Peter Corris - Heroin Annie

Youre cold, Cliff! Cyn banged her fist on my desk. Thats your bloody trouble, youre cold! She was close to tears the way she always got when we argued. They werent tactical tears, but they were part of the reason that I nearly always lost the arguments.

Im not cold, I said. Im warm-hearted, a loving man. Ill take you out tonight.

I dont want to go out.

Okay, well stay home. Ill cook. The telephone rang. We were in my office where I answer the telephone, open the door and type the letters myself, because theres no-one else to do it.

Hardy Investigations. Warm-hearted Hardy speaking.

Your hearts as warm as Bob Askins. Cut out the bullshit, Cliff, Ive got a job for you. It was Athol Groom, who works in advertising and agenting; he sometimes drinks where I sometimes drink.

Terrific, Athol, I said. Athol deals in people with soft jobs; Cyn calls him a pimp, and she made a face when I said his name. What sort of job?

Come down here and Ill tell you. He gave me his address.

How long do you reckon thisll take?

How the hell do I know? All day, all night, all week. The longer the better as far as youre concerned, isnt it?

Yeah, I guess so. But Ive gone up to seventy-five a day and expenses.

Shit. All right. Just hurry, shell be here soon.

She?

Selina Hope. Hurry.

I put down the phone and stood up; Cyn moved away from me as if we were in a slow ballet.

A job, I said.

Its always a job, what we need is a talk- tonight.

I dont know, love,

A minute ago you were going to cook some slop for me, drink two-thirds of the wine and that.

She was looking very nice that morning, my wife. Nearly as tall as me, she was straight and slim with honey-blonde hair. She must have come directly from the architects office where she worked because she still had draughtsmans ink on her fingers. She saw me looking, and her fine-boned, handsome face went hard.

Cold, she said. Selfish and cold.

I patted her arm, there were no tears which was good. I went out.

Athols pimping shop was in Double Bay on a steep hill. I ran the back wheels of my old Falcon into the kerb and let it sit there in a way which says to the world, this car has a faulty handbrake; but what can you do? Athols decor was dominated by photographs, mirrors and magazines. The pictures were blow-ups of models with impossible cheek bones doing mysterious things amid shadows. The magazines were glossy, and the mirrors are fine if youre a five foot nine clothes horse with the right angles and planes. When youre a thin, six foot, thirtyish man with untidy dark hair and Grace Bros, clothes, theyre not so good. A lacquered, Sassooned brunette pressed a buzzer when I told her who I was, and Athol hurried out.

Athol Groom is one of those men in the fifties who plays squash and eats nothing so as to keep his waist down; he likes a drink though, and that slight thickening wont be denied. He has a glossy moustache, and hair and teeth to match, but hes not a phoney.

Good to see you, Cliff, hows Cyn? I took Athol home once, and after one look at Cyn he tried to persuade her to take up photo modelling. She laughed at him.

All right. Whats going on?

The brunette looked at her appointment book and spoke up crisply. Mr Blake is due any minute, Mr Groom.

Right, right. Come on, Cliff, youre a bodyguard; come and meet the body.

We went down a corridor past more photographs and into Grooms office. A woman was leaning back against the big desk combing her hair. It was worth combing, a great blue-black mane that rippled and flowed under the comb strokes. Its owner had the standard tall, thin, flat body; but with a face to haunt your dreams forever. Her skin was darkish, almost olive; she had jet black eyebrows, dark eyes and a wide, wonderful mouth. Her nose was nothing much, just exactly as straight and thin as it needed to be.

Selina, Athol said, this is Cliff Hardy. Selina Hope, Cliff. We nodded at each other, but I was listening to Grooms voice; this was his handle-with-care, this-side-up voice. I gathered Miss Hope was a hot property.

Weve got a little problem here, Cliff. There seems to be some creep hanging around Selinas flat, following her and such. Was he there this morning, love?

Yes, I think so, I expected an exotic accent of some kind to accompany the face but there was none, just good, clear, educated Australian.

You think, Athol said sharply. Maybe he was thinking about my fee.

Easy, I said. Miss Hopes said the right thing. When someones watching you its a feeling you get more than anything else. Sort of corner of the eye thing. Is that right?

Yes, exactly. Its not often I say just the right thing for a beautiful woman-Im usually considered somewhat blunt-but I did it this time. She smiled at me as if Id won the pools. But there was some relief in that smile too-shed been scared.

Okay, Athol said. Well, we all know about the weirdos in this game. Its probably some freak whos seen Selina in a bra advert and cant sleep. A few strong, silent looks from Cliff and hell give it away. Its a pity the London job fell through though, that wouldve been the best cure. Next best thing is to keep busy. Ive lined Selina up for two jobs today, Cliff, and I want you to stick close, and see her home. Okay?

Sure.

Off you go.

I followed Selina to the back exit; she was wearing a black jumpsuit, caught tight at the ankles and loose pretty well everywhere else. Her walk was a spectacular strut that made the hair bounce on her straight shoulders. We walked across to a bright blue Mercedes sports car and she tossed me a set of keys. I threw them back.

Im a column gears man, I said.

She laughed and unlocked the car; I couldnt find the seat belt, couldnt fasten it and couldnt push the seat back. She helped me with one hand and put in a cassette with the other-we took off to a roaring of guitars and electric piano.

Over the music and traffic noise I asked her about the London job. She told me that shed been booked to be snapped outside the Houses of Parliament with a peer of the realm for a Scotch whisky advertisement, but the peer had died.

Tough luck.

Would have been a good trip. She dipped a shoulder and flicked the Merc around a bend, changed down and surged up a hill.

Have you worked in London before?

London, Paris, New York. There was pride in her voice but no conceit. I decided I liked her.

Have you been getting any other harassment- phone calls, letters?

Not a thing. Just as you said, a glimpse of someone, a feeling..

You dont know what its about?

Not a clue.

I didnt like the sound of it; a good tail, one who just leaves that feeling, is a professional, not a sex-starved creep. Professionals work for money and the people who pay them have reasons. We drove down to Woolloomooloo near the docks; there was a fair bit of traffic and activity and she glanced around nervously as she locked the car.

Do you have the feeling now? I asked.

Not sure.

What are you doing here, an ad for overalls?

She laughed and we walked towards a dinghy-looking warehouse. Youll see

We went up some steps and in through a mouldy door. If the place was a nightmare outside, it was a dream within. The carpet was deep, the walls were white and the lighting was costing someone a fortune. The huge floor area was partitioned off into dressing rooms and elaborate, stylised sets. There were cameras and light fittings everywhere.

Not overalls, I said.

Soft drink, I believe. Come on. She led me through the maze of equipment and props, and we wound up with a photographer named Sam, his assistant and a few cases of soft drink. Sam was a Levantine; squat and heavy with a floral shirt unbuttoned to show his virile chest and stomach. All of it. His offsider was an anorexic blonde who whisked Selina away and took me out of camera range. I asked for a sample and got a bottle of Diet-Slim cola which tasted like rusty water with saccharine added. Selina came out wearing a super-formal dress, and proceeded to drape herself around some Swedish furniture while sipping tall glasses of the beverage. I got bored with this and wandered off in search of a phone. I found one behind a jungly set which was being sprayed with insect repellent by Livingstone and Stanley. I dialled the number of the terrace house in Glebe where Cyn and I practise wedded bliss. She answered in a tone that told she was keeping her head of steam up.