club was delving into their mummy-issues with her. She's been watching our activities for some time, and could really have hurt us very much. Fortunately, Jamaal,' he blew more smoke, 'I've taken care of that problem.'
Jamaal just stared at his boss. How did this guy get away with everything? Still, he thought, this was good news for both of them. He realised that his stomach didn't hurt so much any more. And there was more to come.
'Tonight, my friend, will be a celebration in more ways than one,' Sebastian continued. 'Although this bitch is dead, she has attracted more attention to us than is desirable. I've decided to sell this house and change the way we conduct our business. I'd like to be more… virtual about the way we do things from now on. I've determined that we shall expand our internet interests, and disband our little club. We can conduct such a business from anywhere on the planet, Jamaal, and frankly, I'm growing tired of Sydney at the present time. In short, my friend, what say you to a bit of a holiday, an extended overseas vacation?'
Jamaal just smiled. Praise Allah. Fuck my brother-in-law and my fat, lazy wife. He knew he was smart for staying loyal to Sebastian. Rewards come to those who wait, he reminded himself.
'That is good news, boss,' Jamaal said. 'I would like that very much. For now, though, I should go down to the shed. Make sure everything's tidy down there.' He wanted a look. They both knew it, and each understood the compulsion well.
'Thank you, Jamaal. I'd appreciate it very much, you know. Don't be too long, though. When you get back here we'll see the evening off with a bang.' He cleared his throat and smiled jovially. 'So to speak.' Jill crouched behind the rocky outcrop upon which she'd stood to peer into the boatshed, her back to the water, her face to the house. She'd sent the white-eyed girl packing with a sharp mental shake. This is no time for nightmares, she told herself.
A glance at her watch told her that Scotty should be arriving soon. He and the others would approach the house from the street; go in through the front doors with the warrant. For the fortieth time she wished she'd had the good sense to bring her radio or phone from the car. She knew what she'd rather have, however; and she adjusted the heavy weight of her gun in her pocket.
She figured she'd wait down here until she saw the cops' lights, and then make her way back up towards the house. She hoped Sebastian or Jamaal would run down this way, trying to escape the police at the front door. She'd be ready.
Jill alternately stretched her thighs. While she waited for Scotty, she listened to Sydney Harbour breathing behind her back.
She pretended the white-eyed girl was not crouched on the sand beside her. Jamaal left the house through the French doors in Sebastian's office in time to see the sensor lights at the opposite side of the building click off. He frowned. Who's out here? he wondered. The guests knew they weren't to go out the back of the building. Sebastian's nearest neighbours were Ethel and Beatrice Graham, a pair of spinster sisters who made it their mission in life to gossip about their neighbours with other neighbours. They would also call the police the moment a gathering became more audible than the gulls and the boats. The guests knew that within the house they were welcome to indulge in whatever took their fancy, but were not to venture outside unaccompanied. Even so, during past gatherings, Jamaal had several times had to usher the shy or the secretive out of the backyard and back into the ballroom.
He decided to go around the front of the house first, to ensure they had no uninvited guests. The front lawns stood darkly serene. The night slept quietly. He made his way around the other side of the house, avoiding the sensors for the spotlights he'd installed. Nothing around here. He inched to the rear of the home, moving through darkness, pressed against the walls. The light spilling from the ballroom windows splashed upon empty sandstone pavers and garden furniture. Anyone who might have been out here was not any longer.
From this vantage point, for at least a hundred years, the lights of Sydney Harbour had failed to bewitch very few. Jamaal didn't even notice them. Instead, he peered greedily at the boatshed, excitement mushrooming in his stomach and below it. He'd be alone with the body. Where did Sebastian shoot her? Did her face register surprise, the interfering fucking bitch? He moved from the shadows, needing to hurry now to the shed.
A light shone in the boatshed.
The shadow next to the shed did not belong. Jamaal fell back into the darkness.
Fuck.
His heart hammering against his ribs, Jamaal waited and thought quickly. Sebastian had said he had killed her in the boatshed. He knew his boss would never leave a body outside, not tonight. Someone else was there.
Cops? He thought about running, but figured that if it were the police, they'd have grabbed him already by now. They'd have staked out back and front.
Someone else must have discovered what was in the boatshed. Tonight Jamaal had been shown a chance at a new life, something he'd been working towards for a very long time. This intruder could not be allowed to leave the grounds.
He backtracked towards the front of the house, always in shadow. When he could no longer see the shed, he crept across the lawn and through the shrubbery that bordered the property. The Graham sisters next door were from an era when high fences were considered terribly gauche; fences prevented neighbours passing roses and teacakes across hedges to one another. Fences also ruined the parkland look of a neighbour-hood, they argued. Jamaal had long tried to convince Sebastian to erect a high wall between them and the old bats, but he was now pleased to have lost this battle, as he stepped over a creeping gardenia bush and onto the Grahams' property.
He knew that Beatrice would have been in bed with a gin bottle hours ago, but Ethel was a light sleeper. It was his job to know such things. So he stole slowly down towards the water's edge, the thick carpet of lawn and leaves muffling his footfalls. He was now more aroused than anxious – he liked to hunt. Besides, tonight had turned to his favour. Even his serendipitous choice of clothing, black on black, was a sign that he was meant to be victorious.
When the grass gave way to soft sand, Jamaal slowed. To his left sat the boatshed. He could hear nothing but the soft harbour waves and the hulls of the luxury boats gently slapping the water. He knew his footsteps made less sound than these noises. He moved around the shed. Jerome could not believe they would do this to him.
He was wearing slacks, for God's sake. And a belt! Shiny shoes. Oh my God, he thought, if Nathan ever saw me dressed like this… Nathan. Jerome sighed, and put his head in his hands. He sat on the edge of the bath in the bathroom off the basement. He felt really tired. And hungry.
The door opened and Tadpole walked in. Jerome cringed under his gaze.
'Oh, come on, Jerome. You don't look that bad!' Tadpole gave him a half-smile. 'I guess you've never worn anything like that before.'
A tear slid down Jerome's cheek.
'Look, I know you're hungry,' he said kindly. 'Mr Sebastian has just called down. It's time to go up to the party. You should see what they've got to eat up there. Chicken, chips, pies, everything. I could sneak you some beer. Let's go eat!'
'Couldn't you just bring me some food down here?'
'Jerome, everyone wants to meet you. It's time to go up.'
'I'm not going anywhere dressed like this. Let me put my other stuff back on.'
Tadpole sighed, and sat next to Jerome on the bath. A little too close. Jerome scrooched away a bit.
'Jerome, I'm gonna tell you like this. You get to go upstairs with me now, dressed like that, or Jamaal's going to come down here and make you come up.' He gave him a compassionate look. 'I'm not going to bullshit you, Jerome. Even I'm scared of Jamaal. I know you are, and you should be. I'm telling you as a friend – let's get out of here before he comes back.'
Jerome studiously avoided the mirror as he left the bathroom. At least there would be other people at a party. Maybe he could find a way to tell one of them he needed help. He'd already thought about writing a message on a paper napkin and passing it to an adult. He knew he had to be safer around a big group of adults than he was down here. Someone at the party would help him.
He followed Tadpole to the door. You see, that's another sign.
Walking carefully through the sand, Jamaal had kicked against a rocky outcropping at the base of the boatshed. Of course! He needed a weapon – a rock would do nicely. He bent and felt around in the sand. There
