Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [11]
I gave Bligh a sympathetic look. ‘It’s all about the food.’
She stood up. ‘I’ll remember that. And you remember what I said. Come on, Bill.’
She strode off, leaving Barnes hostage to Brains. ‘Tara,’ he said pleadingly, pointing at his foot.
I coaxed Brains off with a grass burr and watched Barnes hurry after his partner.
I put the birds back in the cage and fed them, then headed down to my flat. I knew I should go to the gym, but my motivation had dissolved with the news that the Swan River had coughed up a dead body associated with Johnny Viaspa. Now all I wanted to do was lock the door and hide.
I changed my poop-smeared shirt and carted my laptop to bed, then shot Bok a quick text message about dinner while I waited for it to boot up. He came back with a ‘no can do’. Seemed my Bok Choy had a date after all. I was tempted to call and demand details but decided to wait him out. If you pressed Bok too closely on anything he delighted in taking the perverse angle and would clam up. Sometimes it was better to take the low road.
Instead of calling him, I checked the local news sites for anything about a dead body floating in the Swan. Nothing.
I searched on Johnny Viaspa as well, and sure enough there he was, large as life, shaking hands with the charity he’d supported. The photograph didn’t reveal the pus colour of his aura or his cold eyes. Nor did the article mention his criminal record or reputation as the main illegal drug dispenser in our state. Johnny V, it seemed, was working hard on looking benevolent and law-abiding.
There was a message from Edouardo on my Facebook page asking if I could do dinner tonight. I was on the point of saying no when I had a brainwave. Mrs Hara loved good-looking young males (Bok was one of her favourites). If I took Ed with me instead of Bok, she might not be so inclined to poison my zuppa. I flicked Mr Hara a text asking if it was okay for me to bring a different friend.
As the message sent icon disappeared, my phone rang again. Jees, what now?
‘Tara Sharp,’ I said.
‘Teach, it’s Wal.’
Wal was Wallace Grominsky, narcoleptic former roadie and current chief of security at the Tara Sharp Agency – at least in his mind he was. He called me ‘Teach’ because I’d met him through a class I’d run from home called ‘Improving Your Communication Skills’. Now Wal was living with my Aunt Lavilla, due to her taking an unexpected and ridiculously bizarre interest in him. Liv was refined, gorgeous and wealthy. Every time I thought about her and Wal together, I came back to, Da-a-amn, that’s just wrong.
‘Got some good and bad news for you,’ Wal said.
‘Best first,’ I said, leaning back against the wrought iron of my bedhead.
‘I got nowhere to live.’
‘Aren’t you at Liv’s?’
‘Need a place of my own.’
‘She kicked you out?’
‘Yeah.’ He sounded forlorn.
‘What about the boarding house?’
‘Can’t go back there on account of having no income. ’Sides, can’t work for you over there, got no car. Okay if I doss on your couch for a while till I get myself sorted?’
My garden flat wasn’t a shelter for homeless eighties tragics with sleeping disorders. I opened my mouth to say ‘No way in the world’ when the call waiting bleep started up.
‘Hold on,’ I said to Wal, and switched over.
‘Tara, darling, you MUST help me.’
‘But, Liv, I’ve –’
‘I can’t have guns in my house. You MUST take Wallace in while I sort something out for him. He has no money and no family and I won’t have him returning to his former life. He’s a changed man, and I really must insist that you help him stay that way. I’m setting up something for him but I don’t want him knowing. Just a week, darling, I promise. Must rush now. Things to do.’
Damn family!
I went back to Wal’s call with a sinking heart.
‘It’s me, Wal. Yeah, sure. You can doss on the couch. Just for a bit though.’
‘Thanks, Teach. Take the rent out of my wages.’
Wal was on a percentage of my earnings, so the wages thing was an unfunny joke between us.
‘Yeah, right. Now what’s the bad news?’
‘Sam Barbaro