CHAPTER FOUR
Gary had a love-hate relationship with Bondi. He adored sitting in its pubs and cafes watching the world bustle past, or strolling down its streets and tasting the sea breeze, or turning a corner and seeing the wave-flecked ocean pulled tight over the curved horizon.
However, the suburb was also full of foreign tourists who were very nice up close - even when asking how to find the beach - but clogged its iconic beach during the day and went on drunken rampages at night. They also helped make the suburb a hideously expensive place to live. Shops charged tourist prices and it cost a fortune to rent an apartment. Gary was reminded of that a year ago when a soulless killer blew up the apartment he was renting and forced him to hunt for new digs. He could only afford to rent a one-bedroom dump on the fifth floor of an ugly red-brick block a kilometre from the beach. The block had no lifts and his apartment had a panoramic view of another red-brick monstrosity. The place was so bad the landlord didn't demand Gary provide a reference from his previous landlord. That meant Gary didn't have to forge one. He desperately wanted to stay in Bondi, but feared this apartment his last foothold.
Gary didn't worry about the shabby décor until he started dating a Homicide detective called Karen Phillips. Then he bought some art-house posters, a few rugged pot-plants, a third-hand leather couch and a vacuum cleaner that roared like a jet engine. He even bought some new dinner plates and insisted on cooking her a meal. Unfortunately, he over-extended himself. She chewed the meal very slowly and said she preferred edible food.
Despite that, after a year, their relationship was still going well. They shared the same bed a couple of nights a week and still laughed at each other's jokes. In fact, he wanted them to live together permanently. But he hadn't mentioned that because he feared she'd refuse and he wasn't making enough money to rent a decent apartment anyway. Gary hated living in a world where everyone was judged by their wealth. But he couldn't wormhole into another one.
Maybe it was time to get a regular job with a regular pay-cheque. The degree in criminal psychology he obtained at the Police Academy qualified him to work as a prison counsellor. But prison shrinks weren't paid much and psychopaths behind bars loved studying them to learn "normal" behaviour.
Another option was to get a teaching diploma and teach in a high school. He met lots of messed up people when he was a cop. Maybe he could use that experience to stop schoolkids going off the rails. He'd be a hard-arsed Mr Chips - half friend and half drill instructor - who told them chilling stories to show crime didn't pay. Sometimes, he even fantasised that Hollywood would make a movie about his inspirational teaching methods. He knew he was being ridiculous, of course. But such thoughts did lighten his mood.
Karen had promised to be at his apartment at 7pm. She was late and he turned on the television to watch the ABC Evening News. The lead story was about the federal election campaign. There were no big developments. The Prime Minister, Vincent Barnard, and the Opposition Leader, Angus Trewaley, had both spent the day in Perth cruising through factories and shopping centres, shaking hands, kissing babies and sniping at each other. The Prime Minister caused some controversy when he said he was open to the idea of taxing religious organisations to help reduce the Government's massive budget deficit; the Opposition Leader said it was an appalling attack on religious freedom. The news item finished and he heard a knock on the door.
He turned off the television and opened it. Karen stood outside, wearing grey slacks and the capacious black jacket that hid her pistol when on duty. It would be in the armoury now. She was solid, without being chunky, and had an open face. He loved her brusque manner and dry humour. She was one of those women who warned you she was tough and pushy, and then proved it. A small bag containing her overnight gear was slung over her shoulder.
The climb had left her slightly flushed. "Hello, baby. That's quite a climb. I think I passed a mountain goat on the way up. It was having a breather."
She was joking about being unfit because she went to the gym three times a week and had a brown belt in karate.
After a long kiss, he said: "I must admit, I hardly notice the climb - only seems like a few steps to me."
A laugh. "Yeah, right. Anyway, I've starving. What are we doing for dinner?"
"I heard about a new place - seafood - down at the beach; I booked a table. It's supposed to be good. We'd better give it a try before it becomes an overpriced tourist dive."
"You mean, I've got to go back down those stairs?"
"Yes, unless you want me to whip up something in the kitchen."
She looked horrified. "You're a lousy cook."
"I cook with lurve."
"Yeah, and too much salt. Get your jacket. We're going to the restaurant."
After he grabbed his jacket, they descended the stairs and strolled down to Campbell Parade that skirted along the beach. Inside the restaurant, a waiter seated them at the front window. Below them, silvery waves darted out of darkness and broke onto ivory-toned sand.
After they'd ordered their meals, he picked up a carafe of water with his right hand and filled her glass. She glanced at his hand, which had no little finger. He felt self-conscious because, soon after he met her, a crooked cop amputated the finger without permission or anaesthetic. In response, Gary killed the cop and lied to Karen that he lost the finger in an accident.
She obviously wasn't convinced, but let the matter rest. Was that because she didn't care that he might have killed someone? Or did it still prey on her mind and might come back to haunt their relationship? He couldn't be sure.
She said: "How was your day?"
"Got a new job: a mother wants me to find her missing son."
"Good. Is the son anyone interesting?"
"Only to the mother."
"What does he do?"
"He's an accountant."
"Oh, nuff said."
"Exactly. How was your day?"
A sigh. "We still haven't caught the knifeman."
She was the number two in a Homicide team investigating the murder of an old wino stabbed and tossed into a dumpster in Surry Hills a few days ago.
"Getting close?"
"Nope. Poor old bastard probably didn't know the murderer and there aren't many CCTV cameras in the area." She leaned forward. "But I got some good news today. Inspector Marks has recommended me for promotion."
"To DS?"
"Yes."
"Fantastic. He thinks you'll get it?"
"He seems confident."
Gary was both pleased she would get promoted and worried that, if she moved up the ladder, she would want a better companion than a penurious private investigator. He tried to appear more eligible. "Umm, I've been thinking about my career - or non-career. Maybe I should go back to uni."
A lifted eyebrow. "Why?"
"To get a teaching diploma."
"You want to teach?"
"Yeah, in high school."
She laughed, hard. "Are you serious?"
He frowned. "Yes. I'd like to help kids go down the right path."
"You mean you want to give them some tough love?"
Her understanding of him was rather scary. "Well, yes, I guess, when necessary."
"Jesus, you'll scare the shit out of the little guys."
"No, I won't. I'll be very nice to them."
"You'll try, but you do tend to intimidate people."
"Even kids?"
"Everybody."
"So I intimidate you?"
She smiled. "Yes, sometimes. Then I remember you're really a big softy. Anyway, I thought you enjoyed your job."
"I do. But the money's lousy and I can't spend the rest of my life doing workers' comp surveillance and serving court process."
"Why not?"
He couldn't say that, if he did, she might decide to trade up. He shrugged. "Got to keep moving forward."
Her stare illuminated every crevice of his soul. "Well, don't think you've got to change career to please me."
He stayed compo
sed. "I don't."
The food arrived and it was as delicious as he was told. Afterwards, he said he would pay the bill.
She said: "You always pay the bill. It's my turn."
"No, it's not, because I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy."
"I've worked that out."
He paid and they strolled back up the hill towards his apartment. Half-way there, they ducked into The Jungle Club for a beer. It had blond-wood panelling, flashing lights, a concrete floor and metal furniture. The cleaners probably hosed it out after hours. The pulsing music forced everyone to yell. Gary prayed Coldplay didn't ruin his hearing.
They sat at the long counter and he scanned the crowded room. Most patrons were sunburnt backpackers from all four corners of the world. They were trying to find out how much sex and how little sleep they could get while in Sydney.
She looked at a large group dancing in a corner and yelled. "Do you want to dance?"
He frowned. "I don't dance."
"You mean, never?"
"Correct."
She giggled. "Why not? No rhythm? Too uptight?"
He was too big to dance well. "I'm no good at it."
"I don't care if you're no good."
"I do."
She grinned. "You mean, if you're no good at something, you don't do it?"
"Correct."
"I bet you miss out on a lot."
He smiled. "Less than you think."
She laughed. "OK, I won't force you."
She bought them both schooners of beer. He sipped his and yelled: "I'm getting too old for places like this."
She laughed and yelled back: "Me too."
They lapsed into a companionable silence and listened to the drunken young couple next to them scream at each other. The industrial-strength music increased their incoherence.
The woman wore a blue bandage dress and high-heel shoes. She stood and glared at her boyfriend. "Fuck off, you dickhead, I'm leaving."
He grabbed her wrist. "You're not going anywhere, you bitch."
She grimaced. "Let me go, you're hurting me."
"Sit down, you cow."
Gary stood and stared at the guy. "Let her go."
The guy had a sullen face and booze-glazed eyes. His black T-shirt revealed heavy shoulders and a shitty tattoo-sleeve. "Who the fuck're you?"
Karen put a hand on Gary's shoulder. "Let me handle this."
Gary didn't want to back off. But it was her job to keep public order, not his, and he had to respect that. He stepped back. "OK."
Karen stepped forward and yelled. "Leave her alone."
Words and spittle flew out. "And who the fuck're you?"
"I'm a police detective. Do what you're told."
"Bullshit you're a cop."
Karen pulled out a plastic card and shoved it under the guy's nose. "This is my police ID. It is not a driver's licence. Satisfied? Now let her go."
The kid scowled and let go of the woman. "If you weren't a cop, I'd take you apart."
"Really?" She handed her ID to Gary. "I'm not a cop now. Come on, take a shot."
She balanced on her toes, the way the martial arts instructors at the Police Academy taught.
The guy seemed to sober up a little and showed his palms. "You're a chick."
"Forget about that."
The guy nodded towards Gary. "And what's he gonna do?"
"Nothing. He's just a spectator."
The kid looked ready to take up her invitation, then shook his head. "Nah, you're still a cop. I'd get into deep shit. You cops stick together. I'm outa here."
He disappeared through a clump of patrons and Karen turned to his girlfriend. "You OK?"
She swayed drunkenly and looked annoyed. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Do you need help? You can get an AVO order against him if you want."
A frown. "I'll be fine. You shouldn't have been so mean to him."
"I was trying to protect you."
A false eyelash started to detach. "I don't need protection. He's my boyfriend. Now I've got to find him. Goodbye."
The woman tottered off and Karen looked at Gary. "Not much gratitude."
Gary smiled. "You should know better. Come on, let's get out of here."
As they strolled up the hill towards the apartment, holding hands, she said: "Thanks for letting me handle that. I know you were desperate to get involved."
"You're the cop, not me."
"What would you have done if he threw a punch?"
"If he touched a hair on your head, I'd have ripped off his head and drunk beer from his skull."
She laughed. "Attaboy. I expected that."
They walked another hundred yards and he said. "If you were alone, would you have challenged him to a fight?"
She giggled. "Of course not. He was twice as strong as me. I'm not that stupid."
He laughed. "I'm glad to hear that."
Back in the apartment, they sat on the couch and watched a movie on the television. It was about humans making first contact with aliens. However, when nobody shot at the aliens, Gary got bored. Half-way through, they started fondling each other and soon had their clothes off. The sex lasted for an hour and finished in bed. She really was fit. Afterwards, he stared at the ceiling, exhausted, and wondered if this was the right moment to suggest they start living together. It probably was, but he lost his courage.
The next morning, a Friday, they ate breakfast together in the kitchen. He said: "What are we doing this weekend?"
She sighed. "I've got to work both days, I'm afraid. The trail's getting cold."
That would give him plenty of time to search for Patrick Arnott. Excellent. "That's OK, I've got work to do."
She smiled. "Good. I'll drop over tomorrow night."
"Great."
She put her plate in the dishwasher. "Ciao, baby. Be good."
When she'd gone, he pulled out his phone and accessed his bank account. Someone had, with a few keystrokes, made him $3,000 wealthier. Time to earn that money. He got to his feet and headed for work.