Monkey Business (11 page)

‘Yip.'

‘And you work here?' Phil Collins was wearing navy blue shorts and shirt with a lot of black muck on them. He didn't look like a tourist.

‘Yip. On the barge.' He pointed over his shoulder, and I looked, expecting to see a barge tied up outside, but there wasn't one.

‘Are you the driver?' That might be the wrong word, I thought. What's the driver of a boat called? Skipper?

‘Mechanic.'

‘Ah.' I checked his fingernails. ‘And what do you do when you're not on the barge and when you're not here in the bar?'

He hesitated and his right eye inspected me for a long moment, like he thought I might be making a joke but he wasn't sure why it was funny. ‘Gard'nin',' he mumbled. ‘Love me gard'nin'.'

‘I love the gardens here. I love frangipanis.'

‘Yeah.'

There was a very long time where nothing was said, and I thought that was the end of the gardening conversation, but then Phil said, ‘Can't get no gard'nin' books 'ere.'

‘Why don't you order online?'

The right eye moved.

‘You know,' I said, ‘on your computer?'

The eye looked away. ‘Get stuff from Darwin. On the barge.'

‘Maybe you could get a gardening book from Darwin?'

‘Nah,' said Phil and sucked hard on his beer. And stared at the fridge. And that, it seemed, was the end of the gardening conversation. A fresh stubby appeared, money was taken from the pile of coins in front of him, and Phil swapped the used stubby for the new without so much as a pause.

My meal arrived and I stared at it. ‘This is fish fingers,' I said. ‘Birds Eye fish fingers.' Maybe they'd run out of the ‘fresh local catch'. I picked up a soggy chip and ate it. The barman hadn't given me cutlery. I waited but he was busy drinking at the other end of the bar. I snapped a fish finger in half. It was still frozen in the centre. I finished the soggy chips but left the ‘fish', pushing the plate away.

Over my shoulder I watched my neighbours, the sex couple (I recognised her legs), walk in and look around. The guy said, ‘Fuck this for a joke. Let's go to Bali.' And they left. I wanted to go to Bali too.

I fanned my face, feeling like I was in a sauna, with sweat running down from my armpits and pooling in my belly button. I had two big wet circles under my boobs. I sat straighter; the sweat trickled out of my belly button and into my undies.

I said, ‘I don't think the air conditioning's working properly.'

‘Nah, it's rooted,' said Phil.

‘Oh?'

‘Shit itself.'

‘Right.'

‘Fridge works.'

Yep. The fridge worked. I took a swig of my beer. Actually, I was feeling much better after a couple of mouthfuls. Good old hair of the dog.

Three hours later I was in a much better state than I'd been after three hours with Yvonne. And now Phil also knew all about Jack, even though I remembered too late it was a secret mission and I probably shouldn't tell anyone else. But how was I supposed to find Jack if I didn't ask?

I hadn't told Phil about my mother. Yet. He hadn't moved at all the whole time, apart from his drinking arm and his eye that swivelled occasionally in my direction. He didn't say anything. I started to wonder if he was a puppet, propped at the bar for whatever purpose. Had he eaten? Had he been to the toilet? I didn't think so. Maybe he'd nicked to the dunny while I was in the ladies. Maybe he just sweated it all out. He didn't seem affected by the amount of booze he'd slugged down. Men came and went. There were quiet murmurings between Phil Collins and these men. Money was exchanged. For what?

‘Phil,' I said, ‘I saw some kids on the way here. The taxi driver said they were gangs but they were pretty young.' Kids who looked angry, but not very competent. In fact, they didn't even look that angry. More . . . deliberately trying to look mean in an overacting kind of way.

‘Lotsa gangs 'ere. Real mean 'uns with money 'n' power 'n' guns. Kids practisin' for when they're older.'

‘Really?'

Phil's arm slowly and precisely lifted his stubby; the neck of it vanished into his beard for a second, and the arm lowered again. He glanced over his shoulder.

‘Yip.'

In the morning I didn't feel too bad, but nobody had warned me about the B-52-size mozzies that snuck into my room while I slept. I looked like I was growing cherry tomatoes under my skin. I swallowed another malaria tablet and reminded myself to get Aeroguard. Imagine if I got malaria! Jack would arrive home, come to visit me and be told I'd died from malaria in Saint Sebastian. On the funeral notice Mum would have used a photo of me when I was about ten with my hair in pigtails and gappy teeth. Jack would be really confused, not understanding why Mum was asking him about Bali and his trip to Europe and wondering what the hell I was doing in Saint Sebastian.

Anyway, in my overnight dreams I'd been in a gorgeous five-star hotel, swanning around an elegant bar with men who resembled Jack, my hair looking fabulous. I decided this was definitely a sign. I needed to wash my hair and restyle it, clearly. So, I did, making another mental note about buying styling product to replace the one that got stolen. I really didn't know what I was doing with my hair, but I tried just mussing it up and leaving it to dry, which took all of five minutes, and
voila
! It looked like Kath's from
Kath & Kim
. An eighties perm. The kind my mother used to have. I wet it again and used sunscreen to straighten it, tugging it around my face, dragging my fingers through it to pull the curls out. It kind of worked but I needed my hairdryer. And hair wax would be better than sunscreen, I thought, although sunscreen wass probably cheaper.

I paced around the room, thinking, scratching at the mozzie bites. In my head I made a list of things I could do. First, I needed a supermarket for Aeroguard and, seeing I brought bullets instead, tampons in case I was still here in a week. And that was it. My list. I couldn't think of anything else. I felt depressed.

I checked my phone. A dozen texts from Lucy. I hadn't messaged her since before I left Darwin.

Her last one read:
WHERE THE FUCK R U?

SS. All good. There's a nice beach!

I emailed my boss, saying my doctor had recommended stress leave. (I wondered if Kate would write me a note.) I apologised to Rosalind and said I'd be back in touch in a couple of days and that I'd work overtime when I returned. Poor Marcus; she'd probably call him back from annual leave. At least today was Friday, which meant I didn't have to feel guilty for the next two days.

I needed to call my mother. I sat on the bed instead. Now what? My room was so stuffy. I needed fresh air. Fresh air to clear the head. I thought about the nice beach, and left the hotel wearing my baseball cap, handbag on my back, and I crossed the road to the sand, looking around for crocodiles. I had no idea where they lurked, but I reckoned any water in a tropical place was fair game. Freshwater crocs were pretty harmless, apparently, only interested in fish (not that I trusted whoever said that). It was the salties that were the really scary ones. They had monster jaws full of teeth that grew in all different directions, making it easy for them to crunch bones. I saw that on Steve Irwin's show.

The beach had palm trees growing out of the sand, leaning at impossible angles toward the sea. I imagined cyclones must come through here sometimes, try to flatten the trees. I sat under a reasonably straight one, my back against the trunk, and gazed out at the water. My headspace was divided equally between wanting to hunt for Jack and finding a pool to swim in. I closed my eyes, hoping for an epiphany, but instead my phone rang. I searched my bag in a hurry, thinking it could be Joe. But it was Mum, wanting to Facetime. I hesitated, knowing I couldn't put her off forever. I answered with a big smile, holding the phone close so she couldn't see the grotty buildings across the road. Or my hair. I stood and turned my back to the ocean, so she could see that instead.

‘Erica! I thought you might have called by now. Aren't you worried about your pussy?'

‘Is Axle okay?'

‘Well, he had diarrhoea —'

‘Is he all right?'

‘Yes, he's fine now. Your father gave him some beetroot.'

‘He ate beetroot?'

‘Yes, dear. Don't you want to know how your mother is?'

‘How are you?'

‘I'm fine. We went to Chadstone today to buy some underpants for your father. Myer is having a sale. It wasn't the big stocktaking sale, you know, just a small one in the men's department and I think the homewares department has some items reduced —'

‘This is an overseas call, Mum.'

‘You haven't asked about your father!'

‘What's wrong with Dad?'

‘Nothing. He's fine. Why are you holding the phone so close?'

‘Um. There's a really strong wind. I can't hear you.'

The problem with Facetime was that I couldn't pull faces, roll my eyes or do big silent sighs. I held my stiff little smile while I waited for the obvious demand.

‘Where is Jack? I want to talk to him.'

‘He's, ah, not here yet. His flight was delayed.'

‘Where is he flying from?'

Where did I say again? ‘Um. Rome?'

‘Maybe he met the Pope.'

‘Maybe.'

I managed to end the call by pretending the line was breaking up. I did that by jiggling the phone up and down.

I sighed, took another look at the ocean.

‘This isn't finding Jack.'

I headed back across the sand. A few people dashed past me and as I looked around, I saw that the streets had pretty much cleared. I stood in the shade of a tree by the road and waited for a handful of cars to pass. One pulled up in front of me, and a black Hummer stopped right behind that car, with no room for me to walk between. I was frozen momentarily, trying to decide whether to walk around the front of the first car or behind the Hummer, when two men got out of the cars. One from each. They strode towards each other, meeting on the road right in front of me. They shouted, waving hands, and then the Hummer man took a gun from inside his jacket and aimed it at the other man's head. There was part of me that thought, hoped, the men might not notice me standing there, just a few metres away. The front man held up his hands and stammered as he spoke. Shitting himself, like me. The Hummer man said something, returned the gun to his jacket, and turned back to his car. But not before giving me a long, curious stare. And there was not a part of my body that was functioning. I felt like everything had stopped – my heart, my breathing, my blood – and as soon as both men drove away, everything started again with a rush. My breath returned in a loud gasp and my blood was a torrent in my head. Shaking, I made my way as fast as possible back to my hotel room, wondering again who the hell I thought I was coming to a place like this, a place where people threatened to blow each other's heads off in the street.

I was resigned. I would go home. It was outrageous, thinking I could do something to help. If Jack were dead, then my visit was pointless anyway. If he were a prisoner somewhere, then I'd just have to make a fuss back home until someone did something about it. Who would do something? No one. Jack would die, I knew it now, and I'd just have to live with it. I wasn't some tough special ops person. I wasn't James Bond or Lara Croft. I hadn't even been a girl scout!

I sat on the bed and cried into my hands, then I called the airport. There was a flight leaving for Darwin that afternoon, so I booked a ticket. I went downstairs with my stuff, checked out and asked them to call me a taxi. I stood on the pavement with my bag, staring trance-like at nothing.

Bruce Willis pulled up in front of me.

‘Hello, lady!' he shouted through the window. He jumped out and held the back door open.

I climbed in, saying, ‘You still owe me money, Bruce Willis.'

‘Free ride today.' He got into the car and drove.

I told him to take me to the airport and he seemed disappointed that I was leaving already.

‘No stay longer?' He made a sad face in the rear-view mirror.

I stared out the window, biting my nails, as the horrible world rolled slowly by. I hunted in my bag for my nail scissors, but remembered they'd been taken off me at Melbourne airport. In case I stabbed the flight attendant for being a bitch, maybe.

A piece of paper floated out of my bag and onto the seat beside me. It was the note from Yvonne with her hand-drawn map of Darwin and something else I'd forgotten about. Her Seni friend's contact details.
Kitty
, it said. What had Yvonne told me? That they'd been flatmates? And that Kitty knew everyone.
Absolutely everyone
. That's right. I stared at the note for a long time, and said to Bruce Willis, ‘Change of plan.'

I gave him Kitty's address and he made a fast U-turn, zooming around to where we came from so fast I was thrown back in the seat. He stopped the car right in the heart of Seni it seemed, about five-hundred metres from my hotel.

Bruce held out his hand.

‘You said this was a free ride!'

‘Free ride airport. Here not airport.' He looked around in amazement to make his point. How could I have not noticed?

I sat there, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. ‘For God's sake,' I muttered as I handed him ten dollars.

Kitty's flat was above a shop with black velvet drapes covering the windows and pink writing on the door in a language I couldn't read. There was a wooden staircase running up the side of the building and I climbed it, knocking on the door over and over until I gave up and conceded that no one was home. I went back downstairs and stood in front of the shop door. What the hell, I thought, and opened it, slowly, peering in, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness before I stepped inside. The shop was lit only by a couple of very dim lamps and the glow of various sex toys. An exotic-looking black-haired woman sat behind the counter, smiling at me.

‘Hello! What can I help you with today?' She jumped up and stood before me. ‘We have the most exciting new products for women who are all alone at night.'

‘Um. Actually, I was just wondering —'

‘What about this Jumping Jack Flash? It arrived just yesterday.' She held up a green, round thing that bounced on her hand.

‘Ah . . .' I kept watching it. It was fascinating. I shook my head. ‘Do you know Kitty?' I pointed at the ceiling, indicating the flat above.

‘Oh, yes, of course! Because it is me.' Her peals of laughter sounded like bells, and that made me smile.

‘Oh. Hi,' I said. ‘Yvonne gave me your number and —'

‘Yvonne! My dear friend. How is she? You must tell me everything. Come.' She took my backpack and left it behind the counter, and retrieved her handbag. ‘Come,' she said again. ‘We will go to a very nice cafe and have coffee.'

I looked at my watch, considering my flight to Darwin, thinking I probably shouldn't be too long. I sighed, sent a small prayer heavenward and let Kitty push me out onto the street. She locked up the shop, linked her arm through mine, and marched me forward.

‘What is your name?' she said.

I told her.

‘Well, Erica Jewell, you must tell me all about yourself. You are Australian, yes?'

‘Yes.'

‘And how is Yvonne?'

‘She's, um, great.' Not that I remembered much. ‘She's got a nice house.'

‘I love Australia,' said Kitty. ‘Especially the snakes.'

‘Snakes?'

‘Yes, I love snakes.'

‘Have you heard of Steve Irwin?'

‘Oh, yes, I was so sad when he died. I used to watch his television program all the time. Crocodiles are very nice, too.'

‘They are?'

‘Oh, yes.'

We arrived at the cafe and took a table inside, where it was air-conditioned, and sat by the window overlooking the main street. Kitty sat opposite me, a bright smile on her gorgeous face. She had almond eyes and flawless skin, and her straight, glossy black hair framed a delicate, almost-pointy jaw. She told me that her mother was a Filipina who lived in Manila, and her father was French and lived in Paris, and laughingly told me that Christmas was a nightmare. That she'd been living in Saint Sebastian for five years – which was where she met Yvonne – and she waved her hands theatrically, describing the habits of the typical Senian with delight and much laughter. She was the happiest person I'd ever met.

‘My clients,' she said, ‘they are all so different, but in a way they are all so typical.'

‘Clients?' I said, sipping my coffee.

‘I am – what is it you Australians say? A hooker.'

I sprayed coffee across the table. Most of it landed on Kitty.

‘Omigod, I'm so sorry!' I snatched up a handful of napkins, pressing them into her chest.

But she was laughing. ‘That was very funny.' She laughed some more. So, if Yvonne lived with Kitty in Seni, does that mean Yvonne was working as a hooker too? Probably.

Kitty continued, ‘I want to save as much money as possible, so when I meet a handsome, strong, brave man we'll be able to go and live in the jungle together. Like Tarzan and Jane.'

‘Really? You want to live in the jungle?'

‘Oh, yes. It would be very exciting. There are many snakes there.'

I smiled at the strange, funny woman. I said, ‘My . . . boyfriend's strong and brave. And handsome, and,' what the hell, ‘rich too.'

‘He is? You are a very lucky girl, Erica Jewell!'

She then told me I reminded her of Yvonne. ‘Actually,' she said, ‘you look like that actress, what is her name?'

‘Halle Berry?'

‘No, no. I am thinking of the one who was in the James Bond movie with Pierce Brosnan.'

‘Yes, that's Halle Berry.'

‘No, the English woman . . . I remember! It is Judi Dench I am thinking of. A marvellous actress.' Kitty looked at me, her head cocked. ‘It is the hair, you know? You do not look as old as Judi Dench.'

‘Great. Thanks,' I mumbled. It's not that I don't admire Judi Dench. She's wonderful and I'd be thrilled to look like her in about forty years.

Kitty wanted to know more about my ‘boyfriend', and I told her. Not the romantic stuff I'd told Yvonne and Phil – I got straight to the point. I said that I thought he'd been sent to Saint Sebastian on some military thing and that maybe he'd been taken prisoner. Kitty nodded, watching me, listening intently to my story with a serious expression.

She sipped her coffee and looked past me as though pondering something. She said, ‘This is the rich one?'

‘Jack? Yes. Do you know something?'

She picked at some fluff on her top. ‘Oh, no. But I can ask around, if you want.'

‘I'd appreciate it, Kitty.'

Our breakfast arrived. Kitty got stuck into hers and I nibbled at mine.

‘He's probably dead,' she said with a full mouth and I dropped my fork.

‘What?'

She ate some more. ‘There are some very bad people in this place. Dangerous people.'

‘Jack knows what he's doing,' I said, irritated. ‘He's handled dangerous people before.'
He's not dead. He's not.

She shrugged and gazed out the window and my attention was drawn to a dark shadow swimming across the wall behind her. I followed her gaze and watched a black Hummer cruise by, my heart racing at the sight of it. When I looked back at Kitty, she was smiling.

I said, ‘I saw the man in that car before. He threatened someone with a gun.'

She grinned. ‘You see how entertaining it is to live in Sebastian?' She leaned towards me, still watching out the window. ‘The man in that car, his name is Samson. He is a gang leader. A very powerful one. He is wealthy, and most people in Seni listen to him, including the politicians, because if they don't, well, they must have a death wish.'

The car had moved on, but its energy lingered. I shivered and watched the street.

Kitty informed me, ‘He spends a lot of time driving these streets, making sure people remember that he is around. I know him.'

‘You do?' My head snapped back and I stared at her.

‘Yes. I have slept with him many times. He does not pay me, not directly. He pays my rent and makes sure my friends are safe. I have not seen him for some time. I think his wife must be suspicious,' she said with a wink. ‘She is the only thing he is afraid of.'

I whispered, ‘He's married?'

Kitty gave me a slightly pitiful look. ‘He is married but he has many mistresses. Like so many men in this country.' She checked her watch. ‘Whoops! Must go. I have a client.'

‘I need to get my backpack from your shop.'

‘But now I am going to my client's house. You will call in later, yes?' she said as she walked out of the cafe.

‘I've got a flight to catch!' I called after her but she was already striding down the street, waving and leaving me with the bill.

Okay, so, I wouldn't be flying home today after all, and for some reason, I didn't mind too much.