Grand Slam (24 page)

‘Who? Where are you going?'

‘Never mind.' He lifted his hand to touch me, thought better of it.

‘Tell me. You're being all funny.'

‘I'm hilarious.' He smiled.

‘You know what I mean. Where are you going?'

He took a breath. ‘I've lined up a visit with McGann.'

‘But I want to come.'

He huffed a laugh, shook his head. ‘Just stay here, and I'll let you know how I go.'

We didn't speak for a minute, but then I was worried about being photographed. I took a small step back. ‘Okay. You'll call me?'

‘I will.'

‘See ya.'

‘Bye.'

He watched me walk down the steps to my seat. I kept looking over my shoulder, not wanting to lose sight of him. If I could arrange it, I'd walk around everywhere with Jack Jones in my sight, just for the pleasure of looking at him and knowing he was near. John the coach hadn't arrived yet – still with Emilio backstage – but someone else I knew was happily waiting for the match to start, sitting with the friends of Emilio Méndez. It was me. Rather, someone who looked like me, wearing a large sunhat, even though evening was approaching.

‘Charlotte?'

‘Hi.'

‘What are you doing? Is that a wig?'

‘Yes. Your mother told me where she got yours.'

I looked around, checked that I hadn't fallen down a rabbit hole. ‘You don't have to come to the tennis out of hours, you know.'

‘I can help you.'

‘In what way?'

‘You can take a break and Emilio will think I'm you.'

I laughed, assuming she was joking. But those dark sunglasses gazed steadily at me. ‘I don't think so.'

‘You can go and have fun somewhere.'

‘It's fine, Charlotte. I'm happy to stay and watch Emilio.'

‘But —'

‘I'm not leaving just because you want me to, okay?'

Charlotte sat there with a stony expression. She stood suddenly, pushed past me and left.

As I checked the growing crowd, a few people looked quickly away. ‘That was weird,' I muttered to whoever was interested. No-one seemed interested.

Jack sent me a text while I was watching Emilio's match. I'd been keeping a close eye on my phone – trying not to let Emilio notice that my eyes weren't glued to his every move – but the match was so thrilling I didn't check my phone for almost half an hour. It went to five sets, and I was busting for the toilet. And I was tired. It was nearly 11 p.m.

Visit waste of time
, said Jack's text.

What happened?

Wouldn't talk.

Bugger.

Andrew will take you home
.

Emilio won the match, which meant both he and Vavilov were through to the fourth round. I called Jack.

‘Did you ask McGann if his mates are stalking me?'

‘No, I didn't mention you.'

‘Why not?'

‘If it's not him, I don't want to put ideas in his head.'

‘So, how will we know?'

‘I'm working on it.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘Erica, please.'

‘What are you doing now?'

‘Going to bed.'

‘I thought you might want me to come over for a game of chasey.'

‘I'm buggered.'

‘You could have at least thought about it for a second or two.'

I could hear his smile. ‘Soon. I promise.'

‘Okay. Well, goodnight.'

I decided to visit Shane McGann.

When I got home from the tennis, sneaking in so I wouldn't wake Mum, I sat in my room and studied the Northern Star Prison website. Quite apart from all the rules and regulations and visitor procedures, it told me I needed to be on the prisoner's approved list in order to visit. So first thing in the morning, I rang them. It was Sunday, but that didn't seem to matter. They said it could take some time to get the approval, or maybe it would be never – it was up to the prisoner. They needed my full name, date of birth and address before seeking McGann's approval. Every cell in my brain was telling me not to give Shane McGann any information about me, but I reminded myself that it didn't really matter if he knew when I was born (did it?), and he already knew my address, so I probably needed to not panic if I really wanted to see him (did I?). I gave them my details, and they emailed me within the hour to say he'd approved my visit. I rang and asked them if I could have a non-contact visit that afternoon. They said it was up to him if he wanted to see me.

He wanted to see me.

I had no way of getting to the prison unless Andrew took me, and I didn't think there was a bribe or threat invented I could use to get him to do that. The prison was over an hour from Melbourne so I couldn't sneak off and take the train.

Lucy answered on the first ring. ‘Hey, hon.'

‘Are you working?'

‘Nah. Got the whole day off. Steve's taking me to see a movie.'

‘Can you take me to visit Shane McGann in jail? I haven't got a car.'

‘Can't you borrow your dad's? Hold on – why are you visiting that bastard?'

‘Kind of a long story.'

‘If I take you can I come in?'

‘You need advanced permission. But will you take me? Go to the movies tonight instead?'

I called Emilio and told him I had ‘extremely important business'.

‘What is the business?'

‘I'm, um, looking for your amulet.'

‘
Si
? I hope you can find it, Emily.'

I told Mum and Dad I was going to see a movie in Brighton with Lucy, and that she was picking me up, and that I had to meet her in the street behind us because she has bad childhood memories of coming to our street. Mum didn't seem to believe me, nor did she seem to care, rolling her eyes and resuming interest in her magazine.

To avoid Andrew, I hurdled the fence into Mrs Booth's, having peered at the house for ten minutes first to make sure no-one was watching. I snuck up the side and onto the street. Lucy was there in her car. We headed for the Monash Freeway, which would take us onto the Bolte Bridge and ultimately the Western Ring Road.

‘I'll give you petrol money,' I said.

‘You'll notice I'm not asking why you were sneaking around Mrs Booth's house, but I assume it has something to do with the missing thing.'

‘Not this time. I just can't go out the front of Mum's because the bodyguard'll see me and tell Jack.'

‘Okaaaay.'

‘Do you want to know why I've got a bodyguard?'

‘No.'

‘Good. Because you wouldn't like the answer.'

‘All right. So, tell me – why are we visiting Shane . . . God, I feel sick just saying his name.'

‘I know.' And even though I wasn't going to mention the shooting at The Good Guys, I said that I thought McGann was somehow involved in the shooting at The Good Guys.

‘Hold on. That was
you
being shot at yesterday? It was all over the news! Someone shot at Emilio Méndez.'

‘I think someone actually shot at me.'

Lucy slammed her palm on the steering wheel. ‘See? Life in danger. Status quo in Erica Jewell's life since Jack bloody Jones came along.'

‘I know, Luce.' I patted her knee. ‘I know.'

The prison people had told me to be prepared to enter with nothing but the clothes I was wearing (which should not be provocative or advertise my love of outlawed bikie gangs), and prepared also to be searched and sniffed all over by a dog. Bad luck if I'd wanted to bake a cake with a file in it. Or slip him a shovel. Or pass some dynamite through the bars. They also reminded me they couldn't make Shane McGann see me if he didn't want to. (Unlike Jack's visit, which he was probably forced to entertain.)

We arrived an hour earlier than the appointed time and I waited with Lucy for half an hour under one of the few trees in the visitor car park. When I was ready to go, I asked Luce if she'd be all right. She reached into the back seat for her novel and a pair of binoculars.

‘What are the binocs for?'

‘So I can check out the prison guards. Love a man in uniform.'

In the prison I handed over my ID for the hundred-point check against the name they had on their approved visitors list. I stuck my stuff in a locker, asking if I could take some tissues. No, they said. I might need to blow my nose, I told them. They told me to take a seat. After a short while, I was shown the way along a corridor, was buzzed through a solid door by someone who gave me a suspicious look, then sent through an X-ray machine thingy like they have at the airport and I hoped they couldn't see through my clothes. A gloved woman who clearly hated me told me to bend forward, which I did, and she ran her fingers through my hair, catching knots. ‘Ow!' Next I was told to line up with other visitors – unsavoury-looking children with their tattooed mothers – which I did, and a dog stuck its nose in my crotch. I wasn't allowed to move or complain, and the guards watched the dog carefully to see how it reacted to what it found there. Happily, it moved on, seemingly uninterested.

I wondered what Jack had had to go through to visit McGann. The police probably delivered McGann to a special place that suited Jack's purposes. He wouldn't have had to put up with all this business, being treated like a criminal, surely. Even though officially he is a criminal, but they didn't know that. Actually, they probably did.

I was given a number, a door opened and, as a group, we walked single file past a security guard into . . . an open area. An open area with tables and chairs. What? I spun, walked against the crowd back to the security guard, who scowled, stood taller and moved toward me, threatened it seemed by my unruly behaviour. I held up my number.

‘I'm supposed to be in the non-contact area.' The desperation made my voice squeak.

She took my number. ‘Follow me.' We walked across the open area to table number thirteen. ‘Sit here.'

‘But I don't want to be in the same room as him.'

She walked away. A male voice came over the loudspeaker. ‘Table thirteen, sit.'

I sat. Sweat poured from my armpits. I tried to make myself feel better by imagining Jack's horror if he could see me now. Normally I'd find it funny – the thought of the look on his face. It wasn't funny.

Prisoners walked into the room, looked around for their visitors. McGann was at the back – tall, blond, not bad looking apart from his beady eyes and the fact that he's a scumbag. Last time I saw him was in the courtroom. Before that, it was when he'd stood over me with a gun in one hand while the other pulled the belt from his jeans. McGann smirked when he saw me. I glanced at the security guards who were armed and hovering, but not looking like they expected a rape. Or murder.

McGann stood before me. I stared at his knees.

‘You're in my seat.'

‘What?' I looked up.

‘The blue one. It's mine.'

I stood. Yes, one blue seat, three white. I moved to the opposite side of the table, as far from him as I could get and still be where I was meant to be. I stared at my lap.

‘I'll talk to you if you look at me.'

I looked up. And down again. My hands gripped each other to stop the shaking. Damn you, traitorous hands!

McGann leaned in. I could sense it rather than see it because my vision was now blurred.

‘What do you want?'

‘To ask . . .' My voice quavered and I cleared my throat. ‘To ask if you have any further plans for me.'

He laughed softly. ‘The mind boggles. Oh, yes, the plans.' In my peripheral vision, I saw him rub his hands over his face. ‘I don't think your new boyfriend would like it though, do you?'

Don't say anything to encourage him. Just stick with the facts. I looked at him. ‘Someone tried to kill me.'

‘You?' He smiled. ‘Or Méndez?'

‘You're trying to kill Emilio?' My shaking stopped. I was now far more interested in the conversation than the fear for my life and horrible memories of being near him. Shane McGann was having fun. I checked the security guards. There was one close, and they all looked pretty alert.

‘You think I organised the shooting yesterday? And the train incident?' He was leaning right in, elbows on the table. ‘What about the heist at your lunch. You think that was me?'

I tilted back as far as I could on the cold, fixed chair. I supposed if he knew about Emilio and me, he would know about those things too. I imagined he had a television.

‘And someone tried to run me over.'

There it was. Genuine surprise. Just a flash of it.

‘Run you over?' He laughed out loud. ‘Yeah, sure, why not?'

I stood.

‘Don't leave.'

I walked away.

He called after me, ‘Come again,
Emilita
.'

I kept walking, didn't look back. I pushed the buzzer and waited to be released from prison. And made a deal with myself that I would never come here again, and I would never again lay eyes on Shane McGann, as long as I lived. I didn't believe McGann was responsible for the threats against Emilio's and/or my life, but he knew something. He knew that Emilio sometimes called me Emilita, which means someone told him that. Who? Who would have been in touch with Shane McGann who knew that? The same person who had access to Jack's guns? His good friend, Sharon? Or his father, who was possibly bonking Teresa? I didn't know, but was pretty sure I'd be finding out soon enough.