Flank Street

by A. J. Sendall

  Ray gave me his usual hostile stare, which I countered with a look of calm indifference.

  ‘Well?’ Mitchell said.

  ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ Ray said.

  ‘Gone how you wanted her gone. Off.’

  ‘How?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘How?’ Mitchell repeated.

  The lank-faced man was staring me down. He had a scar running from his left eye to his jaw. The eye had an involuntary wink, as if he was trying to tell me something.

  ‘She was lost at sea.’

  ‘No chance of her getting picked up, or getting ashore alive?’

  I looked down at the table and saw the first hammerhead come for her. Then the look of disbelief and terror in her eyes.

  ‘No, no chance whatsoever.’

  ‘And the proof?’

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a clipping from the morning Telegraph. It was just one column, two inches long:

  Police are investigating the discovery of human remains near The Gap, close to Sydney’s South Head, to see if it is linked to the abandoned car found near Gap Park belonging to Ms Carol Todd. No further statement will be issued at this time.

  Mitchell read it again, dropped it in front of Ray, who read it as well. He shrugged and threw it back on the table.

  ‘If this is a setup, if you’ve used a stand-in, you know what happens. Right?’

  ‘It’s her.’

  ‘Okay, tell me how it happened,’ Mitchell said.

  Ray fixed me with his psychotic gaze and the other guy kept winking.

  ‘It didn’t go how I planned, but something cropped up, something too good to pass. I invited her out for a sail. She jumped at it, even when I told her to park her car near The Gap. We sailed up to Pittwater Saturday arvo and spent the night at Palm Beach. She was having a good time. On Sunday, she wanted to stay another day, so I moved around to Refuge Bay, away from the crowds, and spent Sunday night there. Monday, we sailed back towards Sydney in the afternoon. My plan was to anchor in Watson’s Bay, and then after dark, take her for a walk and throw her off the cliffs at The Gap.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘On the way back, she wanted to try fishing, try to pick up a tuna. Twenty minutes after dropping a lure over the stern, she hooked up. It took her ten minutes to get it close enough to gaff, and when I dropped the guts in, this hammerhead came around, then another.’ My mouth was dry and I needed a drink, but didn’t want to appear nervous or weak.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, she stood beside me at the stern rails, looking down at them feeding on the tuna head, and I just sort of flicked her over the rail.’ I shrugged, and added, ‘It was quick.’

  Mitchell looked at Ray, then back at me and said, ‘You fed her to the sharks?’

  I shrugged, not trusting myself to speak as Carol screamed my name.

  Another look passed between Mitchell and Ray.

  Ray said, ‘Go on; fuck off then.’

  As I stood, Mitchell said, ‘Stay local. I’ll want to talk to you again.’

  ‘So we’re all square then? Everything cool?’

  ‘For now,’ Ray said.

  I winked back at Scarface, then left them. Meagan watched me walk towards the door, indicating to meet her out the back. I walked along the street and down the alley. She was smoking, her shoulder braced against a wall.

  ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘Come on, Meagan, you know better than that.’

  She scrutinised me and blew smoke.

  ‘Who’s the fourth guy, the one with the scar and a wink?’

  ‘They call him Horse. And no, I don’t know why.’

  I took a cigarette from the pack she was holding out, held her other hand, and guided her cigarette to light mine. The touch felt warm, almost intimate. Part of me wanted to tell her I’d just murdered to save her neck, and mine; to be her hero for an hour. Instead, I said, ‘It was nothing about this place; nothing about you or anyone else here. That’s all you need to know.’

  ‘And your mail coming here? Just a coincidence?’

  ‘It won’t happen again.’ Her eyes narrowed, feelings hurt by my unnecessary abruptness. ‘It was a one-off. I just need a reliable address until I get it sorted. Come and see the new place sometime.’ The words were out before I realised what I was saying. I’d wanted to mend the hurt, but went too far.

  She brightened, pushed away from the wall, and said, ‘Cool. Where is it?’

  ‘Balmain area; it’s a dump, but it’ll clean up okay. Anyway, I better get moving.’

  ‘Lots to do?’

  ‘Enough; and you need to get back behind the bar before you’re missed.’

  There was something vulnerable about her that night, as if she had some impending sense of change or danger. She was reluctant to go, pulling on her cigarette until there was nothing but filter.

  ‘Come in for shots one night, Micky, and tell me about your new place.’

  ‘I will, I promise.’

  Why did I say that? Why did I promise to do what I didn’t intend to do? That new apartment was for me, and me alone. Nobody else would as much as know about it, which was why I’d had my mail dropped to Frankie’s. Now I was promising to tell Meagan all about it, which would lead to the inevitable.

  As I drove home, I felt good about the meeting with Mitchell and Ray. They’d seemed satisfied with my story, and as the police investigation proceeded, the jacks would help solidify what I’d told them.

  Distraction

  With all that money and no job, I spent freely. I bought whatever I wanted regardless of need. Each day I went out, I returned with things: things to trick out the apartment, like a vintage white Stratocaster and a Marshall Bluesbreaker combo amp, CDs by the dozen to feed the new sound system, a top end coffee machine.

  I knew I was compensating, trying to bury the memories of Carol under an avalanche of new. Maybe I was missing her. Maybe I was glad to be free, free to do what I wanted anytime, anyhow, anywhere.

  Most nights I got lost in Jameson, Camels, and melancholy blues, waking late the next morning determined to do it all over again. I lived on take-away, microwave pizzas, and yet more cigarettes, loud music and late night massages. I was lonely but wouldn’t admit it. The days and nights passed in a stream of sound, smoke, and self-deception.

  Ten days after I’d tossed Carol into the path of feeding hammerheads, the cops came calling. The two dicks identified themselves as DS Norris and DC Pine. They walked into the ground floor lounge and looked around, taking in the pile of trash in the middle of the floor and the open-plan garage.

  DS Norris had an air of cynical scumbag about him that I immediately disliked. His hands looked as if a decent day’s work was a stranger. His eyes jabbed suspiciously around the room, possibly wondering how and why anyone would live that way, and have their car in the living room. He was over-dressed for an under-worked detective on missing persons: a thousand dollar suit and burnished leather shoes. DC Pine, in her early twenties, was obviously a rookie dominated by Norris’ arrogant manner. She stood two paces behind him as he led. After semi-polite preliminaries, he got to it.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Carol Todd, Mr DeWitt?’

  I thought about it for a few seconds before saying, ‘Couple of weeks ago, I guess. Why?’

  ‘Where was that meeting?’

  He was a jerk-off and I wanted to piss him off. Pine stood behind looking slightly awkward. ‘At her place.’

  ‘What was the nature of your relationship with Ms Todd?’

  ‘Relationship? And why are you speaking in the past tense?’

  He smiled condescendingly. ‘Were you friends, or more than that?’

  ‘Are you asking if I’m screwing her?’

  ‘Did you have an intimate relationship with her, Mr DeWitt?’

  ‘What’s it to you? Not illegal here, is it?’

  ‘No, but mur
der is, Mr DeWitt.’

  He tried to drill me with his eyes, but under his flash suit and suave manner, he was a pussy. I returned his stare and waited for him to say something.

  After several seconds, DC Pine said, ‘Ms Todd has been missing for at least a week. We’re treating it as suspicious.’

  Norris half-closed his eyes, suppressing the annoyance. He started to say something, but I cut him off, looking past him and speaking to the female detective. ‘What happened?’

  Norris took a half-step forward and sideways in a failed attempt to crowd my space, and to put himself between his younger female colleague and me.

  ‘You have a sailing boat I believe, Mr DeWitt.’

  I gave a shrug.

  ‘When was the last time you were on the boat?’

  ‘Weekend before last.’

  ‘Were you alone, Mr DeWitt?’

  ‘Yes. Where’s this heading?’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Pittwater.’

  He slid a delicate hand inside his grey chalk stripe and withdrew a slim, leather-bound notepad. He flipped a few pages and read briefly before asking, ‘How many days were you in Pittwater? Or was it just a day sail?’ He tried for a smile as he said day sail, as if we were two old salts shooting the breeze together.

  I moved to the table by the window, which put DC Pine between him and me, picked up my cigarettes and lit one with a match as he waited. The move clearly pissed him off. I waited for him to open his mouth to say something, and then cut him off.

  ‘I was there for two nights, Saturday and Sunday: got back to the marina Monday midday,’ I said, not looking at him.

  ‘And you were alone all of that time? A little unusual, isn’t it?’

  ‘I do it to get away from dickheads.’

  ‘So you were in a close relationship with Ms Todd, yet—’

  ‘I didn’t say it was close. I said I was screwing her, that’s all.’

  ‘Yet you haven’t tried to see her or contact her in almost two weeks?’

  ‘No.’

  DC Pine asked, ‘How would you describe her mood when you last spoke with her? Did she seem in good spirits? Did she speak of having problems or being frightened?’

  I looked at the young detective, wondering if she was playing good cop. ‘She was always up and down,’ I said. ‘Happy one minute, sad the next,’ I shrugged again, ‘pretty average for a female.’

  The words jarred her. Her detective eyes narrowed and her jack jaw clenched.

  They stayed another five minutes asking dumb police questions that I parried with sardonic indifference.

  Just after they left, the skip arrived. For the next three hours, I filled it with all the old shit left behind by the previous tenants and the piles of packaging from all the new toys I’d bought.

  Night after night, I got loaded: sometimes at home, but mainly in a club or bar. Occasionally I’d go and flirt with Meagan. She probed about what I was doing and reminded me I’d promised her a look at the apartment.

  We sat alone at the bar after close on Friday night. It was two days after the visit from DS Norris and DC Pine.

  ‘The cops were round here a couple of days ago, wanted to know if I knew that woman, Carol.’ She let it hang in the smoky air between us, waiting for a response.

  ‘And?’

  ‘They reckon she’s missing; wanted to know when I last saw her, wanted to know about you.’ She watched.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘If she used to come in to see you here: if you spoke about her.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  She held my gaze for a few seconds, then her face relaxed and she said, ‘You know me well enough by now, Micky. Said she used to come in occasionally and hang out with Lenny. Other than that, I didn’t know her.’

  It made me curious that she would tell them Carol used to hang out with Lenny. I wondered if maybe Ray had primed her to say that.

  ‘Did they ask why I left here?’

  ‘I told them I was just a barmaid and knew nothing; to talk to Lenny.’

  ‘Lenny?’

  ‘It’s still under his name.’

  Of course, I hadn’t thought of that. Brookes would leave it that way until he found a permanent replacement. I was just a stand-in until that happened.

  ‘Have you heard from him?

  She shook her head turned and poured two shots of vodka. ‘Billy said he’d seen him outside one night, but he didn’t come in.’

  ‘Billy?’

  ‘Billy the boss,’ she laughed. ‘You know. The guy they put in after you... left.’

  ‘Right. Right. How you getting on with him?’

  ‘He’s okay. A bit full of himself at times, but this was a big promotion for him. He used to be a driver, I think. Some sort of lackey for Mitchell. Did the jacks talk to you?’

  ‘They did. Some wanker in an Armani suit, and a younger female dick. They just asked dumb questions, so I gave them dumb answers.’

  She tipped the shot. ‘I didn’t tell them where you live.’

  ‘You don’t know.’

  ‘Even if I had, I still wouldn’t have told them.’ She looked down and drew wet rings on the bar where her glass had been. ‘Do you know anything about her, Micky?’

  ‘Only what the jacks told me, and what you’ve just said. She was a grifter.’

  ‘Was?’ I slipped: she caught.

  ‘The cops reckon she’s missing for over a week. They’re treating it as suspicious. They found her car near The Gap. So put two and two together.’

  ‘She didn’t look like the suicidal type to me, but who knows what’s really going on inside people. Anyway, tell me what you’ve been doing.’ She seemed uncomfortable and keen to stop talking about Carol and the jacks.

  ‘Mainly just cleaning up my place. Boring stuff. Why don’t you come over one day and check it out?’

  ‘Love to.’

  ‘What about Sunday? Come and have a drink before work.’

  ‘Sunday’s perfect, cos I’ve got the night off. Billy’s actually going to be here for once.’

  ‘You want to get some dinner?’

  ‘You cooking?’

  ‘You kidding?’

  I leaned forward and slid a pen from the breast pocket of her shirt, wrote my address on a napkin. ‘Don’t give it to anyone else. Okay?’

  She looked at it, slid it into her pocket with the pen. ‘Sure. What time?’

  ‘Afternoon sometime; I’ll be there.’ I banged my glass for a refill.

  We stayed chatting for a while until I looked at the clock. It was after three and time to let her go.

  I don’t know why, but I spent the following day cleaning and preparing. Other than the cops, she was going to be my first visitor. In the middle of the afternoon, I had an idea and rushed out to the hardware and a couple of supply stores. When I got home with timber, fastenings, and the optics, I set about building a bar. I already had two high stools just like those in Frankie’s.

  By midnight, I’d built a makeshift bar sticking two metres out from the wall on which I’d mounted the two optics. I set a stool on either side, stood back and looked. I don’t know what made me do it. Maybe I was looking for something familiar, something normal. I was pleased with the result. I took a shot glass, poured a measure, sat at my new bar and smoked a cigarette.

  She came early. I almost didn’t recognise her. It was the first time I’d seen her wearing a dress. The effect was surprising. In the bar, she looked kind of sexy, even with her plain face. The dress and low shoes added to that. She must have seen my surprise, because she blushed and frowned at me at the same time. I guess it was a warning not to say anything. She looked around the downstairs lounge, taking in the small and apparently unused kitchen, the car parked in the corner.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Very blokey, Micky.’

  Walking to the foot of the stairs, I said ‘Come on, it’s up here.’

  She eyed me sceptically, and was about to say
something, when I said ‘The living room is up here. I don’t use this downstairs area.’

  ‘No shit.’ She followed me up. ‘Wow! This is so cool. And look at these windows!’ She spotted the bar sticking out from the wall between two of the windows. She laughed and ran her hand across the smooth timber top.

  ‘Did you build this?’

  ‘Just knocked it up for a bit of fun; it’s a great place to sit and watch the harbour.’

  She looked at the optics, the shelf with shot glasses, the big square ashtray just like those at Frankie’s.

  She laughed again. ‘You little hooter.’

  I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or she was calling me a knob, but I laughed with her as she filled the two glasses from the optics.

  I sat opposite her. ‘First time we’ve done this during the day.’

  ‘Feels funny, eh?’

  ‘Feels okay to me.’ I raised a glass and waited for her to follow. ‘To my first visitor.’

  She grinned and tossed the shot back, then stood and walked around looking at the things I’d bought and peering into the two bedrooms, finally ending back at the bar.

  ‘You’ve been a busy boy,’ she said as she sat opposite me again, ‘and what an amazing view. You must be paying something for this.’

  ‘Not as bad as you’d think. The last tenants, who shot through owing back rent, knocked it about, so I got it cheap.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you gotta get a break now and again.’

  It was just as if we were at Frankie’s as we sat, smoked, and talked. Eventually the talk turned to the missing Carol Todd.

  ‘So what do you think happened to her, Micky?’

  ‘Who knows? She seemed to know a lot of faces, maybe she crossed one.’

  ‘I guess. They found those bones on the beach near Manly, so maybe she jumped.’

  ‘Her bones?’

  ‘They don’t know. Reckon sharks had eaten most of her, or whoever it was, poor bastard.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll never know, and maybe she did a bunk. Who gives a shit?’

  I turned away from her gaze, went over to the hi-fi, wanting to end the talk about Carol.

  I selected a Santana CD and put it on low so we could still talk.