Grand Slam (35 page)

An engine rumbled and I opened my eyes. Whoa, bad headache. All around me was blackness, with a few pinpricks of light. I stretched, but didn't get far. My legs were curled against my chest, arms folded in front of me. I pushed out with all my limbs. Whatever I was in was mildly stretchy. I held back the panic. There was a pain in my back and with my arm around my middle I felt behind. I fingered the taut criss-cross strings of a tennis racquet. I was in a tennis bag? What else was in here? A soft thing. A towel. Water bottle. Something small, square, hard. Phone. When I picked it up and pressed buttons the light almost blinded me in the darkness of the bag. The screen showed a keypad. I needed a security code. I pressed 0-0-0-0. Ha. Lazy phone owner.

The engine noise changed and grew louder. There were sloshing water noises. I rocked in the bag. I was in a boat? The bag tipped. I rolled forward and my face pressed into something smelly. Sweaty undies was my guess. I turned my head, took a breath, clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle the cough. I dialled my favourite mobile number.

Jack Jones, my beloved, answered my call for help with, ‘Emilio.'

‘What?'

‘Who —'

‘It's me.'

Through the phone I could hear the
whup whup whup
of chopper blades.

‘Erica? I can't hear you! Where the hell are you? You're with Méndez?'

‘No . . . is this his phone?'

‘For fuck's sake, Andrew's got the police looking for you. Did your parents' house burn down?'

‘No, that was Mrs Booth's.'

‘Where are you?'

‘Are you worried about me?'

‘Of course I'm fucking worried! We're heading back.'

‘Good, can you hurry?'

‘Where —'

‘I'm on a boat, and I think I must be on the Yarra. In a tennis bag.'

‘
What?
Where's Méndez?'

‘I don't know, but I'm pretty sure he's with Ruth – Charlotte. She's got my gun.'

‘Jesus Christ.' He shouted instructions to someone.

‘We were right about Tere—' Someone kicked my shin so hard I howled and dropped the phone.

The bag was unzipped. Mr Tall and Fat dragged me out by the hair. Second time he'd done that to me – grabbed my hair – but this time it wasn't coming off. I clung to his wrist with both hands and he dumped me on the floor, next to Mr Shorty, who was driving the boat and who glanced down at me.

Fatty said something in whatever language. Shorty pushed the throttle; the boat's nose rose high and we surged forward. I lost my balance, rolled backward and landed against the wall of the small cabin. I sat there, trying not to be noticed, and through the window I could see the tops of Southbank buildings whizzing by. The upstairs restaurants with diners on the verandas. One of those was probably where Jack had taken me for dinner the other week. And Emilio. I wished I was sitting there now in a crisp white sundress with a glass of chardonnay, talking about the tennis and how exciting it was going to be. Not very exciting if the star of the show didn't show. And even if he was saved from Ruth Booth and made it in time to play in the men's finals, he wouldn't be able to play without me there, would he?

I watched Docklands sail past. We were headed for the bay.

Then, as if reading my mind, Fatty said in loud, clear English, ‘She said put in ocean with shark.' He grinned down at me.

Sweet Mother Teresa. What was her problem? Why did she want to get rid of Emilio? I mean, I understood where Martin McGann was coming from. He despised JD and wanted to bring him down in any way he could: humiliation, PR terrorism, probably even murder. I wouldn't trust Mr McGann any more than I'd trust his stinky nasty son. Was Teresa bonking him? Maybe he was paying her for information. But she loved Emilio. Or so I'd thought. Obviously not. He could be pretty annoying, admittedly.

I wondered how far away Jack was. He might have been all the way out in Bass Strait when I called him. He might be hours, I realised, when I heard that beautiful helicopter sound.
Whup whup whup.
Fatty and Shorty peered through the windows, and so did I couldn't see a thing. Where was it? Right above? And then, like some magical, mystical creature, the chopper appeared; it raced ahead, spun, faced us, and hovered just a couple of metres above the waterline. It was one of those black military ones.

I heard the loudspeaker. ‘We are armed. Stop the vessel.' It sounded like Joe.

We were close to the river mouth, Williamstown on the right. Shorty made a wide U-turn at full speed. I rolled to the side, the various pains in my body screaming, head pounding. Fatty and Shorty were fully focused on the helicopter, now in pursuit. I crawled to the back deck and jumped up and down, arms flapping.

The helicopter came alongside. Fatty had me again now, holding me in front of him with an arm around my throat, gun at my head; his human shield. Was the gun loaded? I didn't want to find out.

Jack sat on the floor in the open door of the helicopter, one leg hanging. He had a rifle at his shoulder, aimed at Fatty. Or it could have been aimed at me. Maybe he was that pissed off. The boat sped along and the helicopter kept pace with us. Jack sat motionless, not taking his eye from the rifle's sight. Fatty's arm tightened around my neck; my breath was a shallow wheeze. I couldn't get air. I clawed at Fatty's arm. My head throbbed. Jelly legs. Jack got blurry. The helicopter sound faded; someone had turned down the volume. I sank against the big man holding me. And then, as I slipped lower, Fatty dropped beside me and I was free. I sucked in air and rolled away from him. Fatty screamed and writhed on the deck. I saw the blood run away from him, lots of it.

I lurched upright and fell into the water. All strength in my body was gone. The concussion, the pain, the lack of air . . . I splashed around like a puppy, not getting anywhere, watching the boat make another U-turn and head back my way. I watched the bow grow bigger and resigned myself to my horrible fate.

Someone hit the water next to me and pulled me down. The breath exploded out of me. I flailed for the light. Strong arms held me under. I felt the shudder of the boat's motor; the force from the blades thrashed my hair, jerked my head. Then it was gone. Together we broke the river surface and I gulped in great lungfuls of air as Jack held me up from behind.

I coughed, gasped. ‘Where's the boat?'

‘Joe's got it. You're safe. You're all right.'

I turned in his arms so I could throw mine around him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he kicked his to keep us afloat.

The helicopter was over us again, line swinging from it. Jack held me with one arm and lunged for the line with the other. He strapped me to a harness, talking to me while he did it, ‘You're okay . . . nearly over . . .' and we were in the air, swinging. A police boat sped up the river, passed under us. There were more sirens from somewhere. Then we were in the helicopter. I flopped onto the floor. Jack released me, sat me on the seat, fixed my seatbelt, and was back at the door. I peered through the window. We were over the baddies' boat. The police were there. I wondered if Mr Fatty would be all right. He was probably thinking the Ukraine was a better option than Melbourne after all. Joe was down there, and then a minute later Joe was in the helicopter. He gave me thumbs up, and sat next to Sharon. The helicopter lifted quickly and shot forward. Sharon looked over her shoulder at me. ‘Hey.'

‘Hey.' I went all blushy and girly. Sharon looked so sexy there, flying the helicopter with her headphones and Ray-Ban sunglasses, chewing gum like they do in the movies.

‘Hello?' It was Jack, sitting with his arm around me.

‘Sorry, what did you say?'

‘Are you all right?'

‘Headache.'

He gave me a squeeze.

‘Ouch.'

He stared at my face.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?'

‘You're all right?'

‘Apart from the headache, yes, I think so.' I search his face. Something else was wrong. ‘What aren't you telling me?'

He leaned close, put his mouth right next to my ear so I could hear above the helicopter noise. ‘I got a call from Steve.'

‘My Steve? What about?'

‘He's found Emilio.'

I pulled back so I could see Jack's face. ‘Where?'

He spoke but I couldn't hear. It looked like he said, ‘Your house.'

I put my ear to his mouth again. ‘What?'

‘Your house. Charlotte has him there.'

‘Do you know if he's all right?'

‘Yes. Police are there. We'll get you to the hospital and I'll go.'

‘I'm coming with you.'

‘Erica —'

I glared at him.

‘We'll see.'

We landed in Gosch's Paddock, where Jack's Merc and a motorbike were parked. Sharon was out of the helicopter before the rest of us. She took off on the motorbike.

Jack frowned after her. ‘What the hell's she doing?'

Andrew was there, leaning on Jack's car, arms folded across his chest. Behind his sunglasses, I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew what he might be thinking. I hid behind Jack.

‘You can't hide forever,' Andrew called.

I clung to the back of Jack's wet T-shirt and when he side-stepped, I went with him.

‘You need to face Andrew.' He turned, and I released his shirt. ‘He'll take you to the hospital.'

‘No.'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm not sick!'

‘No argument.'

Jack hugged me, kissed my face ten times. ‘I need to go.'

He told Joe to wait with the helicopter and jogged away. Andrew came. He and Jack high-fived as they passed each other. I gave Joe a pleading look.

‘Don't look at me.' He climbed into the helicopter, pulling the door shut behind him.

‘But I'm traumatised!' I yelled after him.

Which way to run? I looked around. If I went after Jack, I'd have to pass Andrew. I was pretty sure he could outrun me. I ran around the other side of the helicopter and hid there, peeping under it, watching Andrew's legs get closer. I saw Jack running, heading for my house. It wasn't far – five minutes max.

Andrew crouched, and we looked at each other under the helicopter.

‘I don't know whether to hug you or strangle you.'

‘I choose hugs.'

‘Where's my car?'

‘Chadstone.'

‘Come here.'

‘No.'

He walked around the helicopter and I stayed crouched there, pretending to look for worms in the grass. Should I pretend to faint? When I looked up, his sunglasses were glaring down at me.

I stood, threw my arms around his neck. ‘Sorry. A million times, I'm sorry.'

He stood there all stiff for a minute then his body relaxed, and his arms came around me in a bear-tight hug.

‘Get in the car. I'm taking you to the hospital.'

‘I don't need the hospital. I'm fine, see?' I spun around and fell over. ‘Whoops.' I looked up at Andrew. ‘We could go to my house. See what's happening.'

‘There's a siege at your house. I'm not taking you there.'

‘I'm not going to the hospital.'

‘Jesus, Erica, make my life easy for once, will you?' Andrew scooped me up and carried me to the car. I made it hard for him, crossing my arms and legs like I was sitting in a chair. He hoisted me higher. ‘You're heavier than I would've thought.'

‘Hey!'

Andrew's phone rang. He put me down and with a finger in the waistband of my skirt, to keep me from running off, he answered.

‘Mate . . . yeah . . . shit . . . all right.' He hung up and looked at me. ‘Police want you there.'

Police were all over my street. It was blocked by police cars and police tape, which reminded me of that stormy night when I first met Jack, when he was on the run from police and dying in my front garden. It seemed strange to see him now, standing there on the corner of my street and Swan, watching for us as we drove through the traffic jam. Andrew gave up the traffic-jam fight and parked the car illegally in Swan Street. We jogged the rest of the way.

Jack ran to meet us and led us to the back lane, where police let us through.

‘What's happening?' I said.

‘She wants to see you.'

‘Ruth?'

‘Yeah.' He scowled, swearing under his breath. He slowed his pace. Up ahead, the back of my house was swarming with people and emergency vehicles.

‘And you're okay with that?'

He stopped and faced me. Andrew kept walking. ‘No, of course I'm not okay with that. The woman is a psychopath and wants you dead.'

‘At least we know it's not Sharon.'

That didn't raise a smile, not that I really expected it to.

‘You'll speak to her over the loudhailer, and that's it.'

Bill Lucas met us, explained to me that he was going to fit me with protective gear, bullet-proof vest, blah blah blah. Bill said that Ruth just wanted to see for herself I was still alive.

‘She won't be seeing her, Bill,' said Jack.

‘She wants to take over my life, including my boyfriend.' I informed Jack, ‘That's not you, apparently.'

‘It'll be quick,' Bill said to Jack. ‘Erica'll stand in the open for a second or two, satisfy her, then straight back to us.'

‘Then I'll be with her.'

‘She won't allow it.'

I could see Steve standing by his van, 50 metres or so up the road. Lucy was there too. She gave me a little wave, looking super worried, and I waved back. No blood or anything on Steve, I was happy to see. Steve's cyclone-wire fence was still in place with the gate standing half open. Ruth had told him to ‘scram', apparently, and fired off a shot as he left. The area in the lane directly behind my property was empty, so if you were standing in my house you'd never know there was anyone out there. But there was. Probably fifty cops and special-forces people with police cars and ambulances scattered along the lane.

Bill Lucas had a loudhailer to his mouth. ‘Ruth Booth!'

From within my property, Ruth screamed, ‘
Don't call me Ruth!
'

A police helicopter buzzed overhead.

I said, ‘She wants to be called Erica Jewell.'

‘Erica Jewell!'

‘What?' yelled Ruth.

‘We have . . . the other Erica Jewell here.'

I had on all my black, bulletproof gear, including a helmet. It was really hot, especially as I was still wet from the river. Phew. I bet I stunk. Bill handed me the loudhailer. ‘Just tell her you're here.'

I stepped closer to the cyclone-wire fence but stayed out of sight. Not that Jack would let me go any closer anyway. I felt ridiculous in all the proper gear while Jack stood next to me in wet T-shirt and jeans. I put the thing to my lips. ‘Hi . . . Erica. I'm here. The other . . . Erica.'

‘I want to see you!'

Jack gripped my arm. ‘No.'

Bill Lucas held out a clear shield for me to take but Jack shoved it away. ‘No.'

I'd seen them before, those shields, on telly during riots. This one was quite small; big enough to cover just the top half of my body.

Bill said, ‘Just hold this in front of you. It's bulletproof. Step out, let her see you, step back.'

Jack stood in front of me, facing Bill Lucas. ‘No.'

Bill pointed up. ‘We've got a sniper on her. She's got the gun to Méndez's head. If she shifts it, we'll take her.'

‘Just shoot her, for fuck's sake.'

‘No!' I said. ‘Don't shoot her. She can't help being weird.'

‘Give me a rifle,' said Jack. ‘I'll do it.'

‘I'll just let her see me so we can get on with it.' Get on with whatever needed to be gotten on with.

‘No.'

I took the shield from Bill. It was heavy. Jack tried to take it off me.

‘Jack! Stop it!'

He glared at me, but beyond the anger, what I could see was fear. He wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

‘It's all right,' I said, gently. His face was so serious, so frightened. I put my hand on his cheek. ‘I'll stand there for one second and come back. It will be all right.' I gave him a nod and encouraging smile and he released me, unhappy. I took two steps sideways. Just far enough so she could see me. With the shield up, I took in the scene.

Ruth and Emilio sat next to each other at my dining table on the freshly laid sheet flooring, which I realised I may never get to see finished. Maybe Ruth would live here with Emilio. I wondered why she'd moved the table, then realised it was positioned about where the dining area would be, right under where the old roof finished. Ruth was nesting. Setting up home. On the wall were dozens of photos and newspaper cuttings that appeared to be stapled neatly together. I couldn't quite make out the images, but at least I'd found Rosalind's stapler.

Emilio's hands were clasped in front of him. His head was bowed. Ruth had an arm around his shoulders, the gun at his temple, force-feeding him scones with jam and cream. Above and behind, on what remained of my roof, Sharon Stone suddenly appeared. She crabbed along the corrugated iron, hands and feet working silently over each other as she inched toward the back of my house.

‘Is that you?' said Ruth to me. ‘I can't see with all that stuff you're wearing.'

‘Now step back,' I heard Jack say.

I took another step away from safety. I realised with surprise that my priority was now to distract Ruth so Sharon could do whatever it was she planned to do. Funny how you can switch like that, go from wanting someone dead (and buried ten-feet under) to putting yourself in harm's way to help them. Having a sudden girl crush didn't hurt, either.

‘Erica!' That was Jack. Not happy Jack.

I glanced sideways. Four cops restrained him.

Bill said, ‘Step back, Erica.'

I took another step to the side. I was now approximately two metres from the protection of the neighbour's fence. Still behind the cyclone wire.

Ruth said, ‘Let me see your face.'

‘Okay, but you have to promise not to shoot me.'

‘Actually, I was thinking about letting you live. Because if you're dead, you can't be jealous of what I've got.'

‘That's a good idea. I could come over for dinner.'

‘Ha! As if. Let me see your face.'

From behind the shield, I removed my helmet and tossed it aside.

‘No,' Jack gasped from the sidelines.

‘Your hair looks like shit,' said Ruth.

‘I was in the river.'

Emilio looked up at me, said with a mouth full of scone, ‘Emily —'

‘Shoosh, my love.' Ruth shoved some cream in his mouth.

Sharon was crouched on the roof, directly above them. The cops in the helicopter would have seen her, and relayed the info to Bill Lucas. They probably wondered who the hell she was; this gorgeous, white-haired woman in black, sleeveless leather.

I took another step, keeping the shield aloft. Jack's struggle with the cops drew my attention. He swore at them. I could see Andrew in the background, watching, hands on his head.

I stood at the partially open gate. Ruth tried to stuff another scone in Emilio's mouth. The lower half of his face was covered in jam and cream. Sharon was waiting, statue-still.

‘Emilio,' I said, ‘you won't be able to play tennis if you eat all those scones.'

Ruth screamed, ‘Shut up!' and swung the gun, arm straight, aimed at my face. I gripped the shield. Sharon jumped. The gun fired. The bullet hit my shield and my head hit the pavement. Another headache, I thought, as Jack dropped to his knees beside me. He threw the shield off me and I sucked in air. Andrew arrived, kneeling behind me, gently lifting my head and holding it in his hands. Jack cursed whoever to hell and back; his hands were all over me, looking for bullet holes or something.

‘What were you thinking?'

‘Don't yell at me.' But I thought I'd like a dollar for every time he's said that.

He put his hands in his face and I patted his knee. I looked at Andrew's upside-down face. ‘Are you angry or impressed?'

He tried to smile. ‘Fully impressed.'

‘But I still owe you. Big time.'

‘You sure do.'

‘I'll do your ironing for a year.'

He smiled some more.

I nudged Jack. ‘Help me up.' I inspected his eyes to see if they were watery. Hm. Maybe. With his hand behind my back I sat up, rubbed my head. ‘Is there blood?'

‘No. You'll live.' His voice was wobbly.

‘Does that make you happy or sad?'

He shook his head, couldn't raise a smile. Andrew stood but hovered nearby.

Steve was in front of me now, hands out. ‘Hey, buddy.'

‘Hi.' He hauled me to my feet. ‘Sorry you nearly got shot.'

And then Lucy came, bossing, pointing, wanting me to report straight to the ambos. She hugged me and blubbered on my shoulder.

Police swarmed my backyard, and I wanted to see what was going on.

‘What's happening?'

Jack said, ‘It's over.'

‘Is Sharon all right?'

‘Yes.'

‘Emilio?'

‘Yes.'

‘I want to see.'

Jack put an arm around my waist and we approached the scene, cops moving aside for us. Ruth was bent over the table, a cop's hand on her head, holding her down. She was handcuffed, and she was screaming. Not words, just screams. Scream, deep breath, scream, deep breath, scream.

Sharon Stone was wiping the jam and cream from Emilio's face. When she finished she kissed him. A big, pashy one. She released him, they stared at each other, and he whipped her into a deep dip, continuing the kiss.

Jack gave me a squeeze. ‘Are you jealous?'

‘No!' (Yes, a bit.) ‘Are you?'

‘Of course not.'

‘I wonder how long that's been going on.'

‘Longer than today, I reckon.'

‘You knew?'

‘Suspected.'

So, when Emilio won the semifinal, it was because Sharon was there, not because I had a fake amulet? They were still pashing, but now upright again, arms around each other. Sharon was a fraction taller.

I looked up at Jack, who towered over me a good eight or nine inches. ‘I quite like the idea of being kissed like that.'

He pulled me into his side and I snuggled under his arm. He kissed the top of my head. ‘Later.'

When Emilio and Sharon finally broke apart they gazed all lovey-dovey at each other. Emilio placed his precious amulet around Sharon's neck. She squealed, clapped her hands. I humphed, rolled my eyes.

‘You will take me on your motorbike, Sharon? To the tennis?'

‘Sure.' She batted her eyes at him.

Sharon. Why didn't he have a problem remembering her name? Why couldn't he call her Sharleen or Shilo or something?

Emilio saw me standing there and grinned. It was a beautiful face; one without guilt at his indiscretion with another woman. ‘Emily, look. I have
mi amuleto.
Erica Jewell found it!' He lifted the charm from Sharon's chest and kissed it.

Then, as they jogged into my house and up the passageway to the front door, I shouted after them, ‘Hey! I'm Erica Jewell!
That's my name!
'

Ruth Booth screamed.