Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [12]
I suddenly felt sick. This must have been the body Constable Bligh was talking about. Barbaro was the guy who’d bird-napped Brains and also left a dead bird on my windscreen after I’d seen him running away from a break-and-enter at Eireen Tozzi’s home. He was also a small-town hood who had strong ties with Johnny Viaspa. ‘Dead?’
‘Dead,’ said Wal.
‘Who did it?’
‘I ain’t got speed dial to any murderers’ confession booth.’
‘Yeah. Sorry. Shit, that’s awful. I mean, Barbaro should be in jail, not dead.’
‘It’s givin’ me a bad feelin’, boss.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’ Now there was an understatement.
‘Hey, I have to go out this evening to meet a client.
When do you have to move?’
‘Now.’
‘Now?’
‘Yeah. I’m outside your place.’
‘Jees!’ I shut my phone and bolted out the door and up the driveway. If JoBob saw Wal loitering outside, they’d call the cops. Last thing I needed was another visit from Bligh and Barnes. Or worse, Whitey.
My security chief was leaning against Mona, smoking a rollie, looking like a Russian Mafioso: tatts, tight black jeans, long red hair pulled back in a ponytail, cut-off tee showing brawny arms.
I grabbed the cig from his mouth and crushed it underfoot. ‘No smoking in my place and no visitors.’
I trusted Wal, but I didn’t trust him. He hadn’t let me down – yet – but the truth was, he was a bit psycho. He wasn’t a huge guy, but he was stocky and tough and kept a kitbag full of weapons he was always eager to use. The scariest thing about Wal, though, was his lack of fear. He reminded me of Mel Gibson in Braveheart – sans the pretty face and shapely legs. Mel acted the half-crazy thing really well. Wal was the half-crazy thing.
He picked up his bags and followed me back down the driveway as meek as a lamb.
Inside my flat, I scooped all the clothes off the couch and threw them on my bed. ‘Couch is yours.’
Wal slung his bags down and then joined them.
Spotting my errant bra hanging from the window rail, I dived over and stuffed it in my jeans pocket.
‘I gotta go now, Wal,’ I said. ‘I think there’s food in the –’
But Wal was asleep; head lolling, lips puttering as he exhaled. He’d only been on his narcolepsy medication a short time and hadn’t really stablised.
I shook my head and sighed. This was turning out to be one strange day.
Chapter 4
I CLIMBED INTO MONA and headed out for my meeting with Bolo Ignatius. I was a bit early so I thought I’d drive up to the Burger Bus near the Ocean Beach Hotel for a double meat and bacon burger. Dinner was a couple of hours away and I didn’t want my stomach gurgling through the meeting.
The OBH had long been my local pub. I’d met boyfriends there, shot pool with mates, and poured my heart out to Smitty and Bok over many a cheap scotch with beer chasers. As for half of the young people of Perth, the OBH held many memories for me, including some I wished I’d forgotten. This evening it was already filling up with its crop of beautiful young things, and I envied them their eighteen-and-anything-is-possible attitudes. At almost twenty-eight, I was still unfettered and knew I probably shouldn’t be. Where was the mortgage? And the life partner? And the kids?
Pushing my momentary life crisis to the side, I paid for the burger and decided to eat in the car park above Dog Beach. I took the beach road back north a little, and drank in the view.
Like most cities, Perth has different faces. Today, my city was all business and get on with it. The weather was shiny and crisp, with neat whitecaps on the Indian Ocean and a sharp cleansing wind. Days like this infused me with energy and made me think I could take on anyone.
I pulled into a parking bay just above Dog Beach and got out of the car to sit on my bonnet, eat and scout for Smitty and Fridge. It would be hard to miss them seeing as Fridge was the size of a Shetland pony. With the brown and white shaggy coat of a Saint Bernard and the square head of a Great Dane, he