'Have you been out street fighting again Katherine?' Brigit asked, labouring down the street towards the front door of Aurora Press. At least Kit thought it was Brigit. The overall appearance of the body looked familiar, and the woman was laden with shopping bags which was certainly typical, but there was something completely extra-terrestrial about the hairdo.
'Chantelle, right?' Kit said bending down to stop the contents of one of the shopping bags from rolling into the gutter as Brigie dumped her load at Kit's feet.
'Take it from me Kit, no matter how desperate you are for a haircut in the next month do not break down and let that deranged woman get anywhere near you with a pair of scissors. Or a bottle of dye. Have you seen Angie? She looks like a fire truck.'
'Yours doesn't look too bad, Brigie,' Kit lied.
'Please do not attempt to humour me. Some guy up the street just asked me for the name of my hairdresser because he needs someone to cut his front hedge. This is no laughing matter Kit. And what about you? You look like you've been auditioning for a role in The Chainsaw Massacre.'
'Someone tried to run me over with their car.'
'Whatever for?'
'I have absolutely no idea, but I'm obviously pressing somebody's buttons,' Kit stated leaning back on her car to take the weight off her knee which, in the time it had taken her to clean the wound and change into a pair of shorts and a loose cotton shirt, had changed colour three times and was now a vibrant purple.
'What are you doing loitering out here in the heat, anyway?' Brigit asked, as if the fact that Kit had been attacked by someone wielding a motor vehicle was not in the least unusual.
'I'm waiting for a call,' she replied, waving her mobile, 'so I know which way to drive next.'
'Oh. Ah, speaking of cars, Del took off in ours to pick up that dreadful Miranda Prentice from the airport and take her to Brighton, quite overlooking the fact that I have no way to get home with all this stuff. Could you give me a lift?' Brigit asked, gathering up her shopping.
'Maybe. I'm waiting for Quinn to ring and tell me where she is. You might be able to drop me off with her and take my car home, if you like.'
'Perfect. I'll just put all this in the back if you'd like to pop the hatch.'
Her mobile started ringing as Kit was helping Brigit load the car.
'Quinn Orlando to Kit O'Malley. Over.'
'It's a mobile Quinn, not a CB radio,' Kit laughed. 'It's quarter past four, where the hell have you been? And where are you calling from?'
'Oh god, I have been all over the place in the last hour or so. I followed the pig to Orlando House. I called you from there but your mobile was engaged. He came out about five minutes later with a briefcase that he hadn't gone in with, then he drove back into the city to the Regent Hotel.
'I rang you from there too 'cause I figured maybe that was where the meeting was, only you didn't answer. I was about to go in after the arsehole when I realised that the valet was watching his car for him rather than parking it. Anyway he came out again about 10 minutes ago with that American guy you had the photo of.'
'David Watts. I wonder when he came back.' Kit motioned to Brigit to get into the car. 'Quinn where are you calling from?' she asked.
'From the car I hired. I'm following the prick down Flinders Street towards Spencer Street at the moment. The traffic is shitty, we sat at the Russell Street intersection for three light changes.'
'You hired a car?' Kit said in astonishment, as she pulled out into the Swan Street traffic and headed towards the Tennis Centre.
'Yeah, well, I figured it would be sensible. I didn't want to use Mum's car in case he recognised it.'
'Good thinking 99,' Kit said.
' Well I thought so. Where are you?'
'I've just crossed Punt Road, heading in your general direction. I'll take Alexandra Avenue and then cut across from City Road. Keep me posted in case I have to change my route. Over and out, OK?'
'So what's with you and this Quinn then?' Brigit asked, after a few minutes of what could only be described as studied silence. Her tone implied that whatever it was, it had to be juicy and definitely worth something on her gossip scale.
'There's nothing with me and this Quinn, Brigit,' Kit stated as she planted her foot and took off from the lights on the Swan Street Bridge and swung into Alexandra Avenue.
'Uh huh,' Brigit said, sounding unconvinced as she twiddled with the dial of the car radio. 'I heard she was with you at Angie's last night.'
Kit flashed Brigit an incredulous look. 'It amazes me that your grapevine hasn't completely strangled you with useless information.'
Brigit raised an eyebrow, put on her best "I must be right if you're getting so defensive" expression and settled back in her seat after finally choosing a radio station.
'Don't give me that look Brigit Wells. I know what you're thinking and in this case you are quite wrong,' Kit stated, jabbing the CD button so Melissa Etheridge could replace kill the mind-numbingly banal song, by yet another thin-voiced, pop-bimbo with no surname, that was polluting the airwaves.
'And what was wrong with that music Miss Snooty Britches?'
'It had to have been damaging the ozone layer Brigit, it was certainly insulting my intelligence. It's probably what Chantelle psychs herself up with before she does a blow wave.'
'Oh ha ha. So anyway, if there's nothing with you and this Quinn what were you doing together at Angie's?'
'Having a drink after a hard day and night's work. And we weren't alone anyway. Don't tell me your grapevine only supplied you with half the gossip.' Kit made a right turn along Southbank Boulevard to take Queens Bridge back across the river towards the south-west corner of the CBD.
'What? Who? Tell me. Pretty please. I'll stop teasing you, I promise.'
'You are hopeless Brigit.'
'I can't help it, it's in my genes. I know, let me guess. It was that woman who turned up to see you when Del was leaving yesterday. Tell me all. Is she the one who's got your knickers in a knot?'
'My knickers are fine Brigit. You're the one who seems to be having problems sitting still.'
'So who was she?'
'Alexis Cazenove. She is Quinn's friend, she's a lawyer and before you get any fresh ideas about me and my underwear the woman is, for the most part, quite disagreeable. And what's more, for some unknown reason, she does not like me.'
'Oh,' Brigit said dejected. 'That's it?'
'That's it. If you want to know anything else about her, ask Angie,' Kit said as she was rescued from further cross-examination by her ringing mobile.
'Angie? Why Angie?' Brigit demanded while Kit was asking Quinn where she was.
'You would not believe this traffic,' Quinn complained. 'It's taken about three days just to go six blocks. I'm still in Flinders Street, just over Spencer near the World Trade Centre, sitting in a jam caused by the biggest bloody truck I've ever seen in my life.'
'That's good Quinn. It's given me time to catch you up. I'm a couple of blocks behind you, just waiting to turn into Flinders. Where's Geoffrey?'
'The ugly step-bastard is right behind the truck, luckily, or I would have lost him. Oh joy, we're finally moving.'
'What sort of car are you driving?' Kit asked as she took the corner and swerved out onto the tram tracks to overtake a Renault that was moving like a slug.
'It's a black Suzuki Vitara jeep thing. It's so neat to drive. I think I'll buy myself one.'
And add it to the Orlando-Robinson motor pool, Kit thought. 'Keep the line open Quinn. My guess is he's going to take Footscray Road. This is the route that Dalkeith took the day I followed him to that wasteland on the Maribyrnong.'
'I don't think so Kit, he's not turning. We' re going straight across into North Wharf Road. Well, I think we've just found out what North 4 at 5 p.m. means.'
'Careful Quinn. Don't get too close. We don't want to blow it now.'
'Don't worry, there's two vans and a taxi between me and him.'
'Well I seem to have half the truck population of Melbourne between me and you,' Kit said as she changed lanes and pulled up for a red light at Footscray Road.
'There she is,' Brigit stated, pointing to the Vitara which was the last vehicle to cross the tracks of the Webb Dock rail line.
'Who's with you?' Quinn asked.
'Brigit,' Kit replied. 'She's going to drop me off with you and take my car home.'
'Shithead's pulling up at the customs gate.'
'OK. Can you pull over Quinn? They're not likely to let you through the customs gate anyway.'
'Sure. There's a parking bay on my left here opposite the, ah, Australian Customs Service building.'
Kit had to slow her car momentarily while the truck in front of her geared down to turn through the gate by the huge triple silos of a cement company. She pulled up behind the Vitara, unhooked her apartment keys from the chain hanging from the ignition and reached over the back to grab her camera bag.
'Thanks Brigie. You can keep the car till tomorrow. I can get a lift home from Angie's later with Alex or Quinn.'
'Fine. We might see you there later then,' Brigit said suggestively.
Great, Kit thought as she got out of her car. Brigie had probably been planning a nice quiet night at home till you opened your big mouth. There's no way she'll stay home now.
'Hit it partner,' Kit said as she flung open the door of Quinn's car and leapt in.
'I was contemplating a career change until I realised how much of my young life I'd have to spend in traffic tailing bastards in Bentley's,' Quinn said, squeezing the Vitara in between two trucks the size of aircraft carriers.
'And when you're not in traffic you spend hours sitting in deserted alleys just waiting, watching and waiting. At least you've got air-conditioning,' Kit said, shutting her eyes as she leant over the vents to cool off. The peculiar vision of Quinn in little round sunglasses and a ludicrous orange towelling hat took a few seconds to register in her mind. 'What on earth is that thing on your head?'
'It's my disguise. It's Enzo's fishing hat.'
'It's disgusting! Let's throw it in the Yarra while we're here and drown it.'
'Enzo would kill me.'
'Enzo has a problem I think,' Kit said. So does Alex, she thought.
'What now?' Quinn asked as they approached the customs gate.
A scrawny looking port official armed with a clipboard appeared to be giving Geoffrey a hard time.
'Hang a left into the car park,' Kit said pulling her camera out of its bag.
Quinn swung into the parking area and pulled up behind a barrier of knotty trees that separated the lot from the road.
'Looks like they're not going to let him in either,' Quinn said as they watched Geoffrey back the Bentley away from the customs gate and make an awkward left-hand U-turn. 'I think he's coming in here!'
'Don't panic, just pull Enzo's pride and joy down a bit and ignore them. Does this baby come with a street directory?' Kit asked as she slouched down in the seat.
'Glovebox,' Quinn replied, turning to face Kit as she adjusted the rear-view mirror to keep an eye on Geoffrey.
Kit pulled the Melways out and, while she used it to screen her face, she looked up the map for Victoria Dock. 'Bingo. This couldn't be a better spot,' she said softly. 'If North 4 means berth or warehouse 4 on North Wharf, then it's this side of the dock.'
'They're getting out,' Quinn stated. 'God, he's big man.'
The American, dressed in black trousers and a grey leather jacket, was unfolding his tall, broad-shouldered body from the passenger seat of the Bentley which had pulled up about 15 feet away. Geoffrey was already out and pacing, a wild gale playing havoc with his tailored hair.
'David Watts,' Kit said as she glanced at him over the top of the directory. 'If he's a businessman on holiday then I'm Dame Edna. What's more, I'll lay odds he's actually the elusive Davis Whitten that even Alex's pal in Sydney hasn't been able to track down yet.'
'Where did that wind come from?' Quinn exclaimed as the jeep was buffeted from several directions at once.
'I don't know,' Kit said, 'but it looks like we're in for a mighty storm. With any luck it will pick Geoffrey up by the ears and dump him in the bay.'
They watched as Geoffrey and the American approached the customs gate on foot. This time they were allowed access.
'Start her up Quinn. We can drive along the river side of the wharf.'
North Wharf ran westwards from the customs gate forming a small peninsula between the Yarra on one side and the main basin of Victoria Dock on the other. It was divided almost in half down its full length by a cyclone wire fence, the basin side being a restricted area.
'Don't cruise along as if you're following them Quinn. Just keep going, and park a bit beyond Berth 4, facing the river,' Kit said as she clambered over into the back of the jeep. 'OK. This will do. Pull in now.'
When the car came to a stop Kit raised her camera. Geoffrey and the American where still struggling against the wind making their way up the wharf. She swung the lens around to check out the huge corrugated iron warehouse allocated to number 4 berth on the other side of the fence. All the doors were open and she could see through to the water on the other side. One doorway framed a small section of the Melbourne city skyline, another was half filled by the bow of a huge cargo vessel that was riding high in the water, and another revealed the back end of a truck parked on the wharf.
'The place looks empty,' Quinn said craning her neck to get a better view.
'Except for the section directly in front of us I think it is,' Kit said. 'There's a
ship's container being loaded onto the back of a truck, a few guys standing around watching and another two having what appears to be a serious disagreement.'
Kit began taking photos of Geoffrey and his partner in alleged crime as they approached the warehouse. The wind had picked up even more and the two men were almost blown into the darkness inside the building.
Swollen black clouds were casting a murky pall over the entire city as if someone had used a dimmer switch to turn down the sunlight, and when Geoffrey reappeared on the other side of the warehouse Kit could barely pick out his features, even with the telephoto lens.
'Kit, what happened to your knee?' Quinn asked. 'Oh, and your elbow?'
While they waited for Geoffrey to make his next move Kit filled Quinn in on the events of the day. Quinn suggested that perhaps it was the mysterious Mike Finnigan who had tried to run her down, but Kit doubted he would change cars just to put an end to her involvement in whatever they were involved in.
'Besides I still have a hunch that he's a private detective or something, rather than one of the bad guys,' Kit said.
'So what's the story with your knight in shining armour?' Quinn asked.
'Who? Oh, you mean Hector. I picked him up a few times for minor offences about seven years ago, the first time for joyriding around Albert Park Lake in a stolen car. He was only fifteen so they put him on a good behaviour bond and placed him in foster care for three months. He'd been in and out of foster homes since he was about ten because his mother was a junkie. The last time I arrested him, for helping a bunch of skinheads break into a bottle shop in the middle of the night and steal a carload of booze, I put in a good word for him during his court case. He got three months at one of the country youth training centres.'
'Don't tell me you like kids,' Quinn said as if it was a serious character flaw.
'Not particularly. Marek does however. He was always fronting up in court as a character witness hoping to help keep some kid off the streets. He supported too many lost causes for my liking, but every now and then even I came across someone who was worth going the extra yard for, so I guess Marek's attitude sort of rubbed off on me. I figured if these kids were always treated like deadshits with no future then that's probably how they'd turn out.
'Hector was one of a few where I could see that it actually might do some good to stand up for him. The social workers kept taking him away from his mother but he loved her and there was no one else to look after her so he kept running away and going home.
'He wasn't a bad kid, just a bit lost. And he was smart. Despite his mother's habit and the trouble he kept getting into, mostly because of his friends, he barely missed a day of school.'
'He sounds smarter than me,' Quinn said. 'I was always skipping school.'
'Start the engine Quinn, the two stooges are on their way out.' Kit clicked off a couple more shots as Geoffrey and the American emerged from the warehouse, heading back towards the customs gate.
Quinn pulled up near Geoffrey's car, where they'd been parked before, and Kit struggled back into the passenger seat.
'Orlan Carriers,' Quinn stated flatly. 'That prick!'
'What?'
'The truck coming out through the gate. It's one of ours. I think we can assume it's the one that was just being loaded. Do we follow it or Geoffrey now?'
'The truck. The info that Alex got for me on Orlan Carrier's association with Freyling Imports was a bit light on details. There were 12 jobs in the last 18 months, mostly carting stuff from Freyling's head office in South Melbourne to either Wellborn's video and instant printing stores or to one of Freyling's otherwise unaffiliated clients. None of the trucks picked up a load from the docks before, so I think that's our best bet. But wait till Geoffrey leaves the carpark.'
Instead of taking the road that Kit and Quinn had come in by, the truck turned left out of the customs gate and then pulled over to the side. A couple of minutes later Geoffrey stopped his Bentley beside the truck and when he took off again, the truck followed him.
'Interesting. It looks like we can follow both of them. This is Pigott Street. It comes out on Footscray Road,' Kit said, as Quinn waved a white van ahead of her and then joined the procession. 'You're good at this. Maybe you should contemplate a career change. What would you be changing from, by the way?'
'Journalism. I've been working for a magazine called Crash in London. It used to be a really radical publication back in the '70s, when I was just a baby. It's a bit more mainstream these days but it still tries to fight the good fight and deal with the issues, you know. These days it also covers alternative lifestyles, arts and music. It's fun. But, ah, it doesn't look like I'll be going back.'
'Why not?'
'Because,' Quinn said as she turned left onto Footscray Road, 'my mother has left me fifty of her seventy percent of the company. I am now the major shareholder of Orlando House and, as of 2 pm today, chairperson of the board.'
'Holy shit! That's great Quinn. She didn't leave Geoffrey anything?' Kit said gleefully.
'Not a cent. In fact, of the remaining twenty per cent, she gave another five to Miles Denning and the rest to Uncle Douglas.'
'So with only ten per cent Geoffrey is now the most minor of shareholders,' Kit said.
'Precisely. Needless to say he is extremely pissed off. He doesn't know yet that I get the house as well. She cut him right out of everything. Some revenge, eh?'
Kit glanced over at Quinn, whose voice had been completely devoid of emotion. There was certainly no better way to get back at Geoffrey, but Celia had paid too high a price much too soon to exact that revenge. That thought, or something like it, was obviously going through Quinn's mind as well. She was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white.
'Are you OK?' Kit asked gently. 'Do you want me to drive?'
'No, I'm fine. I'd rather drive. Oh god Kit! What the fuck am I going to do with a Toorak mansion and a multimillion dollar publishing company?'
'You're asking me?' Kit laughed. 'I barely make enough money to keep Thistle in the manner to which she thinks she should be accustomed. I rent my apartment at the incredibly low rate I do only because it belongs to Del, and my 15-year-old car operates mostly on wishful thinking - it's own I think. It never quite breaks down enough for me to have to take a gun and put it out of my misery.'
Quinn grinned and relaxed her grip as she changed lanes to follow Geoffrey and the Orlan Carriers truck as they made a right-hand turn off Footscray Road just over the narrow Maribyrnong River.
'I think I'm way too young to be a tycoon,' she said.
'But just think of the thrill you'll get when you fire Geoffrey,' Kit stated.
'Yeah, totally orgasmic. I don't suppose you'd like a career change? There'll be an opening for a business manager at OHP, oh...very soon now.'