim busy today and I’ll see you at the venue tonight, early.’

  ‘How am I going to do that?’

  ‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘Do what everyone else does with tourists. Take him to see the koalas.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Inigo was lying in wait for me, her coffee table laden with candles, little containers of liquid and strewn with petals. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed as if meditating.

  ‘Inigo, hi,’ I said, and kept on walking. ‘In a rush.’

  ‘Sit or die,’ she commanded.

  I stopped in my tracks. ‘Beg pardon?’

  ‘You must be cleansed or you will die.’

  Man, I did not have time for this kind of crazy. At least with Dickle I could kick her arse. ‘I’m not going to die, Inigo, and I have somewhere important to go right now.’

  Her eyes snapped open. ‘You will sit or I will call the police about the assault yesterday! They will tie you up in interviews.’

  Damn. I sighed and sat in front of her. ‘Look, I appreciate your interest in my safety but can we make it—’ She made a hissing noise and I shut my mouth.

  Satisfied that I was finally compliant, she got up and walked a slow circle around me. Then she picked up a bowl of liquid and flicked some onto my head and shoulders with her fingertips. It smelled of lavender; nice, but it reminded me of my grandmother’s underwear drawer. Then Inigo began to chant. That went on forever, chanting and occasional scented-water flicking, while I resisted checking my phone for messages. Finally, her chanting worked up into a peak of short, staccato words and then a long and eerie shriek that made the hairs on my body stiffen.

  To finish her ritual she put her hand on the back of my neck. I felt a charge of cold energy that made my flesh goosepimple, as if I’d jumped into a cold swimming pool on a hot day.

  ‘And relax . . .’ she said.

  She removed her hand and the feeling faded, leaving my brain feeling fresh, as though I’d woken from a long, rejuvenating sleep.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ I asked.

  She returned to her position on the floor in front of me. ‘For one with such a strong gift you have so little belief.’

  ‘Belief in what?’

  Her only answer was a reproachful, weary stare. ‘When you are ready to believe, to be honest, you will need me.’

  ‘It’s been very kind of you to have me to stay, Inigo, but I’m going home tomorrow.’

  ‘That is irrelevant,’ she said in her direct manner.

  ‘In time you will need me. I will be here.’

  ‘Oh.’ I wasn’t sure what else to say. ‘Thank you. I’d best get ready.’

  ‘I’ll prepare you some food.’

  ‘No need—’ But she was already up and on her way to the kitchen. I’d never met anyone as forthright and indefatigable. Inigo would intimidate my mother. Speaking of which, I really needed to ring her back.

  I thought about that and a bunch of other things while I had a shower and got changed. I couldn’t do anything about Smitty and Henry until I got home. And to help Wal (and by default Liv) and Stuart (and Slim), I had to get through today.

  The last of my clean clothes were crumpled but I wasn’t in the mood to ask Inigo for an iron, plus it was already after nine. I had to move. Jeans, singlet, trainers and a cap—Tara Sharp business wear. I stuck the cap in my bag and donned the rest.

  I tossed everything else in my suitcase and zipped it up, knowing today was going to be long and I might not get a chance to pack later. My flight was leaving early.

  Inigo waited with a paper bag in her hand and a small flask of liquid. ‘Corn cakes for energy, a special tea for clarity.’

  ‘Thank you again. But I really—’

  She silenced me with a look and I took the proffered food like a good girl, planning to dump it somewhere down the road.

  ‘I’ll be back to get my case sometime. And I’ll see you at the concert tonight.’

  ‘Yes. You will need me.’

  ‘I will?’

  ‘Blessed be, Tara,’ she said, using the Wiccan farewell.

  I gulped. ‘Blessed be, Inigo.’

  •

  I managed to catch a cab almost outside the front door and asked them to drop me a block away from the Frankston. Less than ten minutes later I was standing on the side of busy Kingsford Smith Drive debating the best way to approach the hotel. In the end I decided to go down one of the side streets and approach from the back.

  The street I chose had a café halfway along with a decent view of the back of the Frankston. I sat down at a table, ordered a glass of iced chocolate and watched for a while. The delivery entry seemed to be my best bet. Small trucks were coming and going regularly. I just had to talk my way in.

  The drink fortified my sugar levels, and the cold breeze still blowing through my mind from Inigo’s cleansing seemed to have made me more detached than usual. The task ahead of me was clear: get in, find the meeting room and a way to listen, or at least identify who the other investors were.

  As I devised this brilliant plan, a dark sedan cruised down the road and pulled up behind the delivery truck bay. Four sharply dressed individuals wearing sunnies got out; two headed to the front of the building, two strolled up to t
he delivery entrance.

  A few minutes later a troop carrier came from the other direction and parked across the road. This time three guys got out and dispersed to different points of the hotel. I recognised Andreas’s office assistant, Fubulo, as he disappeared around the corner heading to the main entry. The hotel employee at the delivery entry was suddenly surrounded by men wanting to talk to him.

  I scrabbled in my bag for the Reverb Promotions ID I’d used at the film shoot and pinned it to my singlet, letting my hair out to obscure the lettering. At a glance it looked like any official badge. Close up it was definitely the wrong official badge. I put on my cap and pulled it down low.

  My mind stayed cold and fresh as I walked the hundred metres to the group of men. As I approached, I caught snippets of their conversation. They were arguing about their right to sweep the staff section of the hotel. They stopped and stared at me as I walked up. One of them wolf-whistled and I lifted my chin.

  The hotel guy glanced at my badge.

  ‘I’m with Fubulo Giannoukakis,’ I said before he asked to inspect my ID.

  He groaned. ‘Look. Everyone wait here while I get our security guy. I’m not authorised to admit anyone.’

  ‘Make it quick,’ said one of the guys in sunnies.

  As he hustled inside, a van pulled up on the side of the road, blocking off the entry altogether. More security.

  The guys that got out of the van made my blood run cold. I’d jogged enough early mornings along Swanbourne Beach to recognise ex-SAS. The SAS barracks were just over the sandhills from the water and they used to sprint up and down the dunes as their warm-up. SAS move differently to everyone else.

  I should have run screaming right then but Inigo’s mind-wash helped me keep my nerve. Some of the guys I was standing next to could have done with Inigo’s help.

  ‘Fuck,’ said one of Andreas’s boys. ‘Look who.’

  While all their attention was on the approaching security guards, I slipped inside. The back of the freight bay led straight into a wide corridor with numerous doors leading from it. I heard what sounded like kitchen noises on one side, so I chose a door at random on the opposite side. It was a huge cleaning-supplies room lined with shelves of detergents and mobile vacuum cleaners stacked like little robots. I stuffed my cap in my pocket, removed the badge and slung a vac on my back.

  A peek into the corridor told me the coast was clear so I marched onward as though I belonged. The first person I saw was a cleaner with a two-way radio pinned to her uniform.

  ‘Hey, what floor is this special meeting on? I’ve been told they need another vac.’

  She frowned at me. ‘Ask Kristine, I’ve finished. Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘Jane. My first day. Kristine told me where to pick up a vac, but she didn’t tell me where to get my radio or uniform.’ I acted nervous and a bit fraught and she seemed to buy it.

  ‘She’s such a bitch. I had to start early to set up, and now she’s telling you to vac it again.’

  ‘I don’t think she knew what else to do with me. She seemed kinda harassed.’

  She sighed. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

  We went back into the storage room and she flicked on the light. Down past the detergents was another door which she unlocked with one of her fistful of keys. Inside were cleaners’ uniforms on hangers and a cabinet with the radios in it. Another of her keys unlocked the latter. She passed me one of the radios and I selected the biggest uniform I could find.

  ‘Thanks heaps.’

  ‘No problem. I’m heading home. Had enough of this place for one day.’ We retired into separate cubicles and I didn’t come out until I heard her leave.

  I tied my hair up, then bundled my clothes into a ball and stuffed them in a corner out near the vacs so I could retrieve them again quickly. A few seconds’ fumbling with the radio got it switched on but all I could hear was the odd bit of static.

  As I stepped back out into the corridor, the delivery entry guy and a security guard hurried past me without a hint of recognition. That left me free to peer in open doors. Those with name plates I left alone, though one caused me to stop and stare. Hristos Giannoukakis, Operations Manager. Now that couldn’t be a coincidence. I swallowed. It had to be Andreas’s brother.

  A staff member entered the corridor from the other end, forcing me to move on. This time I didn’t stop until I found the staff-only lift. I stood there for a few moments, wondering how the hell I’d get it to open. Then it pinged and a guy pushing a room-service cart exited.

  ‘What floor is this special meeting on?’ I asked.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. ‘Are you new?’

  ‘Yeah, first day. Been sent to vac—’

  Both our radios blared into life before I could finish my sentence. ‘All male staff please report immediately to the delivery bay. Immediately.’

  ‘What’s that about?’ he said to me.

  ‘Something to do with the meeting. There’re security guys crawling all over the place.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘That must be what’s happening in the Elizabeth Room. No one would say what it was about, except that they were in real estate or something. Had to take a trolley of mugs up there for their coffee—they didn’t want cups. Better go. Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Back atcha,’ I said.

  The lift door shut and I scanned the buttons. There were no names listed next to the floor numbers, so I took a guess. Function rooms were usually either on the first floor or the top floor.

  When I stepped out on the first, there was a brass sign opposite me. The Elizabeth Room was on the left, and inside it I could see a lot of activity. I slipped in among the staff who were spreading white linen tablecloths on side tables and arranging glasses and jugs of water on the large boardroom table that filled the centre of the room.

  At one end a podium stood in front of a white projection screen. At the other end was a small door that I guessed led to the AV area that serviced this room and maybe the one behind it. I switched on my vac and cleaned my way in that direction.

  When I was just about at the door, a woman in a suit and high heels with a shiny staff badge that said Senior Housekeeper—Kristine Akros accidentally knocked a glass off a table and signalled for me to come and clean it up.

  As I hurried to get it done, all the staff began to leave until only the woman and I were left.

  ‘Hurry up,’ she said. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

  She tottered over to the main door to greet them. As she swung the door open I saw Andreas Giannoukakis standing outside waiting to come in.

  I bolted around the table and slipped into a small adjoining room filled with stacked chairs and desks, some outdated projector equipment and a handful of computer screens. Through the two-way mirror I could see the housekeeper looking around for me. She made a beeline for the room I was in.

  I ditched the vac in a cupboard and folded myself under a desk, curling up as small as I could. A moment later the air-conditioning sucked in as she opened the door and paused. I held my breath until she shut it again. Then I heard the lock click.

  Shit.

  I waited a little before I crawled out. Not daring to try the door handle yet, I sat on the desk and watched through the mirror. The room was filling up slowly and the housekeeper was back at the door greeting newcomers. A couple of wait staff arrived and started offering pastries around.

  My two-way radio crackled and I nearly jumped out of my shoes. I fumbled to turn it off quickly and kept studying the people in the room.

  Andreas was looking uncomfortable as hell, tugging at his tie and collar and licking his lips. More people entered and two of them sent a tingle right through me: Johnny Viaspa and Ash Machete. In their uniforms of tight black chinos, white shirts and polished Italian shoes they looked like high-end waiters. But I knew better. Viaspa had teeth and Machete was the man who’d sharpened them. If they were part of this development deal, then my money was on them, not Andreas, having sent
the arsonist to Stuart’s house.

  The room was almost full now, about twelve guys seated around the table, leaving spaces between themselves and their fellow investors.

  The door opened one last time and the housekeeper exited, taking the wait staff with her. Through the open door I caught a glimpse of security guys outside. But it was the four men who entered late then closed the door after themselves who caught my attention. At least, one of them did.

  Bon Ames.

  My heart pounded so hard it shot pins and needles through my fingers and toes. What the hell was he doing here? The guys he accompanied were obviously bikies as well, more formally dressed than him, but all wearing something which connected them with their gang. One of them had the Hells Angels insignia on the back of his leather dress jacket and another had The Rebels embroidered in white and black on his long-sleeved shirt. No wonder there’d been so much private muscle outside.

  Everyone at the table shook hands, then a small, nervous-looking man in a suit got up from the table and dimmed the lights. I picked him straight away for a public servant.

  He began talking but the storage room was soundproofed and I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He activated a slideshow from his laptop, which was set up on the podium at the front of the room.

  From this distance, the graphs he showed looked very simple but I couldn’t tell what they were representing. Then he flicked onto a series of slides that showed a 3D model similar to the one I’d seen in Giannoukakis’s office, except bigger. Looked like it wasn’t just Stuart’s little street they were planning to bulldoze.

  At the end of the slideshow he picked up a red marker from the table and wrote a date on the board which he then circled. Next to that he wrote a dollar figure that I had to read several times to make sure I’d got it right.

  That much?

  Even more troubling was the date, which was only two days away. Monday.

  Ten minutes later the presentation was over, the lights went back on and the public servant left. The rest of the men at the table took a vote over something and then the meeting seemed to take on an informal tone which, from my perch in the storage room, seemed increasingly tense. Their auras buffeted each other in a mess of sulfur-streaked colours. I’d never seen so much harmful energy in one place.