She gave Tommy a kiss on the cheek and went down the path to the gate. Kooti shrugged as he watched Tommy pick up his tool and go back to work.
'Looks like she's running the show.'
'Yeah,' I said. 'Give us her number. I've still got yours.'
Kooti took a pen from his jacket pocket and scribbled a number on the back of a credit card receipt. 'I like the way the kid's shaping up.'
I took the slip. 'I just might need your help, Steve.'
'Call me,' he said.
Ian Sangster's nurse arrived, a no-nonsense middle-aged woman who was evidently used to Ian's individualistic style of medicine. She examined Billie, who was sleepy but responsive, put a catheter in her arm, gave her a shot and left a vial of the medication and some pills with Sharon.
'She's not too bad,' the nurse said. 'Give her those later today and the injection tomorrow morning. Here's how you do it.'
She gave Sharon clear instructions and left. The number of people who knew about our bolt-hole was mounting, but it still felt safe. It was late morning and Sharon went off to get us some lunch. Tommy finally knocked off and drank about half a litre of water. He gestured over his shoulder at the house.
'How is she?'
'Not bad. I'm hoping to have everything settled by around this time tomorrow.'
'Yeah? How?'
'I'm still working on it.'
Sharon came back with a swag of flat bread, Greek salad and dips, fruit and orange juice. We sat around a table on the back porch in the shade. Tommy hoed in, but neither Sharon nor I had much appetite. Tommy went to his room for a nap as Sharon tidied away the food.
'Hey, don't put it away. I'm as hungry as a horse.'
Billie stepped onto the porch, grabbing the doorjamb for support. The stained nightdress barely reached her knees and it had slipped off her shoulder, leaving one breast nearly bare.
'Billie, you shouldn't be up,' Sharon said.
'Fuck that. I'm feeling better. That juice the old cow put into me hit the spot.'
She took a few hesitant steps and slumped down into the chair Tommy had vacated. She tore off a few pieces of bread and used them to ferry some salad to her mouth in the approved fashion, Another couple of chunks went into the humous and eggplant dip and she chewed with enthusiasm. There was more colour in her face than I'd seen so far and her hands were steady.
'Stop looking at me like that, you,' she snapped. 'I'm okay.'
'You've had pneumonia,' I said. 'If you're not careful you could get very sick.'
The clinical word seemed to pull her up for a moment, but she waved it away and reached for the orange juice. 'Anything to give this a boost? Where's that brandy from last night?'
'We drank it,' Sharon said.
'Fuck you. Hey, lighten up, you guys. I'm going to be fine. I'm a fast healer, right, sis? Remember when I had that… well, never mind.'
'Clap,' Sharon said. 'At the clinic they said they'd never seen anyone get clear of it so fast.'
'That's me. Now let's talk about what's going to happen next. Where's the cute kid, by the way?'
I said, 'He's having a rest. Been working since first light. What's going to happen is that we're trying to keep you clear of Jonas Clement and Barclay Greaves, who both want you talking, then dead.'
Billie swigged orange juice from the container and didn't turn a hair. 'Clement I know, sort of; don't know the other one, but I've dealt with pricks like them before.'
Sharon snatched the drink bottle away. 'Didn't you hear what was said last night? That guy was going to torture you.'
Billie shrugged. 'Didn't happen. I don't worry about shit that doesn't happen.'
'You're impossible.'
Billie lifted a shoulder and the top of the nightdress slid further, exposing a firm breast with a large brown nipple. 'No, I'm very possible. What's Mr Resourceful here going to do next?'
Sharon slammed her fist on the table and walked away.
'Hey, bring back the fucking juice.'
When Sharon didn't respond, Billie turned her attention to me. She cupped her hand around the bare breast and teased the nipple with her fingers. 'Well?'
'Very nice,' I said. 'I bet when you were stripping you could swing the two tassels either way together, or one to the left and the other to the right.'
She laughed. 'You bet I could, while doing the fuckin' splits.'
'Bit past it now though, aren't you?'
Her eyes were dark recesses surrounded by lines, and the skin on her hands was slightly wrinkled, puckered around her wrists. For all her emaciation there was an underlying flabbiness about her, the result of years of abuse, and she seemed to be aware of it all at once. The animation left her face and she sagged in the chair. She hitched up the nightdress.
'You're an arsehole.'
'An arsehole who might stop you getting killed.'
'Yeah, well, I'm all for that as long as I get a go at the thirty grand.'
'Twenty.'
She grinned and tried to recover some of the bravado, but her bedraggled appearance and sour breath let her down. 'We might try to up the ante.'
'Don't even think it. They're out of your league.'
'How about yours?'
'We'll see. Go back to bed, Billie. You're tired.'
She went and passed Sharon on the way. They didn't speak.
Sharon picked at the crumbs on the table. 'She drives me mad, always did. Why d'you think she was so desperate about not seeing the police? I mean, with a lawyer and everything they couldn't do too much to her. She doesn't seem to be having withdrawal problems.'
'I don't know, but I agree she was desperate about it. As for the withdrawal, she's still got a fever and she's still got alcohol and Valium in her system. It might hit her yet.'
'God help everyone if it does. Now, I heard what you said to Tommy and his uncle about getting things sorted out. Sounds as if you've got a plan.'
'It's sketchy.'
'Are you going to tell me what it is?'
'Better you don't know. For your own good.'
She stared out at the work-in-progress yard and made an exasperated grunt. 'Men are always telling women what's for their own good, instead of letting them decide for themselves.'
'I suppose that's true. In this case…'
'When's it going to change?'
I got up, reaching for my notebook which is never far from hand. 'When you rule the world,' I said.
'Roll on the day.'
She wandered out into the back yard, picked up a rake and started to tidy up some of Tommy's rougher spots. I checked the numbers and dialled the radio station owned and performed on by Jonas Clement. '2BC FM.'
'I have an important message for Mr Jonas Clement.'
'I'll put you through to his secretary.'
When the secretary came on the line I asked to speak to Clement and was told he wasn't available.
'I understand that,' I said. 'I have a very important message for him. You should get this down word for word, okay? Tell him that Cliff Hardy called-he knows the name-and that if he wants to learn something about his son he should meet me tomorrow at eleven fifty am at the coffee shop on the top level of the Queen Victoria Building, Town Hall end. He's to come alone and be strictly prompt. Have you got that?'
