by Ann Michaels
Chapter 3
Thursday, November, 17, 1988
Detective Dana Roberts is Sally Brown
Chantoozie Floozy
Right across the road from the dingy, Bondi block of flats, where Tabra Hayden used to reside, and where I would be living during my undercover assignment, albeit in a different flat, was a small supermarket where I stopped to pick up some groceries. As I wandered about the aisles, selecting pasta, sauce, a salami, eggs, cheese and milk, I couldn’t help wondering why these independent grocery shops always had the same smell, which was not exactly unpleasant – not really.
Somewhere in a room behind the supermarket, music was playing: a tuneless drone which was unsettling and disorienting. A form of psychological warfare, really, and I wanted to cover my ears, like my cousin with autism. I knew how he felt.
‘Hey pretty lady!’ the man behind the counter called out, flashing his large teeth and lots of pink gums, as I approached the cashier’s desk, with my basket.
Even though he looked a lot like Foghorn Leghorn, I decided that I would smile and flirt a little and see if I could glean a bit of information.
‘Oh hi!’ I said, in a breathy, little girl, kind of voice, like that perfected by Marilyn Munroe.
‘I haven’t seen you around here before… I would have noticed’, he continued, with a twinkle in his roosterish eyes.
Cynically, I thought this wasn’t exactly true, as I looked exactly like thousands of other stereotypical bleach blondes, with big boobs. However, I forced a smile and purred, ‘Why thank you, but I am just staying in the area for a while because I am trying to find a cousin of mine, named Tabra. She hasn’t called her family for a while…… We are starting to get a bit worried’. I whipped a photograph of Tabra Hayden out of my purse and shoved it into his stunned barnyard face.
All trace of flirting had gone now, and his fleshly lips, came down like a blind over his dentures. Rooster Man looked shifty and uncomfortable, and I could see a sweat breaking out just under his cockscomb-like hair.
‘Ah…well, yes, we have met’. He gulped, and it struck me that Mr Sleazy here had probably been a customer of Tabra’s. Suddenly, though, Poultry Man began to smile, showing his gums again, and he look pleased; he grabbed my basket, and accidently on purpose, brushed my hand with his. I tried hard not to shudder.
‘Any chance that you might be taking over her…. business’, he whispered, leaning forward and blasting me with the fermented flavours of his lunch.
However, just before this pleasant exchange, Roster Man had totalled my purchases on the grimy cash register; so, I ignored his unsavoury behaviour, turned away and fished my money out of my bag. As he handed my change back, I grabbed Rooster Man’s hand, and answered his insolent question, in my most dangerous voice, ‘No. No chance at all’.
Then I pulled the salami I had just bought, from the plastic, shopping bag, peeled off the plastic wrapper very slowly, and took a big bite, as I watched Leghorn Man carefully. He winced, and then, his bottom lip fell, and it jutted out, as though he was about to cry.
I continued chewing on the salami as I turned around abruptly on my heel to leave the shop. But Rooster Man called out to me before I made it to the door: ‘You have the wrong idea about me’, he said, sadly. ‘I liked your cousin very much….even though we had a business arrangement. She was nice, and she was funny and smart, and she was trying hard to change her life. She told me that.’ His eyes locked with mine. Breeching.
A small, elderly and shrivelled woman, bent over with age, accompanied by a cloud of garlic vapours, entered the shop at that moment, and almost knocked me over as she bowled past, like a wind-up toy. Aiming a crafty look at Rooster Man, she rolled by his morose looking face, pointing her finger and jabbering at him, in what sounded like a made up lingo. Rooster man seemed to shrink into himself and I realised that he was just a man.
I walked back toward Rooster Man and looked at the small name tag, pinned to his green shirt. ‘Thank you Neil’, I said quietly. ‘Is there anything else that you can tell me, which could help me find her?’ Neil’s face hardened and his eyes glittered. ‘Yes, look for her boyfriend. He drives a gold Porsche. That’s all I’m saying.’
He turned away and I could see his mouth set in a rigid line.
How very interesting, I thought. I already happened to know that Peter Ruslen had a gold Porsche in his car collection.
------------------------------------
I parked behind the ugly, red brick, block of flats, and walked up the five floors to my rental. I inserted the rusty key into the lock and pushed the door open to my new home. It wasn’t a place you could get excited about, with its dirty, plain white walls, grey, synthetic carpet and the few bits of furniture: a maroon, vinyl, lounge chair, a faux wood table, two rickety chairs, and a stunted looking, pot plant, in a cracked, orange, plastic pot.
I walked into the square bedroom, where there was a single, tubular bed, with a new mattress; I had insisted on that! I opened my suitcase, which was full of miniskirts, and assorted cheap shoes, that I had mostly sourced from charity shops, as we police have smaller expense accounts than you may think, and found my portable, cassette player. I plugged it in, opened the window to let the blue sky and free flowing, sea breeze, enter, and then, I spent the next hour bopping about on the artificial carpet, to the Chantoozies, my favourite band. Harry said they were lame, but I didn’t care. Listening to the Chantoozies made me happy, and from what I had learned in my life, so far, you should grab happiness, wherever, and whenever, you can find it.
