~9~

TWO HOURS LATER, SHE CALLED.

‘Hello, Jack.’

‘Miss Larissa Tate.’ He said it slowly. ‘I was just thinking about you.’

A slight hesitation. ‘How have you been?’

‘Better. You?’

‘Great.’

‘That’s good.’

‘How’s the book business?’

‘Same as me,’ said Jack. ‘Going down in a slow blaze of glory.’

No response.

‘You should have come in with de Groot,’ he continued.

‘Had a look around. I’d have given you a discount on a nice book.’

‘I didn’t know it was you.’

‘Up until which point?’ The words came out a little hot and fiery. ‘When you read the name on the sign?’

‘Don’t be like that.’

‘Boss or boyfriend?’

‘Give me a break.’

‘You first.’

Silence again. Jack remembered her body, the feel of her skin. They had met at a rooftop party in a Potts Point apartment, back in February. It was not the kind of crowd Jack usually found himself with — young, successful and wealthy — but an old girlfriend had invited him along, not wanting to arrive alone. At the bar, Larissa had asked him for a cigarette. Long, light-brown hair, fringe a perfectly cut straight line, right across the eyes, all smoky and dark. She was petite but curvy, wore a strapless black dress and heels that drew nice lines up and down her toned legs. She paid for the taxi home. She was fun. Jack had never been a toy boy before and was considering a full-time position when she pulled the plug on him a month or two later.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘What else can I say?’

‘From fashion PR to driving around with the hard boys.

Your job to watch out for the parking-meter guys?’

‘I told you. I didn’t know it was you.’

Jack frowned. ‘Okay. Fine. Just go and tell your boss that I want my money.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘Come round this end and take a look up the pipe.’

‘Think I’ve got a better view?’ Her tone sharpened.

‘Just tell Richard de Groot that I want my money,’ repeated Jack. ‘And coming around with his goon isn’t going to stop me getting it.’

Larissa clicked her tongue, softly. ‘How does de Groot owe you money?’

‘Come on. That’s enough now.’

‘Enough of what?’

‘You were in the car, Larissa.’

‘They told me you owed them. I could believe that.’

‘Jesus.’

She cleared her throat. ‘So what happened at the gallery?’

‘What?’ Jack’s bullshit radar started beeping a little louder. ‘What do you know about it?’

‘Not much,’ she said. ‘I heard Richard on the phone to somebody in his office. Something about three guys wearing masks. Come on, Jack ...’ She put on a little huskiness. ‘We had a good time, didn’t we?’

Jack shook his head. The New Feminism, in all its glory: better a caress than a kick to the balls. ‘Yeah, they were done over. Three boys with a gun emptied the safe.’

‘Did you see what was taken?’

‘No. Something covered with a cloth, about the size of a phone book.’

She thought about that. Jack waited. He was tuned to her voice, concentrating on every nuance. He had not heard it for a while and it was nice to hear it again.

‘What did the thieves look like?’

‘Like thieves,’ said Jack. ‘Only ridiculous.’

‘How?’

‘One wore a Lone Ranger mask. The other two were off to Mardi Gras later.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Would have been funny if I hadn’t been there.’

‘So how does de Groot owe you money?’

‘One of the heist guys took my book. A rare collectable.

Dicky didn’t want to call the cops. He offered to compensate me for my loss.’

Larissa almost laughed. ‘And you believed him?’

Jack gritted his teeth.

‘How much did he offer?’

‘Enough.’

‘Oh, Jack.’

He did not want to feel the fool, but felt it. Jack could see Larissa in his mind’s eye, shaking her pretty head in that way she did, the fringe flicking across her eyes.

‘We need to talk,’ she said.

‘About what?’

Over the phone, Jack heard muffled voices in the background. Then Larissa said: ‘Gotta go.’

‘Wait —’

‘Call you tomorrow.’

The line was dead. Jack listened for a little while longer and then put the phone down. His radar was still sweeping the pulsing dot of Larissa on his screen. He was already looking forward to her call tomorrow. Whatever happened next, at the very least it was going to be interesting. And with any luck, Jack might even find out what the hell was going on.

He went over to the reference section in Susko Books, still feeling light-headed. He picked up the Concise Oxford English Dictionary: tenth edition, without the thumb index. He did not bother asking a specific question. He just kind of held it, and thought vaguely about the Meaning of Life.

He opened the book. Finger down. Page 455.

edible• adj. fit to be eaten. • n. (edibles) items of food.
DERIVATIVES edibility n.
ORIGIN C16: from late L. edibilis, from L. edere ‘eat’.