Lugarno (5 page)

‘You see him?' he said.

‘Yeah. Nice kid. Good swing.'

‘Sometimes, maybe. What firm did you say you were from?'

‘I didn't say, but you'll have heard of us. Could you point out Jason's car?'

‘Why?'

I shrugged. ‘Just interested. You can tell a lot about a man from the car he drives, wouldn't you say?'

‘Never thought about it. What d'you drive?'

‘A Falcon.'

If he'd known my Falcon was ten years old with a developing rust problem and a suspect second gear he might've had doubts about my bona fides, but he seemed pleased to got some definite information from me and pointed out the window. ‘That's his car, the red Pajero.'

I whistled softly. ‘Pricey.'

‘Yeah, well you know these kids. Probably a matter of time before it's repossessed and he's back to the bomb he had before.'

I winked and kept him onside by buying the most expensive cap in his stock. I went out to the car park and looked at the Pajero parked in a reserved space. It was very new and very high tech. The interior was clean and neat and the dark suit on a hanger had an Italian cut and that not-much-change-out-of-a-grand look about it. There was obviously more to Jason than met the eye and I was beginning to wish I'd known about the car and the suit before talking to him.
You'll keep,
I thought.

I waited until some more players went into the shop to distract Fat Reg, scooted to my trusty but rusty Falcon and drove away.

It'd been a strange morning's work on both matters I was pursuing. As I drove towards Lugarno, I did a cruise of the area, following Forest Road down to the river, and reflected on the coincidence that both cases involved young men who seemed to have achieved some upward mobility. It was late in the morning and I was hungry after my meagre weight-conscious breakfast. In my experience, well-heeled women like Sammy and Danni Price didn't sit at home with a sandwich and the Midday Movie. They went out to lunch. I bought a salad roll and a Diet Coke at a milk bar and took up a position with a good view of the house, hoping one of them would emerge. If they both emerged I'd have to make a decision. It can be an intellectually challenging game, whatever Cyn used to say.

I couldn't see the water from my spot but I knew it was down there at the end of the road that had been carved out of the rock so that some rugged bushland rose up above it. Had to be nice looking back up at Lugarno from the river. The Price house in Forest Road was a newish rambling
affair on a big block behind a high besser brick fence and large silver-frosted iron gates. The neighbourhood was a mixture of houses old and new with a few up-market townhouse developments thrown in. It was elevated and leafy, without any through traffic. Nice place if you had a good car and a swimming pool and didn't mind being that far from the CBD. It looked as if everyone living there would be much the same—comfortable and conservative—but I knew that wasn't true: there'd be secret drinkers and cross-dressers and One Nation voters.

I'd finished the roll and was draining the Coke bottle when a white Celica glided through the open gates. Sammy off for lunch. With whom? Where? I got a good look at her as she flashed past. Her blonde hair was formally arranged and she wore bright, dangling earrings. For lunch? But it was her bearing and expression that had me turning the key—she was high on something, very high, and looking to get higher. She looked as though she was following the Gough Whitlam adage—the fun is where I am!

I muttered this in my best Gough voice as I followed the Celica at a discreet distance. Sammy was a good driver and the Celica was a good car. Her traffic sense was exemplary. Unlike a lot of drivers, who speed up and pass only to be stopped at lights and intersections and get nothing out of it, she could judge how to get smoothly through the traffic and avoid hold-ups. It took me all my time to keep up with her while staying, as she did, just over the speed limit. The route was
basically east and she eventually pulled up outside a block of flats on the outskirts of Rockdale. She drove into the parking area and sounded the horn three times. I stopped in the street, ready to follow when she pulled out. If she went west I'd have to do a U-turn over double lines. Dangerous stuff.

The next three toots were louder and impatient. She got out of the car and lit a cigarette. She wore a pink suit with a tight, short skirt. High heels. After a few puffs she threw the cigarette away as a man approached her. He was tall and fair-haired, wearing a light grey suit. Blue shirt, red tie. They greeted each other very formally, shaking hands and exchanging a few words. She handed him the keys. He opened the passenger door for her and she got in with a flash of smoky nylonned legs. He moved smoothly, like a young man, got behind the wheel, backed out and we were off east again.

Their manner puzzled me. This was obviously an arranged meeting, yet they met like strangers. These days it isn't usual for women drivers to turn their car keys over to men, and the way Sammy drove suggested that she enjoyed it. And the suits! He didn't drive nearly as well as she did and was easy to keep in sight. We ended up in Kogarah, a bit short of Tom Ugly's Bridge. The Celica pulled into a car park servicing a complex that included a marina, a restaurant and a motel. Up-market, nice views. It took a while for me to find a spot a short distance away and I walked back with my golfing cap on, hoping I looked like a yachtie.

The sun shone, the water sparkled; a great day to be lunching or boating and not so bad for
snooping. Nobody bothered me as I strolled through the car park and mounted the steps leading up to the restaurant that had an appropriately nautical air. Sammy and her friend were lunching alfresco on the wide, shaded balcony that gave them a glorious view of the Georges River out to Botany Bay. I kept my distance but at a guess they were on oysters to start and they don't usually put mineral water in a silver ice bucket.

‘Help you, sir?'

A waiter type appeared from nowhere. He seemed to evaluate the retail value of my clothes at a glance and his tone was critical.

‘No, no. Just having a look before taking a sail. Nice place. Booking necessary?'

‘Absolutely, sir.'

‘Good. Well, another day.'

Hanging around is one of the skills a private enquiry agent has to perfect and it's not as easy as it sounds. It was easier back in the days when I smoked; at least you
looked
as if you were doing something. Of course you are doing something, but the trick is to look as if you're not, and yet somehow belong where you are. Breaking my no-drinking-before-six rule and not for the first time, I bought a can of light beer from the liquor store that was part of the marina complex and took up a position in the shade across from the restaurant. I'd picked up the local rag in the store and had that as another prop. A man drinking beer and reading the paper on a beautiful day down by the water is doing no wrong.

The paper was full of the usual parish pump letters and articles about traffic and air quality and sewerage and water quality. It's funny how those very basic human needs are the stuff of local politics—and usually get stuffed up. Sammy and her handsome hunk were taking their time over the barramundi and the crème caramel. I was through to the local bowls competition results when they emerged. Sammy was tall and slim but shapely with that air some women have of appearing not to know how good they look. She tucked her hand under her companion's arm as they went down the steps like two models on the catwalk.

I drained the last lukewarm drops from the can and deposited it and the paper in the nearby bin. Keep Kogarah beautiful. They crossed the car park, but I didn't even consider sprinting for the Falcon or hiring a boat—this pair wasn't thinking anything but sex. They walked so close together they were almost intertwined and only broke away a fraction when they mounted the steps to the motel reception.

She said something to him as they hit the last step and they both laughed—blonde heads tossed, trim, taut bodies ready for action. Their youth and vitality made me feel old and depressed. Tracking them from the office along a walkway to their room, I felt as if I was back in the bad old ‘Brownie and bedsheets' days when a big part of the job was obtaining divorce evidence.

Sammy's companion unlocked the door and ushered her inside with a hand planted firmly on
her behind. Would have made a good picture in the old days. No business of mine now, at least not directly. I stood at my vantage point under a stand of plane trees in a corner of the car park and considered my next move. I couldn't see any reason to tell Price his wife was having an affair; it didn't seem to have any bearing on his strategy to protect and help his daughter. Or if it did, I couldn't see what that bearing was.

I walked back to my car and picked up the mobile, thinking to call the Price house. If Danni was at home I'd go over there and wait to see if
she
went anywhere interesting. It was hot in the car and I got out to stand in the shade to make the call. I was about to punch in the numbers when a man loomed up beside me. When I say loomed I mean loomed—he was tall and wide with a shaven head, and the pale hand that plucked the mobile from my grasp and threw it away was super-sized.

‘Hey,' I protested.

He just stood there, a pace away now—a hundred kilos of bone and muscle in T-shirt and jeans. I had a gun and a tyre iron and I thought I'd need both to make an impression on him, but they were in the car. For now it was just me.

‘What the hell d'you think you're doing?'

He moved a step closer and it took everything I had and a bit more not to back away. ‘You're asking the wrong question, mate. That's the question I should be asking you.'

At least we were talking. I opened my mouth to reply but he swung a punch into my belly that
knocked the wind out of me and buckled my knees. He grabbed me by the collar and I heard the faded denim rip as he hauled me upright and pressed me against the bonnet of my car. I wanted to talk but I was still trying to breathe.

His breath was ripe with marijuana as he spoke close to my ear. ‘But I'm not interested in your answer, mate. I just got a message for you. Whatever you're doing, drop it!'

He let me go and I scrabbled at the hot metal for something to hold to stop me falling. I managed to keep my feet and sucked in deep breaths as I watched him walk away. At fifty metres off he still looked big.

I'd pressed my palms so hard back against the hot car bonnet that they felt scorched. That, plus humiliation and mystification, left me feeling that I was floundering out of my depth. Not a good moment for an old surfer. When I'd regained my wind my first reaction was anger. I wanted to storm up to Sammy and lover boy's room and ask them to put me in touch with their minder. He'd sucker-punched me and, big and all as he was, I'd have been willing to give him another go on a level playing field. Silly thought and I dismissed it straight off.

When my breathing had returned to normal and I was sure nothing was broken inside, I searched for the mobile under the adjacent trees. Palm trees, with spiny bits sticking out. I emerged with a few scratches to add to the bruises but with the phone. I dialled my office number and it rang. In an odd way hearing my own voice on the answering message calmed me down. I can't think why. I was still the man who'd struck dead ends and been sucker-punched.

I brushed dirt off the mobile and put it back in
the car. Maybe the motel was a notorious hot-sheet place and my surveillance had been obvious, resulting in someone from the management having a word with someone from security. Not likely. Sammy's assignation had a commercial look, but as far as I knew escort agencies didn't usually lay on minders, especially when the escort was a male. So if it was an escort agency that supplied the muscle, what was so special about Samantha Price? I got back in the car, pulled out and drove back to the motel. This time I parked inside and waited to see if anyone approached me. I had the gun and the tyre iron ready. Nothing happened.

Then the door to the long balcony opened and Sammy and her friend stepped out. She went first and he stayed a pace or two behind, watching her walk. Why not? They returned to the Celica and this time she drove. Interesting. For want of any better ideas I followed them. Less than a kilometre away she stopped at a roadside taxi rank and he got out after a quick kiss. She drove off. I knew where she was going but why hadn't she dropped him at home? It wasn't far off. I found a parking space and waited until a cab pulled into the rank and picked him up. The taxi headed towards the city and I followed faithfully. My mid-section was aching and I was developing a strong need for a double scotch and a couple of pain-killers.

We ended up in Canterbury, not too far from territory I knew better than some of the places I'd been so far that day. The traffic was light and I had no trouble parking a few spots behind where
the cab pulled in. Nice-looking old park on the right, the kind that would have a war memorial, maybe two, and a long shopping centre stretching ahead. He paid off the cab and started walking. Closer to him now, I could see that he was very tall, 190 centimetres plus, towering over most of the people in the street, many of whom were Asian. He looked a little out of place in the smart suit on a hot afternoon and must have been aware of it because he stripped off the tie and stuffed it into his pocket. He walked quickly with a long stride and I had to stretch out to keep up with him and that didn't do my aching gut any good. With any luck he'd slip into a pub and I could get some medication.

He turned into an arcade and I had to hang back so as not to follow too obtrusively. I felt a rush of something—fear mixed with anger—when a big, bald-headed man stepped around me. But it wasn't the Kogarah Mauler and I used him as a shield as I followed my man down the narrow, tiled walkway.

The arcade held a lingerie boutique, a chemist's, a hairdressing salon and around the bulk of the man in front of me I could see the tables and chairs that suggested a coffee shop at the end. My shield disappeared into the chemist's and I was ten paces behind when the man I was following pushed a buzzer on a glass door and waited. The door swung inwards and in he went. I've had a little eye trouble since an injury a few years back and the beam of light that hit the door momentarily blinded me and stopped me reading
the name on it. When I'd adjusted to the light the name was clear enough in big gilt letters: