Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [51]
Cass led the way out to the car and I limped after her.
‘I look through that list you sent, Missy,’ Mr Hara told me before we got in. ‘Nothing for girl Louise. For girl Kate, though, one name I know.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘Fat Frog.’
‘Fat Frog?’
‘Yeah. He gimme nightclub job you do tomorrow night.’
‘He’s the owner of the club? And his name’s really Fat Frog?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Hoshi. ‘Funny coincidence.’
Gibbs on NCIS didn’t believe in coincidences and neither did I. ‘Do you have the list?’
He disappeared inside for a moment and then returned with a sheet of paper.
I read the name he pointed to. ‘Vatroque.’
‘Hai. That’s what I say.’
My phone woke me in the wee hours again, right in the middle of a dream where Hoshi was throwing me off the Freo bridge.
‘What?’
‘Tara, it’s Bolo Ignatius. I’d like to use your bodyguard.’
Adrenaline coursed into my sleepiness. ‘Problem?’
‘Someone tried to break into my house while I was asleep.’
‘Tried?’
‘My burglar alarm tripped.’ He sounded rattled.
I took a deep breath. ‘Give me your address and I’ll bring my guy over there right away.’
‘Thanks. Money isn’t a problem, you understand. But I don’t want the police involved.’
‘Got it.’
But I didn’t really. What possible reason did Bolo have for keeping the police out of the picture if his life was being threatened? I was starting to have some doubts about my client.
I tried Wal. No answer.
Dragging myself out of bed, I pulled on jeans and put a track top over my pyjama tee-shirt.
‘Tara?’ said Cass sleepily.
‘Won’t be long. Go back to sleep.’
Wal’s new place was only a few minutes away so I was banging on his door before my brain was properly awake. He opened up dressed in a pair of jocks and holding a pistol. Nothing about his manner suggested he’d been asleep.
‘You didn’t answer your phone,’ I said.
‘Turned it off when I was trying to get to sleep.’
‘Doesn’t look like it worked.’
‘Nah. Freakin’ medicine. Can’t get it right,’ he growled. ‘One minute I can’t stay awake, the next I can’t sleep.’
I glanced nervously at the gun. ‘Can you put that damn thing away?’
He shrugged and stepped aside to let me in. ‘Wassup?’
Even in the dim light of his bedside lamp, I could see Liv’s finishing touches around the room: a bedspread, a new blind at the window.
‘Bolo just called me,’ I said. ‘He wants protection. Someone’s been at his house tonight. Can you stay with him for a few days?’
Wal pulled some clothes on – jeans, a tee-shirt and a pair of running sneakers without socks. Then he went to the narrow cupboard, unlocked it and lifted out a familiar kitbag. ‘How serious are the threats?’
‘Not sure,’ I said. ‘They might just be trying to scare him. But they might not.’
I showed him the picture Bolo had sent me of the man hanging from a noose. He nodded as if drawing a silent conclusion and removed a couple of objects from the bag.
I glanced away. Best not to know too much about Wal’s weapons’ stash. I assumed he had a gun licence but I didn’t know for sure. As for his knives . . .
Satisfied that he had what he needed, he locked up, zipped the bag and walked to the door. ‘Let’s ride.’
I stopped outside Bolo’s place – a mansion a couple of streets away from Millionaires Row, and also uncomfortably close to Johnny Viaspa’s house. We walked up to the elaborate front door and knocked. Bolo peered out of a nearby window then I heard the beep as he cancelled the alarm and opened the door.
I did the intros and reassured my client that he was in good hands. And he was now that Wal couldn’t go to sleep.
The two men shook hands and went back inside together. I heard another set of beeps as Bolo reset the alarm.
On my way home, I did a spur-of-the-moment dogleg so I could drive past Viaspa’s house on Coke Road. I’d been keeping my distance from this area lately, having no desire to run into Viaspa, and even less desire for the cops to see me in the vicinity of his house. Fiona Bligh and Bill Barnes were decent, fair-minded cops, but Cravich and Blake –