I wouldn’t say I turned over a new leaf, but I did stir the old one around a bit. I held off until 6 o’clock for the first drink and didn’t lose count after that. I bought a barbecued chicken and some roast potatoes and salad in Glebe Point Road, took it home, put it on a plate and ate it with a knife and fork. The house was a mess and I left it that way but I made the bed before I got into it and after six and a half hours sleep I got up pretty refreshed. I showered and shaved and put on a clean shirt. I’d got out of the habit of breakfast, but I brewed some coffee and drank it with milk and sugar.
Hindle lived in Hunters Hill so it wasn’t much out of his way to pick me up. He drove a pale blue BMW that matched his suit of yesterday. Today he had on a cream number appropriate to the steamy weather. Only trouble was, his shirt was the same colour and there were dark sweat stains under his armpits. He was a lousy driver-too fast, poor reactions, no manners.
‘Smartened yourself up a bit?’ he said.
I nodded, watching the road the way he wasn’t. ‘When in Rome.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’
He took the route out through Redfern and I could see his eyes swivelling around as he paid more attention to the people on the pavements than the cars on the road. He blew out a breath as we waited at a light. ‘Hot weather sure brings out the toey little virgins, doesn’t it?’
A young black woman was crossing front of us. She was skinny with a very short skirt, a skimpy singlet top and very high heels. Hindle watched her avidly. The light changed and he roared away, burning off another car but misjudging the lanes so that he got wedged in and didn’t make up any ground. When the going was clear he glanced across at me. ‘What’s the matter with you? Those Abo sheilas root like rabbits. Not fuckin’ gay, are you?’
‘That one could’ve been my grand-daughter,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘Oh, I get it. No offence meant. No-one told me you had a touch of the tar brush. Should’ve seen it, but.’
‘Forget it,’ I said. I’m an Anglo-Celt mix with a bit of gypsy and French thrown in somewhere, but I was in no mood to explain that to Hindle. Given the way he was driving, my main concern was to get to the airport alive.
We got there about forty-five minutes before the flight was due and Hindle pulled the BMW into a wide spot in the parking station but still almost managed to tickle a car in the next bay. We walked through the terminal. Hindle glanced at a monitor and then at his watch. ‘They reckon it’s on time but it’d be a fuckin’ miracle. What about a quick one?’
I shrugged. I’ve always liked drinking in airport bars. It gives you the feeling that it could be you who’s flying off to some exotic location or coming back with memories and experiences to feed off. Besides, he’d be paying. We went up to the bar which hadn’t been open long and still smelled fresh from the cleaning. There were little bowls of nuts and the air-conditioning was exactly right. In the appropriate company it would be a good place to spend a couple of hours getting quietly mellow. With Hindle, twenty minutes would be ample.
‘What’ll you have, Hardy?’
‘Crown Lager.’
‘Piss.’ To the barman he said, ‘I’ll have a double Jack D with ice.’
The drinks came and Hindle paid with a fifty-dollar note; the barman struggled to make the change. I saw that Hindle had smaller bills in his wallet but the gesture didn’t surprise me. I was glad I’d asked for four hundred an hour, sorry I hadn’t made it five hundred. We drank and Hindle ate two serves of nuts. He tried to make conversation but I didn’t respond. Eventually, like someone who finds comfort in screens, he spun around and gazed at a monitor displaying arrival times.
‘What did I tell ya?’ he crowed. ‘Flight QF 870 from Manila delayed twenty-five fuckin’ minutes. Wonder it’s not an hour.’ He snapped his fingers at the barman. ‘Let’s go again, buddy. And you might lay out a few more nuts. Drinkin’ makes me hungry and eatin’ makes me thirsty. Ha-ha.’
The barman did as he was bid, keeping his eyes down. Drinking full-strength beer at ten-thirty in the morning was sliding back towards the habits of the past few weeks, but Hindle was one of those people to make you put up barriers. I was reaching for some nuts when a woman walked into the bar. She wore a white dress and a short black jacket, white high-heeled shoes. She was Asian-long, straight dark hair, high cheekbones, ivory skin. Everything about her appearance was modest and restrained, but behind that was a kind of sexual invitation beyond words, beyond description. My jaw dropped before I collected myself, but the effect on Hindle was alarming. As if on autopilot, he sucked in his gut and firmed his chins, a low roaring sound seemed to come from his chest and little beads of sweat collected on his forehead. He wiped them away with one of the napkins that sat beside the silver trays of nuts.
‘Jesus,’ Hindle croaked, ‘look at that.’
‘Drink up. Plane’s due in soon.’
He didn’t even hear me. He was off in some warm, soft place where dreams came true. The woman sat at a table and the barman sprang into action with nuts and coasters at the ready. The woman smiled up at him, ordered and reached into her leather shoulder bag. The barman returned to his work station and the woman took out a mobile phone. She seemed to have trouble with it and Hindle slid from his seat.
‘Little lady needs an expert’s touch,’ he said.
It was hard to believe that he’d get anywhere with her, but I knew that confidence in a male was a powerful two-way aphrodisiac, and Hindle was almost secreting it. I watched as he walked across to the woman’s table, gut in, glass held casually. She looked nervously up at him, technologically challenged, hitching a ride on the communications highway. I heard her tinkling laugh and his throaty buzz. I had to look away. He put his glass down on her table, sat and took the mobile phone from her. She drained her glass and Hindle signalled to the barman. I drank too, feeling slightly sick, a little dirty. I wondered why I was here, instead of in my car, driving off somewhere to serve a summons, or keeping an eye on a warehouse with faulty wiring and a big insurance cover with Glen likely to call soon and propose dinner or a movie or both…
Suddenly, Hindle was up and moving towards the door with the woman. I cursed myself for my inattention and stood up to find the barman almost hovering over me.
‘Will you be settling the bill, sir?’
Hit the slowest mover, the daydreamer. Fair enough. ‘Yeah,’ I said. I pulled a ten-dollar note from my pocket and dropped it on the table. Hindle and the woman had moved to the door and I had the odd illusion that they were dancing.
‘Fourteen dollars eighty-five, sir?’
‘What?’
‘The bill is fourteen dollars eighty-five.’
I threw down a five and headed towards the door, glancing at the monitor as I went-still a couple of minutes to go. Hindle and his companion were twenty metres away, moving towards a telephone. I relaxed and hung back. I had twelve hundred dollars at stake and didn’t want to jeopardise it. This beauty was at least an adult and if she wanted to take on a beast it had nothing to do with me. I checked my watch again and that’s when I saw two men block my view of Hindle and his companion. I took a quick step forward, then I felt a sharp sting beside my spine and a voice spoke softly, very close to my ear.
‘You will move as I direct you. Slowly and calmly, or you are a dead man.’
I believed him. An expert with the right instrument can paralyse or kill you in a split second with scarcely a drop of blood. I don’t know much about anatomy, but whatever was sticking into me felt to be in a vital place. I moved as requested, very slowly. The man was slightly behind me so that I couldn’t see his face without turning, and turning was something I wasn’t going to do. Smaller than me, smelling of tobacco, a soft stepper.
‘What’s happening?’ I said.
‘Don’t speak please!’
Up ahead I could see that Hindle had two escorts, steering him in much the same way I was being steered. The woman was nowhere in sight. Idiot, I thought. A decoy. Hindle went for it 100 per cent and you didn‘t do much better. We went out of the terminal and the procession continued across the road and into the car park. I felt the sweat run down my neck and I was so sensitised to the tiny pinpoint of pain in my back that I was sure it was still there, even though it probably wasn’t. My gliding escort couldn’t have a hand that steady. But by the time I’d
