How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery (12 page)

‘What are we shopping for?’

She giggled and gave his cock a playful tug. ‘You should know better than to ask a woman that. I have a couple of birthday presents to buy. And a few things for the barbecue tomorrow.’

‘What barbecue?’

‘The family’s coming over for lunch. I’m sure I told you.’

‘You might have, but I don’t remember.’

Her fingers stopped. ‘Why, what’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Yes, there is.’

‘Honestly, there isn’t.’

She removed her hand from his cock and propped herself on her elbow, looking down at him. ‘Something’s up, I can tell. Don’t you want them to come?’

He sighed inwardly. ‘It’s not that at all – it’s just that I have to meet a friend in the city at two o’clock.’

‘What friend?’

Reuben resented the implication that it wasn’t possible for him to have a friend that Carlene didn’t know about. Never mind that it was true. Before he went to jail he’d had lots of acquaintances, but few he could call friends. Those he had known who weren’t on the wrong side of the law had dwindled away after he was charged.

‘A friend I went to school with. His name’s ... Finn.’

‘Oh. You’ve never mentioned him before.’

‘I hadn’t heard from him for years then he rang me yesterday out of the blue. He lives in Sydney, he’s in town on business and we organised to meet for a drink tomorrow afternoon. I didn’t know about the barbecue.’

‘Invite him along then we can all meet him.’

Reuben racked his brains. ‘The thing is, he’s not feeling very sociable at the moment. He’s just gone through a horrible divorce and he’s very depressed. If he came to the barbecue, he’d probably cry all the time and make everyone else depressed.’

‘It sounds like he needs some counselling.’

‘I’ll suggest that to him. Now, where were we?’

He reached out to take her hand. She drew it away, looking pointedly at his deflating cock.

‘I think the mood’s gone. For both of us.’

She jumped out of bed, went into the ensuite and turned on the shower.

Reuben laid back on his pillow watching the steam fog the shower door.
Fuck you,
Finn. Or Frank. Whoever!

***

Despite her assertion that the barbecue was to be ‘nothing fancy,’ Carlene spent the morning cleaning the kitchen and preparing salads and dips while Reuben hosed the patio and degreased the barbecue.

He’d lied when he said he didn’t mind her family coming. Not a week went by when he and Carlene didn’t visit her family or were visited by them, usually for dinner or a barbecue. At first, he thought it a quaint, cosy custom – as a child, there were just him and his mother. According to his mother, Reuben’s father, an occasional lover with itchy feet and a shady past, had vanished into thin air after she broke the news of her pregnancy and she’d never heard from him again. Reuben had yearned to be part of a big, close-knit family like
The Brady Bunch
or
The Waltons.

As he grew up, he’d come to realise that families were nothing like those on TV, and the bigger they were, the more likely there was to be bickering, fights and even estrangement. But still he held on to his romantic notion of family and after jail, the prospect of any family life at all was inviting. But the appeal had worn thin, even after only a few weeks. There were times he felt suffocated; other times he felt the burden of obligation.

At least this time he’d have an excuse to escape early. Disturbing as the excuse was – a brick of apprehension had been lurking in the pit of his stomach since his phone conversation with Frank. What business could he and Frank possibly have in common? Unless Frank wanted Reuben to set up some sort of scam for him, there was only one other thing – or rather, person – they had in common. He tried to put the thought out of his mind, scrubbing the barbecue so hard that he put a hole in the scourer and took a layer of skin off his middle finger.

The family arrived all at once, filling the house with noise and bodies and clatter. Nancy immediately took over the kitchen. Jo tried to convince a sceptical Indya that Uncle Reuben didn’t have cable TV so she couldn’t watch ‘The Wonder Years’, while dabbing at a glue-like substance leaking from Brayden’s nose. Alec and Wayne hovered near the barbecue, Wayne regaling Reuben with barbecue horror stories about exploding gas bottles and singed eyebrows.

When the food was ready, they served themselves in the kitchen and sat outside squashed around two small outdoor tables. Reuben and Carlene’s patio, in keeping with the rest of their home, was tiny – just a narrow rectangle of pavers under an awning, with a built-in brick barbecue at one end. The backyard, in comparison, was quite large – Reuben didn’t understand why the renovators couldn’t have made the patio much bigger, also resulting in less lawn to mow.

As they ate, Carlene brought up the subject of Finn, his unfortunate circumstances and why Reuben had to rush off soon to meet him.

‘Poor guy, how terrible!’ Jo said. ‘He should join a men’s group.’

‘Lot of namby-pamby stuff if you ask me,’ Alec said.

‘Would you prefer that he spent all his time at the pub instead?’ Nancy asked.

Alec gave an elaborate wink around the rest of the table. ‘Is that what you think I’d do if you left me, dear?’

The look she gave him was clear. Don’t think for one moment I’d give you the pleasure.

‘I’m with Alec on that one,’ Wayne said. ‘I knew a guy who went to one of those groups. He said all they did was sit around, eat pizza and complain about what bitches women are!’

‘Just like the pub,’ Alec said.

‘Finn’s an unusual name,’ Jo said. ‘Why did they break up?’

‘I don’t know, he was too upset to tell me.’

‘Maybe his wife was having an affair,’ Jo said.

‘Or maybe he was having an affair,’ Carlene said, ‘and she threw him out.’

There were more questions and speculation, especially from Carlene and Jo, to which Reuben either professed ignorance or made things up. He was soon feeling sorry for abandoned Finn, whose life was being dissected by a bunch of people he’d never met. He looked at his watch. One-thirty.

He jumped up. ‘I’m running late, can I take your car, honey? It’ll be quicker than the scooter.’

‘It needs to be filled up, it’s almost empty,’ Carlene reminded him.

No time for a petrol detour. He’d take the Barbiemobile and hope for an opportune parking space. He was almost at the front door when Indya called out, ‘Uncle Reuben, you said you’d take me for a ride on the Barbiemobile!’

‘Some other time, Indya.’

‘That’s what adults always say,’ Indya whined, ‘and some other time never comes.’

‘I’ll take you for a ride very soon,’ Reuben said, knowing he’d regret that promise.

He rode as quickly as he dared into the city. The Sunday afternoon traffic was steady but flowing freely. The Grosvenor was near the City Botanic Gardens, and of course the few on-street parks were full. In desperation, he slid into a loading zone outside a dingy Thai restaurant.

A stiff wind whipped papers and leaves around his feet as he strode the block to The Grosvenor. Despite the stream of people ambling along the streets, the city had a desolate, Sunday afternoon air about it. He entered the public bar with a minute to spare.

Frank was sitting at a corner table talking to a beefy, tattooed man with a rat’s tail. Rat’s Tail gave Reuben the once-over as he approached the table, then heaved himself up and ambled off.

Reuben sat down. Frank downed his schooner and placed the empty glass in front of him. ‘I want you to help me get rid of the bitch.’

Reuben swallowed. ‘What do you mean - get rid of?’

‘Don’t act dumb, Littledick, I’m not sending her on an all-expenses-paid holiday. I’m talking permanently.’

‘Right. So you want me to help you kill her.’

It was even more horrifying now he’d said it out loud. Frank grinned. ‘You got it!’

‘But why?’

‘I’ve already told you why.’

‘I mean, why me?’

What Reuben really wanted to say was, ‘Why don’t you hire one of your thugs, like the one who killed Eddy Teddy?’ But he thought it prudent not to divulge what he knew of Frank’s past.

Frank made a noise of exasperation. ‘Do I have to spell it out? You have to report to her, you can turn on your pretty-boy smile and your charm, and get information from her and find out her movements. You’re the perfect man for the job.’

Reuben took a deep breath. ‘And I’ve already told you I’m not interested.’

Frank reached into his inside jacket pocket, took out an A4-sized envelope and tossed it on the table. ‘Tell me again after you’ve seen these.’

He got up and went to the bar. Reuben opened the envelope and emptied out the contents. Four colour photos, ten by eight. A familiar figure in each. Carlene standing outside the front door of her office building, below the sign announcing ‘Moondream Foundation – Not For Profit Fundraising.’ She was facing the camera, handbag slung over her shoulder, obviously about to go out on an errand or leaving for the day. In the next photo she was in a department store beside a rack of dresses, holding one out on a hanger. Then in their front carport getting out of the car, her skirt rucked halfway up her thigh. And finally, unlocking the front door of the house, a bag of groceries in one hand, her hair escaping from its ponytail.

Reuben laid the photos on the table and stared dumbly at them. Frank returned with two schooners and placed one in front of Reuben.

‘So, what do you think?’

‘Who took these?’

Frank looked at him levelly, his eyes giving away nothing. ‘I have friends everywhere, not just in the police force. Good quality, aren’t they? He usually does weddings and christenings – not much of a thrill factor, though.’

‘So you’ve hired someone to follow my wife and take photos of her. Why?’

Frank leaned forward. Reuben caught a whiff of cologne and stale beer. ‘It’s obvious you need a little persuasion to see the light. So here’s the deal. You help me get rid of the bitch, or you’ll come home one day and find your beautiful wife has disappeared. God knows what will happen to her – there are some really nasty people out there. Such a pity, she’s a hot little number.’

Reuben looked away. He couldn’t bear to look at Frank’s smug expression. For one crazy moment he wanted to call Frank’s bluff – he pictured himself standing up, saying calmly, ‘Sorry, Frank, no go’ and walking out.

But his backside was stuck firmly to the chair. Would Frank really carry out his threat? It was menacingly non-specific, just that Carlene would disappear and something nasty would happen to her. Kidnapped? Tortured? Killed? Or all three? Frank was set on killing Lucy, so what was one more woman in the scheme of things?

It all boiled down to a choice – who would Reuben rather see dead? Lucy or Carlene? Any normal person would choose his wife over his parole officer. But if that normal person had a parole officer like Lucy ... Why couldn’t it be Merle who’d cancelled Frank’s parole?

Reuben stared at the untouched schooner Frank had bought him. He was damned if he was going to accept a drink from a low-life who was coercing him to take part in a murder. He had principles.

Frank drummed his fingers on the table.

‘You haven’t left me much choice,’ Reuben said.

‘Excellent, Littledick, I admire your decisiveness.’

He grinned, revealing stained teeth with a glaring gap at the bottom. Nothing shouted ‘criminal’ more than bad teeth. With all the money he was supposedly earning from property deals, the least he could do was shout himself a new set of choppers.

‘This is what I want you to do. Follow her for a week – find out where she lives, when she leaves for work and when she gets home. I want to know what sort of car she drives and where she goes after work and on weekends.’

‘How can I do that without her seeing me?’

‘That’s your problem. You’re a smart bloke, you can work it out! And I want photos. Her house, her car, everywhere she goes.’ He nodded towards the photos. ‘Like those.’

‘That’s a pretty tall order. What if she catches me taking photos of her?’

Frank shrugged. ‘That’s easy. Don’t get caught. Because if you do, you’re on your own. I’ll deny any contact with you. It’s one crim’s word against another’s.’

He tapped his watch, a clunky, busy-faced Rolex.

‘You’re wasting valuable time sitting here when you could be out there right now, perving on her.’

For a start I don’t know her address.
But Reuben thought it better not to argue the finer details.

Frank took out his wallet, pulled out a card and threw it across the table at him. ‘Phone me when you’re done, Wednesday week at the latest. And when you call, no names. Just Operation Luce End.’

He grinned again. ‘Neat name, eh?’

Reuben didn’t answer. Frank pushed his chair back and stood up.

‘Just a minute,’ Reuben said, ‘have you thought of looking up her address on the electoral roll?’

Frank gave him a look that would have felled a death adder about to strike. ‘Do you think I’m a complete idiot?’

There was no satisfactory answer to that question.

‘She’s not in the phone directory or the electoral roll.’

That figured. She wouldn’t want unsavoury types tracking her down.

‘I’ll look forward to your call, Littledick.’

He strode out, Rat’s Tail joining him at the door. Reuben picked up the shiny, gold-embossed business card. ‘Frank Cornell, Mercantile Imports. Property developer and business consultant.’ A mobile number but no business address.

Reuben sat for a few moments, replaying the conversation in his head. He looked down at the table. The photos were still there. So was the schooner. He touched the glass; it was still cold. He picked it up and took a large gulp. Fuck his principles. He finished the drink, but it did nothing to ease the overwhelming feeling of having fallen into a dark, murky hole, trapped like a wild animal, from which there was no escape.

And when he got back to his parking spot, a council officer was standing next to the Barbiemobile scribbling out a ticket.