When I got back to the courtyard it was full almost to the point of discomfort. I saw Creighton Kirby chatting to a tall black woman. I looked around for Mike Borg but couldn’t spot him. The wine had got warm. I took a sip and found a woman standing beside me trying to look into my eyes. It wasn’t too hard for her-in her high heels she was almost as tall as me.
‘He-ello,’ she said.
‘Hello.’
‘You part of the Oss-tralian party?’
‘That’s right.’ She was wearing a tight dress with a cut away top that gave her nowhere to hide a gun. If it was under her skirt I thought I could get to mine faster. ‘Why’re you here, Miss…?’
She waved her hand. She was carrying a long thin champagne glass, nearly full, but she didn’t spill any. I guessed she practised champagne glass waving a couple of hours a day. ‘It’s Mrs, but don’t let it worry you.’
‘Okay.’ She leaned closer; I could smell expensive perfume and see the fine pores in her skin. Her eyelids and lipstick were purple. Her dark hair was drawn back tightly and her cheekbones were accentuated. She was perfect, if you like spider women.
‘I’m anti-nuclear.’ Her voice was low and breathy. ‘And I’ve never done it with an Oss-ie before.’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing. We’re the best.’
‘The best?’
‘Yeah. It’s from living on the underneath side of the world.’ I dropped my voice and got closer to her ear. She wore hooped gold earrings in her pierced lobes. ‘The blood rushes to the right place and stays there, if you see what I mean. Well, nice talking to you. I’d better go and skin a kangaroo.’
I left her looking glazed and uncertain. Trudi pushed towards me through a press of tall blondes and redheads of both sexes.
‘There’s nothing happening down here at five foot four,’ she said. ‘How’s it up at six foot one?’
‘You’re half an inch too high. I’ve had one offer of meaningful adultery.’
‘The spider woman?’
‘Yeah, that’s her. She’s after an Australian. Lucky Martin and Bolton aren’t here, she’d eat them. I suppose Peter might oblige.’
‘He hasn’t got time, he’s on in a few minutes. I’d better get up there.’
Things were taking shape up at the front table. There were carafes and glasses of water; chairs were being pushed into place. Peter January, the hostess and a couple of other dignitaries were chatting in front of the microphone. I couldn’t hear anything which made me look around for the PA set-up. In the corner of the courtyard near the gate a man in blue overalls was working with electric cables and a loudspeaker. He glanced up at the table and nodded; someone tapped the microphone and a loud sharp noise rose above the din of talking, drinking and laughing. People heard it and the noise began to subside.
People formed groups and drifted to the sides; space opened up in the courtyard and I got a clear view to the table where January, the woman I took to be Mrs Clephane and two other men were seated. January was in the middle; an old man with a creamy white mane of hair and a luxuriant white moustache was at the end in front of the microphone.
‘Who’s that?’ Someone near me whispered.
‘Judge Calvin Clyde,’ came a hushed reply. ‘He had a triple by-pass and a change of heart at 78. He’s a liberal now.’
They were almost ready. It looked as if Judge Clyde was going to speak first. He shuffled some notes. I caught a movement to my right and looked across at the sound technician. He was looking tense and still fiddling with something although the slight hum from the microphone sounded steady and right. I edged closer and saw three things in one overloaded glance: he was holding an object like a electrical junction box in one hand and in the other he held another wire poised to make contact; the French cuffs of an expensive business shirt poked out an inch below the sleeves of his overall; and he was wearing one of the $3000 watches I’d seen in the gift shop that morning.
I yelled something and made a rush towards him. He saw me and panic seemed to jolt through his body. He shoved the wire into the box and dropped the apparatus as he backed away. Heads were turning towards me but the old man with the white hair was on his feet now and reaching for the microphone.
‘No!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t touch the mike!’ I bullocked my way towards the electrics. Maybe the judge was near-sighted and deaf. He touched the microphone. There was a deafening crack and a flash of intense white light blazed in the courtyard. People screamed, tables were upset and water jugs crashed. That was bad-enough electrically charged water splashed around and a dozen people could fry. I brushed the last person out of my way, bent and yanked out every plug and socket I could get my hands to. The Judge and at least two others were down; men were swearing and women were screaming. I saw Trudi propping up a sobbing fat woman. I ran for the gate.
18
Billy Spinoza had joined me before I reached the gate and he went through it first.
‘The car!’ he yelled.
We ran for the Mercedes and he had it moving before I could get the door closed.
‘The Electra,’ Spinoza said. ‘You see it?’
I didn’t know what an Electra was but I didn’t like to show my ignorance so I nodded and drew in several deep breaths. The Merc was really travelling now, barrelling down the wide, straight tree-lined street but heading for a roundabout which had a small forest growing on it. Spinoza slewed around a small, slow car and I caught a glimpse of a big, blue car ahead. I decided it was the Electra; I also decided that if it got to the roundabout too far ahead of us we could lose it. Spinoza seemed to think the same. He floored the accelerator and the Mercedes went faster as if it was suddenly going downhill.
We gained on the Electra. Spinoza threw the car into the sweeping roundabout, bluffing other contenders for space and racing through the gears. His dark, lean face was set in a grin as if this was the only kind of driving he really liked. Out of the last lurching, tilting turn and the blue car was less than a hundred yards ahead but drawing away.
‘Super-charged,’ Spinoza said. ‘Shit!’ He gave the Mercedes all the power available but the Electra gained. Spinoza hammered on the wheel and hissed his disgust through his teeth. ‘He’ll take a bridge and be long gone. Sorry, man, we lose.’
‘Slow down,’ I said. ‘It’s not your fault.’
He eased back and the trees and posts started to whiz past less frequently. ‘Guess not. Did you see the cocksucker?’
I told him that I’d been looking at other things like shirts and watches and he nodded as he took a turn. ‘I think there were two of them, though,’ I said. ‘There was someone up front giving him the nod. Tall, blonde guy.’
Billy grinned. ‘There’s so many just like that. If you ask me, the world’s over-stocked with tall, blonde, bad guys. Did you ah… see what happened?’
‘No. January could be in an ashtray now for all I know.’
We had to leave the car more than a hundred yards from the condominium and flash our IDs and talk fast four or five times before we could get through to the courtyard. The fire engines were there and the police cars with the flashing lights and the TV news trucks. We shoved people aside and fought our way through to the table where paramedics were squatting dealing with shocked people. Bits of glass from the broken bottles and jugs were strewn around behind the table which was blackened at the end where the microphone had been. A large pot plant standing near was scorched and there was a smell I hadn’t had in my nostrils for a long time-burning flesh.
Spinoza registered it too. ‘Like ‘Nam,’ he said.
‘Malaya.’
Trudi broke from a group and dived towards me. ‘Cliff! Cliff! Oh, God…’
I practically had to catch her. Her dress was smeared with blood and dirt but she was intact. ‘Where’s Peter?’