How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery (31 page)

‘An educated guess. It’s impossible to get a cab on New Year’s Eve, she’ll be jetlagged and won’t drink much; and if she wants to go home early, she’s got the car right there. That’s what I’d do if I were her.’

‘And what’s your role in this?’

‘I’ll be at the ball, keeping an eye on her and making sure she doesn’t disappear before the job’s done. It’ll probably take Bomber a while – he’ll have to hang around until the traffic in the car park dies down.’

Frank motioned to a waiter to bring more drinks. ‘So you’re going to be fart-arsing around in a penguin suit drinking Moet and hobnobbing with the rich and famous while Bomber is breaking into Lucy’s car and risking life and limb in the process. Seems to me an unfair division of labour.’

‘What’s your idea, then?’ said Reuben, heart sinking because he knew already.

Frank pointed a stubby finger at him. ‘You follow the bitch into the city, suss out where she parks her car and give Bomber the lowdown. Then, Cinderella, you can go to the ball and keep your beady little eye on her for as long as you like.’

The waiter arrived with the drinks – another Scotch for Frank and a mineral water for Reuben, as he had to drive home. Hopefully, very soon. Frank gave the waiter a twenty-dollar note and waved away the change.

‘It’s a good plan,’ Reuben said, ‘but there’s one small flaw. My wife is going to be very suspicious if I have to go off somewhere without her on New Year’s Eve. Not to mention pissed off because we’ll arrive at the ball late. Come on, Frank, you know how women are. Can’t Bomber tail her?’

Frank narrowed his eyes.

‘You seem to have forgotten, Littledick,’ he said, his voice menacing, ‘that I’m running this show. And I don’t give a rat’s arse that you can’t keep your missus under control. Bomber can’t do the tailing, he’s got enough on his hands. Do you have any idea what’s involved in his line of work? It’s a specialist’s job, he has to prepare beforehand, limber up.’

‘Like a ballet dancer?’

‘Exactly. And I think you’re forgetting the other reason you should do what you’re told. Five-foot-six, big tits, legs right up to her bum.’

Anyone else might have thought Frank was referring to the voluptuous Mrs Santa trotting past at that moment, bursting out of a red fur-trimmed bra and mini-skirt. He looked at his watch. ‘Much as I’d love to sit here shooting the breeze with you, I have a business meeting.’

He produced a mobile phone and handed it to Reuben. ‘Call me on the 29th. And for your sake, it had better be all systems go.’

Reuben was halfway to the exit when he called, ‘Hey, Littledick!’

He stopped and turned. All eyes were upon him. Someone sniggered.

‘Merry Christmas!’

Frank raised his glass in a toast, grinning. Mrs Santa had now taken Reuben’s seat, cosying up to Frank, and she smiled and waved. Business meeting? She looked as if she meant business. Reuben deigned to reply and walked out. Operation Luce End, Mark Three was now in motion and he had two weeks to come up with a plan to subvert it.

***

The doorbell rang just as he and Carlene were tucking into the pizza he’d bought on his way home from The Lido.

‘It’s probably Jo,’ Carlene said, getting up from the couch. ‘She said they might call in on their way to their Christmas party.’

Jo and Wayne seemed to have an in-built radar for the most inconvenient visiting times. Reuben imagined them with a huge satellite telescope set up on their top balcony, reading signals from his and Carlene’s home ten kilometres away. ‘Quick,’ Wayne would shout, rubbing his hands together gleefully, ‘they’re having dinner (or an argument, or a nookie). Let’s go! And don’t forget the kids because they’ve got runny noses and the whinges!’

Reuben braced himself for the onslaught. A familiar voice floated through the front door. ‘Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, young lady! Have you been a good girl?’

Thommo stepped inside. He was wearing a Santa hat and clutching two bottles of wine. His cheeks shone and he looked like a Santa who’d had one too many rum toddies.

‘I hope for Reuben’s sake you’ve been very naughty,’ he said, and enveloped Carlene in a bear hug, the wine bottles clanking together behind her.

‘Finn! What a nice surprise!’ Carlene said, disentangling herself.

Reuben jumped up and wrestled the wine bottles from Thommo’s grasp. ‘Yes, what a surprise! Considering we were only having drinks together an hour ago.’

A Christmas drink with Finn had been his excuse for his meeting with Frank. Thommo looked at him. ‘Oh ... yeah. Well, I just decided I couldn’t go back home without bringing you and your beautiful wife a Christmas present.’

‘That’s so sweet of you,’ Carlene said. ‘Would you like to stay and have some pizza?’

Reuben opened his mouth. ‘I’d love to,’ Thommo said quickly. ‘Have you got Bacon ‘n’ Egg? That’s my favourite.’

‘No, we haven’t,’ Reuben said. ‘I thought you said you had to go home and pack for your early flight tomorrow.’

‘I got the times mixed up,’ Thommo said. “I don’t leave till later.’

He held up the bottles of wine. ‘Crack one open and we’ll have a Chrissy drink.’

Reuben looked at the labels. Cleanskin chardonnay and bargain basement red. He took them into the kitchen and pulled out some wineglasses from the cupboard. Thommo followed him in. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do, mate,’ he said in Reuben’s ear.

‘What?’

‘Gone down the wrong path? Turning over a new leaf? I’ve got a right to know if you’ve involved me in some underhand activities.’

‘Keep your voice down. And for fuck’s sake, remember you’re supposed to be depressed.’

‘I won’t have to pretend if you don’t tell me...’

‘What are you two whispering about?’ Carlene appeared in the kitchen.

‘Rubie can’t decide which bottle to open,’ Thommo said. ‘I’m helping him make up his mind.’

Carlene rolled her eyes. ‘You men! Open them both if you want.’

Thommo beamed at her. ‘A woman after my own heart.’

Reuben uncorked the bottle of red, poured three glasses and they polished off the rest of the pizza. Carlene watched Thommo as he stuffed the last piece in his mouth and licked his fingers.

‘It’s good to see all your problems haven’t affected your appetite,’ she said.

Thommo stopped mid-lick and assumed a hangdog expression. ‘But they have – I used to eat twice as much.’

He launched into a detailed account of his sessions with a psychotherapist called Carol who had a crisp British accent and wore tight sweaters and black stockings. Carlene interjected with the occasional helpful suggestion, (start a journal to express your emotions, exercise to get the endorphins going, a life coach to help define his goals) which Thommo duly acknowledged with a thoughtful nod before resuming his monologue. After what seemed an interminable period of time and two more glasses of wine, Carlene’s eyes began to glaze.

‘It’s been lovely seeing you, Finn,’ she said, stifling a yawn, ‘but I hope you don’t think it rude of me if I go to bed.’

‘Not at all,’ Thommo said. He jumped up and gave her another hearty hug. ‘Have a great Christmas. And look after Rubie – make sure he doesn’t get too drunk.’

‘I’ve been telling you for the last twenty-five years not to call me Rubie,’ Reuben said. ‘You’d think you’d get it into your fat skull by now.’

‘Sorry, it just slips out.’

Thommo waited a couple of minutes after Carlene left then peered down the corridor. ‘I thought she’d never go, I was running out of stories.’

He sat down on the couch again, arms folded across his chest. ‘It’s your turn now; spill the beans. Think of me as your therapist, your Carol.’

‘Too much of a stretch, you don’t have the legs. Is she real?’

‘Of course not. What do you think I am? Crazy?’

It was obvious Thommo wasn’t going home until Reuben had told him what he wanted to know. And he supposed he owed Thommo an explanation. Reuben inclined his head in the direction of the patio – he wanted to make doubly sure Carlene wouldn’t overhear them. They took their glasses and the second bottle of wine outside, and settled at the table.

The night was warm and sticky, the air filled with the pungent odour of over-ripe bush mangoes from the tree next door. A dog yapped and a car roared up the street. Shrill voices and bicycle bells pierced the night, children enjoying the freedom of the summer holidays under cover of darkness.

Reuben gave him the abridged version of his life so far. Thommo sat up in his chair and stared at him.

‘Geez, I remember reading about you in the paper when you went to jail. They called you ‘Blackheart’ because you targeted all the people with black money.’

‘Typical media hype.’

‘But then you sucked in some poor guy who had a terminal illness.’

‘My partner did that without my knowledge. I would never have condoned it. Anyway, Derek didn’t know about his illness until it was too late.’

He could see Ivan Kominsky as clearly as yesterday – only fifty-four, sunken eyes in a face that was literally falling away, ravaged by his wife’s recent death and his diagnosis of cancer. His money was legitimate, earned through shrewd property investment since he’d emigrated from Russia in the 1970s. Derek had been introduced to Ivan, and unable to resist the opportunity, signed him up for their Deluxe Investment Plan and persuaded him to hand over his life savings.

After Reuben and Derek were charged, the news broke that Ivan had been diagnosed with cancer and was forced to borrow money from his son for his cancer treatment. Reuben confronted Derek and they almost came to blows – it took every inch of willpower he possessed not to knock his block off.

He tried to push it out of his mind by telling himself it was Derek’s fault, not his. But it still haunted him. Over the ensuing months of the court hearings, he often woke up in the middle of the night, sitting bolt upright, sweating, his heart pounding. Two months into his jail sentence he found out Ivan had died.

‘Whatever,’ Thommo said. ‘Anyway, you can’t change the past. So you’re on the straight and narrow now?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘So that’s why you paid me three hundred dollars to help you prevent a crime, and a carton of beer for my rent-a-friend, slash alibi service.’

Reuben craned his head around to look through the glass doors into the living room. No sign of Carlene. Hopefully she was in bed asleep.

He poured himself another glass of wine. ‘Okay, maybe the straight and narrow has a bit of a bend in it.’

He may as well tell Thommo everything – someone else should know what was happening in case he, Reuben, didn’t make it alive out of Operation Luce End. At least someone would know the truth, and Frank and Bomber would get their just desserts. Not that it would matter to Reuben if he were dead.

‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘A crim called Frank Cornell has a plan to bump my parole officer off. He asked me to help him but I refused. Then he blackmailed me, threatening to kill Carlene if I didn’t help him. And he also threatened to kill me if I told the cops; reckons he’s got friends in the police force and he’d know if I told them. So I didn’t have a lot of choice.’

Thommo gaped at him. ‘Holy fuck! You’re going to kill your parole officer?’

‘Of course I’m not. I’ll get the police involved before the bomb goes off.’

‘Bomb?’

Thommo looked at him in horror. Reuben recounted the full story, up to and including the New Year’s Eve plan. Thommo shook his head.

‘Man, this sounds like something out of a movie. When exactly are you going to call the police?’

‘Bomber will message me once the bomb’s planted, and then I’ll call them.’

The plan had been fermenting in the back of his mind and it wasn’t until he said the words out loud that he realised he’d made the decision. It wasn’t the brilliant idea he’d hoped would occur to him, but he was running out of time. It wasn’t that his ingenuity had deserted him, he argued to himself, this was one of those rare situations to which there was no brilliant solution. Just a flimsy plan that relied on timing and circumstances being in alignment. Like the planets.

‘But what if they think it’s a hoax? Or they’re too busy to respond? Don’t forget on New Year’s Eve they’ll be out all over the countryside.’

‘They should be able to respond pretty quickly then. The streets will be crawling with them.’

Thommo shook his head. ‘There’s a gaping hole in your plan. Wouldn’t it be better to give the police some prior warning so they can stake out the car park and arrest Bomber in the act?’

‘I can’t take the chance that Frank won’t find out I’ve told them - even if I do it the day before. It could be bullshit that he’s got friends in the police force, but plenty of crims do and I don’t want to call his bluff. And once he knows the police are onto him, he could do a runner and come after me as well. Whereas if I don’t call the police until the last minute, hopefully they can catch Frank unawares and arrest him.’

‘You’re still leaving a hell of a lot to chance,’ Thommo said. ‘If it was me, I’d be calling the police now.’

‘That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one whose life is threatened. And it’s not only my life, it’s Carlene’s as well.’ He sighed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Look, even if I told the police now, I couldn’t trust them not to fuck it up. When they arrested me for this last stint, they went to my mother’s old house. Not only was she dead but I hadn’t lived there since I was eighteen. When they finally turned up on my doorstep, I was waiting for them with a glass of champagne and my bag packed.’

He looked hard at Thommo. ‘Promise me you won’t call the police. Let me do this my way.’

Thommo shrugged. ‘Okay, I promise. It’s your funeral.’

‘Sorry,’ he said hastily, ‘I didn’t mean that literally.’

‘So that’s the reason I had to invent Finn,’ Reuben said. ‘Not because I’ve been playing around with other women.’

‘I’m glad,’ Thommo said. ‘I thought that was pretty low of you, to tell you the truth.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘If the worst happens and Frank kills you, am I still Finn?’

CHAPTER 26

‘Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell rock.’

Reuben stood in the corner in his dinner suit, listening to the six-piece band pumping out the irritatingly catchy tune. Pushing its way through the crowd towards him was a huge gift-wrapped box. Lucy’s head and bare shoulders protruded above it and her bare legs poked out from underneath. She was carrying the present and as she came closer it appeared that behind it she was wearing nothing at all. She smiled and held the present out towards Reuben. Tingling with anticipation he reached out to take it, but it vanished before him.