14

‘ALMA, THIS is Stella.’

She cast a slow eye from Josie to me. ‘Hi.’ Stage-four boredom; she was almost terminal.

‘I’m getting her a cup of tea. You want that McFlurry?’

‘With Oreo sprinkles. Wait …’ Important pronouncement coming … ‘No sprinkles.’

Josie left, and I smiled at Alma. She made a blatant evaluation of me, found nothing of interest.

My eye drifted to the files on the table. I couldn’t read the labels on any of the tabs. Several papers inside each, paperclips poking out.

‘Josie is —’

‘I’m bipolar,’ Alma said, watching me to gauge my reaction.

‘That must be tough,’ I said.

She shrugged, ‘Yeah. Been in hospital. Taking my meds.’

‘Is Josie helping you with that?’

‘Pfft. No. As if.’

‘What does she … do? How does she support you?’

She smirked. ‘Don’t get all suspicious.’ Like I was a real square. ‘She’s trying to set me straight.’ The sly look.

I almost laughed.

‘Anyway, I don’t care, she pays for stuff so, whatever.’

‘Stuff?’

She looked away, deaf, the bored act again.

Time to burst this concocted bubble. ‘Does she know you sell drugs? How’d that deal with Razz go?’

Her eyes locked onto me like a search light on an escaped prisoner. I held her gaze. She flicked her hair.

‘You some kind of creepy kid stalker?’

‘Should I tell her?’

She leaned over the table towards me, hissing. ‘You don’t know shit.’

‘Whose gear were you selling?

She held out her hand, middle-finger up.

Josie returned. ‘All the crazies out tonight, ay? Here you go.’ She handed me a cup and slid the dessert towards Alma.

‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ Alma said.

‘Me too.’ I followed her into the ladies.

Alma pouted at her reflection, pumping a mascara wand.

I pretended to inspect my eyebrows.

‘There’s a bloke owes me money,’ I said to her. ‘Wonder if you know him?’

‘Probably not.’ She worked the gunk over feathery lashes.

‘Isaac Mortimer?’

‘Never heard of him.’ She zipped up an expensive-looking bag and left.

I looked in the mirror, absorbing the conversation I had witnessed. Josie’s shtick seemed somewhat bogus. I had come across volunteer crusaders before, working at late-night soup trucks, handing out blankets to people sleeping rough. They were usually backed up by a church or community organisation. Josie was an unauthorised, freewheeling sort of helper, the kind who often did more to harm than to help. Though perhaps haircuts for the homeless was innocent enough.

Meanwhile, her putative client, Alma, was a trouble on steroids. Unnerving, like the company she kept, and yet she seemed highly intelligent. I had no doubt she was feeding me a crock of nothing-to-see-here.

I had one last look in the mirror, picturing myself with seventeen layers of mascara. As I was leaving, I heard a noise in one of the cubicles.

‘Is she gone?’ A teenage girl’s voice.

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘Alma.’

‘Um, yes. It’s just me here.’

‘Sweet. So you said you’re looking for Isaac?’

‘Yes,’ I said to the cubicle door. This was turning out to be quite a surprising night. ‘Do you know him?’

A hacking cough and then the gross sound of inhale and swallow. ‘We’re mates.’

‘You are?’ I said, incredulous. I got on my knees and looked under the door. A back blocked my view.

‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘Sure.’ I went into the next cubicle and looked under from the side. A pile of blankets, a girl’s skinny legs sheathed in black leggings, dirty bare feet, green toenails. She was sitting on the floor with her back to the cubicle door.

‘Bikie, face tatt says fuck yeah.’

‘That’s him.’ I got up and washed my hands. ‘Don’t you get disturbed by people coming in?’

‘Nah. It goes quiet from now on. They come in to clean about seven, so I’ve got a few good hours.’

I heard the optimism and the confidence, and I despaired. Tomorrow, I’d have a word with Boss. In the meantime, this was a genuine bite. ‘I heard Isaac skipped town.’

‘Nah. I saw him yesterday.’

‘Really? Where does he hang out?’

She let go another wet cough, a hacking TB-style lung ejector. I waited.

‘Corpse Flower clubhouse in Braybrook.’

I would not be walking up to a bikie clubhouse to knock on the door. Not on the word of a green-toed child in a McDonald’s toilet at four in the morning. I imagined that Copeland would have ruled the clubhouse out as a hideout in any case. ‘Hmm, anywhere else?’

‘He sometimes drinks at The Ashbrook, plays poker there.’

I have read about escaped prisoners who were caught at their local pub. Sometimes the lure of the pub outweighs common sense, especially for the extremely stupid.

‘Thanks for that.’ I paused before leaving. ‘You okay in there?’

‘Excellent.’

‘Alright then. Well, good night.’

‘Warm, dry — fucking will be, mate.’

Josie was waiting for me. Alma had gone, leaving her McFlurry untouched.

‘Might call it a night,’ I said, picking up my tea. ‘I’ll have this in the car.’

‘Yeah, I should go home, too.’ She seemed distracted.

‘Nice pantsuit,’ I said.

‘Thanks. I try to be professional.’ She smiled, showing a glimpse of broken tooth.

The question was, a professional what?

At the top of the four flights, I discovered my front door was washed in yoke and albumen. The Halloween hag had made good on her threat. The kid must have wasted three-dozen eggs. I swept up the shells, but the ick was stubborn and a quick wipe with paper towel did little.

I had the Spray n’ Wipe out when I saw a voicemail message on my machine. ‘It’s your mum, love.’ My mother, Delia, insisted on the telephone. Never a text or email, no matter how hard I tried to convert her. ‘Call me when you get a chance. I need to talk over this Tyler business with you.’

Tyler was my sister, Kylie’s, husband. He was what my father’s generation called a no-hoper. He’d trained to be an Anglican minister, but gave it away for lack of interest. Then he tried his hand as a mechanic, but he had no qualifications, and caused permanent damage to a vintage Chevrolet. Then he had a crack at stock agent, but he was unpopular with the farmers who found him apathetic and ill-informed. I didn’t know what the ‘Tyler business’ was, nor did I want to know.

It had been a long day and a rough night. I undressed and stood under a hot shower until I started to relax. I fell into bed, thinking about the girl who intended to bed down for the night in a public toilet. There were stray dogs who lived better than some kids in this city.