LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Nightclub. It was just before their noon opening time and the previous night's debris was being cleared up, bars restocked and floors mopped and polished. Where the outside was hideous purple, the inside wasn't much better, just darker and seedier. It wasn't my idea of paradise at all.

      We interviewed the club owner, Stan Zefferelli, over a cheap instant coffee served in a polystyrene cup. Classy.

      Zefferelli was barrel-chested, beer-bellied and wore his dirty blond hair long with Elvis Presley style sideburns. He walked like a duck on heat and had the nasty habit of scratching his crotch and juggling with the family jewels. He wore saggy black trackie pants with holes in the rear and a floppy T-shirt that once upon a time must have been white. It sported the faded legend that Paradise Sucked. I presumed he was referring to the club and I heartily agreed with him.

      He seemed unconcerned about the missing girls but stroppy his club was the focus of a police op.

      `It's bad for business,' he said and gave us a circus-standard juggling performance before taking a slurp of coffee. `You guys will give the place the kiss of death if you hang around for too long.'

      `Aren't you worried women seem to be disappearing from your club?' I asked.

      `People disappear all the time. It's no big deal. It hasn't put off the punters. But you will.'

      `Forget it. We're not leaving until we discover what's going on. These girls weren't the type to simply go walkabout.'

      Zefferelli's lip curled. He gave me a suggestive up and down. `You never been tempted to go off with a bloke for some hot sex?' he said. `Or are you a dyke?'

      I ground my teeth and resisted the urge to dismantle his juggling act. One swift kick would have done it. Or point blank range with my Glock. But I resisted. I'm a professional.

      And, anyway, he did have a point about the slinking off for some hot sex. Wasn't that how I ended up with Chastity? Four days on a boat with a blond hunk I'd picked up at a party.

      In my defence, it was before I understood about safe sex, stranger danger or slip, slop, slap. So hey, I was a late developer. Who wouldn't have been with a harlot-turned-zealot nun as a mum? I met the skipper of Wild Thing and the rest was history. Your protected, naive convent girl went overboard. Literally.

      Could the same sort of thing have happened here with these convent-raised girls? But three of them had been missing for a while so it didn't seem likely.

      Apart from that, Fox and I learned absolutely zilch from Zefferelli. I decided we'd revisit the club that night and be part of the action. Perhaps we'd missed something vital.

      I took Fox, as he'd got to know the layout pretty well. And with him looking so good in his spangles, there was the chance we might strike lucky and get a pick up by the perp.

      We got there late and struggled through the Thursday night crowd. You'd think there was no place else to go in Perth on a steamy Thursday night. Heck, these people needed to get a life. I did a double-take when I thought I saw Sister Mercy, sans habit. But I must have been hallucinating. No way would a nun trip the light fantastic in a sleazy joint like the Paradise. I resolved once I'd cracked the case, I would take a long holiday. And perhaps ease up on the caffeine.

      Fox and I sat at the bar and tried to look as though we were having a good time. It wasn't hard. Fox was an easy companion. Hey, isn't my job a bitch?

      `Tell me about your days on the street, before you joined the force,' I said to him.

      Fox shrugged. `There's nothing to tell.'

      `Don't give me that.'

      `I was like a lot of kids. Hung around the streets. Slept rough. Occasionally went home for a meal.'

      `You have a family, then.'

      `Mum and Dad split up before I was born. Mum married some corporate climber on the second time round. I was always the step-kid with the attitude. His kids could do no wrong. Then Mum and this bloke had a couple of their own.'

      `A big blended family. Nice.'

      Fox gave me one of his bland, dreamy blue looks. `You could say that. It had its moments.'

      I empathised. I might not have had stepsiblings but I'd had an entire school full of companions. The fact I hadn't kept in touch with any of them showed what a loner I was. Maybe Fox was a loner too.

      `So what about your dad?'

      `When he was in town we would get together.'

      `Nice.'

      `He wasn't in town much.'

      `Oh.'

      `But it was good when he was.' A glimmer of a smile played around his painted lips. His luscious painted lips. I resisted the urge to fan myself. Surely I was too young to have hot flashes so it must be something else.

      Not wanting to go down that road, I changed the subject: `So how come you joined the police?'

      `Well-defined sense of right and wrong. I was witness to it all the time growing up. I thought I could make a difference.'

      `Noble.'

      `Stupid. I don't feel as though I've achieved much.'

      `But you've done a heap of undercover stuff. You must be good.'

      `A few lucky breaks. Good contacts. I don't feel quite so confident running around in this gear.'

      `You look gorgeous.' I chuckled and he grimaced.

      It's an unwritten rule of mine never to sleep with anyone on my team. This rule has been easy to abide by over the years because, when surrounded with men like Sodbury, Burton and Ely, one can resist without trouble.

      But now here was Fox. In a league of his own, he was totally another matter. It was going to be hard resisting such a ripe peach.

      And I hadn't been joking. He was gorgeous, either dressed in jeans and leathers or in slinks and sequins. It was enough to send my taste buds roaring. There was a definite zing in the air when he was around, and it wasn't just due to the apple-scented shampoo he favoured. But I didn't think I'd be wise to react to it. Best wait until we were both off the case and I could relax my self-imposed rule. I had standards.

      We sat there for an hour or so, downing orange juices and tonic waters until our bellies were squealing in protest at the acid overload.

      `I'm off to the john,' said Fox, sashaying off in his hot pink number. He was one mean sister. And I must say, I didn't think I scrubbed up half bad in my little black shift. If we didn't get a nibble tonight I'd have to do a serious rethink of our wardrobes. Maybe our cup sizes were too small to make much impact.

      Actually, no. Mine was insignificant, but Foxy's D-cups were absolutely priceless.

      I fiddled with the purple and white Paradise beer mat, flicking it over and over and catching it mid-air as I watched Fox wiggle away. I'd have to tell him his trip to the bathroom was causing all the men to drool. I admit I was doing a little drooling myself which caused me to bungle a catch.

      As I retrieved the fallen beer mat from the floor, I glanced at its Paradise logo. It had been defaced. What a surprise. But then I looked harder. On the flipside was drawn a double `V' in biro. It was an imitation of the design I'd seen in Chastity's room. Hmm. So some of the Immaculata girls hung out here. I should have a word with the Iron Nun. It wasn't a place I wanted my Chastity frequenting.

      I nursed my drink and scanned the heaving mob of hyped-up young things gyrating on the dance floor. And then I saw it. A sparkly black-sequinned frock. Now, there were probably hundreds of these dresses sold around the city, but I'd seen this one hanging on the back of my daughter's bedroom door.

      The woman wearing it was young and slim with gelled hair a mass of ringlets. Red ringlets. Red ringlets like my daughter's red ringlets.

      Chastity!

      Maternal ire raised its ugly head, swift and sharp. What the heck was Chastity doing in a dump like this? I jumped off the bar

Скачать книгу