Grand Slam (21 page)

‘My stapler's been missing for days!' Rosalind gave me a look. ‘Did you take it?'

Where? Where would I take it? To the tennis? Surely, dear boss, there are better, more important things for you to worry about than whether or not your stapler is missing? Like dealing with the company's plummeting share price, the angry public, delegating my workload or doing it yourself, for example.

Emilio had called me first thing. ‘Today is rest for me. You will come? We can do the sightseeing?'

Teresa called me five minutes later saying I needed to stop harassing Emilio to spend time with me. He needed rest. ‘He will see you for tomorrow's match.'

Fine by me. That meant I got to stay at work and actually get things done. It meant I could spend all day with Rosalind and Charlotte. Joy!

Emilio called me again. ‘When are you coming, Emily?'

What? ‘Teresa said I shouldn't come because you need to rest.'

‘Teresa is not the boss of me. I think Mr John Degraves would like you to make me happy,
si
?'

Nice backhand, Emilio. ‘All right. I'll come and visit you. But not in your room, okay? Let's have lunch or something.'

I told him I'd be there at lunchtime. But Rosalind stood in front of my desk and tapped her toe, arms crossed. ‘What are you doing?'

I looked up from my computer. ‘Work.'

‘My dry cleaning's ready to be collected.'

I checked my watch. ‘Actually, Mr Degraves wants me to meet Emilio. I have to go now.'

‘How am I supposed to get my dry cleaning?' she shouted to the general office.

I stood and looked over the partition where Charlotte was doing Marcus's filing. ‘Charlotte, can you please pick up Rosalind's dry cleaning?'

‘Sure!' She jumped up. ‘I'd love to.'

Of course you would, you suck. I left too early to go to Emilio. I thought maybe I could sit in the bar and drink Bloody Marys, but as I pulled into the hotel driveway, I saw Teresa leave the building and get into a taxi. I don't know why I felt the need to do so, but I followed her.

She didn't go far, just to the top end of the city. The taxi pulled into the Sofitel. I parked in a no-standing zone and trotted up the hotel's driveway. Inside, I saw Teresa at the reception desk. I sat on a sofa and picked up a magazine, holding it in front of my face like they do in detective stories. Teresa signed something, collected something from the receptionist, and headed for the lifts. I checked my watch and waited, I didn't know what for.

I ordered a Bloody Mary and read
Storage Superstars
magazine. I got some good ideas for my renovation. I called Steve to tell him about an idea, but just as he answered, I saw Martin McGann walk into the hotel.

‘Sorry, can't talk.' I hung up before Steve could say anything.

I held the magazine high, peeking over the top of it. Martin McGann didn't approach the reception desk, but headed straight for the lifts, reading his phone as he walked.

I sipped my Bloody Mary, staring at the lifts with narrowed eyes. Was this just a coincidence? That these two people had arrived at the same five-star hotel within ten minutes of each other? I wasn't sure, but as I left the hotel to deal with my parking fine, I mentally referred to some tips from
Storage Superstars
to store this particular piece of information.

‘Come,' said Emilio in his undies. ‘Lie on the bed and cuddle.' He took my hand and towed me toward the bedroom.

I stopped, took my hand back. ‘Emilio, I have to tell you something.'

‘
Si
?'

‘I don't feel the same as you . . .'

Both hands clutched his heart. His face crumpled.

‘. . . about tennis.'

He perked up. ‘
Qué
?'

‘I don't love tennis as much as you do.'

He laughed. ‘That is okay, Emilita. But you like to watch, yes?'

‘Well, yes.' Geez.

He came at me again and, gripping my waist, pulled me against him. I put my hands on his chest. His crotch was pressed against my lower belly. He gazed at me with smouldering eyes. It was the first time I'd seen eyes that smouldered. Emilio's were usually blue, but right now they were dark grey. Warmth flooded my body, pooled in one particular spot. I shook my head, patted his shoulder, tried to speak. My heart thumped. Could he hear it?

‘
Prontito
, Emily. Soon.'

He bent his head to kiss me. I gave him a half-hearted push that had no effect on the space between us. His face came closer. Mine tilted up. It was going to be a proper, full-on pash, I could tell by the look in his eyes. I was transfixed by their intensity. They burned into me. My breath mingled with his. His lips touched mine, which parted.

I shoved him away and took three quick steps back.

‘What is wrong,
mi amor
?'

‘God, Emilio, I'm . . . um . . .'

‘You find me irresistible, no?'

‘No. I mean yes. I mean —'

‘We will go to lunch, yes?'

‘Yes. All right. Get dressed now, okay?'

He grinned and watched me trying to avoid looking at him. A specific part of him. I stood at the window and fixed my eyes on the river. The still, dull, cold-looking river.

Emilio annihilated his round-two opponent. We had dinner together that night.

‘You see? It is you, Emily. You make me play so well. I win because of you!'

‘I think you win because you're a fabulous tennis player.'

‘No.' He forked a piece of lobster. ‘It is you.'

I needed to get that amulet. Convince him he needed it, not me –even though he didn't need anything. Maybe counselling.

‘Emilio, how do you know Teresa?'

‘She was my father's lover.'

‘Really? But doesn't that make it difficult for you to be with her? Doesn't it remind you of him?'

‘No,
querida
. We are . . . how you say . . .' He muttered in Spanish. ‘We have both been wronged by him, so together this makes us stronger.'

‘You're kindred spirits.'

‘
Si
. Kindred spirits.'

‘Do you pay her? I mean, I know it's not my business —'

‘Pay? How do you mean?'

‘Like, a salary. She's your manager, right? Does she get a salary?'

He looked thoughtful. ‘I pay for everything. If she needs something, I buy it. She lives in a house I own. Her car is one I bought. If she wants clothes, I take her shopping.'

‘Wow. Maybe I should be a tennis player's manager.' I smiled to show I was joking, but couldn't help wondering why the loyal, well-kept Teresa might be meeting up with Martin McGann.

Emilio took my hand. ‘Ah, Emilita, I am the only tennis player you will ever know. And soon, you will need no money.'

When I arrived at work on Friday, Charlotte was at my desk.

‘Um, can I have my desk back?'

‘You don't need it. I've done everything.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I've done all the work.'

‘
All
of it?'

She looked around at the super-neat space. ‘I think so, yes.'

‘What about the media release about the oil spill?'

‘Mr Degraves has it for approval.'

‘What? Who wrote it?'

‘Me.'

‘You?'

Charlotte checked her watch. ‘Here, you can sit here for a while. I need to get my scones out of the oven.'

As she headed for the canteen, I called out, ‘Can you bring me one?'

‘You'll have to pay for it.'

While Charlotte was gone, I google-earthed Mrs Booth's house and zoomed right in. Yes, I could see all the things I already knew she had. A house, a driveway, a backyard. I looked at Mum and Dad's house, squinting at the screen. I think Dad was in the vegie patch.

Charlotte arrived and stood behind me. ‘What are you doing?'

I shut down Google Earth.

‘Can I have my chair back? I need to finish something for Marcus.'

I stood and we faced each other. ‘Just to be clear, Charlotte, this is
my
chair. We'll find you a desk soon, I promise.'

Without responding she slipped into
my
chair, head down, and resumed the work she'd been doing.

Emilio called me in the afternoon and told me that tomorrow evening – Saturday – was his next match.

‘I do not want to think about the tennis,
querida
. What shall we do together in the daytime?'

‘Well, I have to shop for appliances in the morning. And then I have to go to the office. But I'll see you before the match, okay?' I didn't
need
to go to the office because apparently Charlotte had done everything, but I wanted to go there when she wasn't so I could find out exactly what she'd been up to.

‘What is this appliance shopping?'

‘My house is being renovated. I need appliances for my new kitchen.' Actually, saying those words, ‘new kitchen', gave me a buzz. Wouldn't be long before I'd be cooking in it. And putting all the dirty dishes in my new dishwasher – something I'd never had before. Well, not too much cooking. Preferably no cooking, in fact. But how else would I make dirty dishes to put in my new dishwasher? Takeaway containers. Instead of throwing them out, I'll put all the takeaway containers in my new dishwasher and keep them.

‘Emilita?'

‘Huh?'

‘You will move to Sydney to be with me, no?'

‘Er . . .' No.

‘Otherwise, how will we be together?'

‘I really like Melbourne, Emilio. And my house. I really like my house.'

‘You can rent it. That will give you spending money of your own. And, Emily, it is important to put quality appliances in your house for your tenants.'

‘Right.'

‘I will come appliance shopping with you!'

‘What?'

‘I will pick you up in the limousine.'

‘Oh, no. No more limos, Emilio.'

‘Well, you will pick me up, yes? Is it popular, this appliance place?'

‘Very popular. There'll be huge crowds there, probably.' I thought of our Chadstone shopping expedition and felt suddenly faint.

‘That means there will be many of my fans there?'

‘Probably.'

‘
Estupendo
!'

‘Is that good?'

‘
Si
, Emilita. You will pick me up?'

‘Ah . . .'

On Saturday morning I arrived at Emilio's hotel to pick him up in my crappy old Mazda. The valet-parking guy didn't believe I was who I said I was. He had to call Emilio to confirm it, but still he gave me a suspicious look.

Emilio wasn't ready, so I went up to his room. He was alone.

‘Aren't you supposed to have a body guard?'

‘It is okay. They think I am spending today in my room. Besides, there have been no attempts on my life or threats.'

‘No
further
threats. Emilio, I don't think you're supposed to go out without protection.' I didn't actually
know
this. I hadn't had that convo with Jack but I assumed Emilio shouldn't.

‘Look, I will wear a disguise!' He put on his Dega Oil cap and grinned at me.

I couldn't help smiling back. ‘You look like Emilio Méndez.'

He laughed. ‘Let us go!'

As we left his room, I said, ‘Where's Teresa?'

‘Ah, she has a boyfriend, I think.'

I stopped walking. ‘Really? Do you know who it is?'

‘I think she does not want me to know, but it is nice for her, yes?'

I didn't respond, thinking about that. Was it Martin McGann? The
married
Martin McGann? Where did they meet? The charity lunch, maybe. Before or after the heist?

‘Come, Emily.'

Emilio hesitated about getting into my car. Finally he sat, quickly pulled the door closed. ‘No-one would suspect me of travelling in a vehicle such as this, so I think I am safe.' He looked up at the torn roof lining. ‘You must get a new car, Emilita. This one is not good. When you live with me in Sydney, I will buy you a car that is . . . how you say . . . appropriate.'

Goody gumdrops. An appropriate car for the prostitute of a famous tennis player. Surely that would be something good? A convertible?

Emilio sat lower in the seat and adjusted his sunglasses and cap. ‘I hope I am not recognised in this car.'

We drove to Nepean Highway, Brighton. I parked in The Good Guys car park and we went inside. The whispers started straight away:
That's Emilio Méndez
. Probably because he walked in the door and said, loudly, ‘
Hola, amigos
!'

Emilio followed me around, signing autographs as we went. There was a fridge and I fell in love. It made ice and had a thing for pouring yourself a glass of cold water. It stored meat forever, had a special spot for wine, cleaned itself, and cooked the dinner. It was a metre wide, required its own power plant, and cost five thousand dollars. ‘I love this fridge, Emilio.'

He looked up from his signing. ‘It is a beautiful refrigerator.'

I called Steve.

‘I'm at The Good Guys.'

‘Great. Know what you need?'

‘How much room have I got for a fridge?'

‘You don't need a new fridge.'

‘I know but you should see it. It's gorgeous.'

‘You need to get —'

‘I know, I know. The fridge?'

‘As much room as you want.' He sighed. ‘Stan'll design the kitchen around it.'

I hung up and took a photo of the fridge. We stood in front of the Australian-brand dishwashers. I knew they weren't the best quality. Jack would tell me to buy European. Emilio wanted me to buy Emilia appliances.

‘Is it a good brand?'

‘I am sure it is.'

I opened and closed doors, inspecting the insides, and eventually became aware of excited chatter around me. Emilio's crowd of fans was growing. Good, I thought. I'll go shopping while he's occupied. But he called me, beckoning.

‘Come, Emily.
Aquí.
My fans want a photograph with us!'

‘Oh, no, really, you don't want —' Phone cameras went off. I stopped talking and smiled, teeth jammed together, mouth stretched wide.

Emilio stood next to me, arm around my shoulders.

I pushed gently away, still smiling. ‘I really need to buy these appliances, Emilio.'

Someone in the crowd squealed, ‘Are you setting up home together?'

‘Ha, ha! We will all shop with you,
ángel
!'

The fans followed us to the Smeg department. Emilio said to the crowd, which was yet to include a salesperson, ‘I think Emily should buy Emilia products, what do you all think?'

General murmurs of agreement. Applause even. Bloody hell.

We left. There was no point. I'd just have to come back later while Emilio was resting at the hotel. As we went to get into my car, someone shot at us. I wasn't sure at first – too stunned to think straight. But Emilio casually said it was indeed a gunshot – he knew because when he lived in South America people were always shooting each other on the streets, so he knew that sound. Also, my windscreen was now all over the front seat. Several images flew through my mind, mostly of me or Emilio lying dead in a pool of blood. Who was the bullet intended for? Or was it some kind of freak accident?

It seemed ages – but was probably only seconds – before I thought to see if there was a gunman still standing there, taking aim, ready for another go. I had a frantic look around.

Emilio took my hand. ‘We really should not stand here.'

We ran back into the store. I stood at the window, staring out, and Emilio wandered off. I looked up and down the road, across the Nepean Highway. Hold on, there was a black BMW speeding away. The tyres even screeched, it was in such a hurry. Shane McGann had black BMWs. I rushed outside but couldn't make out the plate. I called Jack.

‘Good morning,' he said.

‘It's me.'

‘I know.'

‘Someone just shot at me . . . us.'

‘
What?
'

‘It might have been an accident. I don't know. But my windscreen's not where it should be.'

‘Where are you?'

‘I'm fine. We're safe. In The Good Guys in Brighton.'

‘When you say we —'

‘Emilio.'

Silence. Then, ‘Have you called the police?'

‘Not yet. Just you.'

‘I'll make the call. Wait inside. Stay with people but
not
Emilio. I'll be there in five.'

When Jack arrived I was standing in the window, staring out. I could hear police sirens as I watched him park on the street and get out of his car. He looked around, saw me and frowned. He walked into the store. ‘Being a target in the window isn't exactly what I had in mind when I said wait inside.'

I pointed. ‘I saw a black BMW.'

‘What about it?'

‘Well, it was speeding away. Shane McGann has black BMWs.'

‘Shane McGann's in jail, Erica.'

‘But his friends might have his car.'

‘Don't you think it makes sense that the bullet was intended for Méndez? His life's already been threatened.' We looked around, spotted Emilio in the Bosch department with fans. ‘He wasn't supposed to leave the hotel today.' Jack cursed quietly and mumbled, ‘Making my life difficult.'

‘But it's not totally improbable. The BMW, I mean.'

He stared across the highway, considering it. ‘Where did you see the car?'

I pointed.

‘Going which direction?'

‘Toward the city. It was speeding.'

Police cars arrived. Lots. Jack looked at me. ‘Why are you here, anyway?'

‘Shopping for appliances.' I pointed to the gorgeous fridge. ‘I'm getting that one. It's better than yours.'

‘You can't go shopping without a tennis player tagging along?' The way he said ‘tennis player' made it sound like some low form of life.

‘It's not – he just wants to hang out with me. I don't know why.'

‘I think I know why.'

‘
Hola,
Yack
! Where is your beautiful lady?' Emilio rushed up and hugged Jack.

Jack's expression changed from scowly to fully annoyed as he unhooked Emilio's arms.

I jumped on the opportunity to change the subject. ‘Yeah, where's Shags?'

Emilio was distracted by a fan with a camera. Lots of police came into the store. Jack told me to wait and approached a plain-clothes policeman, one I'd met before on another case with Jack: Bill Lucas. The police taped off the car park, which was soon crawling with cops – uniformed and not uniformed, guy with a camera, whoever else turns up at these things. There were people all around my car. Jack and Bill Lucas were checking out a plastic bag with something inside it.

Emilio was bored and wanted to leave.

‘We have to answer questions for the police first.'

‘Let us shop while we wait!'

I pointed at the washing machines and suggested he choose a nice one for me, even though I didn't need a new washing machine, but Bill Lucas intercepted him and took him to one side.

Jack approached, looking worried. He took my arm and pulled me away from prying ears.

‘Did you see anyone hanging around you might have recognised? Anyone at all?' He looked
really
worried as he stared into my eyes, waiting for my response.

‘Why? What —'

‘Just think about it.'

I looked outside, giving it some thought. ‘No, no-one. Just the BMW.'

He glanced around, lowered his voice even more so I had to lean close to hear him. ‘We found the bullet embedded in the driver's seat of your car.'

‘Right.' Shudder.

‘It's one of mine.'

I had to pull back a bit so I could look right into his face. What was he telling me? That a bullet from a gun Jack owns was fired at Emilio? Or me?

‘How do you know?'

‘My bullets are marked. It's mine. No doubt.'

‘Jesus.'

He nodded. ‘Think again about whether you saw anyone you might have recognised.'

‘Like, someone who works for you?'

‘Exactly like that.'

Nausea swept through me and I had to take a few quick, deep breaths while I processed that. ‘You think one of your guys is working for Shane McGann?'

Jack looked at me for a long time. ‘No, actually, that's not what I was thinking.'

‘What are you thinking?'

‘That someone who uses one of my guns shot at Emilio Méndez.'

‘Why would they?'

He shook his head. His face was pale.

‘It might have been meant for me. You have to consider the possibility, at least.'

‘Maybe.' He stared out the window. ‘I'll pay McGann a visit.'

‘You mean, visit him in jail?'

He nodded.

‘I'm coming with you.'

He almost laughed. ‘No, you're not.'

Emilio returned, grinning, happy with all the fuss.

‘This is better than my boring hotel,
querida
!' He went to sling an arm around me but I ducked out of the way.

Bill Lucas saved me. He asked me the same things Jack did: whether or not I saw anything suspicious, anyone I recognised who might want me or Emilio dead? By the time he'd finished interviewing me, most of the police had left and the crowd had dissipated, finally bored with the proceedings and Emilio.

I found Jack and Emilio standing together, speaking Spanish.

‘When did you learn Spanish?' I said to Jack.

‘
Yack
, you must convince Emily to buy Emilia products.'

Jack stood a bit taller. ‘She'll buy Gaggenau.'

‘I will buy your Emilia products for you
querida
!'

Jack said, ‘I'll buy your appliances. Just email me a list.'

‘Well, I —'

‘But Emily, we agreed on Emilia!'

‘We didn't
agree
on anything . . .'

Jack faced me, his back to Emilio. ‘I need to leave before someone gets hurt.'

‘Okay.'

A staff member asked Emilio for photos with the rest of the staff. Emilio went to have the photos taken.

Jack said, ‘I'll buy your appliances.'

I shrugged. ‘Okay.'

‘Sharon's coming to get Emilio. She'll stay with him. Joe's coming to get you and take you home. He'll sort your car.'

‘I don't want to go home.'

‘You're going home.'

Sigh.