Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [14]
My heart went out to him. Crack had never been going to amount to much before he met Sable. He thought the world of her . . . but selling one of his bikes . . . didn’t she know he’d rather sell a testicle?
‘Wish I had some money to lend you,’ I said. ‘What’re you going to do?’
He served me a glass of tequila and lime with a cute strawberry cut into a flower shape clinging to the straw. ‘Dunno. Here, it’s on the house.’
I reached into my purse and slapped some coins on the bar. ‘No way. Not with things the way they are.’
He counted the money into the till appreciatively. ‘What’s happening, anyway? How’re Joanna and Bob?’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’m meeting a guy called Bolo Ignatius here in a minute. He might have some work for me.’
Crack poised mid-count. ‘Bolo Ignatius?’
‘Yeah. You know him?’
His eye roll told me that I needed to get a brain transplant. ‘Moto-Sane Racing. Who doesn’t?’
‘What have you heard?’
‘Moto-Sane’s one of the top teams. You need a lot of money for that kinda gig. Good sponsors and a good rider. He’s got both. Do me a favour and find a way to mention my name,’ he said, pulling a business card from his wallet with his name and number underneath a Sable’s logo. ‘Or better still, introduce me.’
‘Sure, cuz.’
We touched knuckles and he mooched off down the bar to serve someone else. I dropped his card in my bag and munched my strawberry flower as I watched the door.
It wasn’t long before a short, balding guy in bike leathers hustled on through. Even in the club lighting his aura was visible as a strong blue with vivid red flashes. He scanned the bar and made a beeline for me.
He hopped up onto the seat next to me and stuck out his hand. ‘Tara Sharp? I’m Bolo Ignatius.’
I returned the quick, firm handshake with surprise. ‘How did you know me?’
‘I saw you in the paper recently. Didn’t you help one of the local coppers catch a burglar?’
‘Errr . . . yeah . . . sort of . . . Actually, it was Nick Tozzi’s mother. I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Saw the burglar getting away.’
‘Getting away from Eireen? What an outstanding villain!’
Actually, a dead villain, I thought with a shiver.
‘I gather you know her?’ I said.
‘Indeed. I’m terrified of the woman.’
‘Me too.’
We both smiled.
This was getting off to a good start, so I kept rolling. ‘So tell me about your problem.’
He glanced around to make sure no one could hear. ‘I need the utmost discretion on this, Tara. I wouldn’t want to see any of this business end up in the papers.’
‘Of course not,’ I assured him. ‘Client confidentiality and discretion are my middle names. If it makes you feel more comfortable I can send over my client agreement.’
I could feel my nose growing from the lie. I didn’t even have a letterhead let alone a client agreement.
‘Not necessary,’ he said, to my relief. ‘I want this informal and off the record. Nick Tozzi recommended you and that’s good enough for me.’
‘Nick and I have worked together recently,’ I said.
‘He said that you view things differently to most. I’m a businessman, Tara. I know how useful out-of-the-box thinking can be.’
‘I’ll certainly do my best. But go on, please.’
His face fell into an intense arrangement of lines. ‘The final qualifier for the National Championships is on next weekend. If my team doesn’t get the win we’re . . . in trouble.’
‘What sort of trouble? You mean you might have to disband the team?’
‘Yes. My sponsors have told me they won’t renew their investments if we don’t qualify for the Nationals. In the previous state rounds, little accidents kept happening that affected our preparation, and then our result. I want you to help me ensure the same thing doesn’t happen before this race.’
‘Tell me about these accidents.’
He took a deep breath and his blue aura became agitated. ‘Broken levers, bad petrol mixes, electronics malfunctions. Endless little things.