Peter Corris - The Big Score

A crowd clustered around as O’Day propped himself against the bar with a beer to hand and chatted to the people buying the record. As I got closer I could see the scar tissue, which gave him a slightly threatening look. Even if you didn’t know he’d been a fighter, he’d strike you as someone not to mess with. I took the album I didn’t have from the roadie who was supervising the business and paid cash for it. I hung back until I was the last in the line.

‘Hi,’ O’Day said, ‘enjoy the show?’

I handed him the record. ‘I did.’

‘What name?’

‘Cliff Hardy. I’m a private detective and I want to talk to you.’

He paused the pen over the record. ‘Yeah, what about?’

‘I saw you fight a couple of times when you were called Jimmy.’

He scrawled something illegible and stood. ‘Good for you. I’m off now.’

‘Hang on.’

I moved to stop him and suddenly the roadie and someone else were beside me, hemming me in against the bar as O’Day slipped away. The roadie threw a punch. I ducked it and gave him a hard one to the ribs that crumpled him. The other man attempted to kick me in the balls and I up-ended him. He came back quickly in a karate stance. By this time some of the hard-core drinkers had clustered around, ready to enjoy the second show of the night. I didn’t oblige them. I pulled out my wallet and held up my PEA licence card.

‘Federal police,’ I said. ‘Don’t make things worse for yourself.’

He straightened his body and unflexed the stiffened fingers. ‘Sorry, I was just…’

‘Doing your job. It’s okay.’

The drinkers lost interest. I looked about but the roadie had gone. I went out onto the tiled verandah and around to the side where the band’s people-mover and trailer had been parked. Gone. When I went back into the pub the karateist had faded away as well. Great work, Cliff, I thought, you scared everyone off and learned bugger-all.

I went back into the room and recovered my bottle. My hair was in my face, my shirt was half pulled out from my pants and I was angry. A frightened-looking kid behind the bar handed me a cork and I gave him a nod that didn’t make him any happier. A woman came bustling towards me; she was angry, too.

‘I don’t care who you are,’ she said. ‘I’m going to report you for causing a disturbance here.’

‘Who’re you?’ I said.

‘I’m the events manager.’

‘In your place I’d do exactly the same thing, but think about it. Would a bit of a stoush after the band finished playing really do your venue a lot of harm? I don’t think so.’

She was smart enough to take the point. She was pushing middle age but holding up well. She wore a white blouse, blue velvet jacket and black trousers with heels that made her tallish. Her hair was dark with red highlights.

‘You’re not a policeman,’ she said.

‘No. I told Jimmy O’Day that before things got wild.’

‘Jimmy?’

‘We go back a bit. You are…?’

‘Rennie Ellis. Well, you’ve made life interesting tonight, but you’d better take your bottle and go.’

‘Who was the guy with the karate moves?’

She shrugged, nicely. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do. I’m booked into the Thirroul Lodge, room six. I’ll be there until ten am tomorrow. I’d like to talk to him and I could make it worth his while.’

‘Goodnight,’ she said.

At the motel I parked the wine in the mini-bar fridge and opened one of the small scotches for a nightcap. I’d barely tasted it when a knock came on the door. I opened it and Rennie Ellis stood there with a trench coat draped around her shoulders and a bottle in her hand.

‘We got off on the wrong foot,’ she said, and handed me the bottle. ‘A peace offering.’

I took the bottle-champagne. ‘Come in.’

She moved past me and looked at the room. ‘A while since I’ve been here,’ she said. ‘Not bad. They’re trying.’

‘I was having a nightcap. Want a scotch?’

She dropped the coat on a chair and sat down on the arm. ‘I’ll take the other half, sure.’

She was a good-looking woman with a full figure and the sort of confidence that comes with experience on top of adequate self-esteem. She sipped of the scotch, bent easily and picked up the book I’d put down beside the chair, intending to read for a while before going to bed.

‘Dark Safari? she said. ‘Paul Theroux. What’s it like?’

‘Good. Confirms my feeling that I don’t want to go to Africa.’

‘What do you want?’

‘To know why you’re here.’

‘Knew you’d be direct. Anything else?’

‘I asked you in, didn’t I?’

She drank the rest of the scotch. ‘I saw you in action in the pub. I was impressed.’

‘Didn’t come across to me.’

‘That was for the management. I’m here for me now.’

It was a semi-invitation I couldn’t refuse. We finished the scotch in the mini-bar and opened the champagne. She told me she was a swimming instructor not getting too many clients given the time of year. She said she was tired of young surfies and old hippies. At some point she moved to the bed and we were sitting together and things went on from there. She kissed as though she needed to, and so did I. She had a condom in her coat pocket and by the time I’d kissed her breasts and slid my fingers inside her I was ready. We pulled back the covers and made love vigorously enough to pull the sheets away from the mattress. After we finished we clawed at the sheets and blankets, suddenly aware that it was cold.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘My first private detective.’

‘How d’you know that?’

‘Someone heard you speak to James O’Day. That someone told me.’

‘Is it the person I think it is?’

‘Could be. Tell you in the morning. I’ve got another rubber-think you’re up to it?’

‘Not now.’

‘In the morning?’

‘Possibly, just possibly.’

Rennie was the sort of woman who knew what she wanted and what she was prepared to give. We were comfortable together in the morning-both feeling better about the world and ourselves.

‘Where’s the breakfast?’ she asked. ‘The soggy toast and the cold coffee?’

‘I don’t eat breakfast.’

‘Oh Christ, an ascetic’

I pointed to the miniature scotches and the empty champagne bottle. ‘Hardly.’

She had a quick shower and got dressed. ‘Well, that was fun, Cliff, and I’m going to get Claude to call in on you. He might know why James O’Day took off like that and why they heavied you-tried to, at least. Are you trouble for him, the singer?’

‘Not at all. Would you believe I just want some information about his auntie.’

She laughed. ‘Big case.’ She blew me a kiss and was gone.

I showered and dressed, tidied the room a bit, put the condoms and the bottles in the rubbish bin. The day had dawned fine but cool and I could smell the sea as I stood outside the room with a cup of instant coffee. A Holden ute, about the same vintage as my Falcon, pulled in to the slot beside it. The man who got out looked bigger and darker in the daylight than in the pub gloom. He wore jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt that revealed his muscles and tats. There were rings in both his ears-not a good idea if you’re serious about fighting people who know how to fight.

‘You’d be Claude,’ I said. ‘Gidday, my name’s Cliff.’

He didn’t offer to shake hands, but he didn’t try to kick me. ‘Rennie says you’re okay.’

I nodded.

‘You freaked Jimmy a bit last night.’

‘Didn’t mean to. Come inside. Want some coffee?’

He smiled. ‘You’re a private eye, on expenses, right? How about a beer from your mini-bar?’

We sat at the table in the room, me with my instant and him with a Crown Lager. He drank half of it in a gulp. ‘Hits the spot. Rennie mentioned money, too, and she says you’re not after James for nothing dodgy. How much money, bro?’