Grease Monkey Jive (53 page)

But the woman the press dubbed the ‘perfumed steamroller’ had a skeleton in her closet. Who knew?

She clicked her tongue, looking irritated all of a sudden. “Look, do you want the case or not?”

He dragged his thoughts away from her physical attributes and concentrated on the job at hand. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“We?”

Luke sighed at the interruption.
Sharp, she missed nothing.

“It feels good to have an ally, that’s all.” She smiled, her body almost sagging with relief. “And thank you.”

He ignored the way his heart shifted up a gear. “We, we’re a team until we catch this
loser
.”

He pushed a notepad and pen across the table. “Write down Chris Noble’s full name and his last known address in Melbourne. It’s logical to start there.”

As she scribbled down the details he noticed her absence of rings. He hadn’t got around to asking about partners and such, but it appeared from her bare hands she hadn’t succumbed to the last legal form of slavery.

She slid the notebook back to him.

“Go home and make sure the original photographs are where they should be. Phone me immediately if they’ve been disturbed. I want a list of every person who’s had access to your home since breaking up with Noble.”

“Okay.”

Strange, she didn’t seem at all phased by his request. Most people groaned and objected, daunted by the task. “I mean everyone you can think of Allegra. Family, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, work colleagues, tradesmen, landlords, cleaning staff, anyone who could conceivably have gained access to those photographs.”

“In Melbourne they were locked in a safety deposit box, but since moving to Sydney I’ve kept them hidden in my apartment.”

“Then I only need a list of people who’ve visited your Sydney residence.”

She nodded. “When do you want it?”

“Is seven in the morning too early?”

She shook her head, blonde highlights shining under the fluorescents. “I’m used to deadlines.”

“Then I’ll come by and pick it up, check out your security,” he said in an offhand manner, trying to give the impression it was standard procedure. It wasn’t. From cases he’d worked, extortionists were predictable, demanding money straight up. No demand for cash pointed to something more sinister.

He watched the colour drain from her face, his nonchalance not fooling her for a second.

“You think they could come to my home?”

Nothing to be gained by sugar coating it. “A photograph without a demand for cash smacks of a stalker or a psychological blackmailer.”

Her eyes widened, and for the briefest moment she looked truly frightened. He waited, letting his words sink in. She needed time to accept the ugly truth. A hidden enemy intended doing her harm.

“I hoped it might be a prank,” she said finally, her voice thick and shaken.

“Could be, but I doubt it. Having it delivered by bicycle courier shows it’s well thought out.”

She stared at him, a bemused expression on her face. “It doesn’t sound like Chris at all.”

A spurt of anger surfaced at her stoic defence of the photographer. Despite her position, she didn’t appear all that street smart, or men smart.

“Not the Chris you remember, but people change.”

Luke shifted in his seat, longing to undo the top button of his shirt but unwilling to draw another comment from the body language expert. Would he ever feel comfortable in business attire? Probably not, too many years spent in camouflage gear and paratrooper pants.

She blinked, drawing his attention to the amazing blue of her eyes. Not that he needed reminding. They were seared into his memory.

“So, what’s your take on it, Luke?”

An unexpected charge jolted through him at her use of his name. “There’s been no demand for cash or threats to expose you.”

“So they aren’t motivated by money?”

“I doubt it. They know you understand the harm they can do. They could be getting kicks from causing you mental anguish. But we won’t know for sure, until we get the next one.”

She swallowed, and in her eyes he saw helplessness and resignation. “That was my next question. You think we will?”

“I’m fairly certain. We know they have one photograph. If they’re in possession of the others, it’s more a matter of
when
.”

She nodded, then reached down with unsteady hands and slung the satchel diagonally across her body. “If we’re finished, I might go home and check the apartment.”

Luke pushed himself out of his chair. “That’s it for now.”

He strode to the door and held it open for her.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she murmured, brushing past him.

“No problem.”

He watched her walk towards the elevator, paying attention to the hip satchel slung across her body and the skyscraper heels she wore. Yes, if you looked hard enough, there were signs Allegra Greenwood had a non-conformist streak in her.

As she pushed the elevator button, she turned to look back at him, and he hurriedly closed his office door. He didn’t want to be caught spying. He slid the lock and moved back to his desk. Feeling a little guilty, he picked up the tweezers and shook out the folded sheet of paper still lying there. He felt his heartbeat crank up and the breath catch in his throat at the glorious image staring back at him.

Much as he hated to admit it, Noble had done a fine job. Allegra lay reclined on plush velvet, one long leg bent at the knee and crossed with the other in a manner that revealed nothing, though an arm thrown languidly above her head exposed the sloping outside curves of her breasts. Her blonde hair, so much longer then, swept over one shoulder and cleverly covered a nipple, while the other lay hidden behind a strand of expensive looking white pearls looped numerous times around her neck.

Stunning. Enough to make any red blooded man salivate.

Pushing it aside, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and stared through the window at the Opera House, its pearly sails poised on the water’s edge a masterpiece of human creativity.

He’d often thought about their first meeting, the day fresh in his mind for all the wrong reasons. A horror case involving children. A couple of drinks to ease the pain of the gruesome images he couldn’t wipe from his mind. Not the smartest move when trying to make a good impression. Then, as he stood on the terrace, wishing with all his heart he could just go home and avoid the Meet and Greet, a vision in blue walked up and introduced herself. They’d talked, and at some point he’d suffered an overwhelming urge to kiss her.

It was inappropriate, out of character, and far from his finest hour.

Still, he’d been angry when she’d blackballed him.

Luke sighed. His job required an extensive assortment of intuitive skills, and it wasn’t often someone left him astonished. But she had. Smart and alluring, never in a million years would he have put her name, together with the word centrefold, in the same
sentence
.

He shook his head in disbelief. Nude photos. Who would have guessed?

With another heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, blanking out the memories of a mission gone wrong. There was no way he could let anything bad happen to Allegra Greenwood.

He owed her brother that much.

He’d been Trooper Martin Greenwood’s Commanding Officer in Afghanistan, and as such, the man ultimately responsible for his death.

As my eyes moved over Arthur Roper through the two-way mirror, it occurred to me the saying was true. It really was hard out there for a pimp.

Roper sat on a ratty bed in a ratty room in a ratty brothel in Bangkok, haggling with a bored looking woman for a discount on her services. The woman wore a dirty blonde wig and a white spandex cat suit several sizes too small. Her scarlet lips were pressed to thin lines, as if she’d gotten Roper’s measure and found him a quart short. Who could blame her? If my job required me to wear an outfit that gave me a painful looking camel-toe, I’d be unimpressed by life as well. Not to mention having to touch individuals like Roper. Personally, I’d need a flea bath after touching such a rodent. And touch him I knew I’d have to. Retrieval jobs were never easy. In my experience, no thief ever likes giving up their ill-gotten goods and they always need some encouragement.

Most of the time my jobs were security work, retrievals, sometimes even an exorcism or two. Here, in the Outlands, maybe I’d be called a mercenary. Back home, in The Weald, I was called a Runner. My work brought me into contact with all sorts of scum and Arthur Roper was no exception. Back home, past the tollbooths that guarded the entryway into the hidden world of The Weald, Roper ran a couple of low-budget brothels. Roper wasn’t a nice pimp; I’d seen his handiwork on a couple of women’s faces and it was the kind of hurt that never healed quite right. But now, this predator was my prey, and I was damned good at what I did.

I read the dirty blonde’s lips as they worked around what looked like imaginative profanities, and wished there was sound in the cramped viewing room. The click of a latch sounded behind me and a noxious vapour of cheap perfume filled the room. A thick voice spoke. “I don’t need this trouble. I want him gone.”

Turning my head, I saw Norma, the owner of the brothel leaning against the closed door. Her faced was scrunched as tight as her steel-blue perm and she wore a lemon-yellow velour tracksuit. Like Roper, she was otherkin: a crossbreed of the mystic races. Norma was lucky that she could pass for human, magic and glamour spells didn’t work for long beyond The
Weald. From the uneven shape of her ears and the slope of her nose, I guessed that after mostly human blood, she had some elf and maybe a sprinkling of hobgoblin thrown in.

Roper wasn’t as lucky as Norma. A low-slung baseball cap couldn’t hide his diseased skin, crusty warts and piggy nose. As far as otherkin went, Roper was one ugly bastard.

“He says I owe him money.” Norma’s voice was like dark treacle in my ears; rich and sweet. I didn’t know Norma myself, but she knew my boss, Gideon, and his business well enough to be on the lookout for Roper; she had sent Gideon the tip Roper would be here tonight.

“He asks for too much,” Norma continued. “My debt to him is half what he claims. He would take everything I’ve worked so hard for. He tells me if I don’t pay, he’ll tip off the authorities in Harken City with where I am.”

I heard the hint and made a show of thinking. As well as a pimp, Roper worked for Joseph Daleman, a loan shark nicknamed The Hacksaw. If Roper disappeared, Daleman might come looking. That wouldn’t have been a big deal in itself; trouble was I owed Daleman money and who wanted to remind him of that?

My fingers absently traced the familiar grooves of the carved goat-head at the top of my cane. The brothel was in the Bang Phlat district and I could hear the pulse of the city outside: spluttering tuk-tuk’s, bright laughter of tourists and street vendors calling to them.

“I could discourage him.” I shifted my feet to take the weight off my lame right leg. “For an extra fee, of course.” While Gideon had rules about how to conduct business, I had never had a problem with making some extra money on the side.

“Of course.” Norma stood alongside me and I swallowed as her perfume engulfed me like a poisonous gas. “What’d he do?” she asked in her slow voice. “To get the attention of Blackgoat Watch?”

“Client business.” I tried to discreetly block my nose. Roper’s crime was stealing a satchel from someone with enough wealth to fund my trip out of The Weald. The satchel contained things of sentimental value, and the client was happy to pay whatever it took for its return.

“I heard you like to be called Chopper now days,” Norma said.

My smile melted and my fingers clutched for the charm that usually sat around my neck before I remembered it was broken. I bit back a curse. I’d heard the nickname too and wished I knew who had started it. I’d been assisting at an exorcism a month ago, and it had ended very, very badly. I mean, behead just one client and suddenly everyone’s a comedian.

Sensing my mood, Norma changed the subject. “But tell me, how fares life in Harken? I hear tales of more violence than usual.”

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I narrowed my eyes at her and Norma’s aura flickered in the dim light. A flame of orange blinked around her head; it tasted like a bitter pepper on my tongue. She was an anxious woman, hiding secrets.

Throwing her an easy smile, I flashed my dimples. I reminded myself she was a valuable snitch and to be nice. There weren’t many citizens of The Weald living in the Outlands, where the modern world beckoned with conveniences like electricity, phones and emails.

“How long have you been here now?” I narrowed my eyes again. “Eight years?”

Norma’s aura flushed forest green as she prepared to lie. I blinked a few times, clearing my vision. I didn’t need to know much more about Norma. I’d gotten what I’d come for.

“Maybe more like five.” She raised a hand to smooth her hair. “Had me a little pie shop in Applecross. Got into some trouble with the law, so I moved here. I blend in easy enough, which is a blessing.”

I didn’t ask her to elaborate. Her story was common enough. The Outlands were a common hiding place for criminals from The Weald. “Business as usual in Harken,” I said. I watched as Roper tried to turn on the charm, a sickly sweet smile on his face, and continued. “I heard the Council of Ten are trying to pass a bill to legalise steam technology again.”

“That old chestnut.” Norma shook her head. “The old families will never allow it.” There was a pause, then she asked, “Did you hear about the Regulator who did all that killing in a beserker rage? Rumours say he fled to the Outlands.”

“You sure hear well, for someone hiding out,” I said absently. Roper was now trying to convince his woman of his prowess. Maybe he thought she should pay him. The woman didn’t look convinced. I hoped she was going to kick him in the balls and save me the trouble. Norma didn’t answer me, so I just shrugged. “I read something about it in the street press. Don’t know much else. Regulators have nothing to do with me.”