‘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 creme 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.
6
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.