Fetish (12 page)

Maim. Hit. Kick. Palm strike, eye gouge, knee to the face. Get ready Makedde…

“Ready and…one!”

“Nooooo!” the all-girl warriors cried in harmony, reaching into the air with their right hands, palms up, fingers closed.

“…two,” the instructor continued and they pulled their fingers out like cat’s claws, gouging at the eyes of imaginary attackers.

“…and three!”

In unison each student brought up her left hand to join her right and grabbed the assailant’s head, slamming it down, their right knee rising swiftly to smash the face in.

“Grab the coconut off the tree, crack it open on your knee…”

Makedde’s blood was pumping, sweat beading on her upper lip. The Friday afternoon self-defence class was as good a work out as Jaqui had promised, especially when they brought out the punching bags, but, she had to admit, her mind was on Andrew Flynn.

“Makedde!”

The sound of her own name startled her. She whirled around to face her instructor, Hanna, a tough, heavy-set blonde with a brush cut. Hanna was a black belt in karate who had taught and lectured on self-defence for over ten years.

“Where’s your head? You may as well have tried to lick your attacker to death,” Hanna scolded, shaking her head disapprovingly.

Through the sweat, Makedde felt herself blush. “Sorry. You’re right. I was thinking about something else.”
Someone
else. “Let me try again.”

In an instant an unwanted but vivid mental picture of Stanley loomed before her. His face was always festering in the shadows of her mind, waiting for any opportunity to remind her that she was far from invincible. She reminded herself that Stanley was now doing time for a series of violent rapes. Knowing that she was safe from him made it a lot easier to use him as a mental punching bag. Great therapy.

“And…One!” her instructor began.

“NOOOO!” Makedde yelled and struck Stanley’s throat with her palm, gouged at his eerie, pale blue eyes with long fingernails, grabbed his thick head in both hands and with all her might rammed it down into her striking knee. She could almost feel his face bounce off and his body fall to the gym floor. She would kick him in the head now, and stomp all over his…

Makedde noticed that the other girls were staring at her.

Hanna was smiling. “Much better. Now for the bag.” She handed a large, square punching bag to one of the other students, who looped her arms around the holds on the back and positioned it on the side of her hip.

“OK, Makedde. I want ten hits in as many seconds, each different. And no pussy stuff. Ready and…One!”

Makedde could see Stanley grinning as he blocked the exit door, switchblade out, brown hair ruffled, his pants half undone.

“ONE!” Mak screamed, giving Stanley a snap-kick to the balls. “TWO!” a knee strike, “THREE!” a palm strike to the throat, “FOUR!” gouge his eyes, “FIVE!” grab his head and ram it down to a right knee strike, “SIX!” right elbow strike to the head, “SEVEN!” left elbow strike to the head, “EIGHT!” backwards elbow strike, “NINE!” hammer fist to the groin and “TEN!” SQUEEZE THE TESTICLES!

When Mak had completed all ten moves, she stopped screaming, and took a step back to catch her breath. Sweat dripped from her chin to her T-shirt. This time even Hanna was staring. There was a moment of silence, then someone said, “Have you taken self-defence classes before?”

“No,” she said, slightly embarrassed. “I’m just a really angry person.”

At 5.30 p.m. Makedde arrived back at the flat and threw herself onto the bed, still damp and dressed in her gym sweats. When the phone rang, she let the answering machine pick it up.

“Hi sweetie, it’s Loulou,” the voice echoed across the room after the beep. “It was great seeing you yesterday. Can you believe this Becky Ross disappearance thing? Rumour has it she eloped with the rugby player, but the police suspect foul play. No kidding! That guy is so foul…Oh, I’m rambling again. Call me.”

Makedde smiled. Loulou was an incorrigible gossip queen.
Becky Ross’ disappearance?
She must have taken off right after the fashion launch. Sounded like another publicity stunt. Perhaps Mak should have checked the papers, there might have been an article on the launch, with humorous reviews about Becky’s take on fashion. Mak would call Loulou in the morning. No doubt she’d be itching to find out about her secret date.

He’ll be here at seven o’clock
, Mak reminded herself for the hundredth time. The thought of his arrival propelled her back onto her tired feet and into the cramped bath. It was shallow and short, and she didn’t fit, but she bathed anyway, pouring hot water over herself from an oversized measuring cup, and adding a
few drops of fragrant vanilla oil. With her long legs sticking straight up in the air, she shaved from ankle to thigh, careful not to cut herself as she had before. She ran a hand over her legs, and, satisfied they were smooth, began a careful pedicure. She painted her toenails “French Nude” as the shade was called, and kept her toes pointed in the air to dry until her feet started to tingle from lack of circulation. She would be wearing boots so her toes wouldn’t be on display, but it made her feel good to pamper herself.

She emerged from the steamy bathroom feeling better than she had in days. It seemed at least some of her worries were swirling down the drain with the bath water.
A date!
She would get over the recent turn of events, and get on. She was sure of it.

As she went to sit down two scrapes on the wooden floor caught her attention. The sofa. Was it out of place? It seemed further from the wall. Had she pushed it across the floor without thinking? She pushed it back and was amazed at how heavy it was. Strange. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her. She was, after all, somewhat preoccupied—the cloyed and compelling Detective Andrew Flynn was taking her out. And soon! She did her best to choose an outfit that was both casual and attractive, without appearing as if she was
trying
to look attractive. This was a science unto itself, and it took a while to get it right. Finally she made up her mind, deciding upon her favourite straight black
pants and a deep blue fitted jumper that brought out the colour of her eyes.

It was only 6.30 p.m. She forced herself to settle into the chair and read the last few chapters from the dog-eared copy of her true-crime favourite,
Mindhunter.

At 6.59 p.m. the buzzer announced Andy’s arrival.

Makedde leapt out of her chair, sending the book flying. Reading about Robert Hansen, the “game” hunting Alaskan, set her on edge, jumpy at the slightest noise.

She checked herself in the mirror, tugged her sweater down a bit and smoothed her black pants. Her hair didn’t look too perfect. Just a bit messy, so she didn’t appear to be trying too hard. She grabbed her long coat and a pair of chunky-heeled leather boots, and sat on the floor while she pulled them on. She was sitting by the wardrobe, and, just as she had noticed scratches on the floor beside the sofa, so too were there marks beside the wardrobe. She examined the deep impression of the wardrobe’s short wooden legs. The wardrobe legs were at least two inches away from the indents. Perhaps the police had moved things during the search and she hadn’t noticed until now.

She stood up, relishing every extra inch her boots afforded her, turned off the lights and locked the door, and forced herself to relax as she descended the stairs.
Andy was leaning against a railing outside the front door, wearing Levi’s with a white cotton shirt and a well-worn leather jacket. He was also wearing a gorgeous smile.

“Hi.”

She did her best to appear cool and unaffected, suppressing a burgeoning thrill deep within her.

He gestured to her outfit, saying, “You look beautiful.” The comment threatened to shatter her veneer of detachment. This was sounding like a real date already. “I
am
allowed to say that aren’t I?” he went on, possibly expecting she would bite his head off again.

“Of course. Who doesn’t like to be told that? Thank you. You too. Look
good
, I mean. You look good without your suit on.”

What? Stop rambling!

“Don’t tell my colleagues that or they’ll get the wrong impression.” Mak laughed. “Actually,” he added, “don’t tell them anything. I wouldn’t hear the end of it if they knew I was here. OK?”

“My lips are sealed.”

They maintained an awkward silence on the drive from Bondi to Darlinghurst. She was starting to wonder what she was doing there, and she suspected he might be doing the same.

“Thanks for getting me out of the house,” she said, playing down their date. “Like you said, I don’t
know a lot of people here so it’ll be good to hang out with a local.”

“Yeah, it’s good to get out.”

Silence again.

Mak noticed that the Holden Commodore they were in had a sophisticated radio system on the front dash. There was also a big, square flashlight at her feet and when she looked around she noticed a siren light sitting on the back seat.

“Squad car, eh?” she asked, picking up the flashlight and examining it.

“Don’t ask,” he said seriously. “You can put that in the back if you want.”

“I like that this is a squad car,” she assured him. “Put the siren on. It’ll get us through the traffic a lot quicker.”

“Yeah, right.”

She gave him a mischievous look. “Come on,” she dared.

A teenager in a car ahead of them was in the midst of attempting an illegal U-turn when Andy switched the siren on for a split second. The kid’s tyres squealed as he took off down the road. It served as a good ice breaker, and distracted them for a couple of minutes.

Victoria Street was buzzing and after circling the block a few times they finally found a parking spot not too far away. A line of takeaway customers spilled out the front door of Fu Manchu, and they were
relieved when they looked through the large window to see that there were a couple of empty tables inside. They grabbed one and sat in uncomfrotable silence as the exotic aromas of Asian dishes drifted by them on the way to waiting mouths. The soft sound of Chinese music was barely audible above the hum of the chatty patrons who filled every incense-scented inch of the place.

“So, what do you think?” she asked.

“It’s great. How did you find out about it?”

“I like food,” she said with a grin.

“That’s unusual for a model.”

“You bet. Would you like me to order for us?” she offered, gesturing to the menu penned on the wall.

Andy looked momentarily surprised by her suggestion, and perhaps a bit relieved. “Sure.”

A waitress approached with a shaved head and Birkenstock sandals, showcasing a butterfly tattoo on the top of her foot.

“We’d like to start with the sang choi bao, then the duck wraps with lots of hoi sin. Salt and pepper cuttlefish and steamed eggplant, too, please.” She turned to Andy. “That all right with you?”

He nodded.

“Am I allowed to ask how the case is going?” she said tentatively once the waitress had left.

“Of course. I’m just not allowed to tell you.”

She smiled.

“Believe me, it’s in good hands and I’ll let you know anything that’s important.”

“I hope so.” She’d try him again later, perhaps after a few drinks. Makedde was relieved when the first dish arrived quickly. She thanked their waitress and commented on how great the food looked.

“Uh, yes,” Andy replied, eyeing the collage of lettuce and ground meat nervously. “What’s it called again?”

“Sang choi bao.”

With uncertainty he reached for his water, casually watching her next move.

“I adore this place. Don’t you just love Asian food?” she asked, slowly assembling her first mouthful. He followed her lead, placing the mix in the centre of a leaf of lettuce and wrapping it up.

“Yeah. Stir-fry. That sort of thing. Takeaway mostly,” he replied, blushing as bits of food slid out of his iceberg lettuce and onto the stainless-steel table.

First date and I’ve got him embarrassed.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. It’s very tasty…when I can get it in my mouth.”

“Yeah, they only use the best dog meat and monkey brain mix here. Much better than down the street.”

Andy started to choke.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” she quickly back-pedalled. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me
tonight. It’s made with ground pork, spices and onions, I swear.”

“Uh huh.”

“Actually, this is the only pork dish I ever eat. The vego version just isn’t as good. Generally I have a lot of fruits and vegetables and a bit of fish and chicken,” she rambled on. “Some call it semi-vegetarian. I can understand the full vegetarian perspective though; vegetables don’t scream as loud when you chop them up.”

“Yeah, well,” he said vaguely and there was a pregnant pause. “So, what did you do today?” he finally asked.

That was another lively line of conversation. Makedde pictured herself clawing at Stanley’s eyes and delivering devastating blows to his private parts. “You really don’t want to know,” she replied.

Andy looked at her, curious and a little concerned. “What if I really
do
want to know?”

“I played squash with invisible balls,” she said under her breath. Now her dinner companion looked confused as well as curious and concerned.

“I just started a self-defence class at the Bondi Community Centre on Friday afternoons. I promise I won’t use any of the moves on you, unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“Oh…good. You can never be too careful. So, have you had a chance to see much of Sydney?”

“Well, it’s my second trip here, but I don’t get out much at night. As you guessed, I don’t know a lot of people.”

“I don’t get out much either. Work can be a bit all-consuming.”

Makedde remembered the argument she’d overheard in his office, and the words slipped out before she could stop them. “Who was that woman in your office the other day? She was beautiful.”

She thought she saw a brief flicker of pain in his eyes before he laughed and said, “Oh, Cassandra. She’s my ex-wife. Well, almost ex-wife. We’re divorcing.”