~19~
AS FAR AS JACK WAS AWARE, the Subaru Fiori had never featured as a getaway car, on film or on the page: but he quickly discovered the hidden talents of Chester Sinclair’s little shit box. Two, in fact. Firstly, the car was difficult to see in traffic — especially from the low, slinky driving position behind the wheel of a Maserati Quattroporte; and secondly, it could be driven down laneways barely wide enough for mothers with prams. What the Fiori lacked in style and power, it made up for with cunning. Just like an old, arthritic rat.
Jack drove back up Old Canterbury Road, then crisscrossed Parramatta Road, heading for the city. He wound through Glebe and Annandale, swung over into Newtown and drove through the narrow streets, eyes flicking nervously up to the rear-view mirror. He could feel Lewis’ arm around his neck. The bodyguard kept up for a while in the fancy Italian wheels, just a few cars back, but by the time Jack slipped down a couple of bin-lined rear lanes in Redfern, his tail was free. He drove to Susko Books in a hurry. Chester could wait.
He came to York Street, turned the Fiori down Market Row, and parked right outside the rear door to Susko Books. It was a prime tow-away area. Jack flicked the hazard lights on and wrote a note that he left on the dashboard: Delivery — if need car moved, pls ask at desk, Susko Books.
Jack unlocked the door and entered the shop. Books still all over the floor. What next? He stood there, thinking. Heart beating. He felt as though he had walked into his own head. Everybody wanted what he had and everybody knew where he was. Maybe the first thing to do was make himself less accessible. That was a start. But where?
A tap on the window outside made him look up. Kim Archer waved at Jack from behind the glass, smiling. Jack held up his hand and walked over to let her in. Some of the tension in his body eased.
‘Hi,’ she said, face bright and shiny with a thin film of sweat. ‘Boy, it’s a stinker out there!’
‘Welcome to my cavern of cool. Just don’t mind the mess.’
Kim took in the space. ‘What happened?’
‘Stocktake sale,’ said Jack, letting Kim in and then locking the door behind her. ‘They always go nuts.’
‘Really?’ She looked around, hands on hips. ‘Do they buy anything or just throw it around?’
‘Mostly throw it around. It’s the new retail therapy.’
She grinned, turned her dark-brown eyes onto Jack.
The faintest tint of blue around them. Nude lips shining, her white-blonde hair soft and brushed messily forwards.
She was wearing leopard-skin tights and a baggy black T-shirt with a 1950s Elvis Presley on the front in white. Red Converse sneakers and a shiny gold handbag in the shape of a clam, the thin strap across her body. Expensive-smelling perfume and a general air of cheekiness. Kim Archer grew on Jack a little more.
‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘Did somebody do the place over?’
Jack nodded.
‘My God! Have you called the police?’
‘They said they’d get here sometime in January.
Afternoon, most likely.’
Kim continued to look around, stunned. ‘Did they take anything?’
‘Probably.’
‘You’ve got to call the police.’
‘Don’t worry, I have.’
She frowned at him, unsure. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Jack pulled a sad, serious face. Walked to the counter.
‘Then we have no future together.’
When he turned around, he saw Kim’s mouth stretched wide, clean white teeth glowing through her lips. She picked up a couple of books from the floor and brought them over to the counter.
‘I’ve always wanted to work in a bookshop,’ she said.
‘You can start today. Five bucks an hour and all the books you can eat.’
‘Done.’
Jack’s knees felt a little oiled. ‘So, you’re here for a book?’ He scratched his chin. ‘I’d say … Charlotte’s Web.’
Kim grinned, pleased. ‘Very good. You could also add A Thousand Things to Do on a Rainy Day.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Jack. ‘Now I see it all. What else?’
‘Well, actually, Shane sent me to pick up a book for him.’
Jack held his breath for a moment.
‘Said you’d know all about it.’
‘Right.’
Kim looked at him, a little confused. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ Jack cleared his throat. ‘I know about it. Is he back?’
‘No, still in China. He said it was a gift for someone and could I send it for him.’
‘Who’s the lucky person?’
‘Larissa someone, I can’t remember her last name. She’s a friend of Shane’s. I met her a couple of times at the house.’
Jack nodded.
‘What’s the book?’ asked Kim. ‘Shane didn’t tell me.’
‘A little Bible.’
‘Really? She didn’t look like the religious type to me.’
‘Evangelical Christian, apparently.’
‘Right.’ Kim crouched to the floor and gathered up a few more books. ‘Anyway, it’s nice of Shane. He’s never bought me a thing.’
Jesus. Jack wondered where Shane actually was. Obviously being beaten up was no deterrent to the unemployed actor. Then again, three-and-a-bit mill was pretty hard to resist: especially if it had slipped through your hands once already.
‘Shane does a bit of theatre stuff, too, doesn’t he?’ he asked.
‘On and off. Actually he was in a play … when was it?
Last month?’ Kim raised her eyebrows. ‘Shane was … okay.’
‘Where?’
‘The Palomino. Not far from our place, just down on Devonshire Street. They did Molière: Le Malade Imaginaire.’ ‘Know your seventeenth-century comic dramatists then?’
‘The costumes were shit. The elastic on Shane’s eye-mask snapped in the middle of a scene.’
‘Really?’ Jack hoped it had stung. ‘Know any of the other actors?’
‘Oh, a couple. Why?’
‘I was wondering if it was the same one my cousin was in.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Carl,’ said Jack. ‘Carl Reiss.’
Kim’s face brightened. ‘Carl Reiss is your cousin? Really?’
‘You know him?’
‘Yeah, he’s friends with Shane as well. He comes around all the time. He’s really sweet.’
‘Like a tray of baklava.’
Kim brushed book dust from her hands. ‘Isn’t that funny?
He’s your cousin!’
‘Hilarious.’
‘You don’t like him?’
‘I don’t think so, no.’
She went to say something else but pointed over Jack’s shoulder instead. ‘Somebody wants to buy a book.’
Jack turned. There was a face up to the glass of the door. Hands cupped around the eyes, peering in. A big, tall guy.
Kim checked her watch. ‘Are you closed?’
Jack grabbed her by the wrist. ‘Come on,’ he said, pulling her towards the rear door. ‘We’ve got to go.’
‘Hey, what —’
‘Now.’
She stumbled as she turned but let herself be led. Jack stopped at the back door and released her arm. He listened for a second, then gave Kim what he hoped was a sincere look. ‘Sorry I grabbed you like that,’ he said, voice low and serious. ‘But that guy isn’t my long-lost twin separated at birth. Know what I mean?’
Kim nodded, pulled the strap of her bag further up her shoulder. Her freckles had faded to the barest tint of light brown.
‘Best if you just walk normally down the lane and back round to York Street or wherever you’re going. Look like you’re on your way somewhere. He doesn’t know you so there’s nothing to worry about. Okay?’
Her face tightened. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Take my super-car for a run.’ He enjoyed her momentary tone of concern. Lately, it had only been Jack Susko worrying about Jack Susko.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said.
Jack did not answer. He held the door to Susko Books open a crack and peered into Market Row. Nobody there. He turned to Kim and ushered her through. ‘Right. Off you go.’
She stepped out but then stopped and blocked the way. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Give me a lift.’
Jack was right up against her now, trying to close the door behind him. The Fiori wedged them together into the narrow space, between building and car. Jack twisted himself up a little and pulled the handle. The door clicked shut.
They heard running footsteps approach the nearest corner. Kim grabbed the car door. ‘Get in!’ she said, firmly. Her tone sounded a little too much like she was enjoying herself. She jumped into the car, reached across and popped the driver’s side door open.
Jack ran around. As he reached the door, he saw Pascal swing into the lane, leaning like a motorbike on the apex, then head full pelt straight at him.
Shit. He pulled keys out of his pocket and pushed one into the ignition. Shit. The Fiori moaned, whirred, but did not kick. Come on. Jack glanced up: Pascal was getting bigger in the rear-view mirror. Ignition again. The car clicked, then squealed.
‘Hurry up, Jack.’
‘Yeah, I know —’
The car kicked over. Jack dropped the clutch and took off down Market Row. The Fiori could probably just beat a three-legged poodle, but anything else was out of its league. Jack checked the rear-view mirror again. He hoped Pascal was not as fit as he looked.