Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [10]
I threw open the curtain and stomped down to the birds’ cage, suddenly in a foul mood. Don’t ever return home to live with your parents when you’ve been independent for nearly ten years. The only person who doesn’t remember that you’re an adult is usually your mother.
When I opened the cage, Hoo jumped obligingly onto my hand. I took the half-dozen steps up to the end of the driveway and popped her down on the lawn. By the time I’d returned for Brains, she was on top of the cage, flapping her wings and playing Superwoman.
‘Come on, sweetie,’ I cooed, holding my hand out.
She swiped her beak at me without compunction.
With one eye on Hoo, now cheerfully demolishing lawn roots, I ducked back into my flat and grabbed an almond from my bribery supply. Brains spotted the offering and hopped onto my hand.
After dumping her on the grass next to Hoo, I sprawled out in the shade of the pepper tree. The birds both gravitated towards me, as usual, and it wasn’t long before Brains was perched on my chest and Hoo on the tip of one of my shoes. I tried shooing them off, but galahs know their own mind and they wouldn’t budge. I resigned myself to being a human perch and settled in to reflect on the last month.
Things had improved in my life since my former boyfriend, Pascale, had run off with my furniture and my flatmate. I had my own business and was enjoying the work so far, and I was dating a hot guy. If I could just earn enough money to move out of my parents’ garage and into an apartment of my own, I would say things were on the up – ‘Uggh! Bad bird,’ I said, sitting up abruptly as an enormous runny green dollop spread down my white shirt. Not only that but Hoo, not to be outdone, had chomped a bit off the end of my shoe while I was lost in thought.
‘Sharp.’
Swivelling my head, I saw constables Bligh and Barnes standing at the end of the driveway. Bill Barnes was a chunky, chuckly type of cop who liked to wink at you behind his partner’s back. Fiona Bligh was by-the-book, chip-on-her-shoulder serious. I’d met them during an encounter with Perth’s primo crime lord, Johnny Viaspa – Johnny Vogue to the rest of the city. Things hadn’t quite turned out the way Bligh had hoped – Viaspa was still on the loose – and I kinda think she blamed me for it.
I hadn’t seen Bligh in over a month. Would have been happy never to see her again. Not that I didn’t like her, she was a decent sort, but her visits meant trouble. In fact, any police officer appearing in my parents’ driveway was unlikely to be about anything good.
‘Constables,’ I said without getting up.
‘What’s that green stuff on your shirt, Sharp?’ asked Bligh. ‘Looks like a dog farted on you.’
Barnes laughed.
‘The hazard of pet birds,’ I sniffed, chin in the air. ‘What can I do for you?’
Both their faces lost any trace of humour and their auras contracted into thin lines of colour. Barnes gave me a nod-wink and headed off on a tour of the garden while Bligh squatted close to me.
‘You seen John Viaspa lately?’ she asked.
‘How many times do I have to tell you . . . I wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire!’ I retorted.
‘Well, I’d advise you very strongly to keep it that way.’
I stared at her. What the hell was this about?
‘Off the record, we’ve had a body turn up in the river that might be linked to him.’
A cold, wet hand squeezed my heart. ‘O-oh?’
‘Look, you’re in no danger, Sharp. I mean, you just said you don’t mix in those circles.’
‘No, siree. I do not!’ I stood up then to hide the trembling assailing my limbs. ‘Johnny Viaspa doesn’t even know who I am.’ Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Bligh leaned forward to scratch Brains, who faked with a friendly claw and nipped her. ‘Ow!’ she said, then sucked her finger.
Barnes ambled back from his tour of the yard and squatted down alongside Bligh. He fought his way into the pocket of his overly tight pants and pulled out a sandwich crust. Brains lunged for it and gobbled. When she’d