Sharp Edge Read online

  My phone buzzed and I excused myself to check my messages, walking over to the bookshelves by the door. It was Hoshi asking me to call by, but I also noticed a missed call from an unknown number.

  Garth and Jasmine were having a whisper argument, so I took my time and called the number back.

  ‘Eireen Tozzi speaking,’ said the frightfully snobby voice at the other end.

  ‘Eireen? It’s Tara Sharp. Did you call me?’

  ‘Young lady, I think you should visit me immediately,’ came the rather superior command.

  Crap. Eireen was Nick Tozzi’s pocket-sized, nail-polish lacquered, upswept-bee-hived mother—the only person in the world who truly TRULY terrified me. ‘Me?’

  ‘Shall we say this afternoon at three? I’ll have the girl put the Doulton out.’ She promptly hung up.

  I stared, mouth open, at my phone and my stomach twisted into a bread plait. A summons from Dowager Tozzi. That could not be good.

  Before I could sink into fearful imaginings, my phone lit up with another unwelcome number; Bon Ames, man-mountain-range, and scary biker.

  I answered, thinking how strange my world was that even speaking to a badass bikie seemed infinitely more preferable to a tiny, eighty-year-old Euccy Grove widow.

  ‘Bon? This is unexpected,’ I said.

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Umm … in a café in Claremont. Why?’

  ‘Come out to the clubhouse. I’ll text through the address.’

  ‘Your clubhouse?’

  ‘Call me when you’re outside. I’ll let you in.’

  ‘But I have plans today.’

  ‘Cancel them.’ His tone was gruffer than I’ve ever heard it and for the second time this morning someone hung up on me. Jeez. This couldn’t be good either.

  Garth and Jasmine had their heads together still. I stalked over to them. ‘I have to go. Something’s come up. Nice to meet you Jasmine.’

  ‘Tar—’ Garth began, but I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I had to deal with whatever Bon Ames and the Western Cheaters wanted and get back in time to see Eireen Tozzi.

  Garth and Jasmine’s woes had just faded to white.

  7

  Mona and I hadn’t had a decent spin out to the ’burbs in a while, and it was good to be on the road. The traffic on Great Eastern Highway was light and I got a quick run out Midland way.

  My car, my stereo, fresh air blasting in the open window: who needs a convertible when you’ve got a 70s Monaro with wind-down windows?

  Mona had survived her orange and black spray-paint incarnation, courtesy of a cheap job by a guy called Bog, and was now back to a more original metallic brown thanks to the pay cheque from my last job. I felt a tad more anonymous these days which was definitely a plus.

  I should have used the drive time to contemplate the Tozzi/Ed thing but my mind refused to go there. Instead, I turned up the radio and let some indie rock freestyle me towards my destination.

  It was all over too quickly though and pretty soon I was turning off the main highway and nosing through the streets of West Midland.

  I wasn’t sure what I expected, but my half-formed idea of the Western Cheaters clubhouse was blown to buggery. There should have been something grubby about it. Or at least a skull and crossbones ahoy on the flagpole.

  I mean, it was a fortress all right, spread across three normal size housing blocks, surrounded by a high limestone wall that was impregnated in places by wrought iron railing. A palm tree or two swayed above the tops of the buildings and other than that all I could see were security cameras on every pillar, and a concrete sliding gate wide enough to fit a semi-trailer through. It looked like a modern mansion hunkering down for a siege.

  I parked Mona a way up the street and walked back to the gate, feeling glad I was wearing joggers, jeans and a t-shirt, not some filmy dress with heels.

  Alongside the wide concrete sliding gate was a narrower entrance with an intercom at shoulder height. It squeaked at me when I pressed the button, and I winked up at the camera angled down from above. After a few moments the narrow gate clicked open and swung inward helped by a giant, many-ringed hand.

  As I stepped through, it clunked shut and I was left standing face to face with the Cheaters Sergeant at Arms.

  I hadn’t seen Bon Ames for a few weeks and in that time he’d shaved his head. The beard though, was longer, more ragged and today he wore a denim cut with his club emblem pressed into it. His baggy jeans were belted low on his thighs leaving space for his ample gut to expand above them. Bon Ames was huge but he wasn’t soft. I imagined anyone driving their fist into that gut would break their fingers.

  ‘Ames,’ I said in acknowledgement.

  ‘Sharp,’ he nodded. ‘This way.’

  We crossed a forecourt where four or five bikes and a light blue tray-back were parked. I caught sight of two large houses a short distance apart, several garages, a swimming pool and a big BBQ area under a rotunda. Whack a golf course alongside and I could have been at the Royal Pines golf resort.

  ‘Doing it tough out here,’ I said casually.

  I got the expected grunt as he pushed open the front door to the bigger of the two houses. The door had WCMC in fancy copper letters riveted to it, and they shone.

  The door made such a heavy clunk as it shut behind me that I had a momentary flash of being locked in here forever. I looked around and took in the two pool tables, long jarrah bar, chairs and couches, a bunch of doors off a corridor, and a stairway. It was like you’d expect of a large Mandurah holiday house but more open plan and stinking of weed and beer.

  There was an older woman in a singlet and tattoos behind the bar and two sallow young bikers drinking from coffee mugs at one of the tables. The guys eyed me suspiciously but the woman didn’t bat an eyelid, wiping the glasses in hypnotic movements as if she was counting each stroke.

  Bon Ames pointed to the stairs. ‘Meeting’s up there?’

  ‘M-meeting?’ I stopped dead in my tracks. ‘What meeting?’

  Bon Ames rounded on me, his eyes slightly shifty. ‘Club’s got a job for you.’

  ‘What?’ I tried not to squeak but failed miserably.

  He breathed slowly in and out like he was being patient. ‘You owe me Sharp. Remember?’

  ‘But … now … right away … I mean we only … I only owed you … like … three weeks ago.’

  His expression became very flat. ‘Shit happens.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to do what you want me to do?’

  The stare stayed absolutely the same but a corner of his mouth kinked in a nasty grin. ‘You’re not that stupid.’

  I suddenly wished I was back in the coffee shop with Garth and Jasmine.

  He pointed. ‘Up.’

  I forced my reluctant limbs to climb the stairs and followed his instructions to turn hard left into a room that was the same size as the one below it but was set up with a boardroom table, a bunch of laptops, a radar detector, a short-wave radio and a bunch of other electronics that I couldn’t immediately identify. It could have been the business hub of any legitimate white-collar operation except for the two-way and the hard-core types lounging about with their feet up on the table.

  Each one of them wore their club insignia either on their t-shirt, their cut, or on belt buckles large enough to use as weapons. They all had face piercings and beards except for the guy who sat at the head of the table. He wore black jeans and an unbuttoned, collared shirt. His only piercing was in his ear and he was clean-shaven with brown hair cut to his shoulders to look messy. He might have been Rob Thomas’s twin. The WCMC tattoo peeping up from under his shirt collar was the only giveaway that he might be something other than a cute muso.

  Maybe he was their business manager?

  ‘This is her,’ said Bon Ames gruffly and that looked to be the extent of my introduction. I wished I’d thought to ring Wal and ask him to come for the ride. Even if they hadn’t let him inside, he would have known I was here. Right now,
no one in the world did. Maybe that heavy, letter-shiny door would stay closed on me forever. Or maybe they’d just bury me in the garden.

  Getta grip! Getta grip! ‘Hi,’ I said.

  No nods to my greeting, just a lot of suspicious stares.

  ‘Siddown,’ said the young clean-shaven one. His voice was cultured but sibilant as if he smoked heavily. I noticed that one of his eyes was brown the other green. Disconcerting and fascinating.

  ‘I’m good,’ I said staying right where I was, wondering if the pepper spray was in my bag.

  He nodded and grinned at the others. It was a cheeky, attractive smile laced with something treacherous. His aura wasn’t quite like any I’d seen either. It was black and gold like a tiger stripe, and bristled out from his body. At the roots though, close to his skin, there was a warm golden glow. There were so many layers to his body energy, I didn’t know which one to read first. Or which one was the prevailing tell. Maybe it changed as he did? All I knew for sure was this dude was one unusual person.

  ‘Ames says you’ll do for us?’ he said quietly.

  I swallowed and nodded, ‘I guess so. Long as I don’t have to kill anyone.’ Did that sound like a joke?

  One of the other bikers laughed and farted wetly. The guy next to him shoved him off his chair and suddenly they were all bagging each other, swearing and rolling around like little boys trying to get attention.

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ said Clean-shaven in a clipped voice.

  As soon as he spoke, Bon Ames pounded his fist on the table hard enough to break the building in half. The rest fell silent and surly again like someone had taken their toys.

  ‘I apologise for my colleagues. We don’t often host women in the boardroom.’ He put both elbows on the table, and pressed his hands together in a steeple. His fingers were tanned, strong and lean. He wore a gold club-insignia thumb ring on one and a black-stoned silver ring on the other.

  I shrugged and decided to go with my usual direct approach. No point in letting these guys think I rated them. ‘What do you want me to do? I’ve got places to be.’

  He smiled and his face became so attractive I almost forgot that he was … whoever he was.

  ‘One of our … associates, has inconveniently drowned. We believe you’ve already met him.’

  A moment of blank and then my eyes widened. ‘The guy on the South Cott beach? You knew him?’

  ‘We had certain business dealings with him and would very much like to know what happened. Because the nature of his demise is sensitive, we’d like you to look into it for us. It wouldn’t do for us to be seen in some of the places that questions need to be asked. Mr Ames thought you might be able to help, and in that way, clear yourself of your debt to him … to us.’ It was a quaintly formal little speech.

  ‘Oh. What kind of places?’

  ‘Your kind of places Ms Sharp.’

  I nodded slowly, assuming he meant the Western Suburbs. ‘And what if I don’t find out anything useful…?’

  ‘Then we’ll renegotiate your favour to us.’

  ‘Fuck aye,’ said one of the beefier guys wearing a sleeveless leather cut.

  Bon Ames gave him a quelling look and Beefie snarled in return. Their auras banged about like two air bags released by a crash. Suddenly I was very anxious to get out of there.

  ‘Fine. Well, I’ll nose around. I’ll need some details of course,’ I said.

  ‘Mr Ames will be your contact. He’ll give you what you need to know.’

  I stepped back. ‘Fine. I’ll be going then.’

  Clean-Shaven got up and strolled around the table to me. He was about my height and now he was standing close, I could see his shoulders were wide in the way of a conditioned boxer and his green eye was the colour of a tropical sea. His aura brushed up against mine like it was a stray tomcat and I was a friendly leg. Mine responded by rubbing back.

  It threw me for a moment. I hadn’t expected to come here and find someone whom my aura fancied.

  A step back.

  He held out his hand. ‘I expect you’d like to know who you’re working with,’ he said softly.

  I reached back and accepted the handshake automatically. ‘Sure. Yes.’

  ‘Jake Stranger, President of the Western Cheaters.’

  The President? Well blow my stereotype out of the water. He looked more like a daytime public servant/night-time jazz muso than a bad-ass biker. ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ll show you out.’ He put his hand on my elbow and gently turned me to head down the stairs.

  I moved quickly to get ahead of him and leave the derisive laughter and suggestive noises that erupted around the table, behind.

  He caught up and kept pace with me. When we reached the fortified door, I waited for him to unlock it. He only partially opened it, so that I had to brush close to him to get out. I hesitated and thought about how best to handle the situation. He was attractive but I didn’t go for male power plays.

  He waited, watching to see what I’d do. Smiling. His aura was smearing itself against mine. His fringe had fallen across his eyes.

  ‘Jacob?’

  The president of the WCMC looked through the open door to the outside. A young woman about my age stood just outside the doorway, waiting to come in. She wore biker chic: jeans, tank top, a studded belt and big hoop earrings. Her hair fell long and liquidly black around her shoulders, partly covering her tattoos.

  She was beautiful—like the girls you saw posing across Harleys in bike magazines. But her expression was sour. I guessed immediately that Jake Stranger was her man, and she was sensitive to him flirting.

  Jake’s aura became hard and prickly as she pushed her way in, elbowing me in the ribs and thrusting her fist into his side. He didn’t flinch at the body punch but his eyes narrowed.

  She turned her stare to me, venom leaking from every pore. ‘Who’s she?’ Her fist came up. ‘I swear to God, Jake if you’re screwing some snotty bitch in here behind my back—’

  Right about there I had enough. I didn’t like being called a bitch or accused of sleeping with a guy I’d known for fifteen minutes, so I took her fist in my much bigger hand and shifted it out of my face. She was smaller than me and slight, despite an enormous pair of fake boobs and a scragger’s attitude.

  ‘I’m here on business and I’m just leaving. Keep your personal shit out of my face.’ With that I gave her my best game-day shove, sending her stumbling backward across the room into the waiting arms of Bon Ames. He folded one enormous tree trunk forearm around her waist and lifted her off the floor. She hung there like a child, kicking.

  Jake, grinning again, held the door open wider.

  I gave him the briefest, haughtiest glance as I stepped through, expecting to see some embarrassment or at least discomfort. To my dismay I read a flicker of admiration.

  My anger turned to disgust. Time to get out of this place and never return.

  As I scooted up the road to my car, I prayed that the police weren’t doing surveillance on the clubhouse. I didn’t need this dubious association tarnishing my already questionable reputation with them.

  I think I was going to miss Fiona Bligh being on the beat. She seemed to be the only thing that stood between me and chaos at times.

  I keyed the car open and got in. Before I could start the engine, the sliding concrete gate of the WCMC opened and a motorbike shot out and along the street to where I sat: Bon Ames in full leathers.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said.

  I had to scramble to get Mona out into the traffic on the highway before I lost him. He headed east along Lloyd Street for about ten minutes then took a right-hand turn and a few more twists until we ended up around the back of the brickworks. His varying pace and route suggested he thought someone might be following us and was taking care to lose them.

  When I pulled up alongside him, he said ‘wait here’ and roared off.

  I chewed my nails for a bit and pondered how long I should give him before I left. It was a deserted, c
reepy part of the world and I didn’t feel right.

  A few minutes shy of me leaving, he returned, pulled over, turned the bike off and got in the passenger side.

  He was sweating and seemed to be heavily preoccupied. I waited for him to speak.

  ‘Thing I like about you Sharp is that you don’t prattle,’ he said finally.

  Like? I blinked. ‘Are you going to tell me why we’re here?’

  ‘Got some word as you were leaving that the club was being watched. I had something to give you that didn’t need prying eyes.’

  ‘Cops?’

  He shrugged. ‘Drug squad.’

  Oh great! Cold sweat washed over my skin.

  ‘Why did you ask me to come there then? We could have met somewhere else.’

  ‘Call it insurance. And Jake wanted to meet you. It’s harder for us to go out in groups these days.’

  ‘The anti-biker laws?’

  He nodded and I wanted to slap my head for being such an idiot. They knew they were being watched and they incriminated me by having me visit. It was another way to keep me in line. Jeez. What was I getting into? ‘What is it?’

  ‘I need you to remember most of this.’

  ‘Uhuh?’

  ‘The dead guy is Bernard Romeo.’

  I knew the name. ‘The real estate guy?’

  ‘We need you to find out where he’d been in his last twenty-four hours. You need to do this before the police do.’

  ‘What’s his connection to the WCMC?’ I asked.

  Bon Ames gave me stony face.

  ‘I guess if I find out what he’s been doing that question will answer itself.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Bon Ames. ‘And if you do, you’d best forget it right away. Shame if you washed up like he did.’

  I became very still. ‘Are you threatening me?’

  Stony face again.

  I thumped the steering wheel. ‘Well that’s pretty fucking crap.’

  ‘You do this for me. I’ll protect you.’

  ‘And then we’re done?’

  ‘Then we’re done.’

  I took a deep, settling breath. ‘I’d better get on with it. The cops are already half a day ahead of me.’