How Not To Commit Murder - comedy crime - humorous mystery (29 page)

‘Gavin is a pompous prick. Is that what you think I should aspire to?’

‘I haven’t heard you come up with any brilliant ideas of your own yet. You’re so …. so … frustrating!’

They spent the rest of the trip home in silence. He knew he should try to make amends, but a night at Nancy and Alec’s, nodding and smiling and being polite to a bunch of boring snobs had left him exhausted.

***

Carlene scraped the remains of the bacon and eggs into the bin. ‘I’ve invited Wayne and Jo and the kids over tonight. It’ll make it more of a party.’

Reuben’s chest burned with irritation. ‘I don’t think Finn is up to partying.’

‘Don’t be such a spoilsport,’ Carlene said. ‘I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself. Anyway it’s only a barbecue, nothing fancy.’

She delegated Reuben to cleaning the barbecue while she went out shopping for pre-dinner savouries, salads, marinated meats, breads, desserts and after-dinner chocolates. As he cleaned the barbecue, he thought about Curly. He was having serious doubts about the decision to enlist his help – doubts not only about his ability to do the job but his commitment to it. Even in his heyday as a technical geek, he’d been easily distracted by illicit substances and pleasures of the flesh. Any day now Frank would be demanding a progress report. Reuben tried desperately to think of something about Lucy that could be a clue to her password, but nothing presented itself.

Wayne and Jo arrived at six o’clock and settled the children in front of the TV with an
Ice Age
DVD and a bowl of popcorn. The doorbell rang at six-fifteen. Reuben opened the front door.

Thommo stood there dressed neatly in jeans, a polo t-shirt and sneakers.

‘G’day mate!’ He grinned broadly.

‘Come in. Don’t forget you’re supposed to be depressed,’ Reuben muttered as Thommo stepped inside.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he said, assuming a mournful expression. Reuben had given him the bare details of Finn’s life so far, and he’d deduced that Reuben had been ‘fooling around’ and had invented Finn as an alibi for his nocturnal activities. Reuben let him think it because there was no other explanation he could offer.

They went into the kitchen and Reuben got him a stubby of beer out of the fridge. Thommo looked at it.

‘You haven’t got anything stronger by any chance?’

‘What sort of stronger?’

‘I’m rather partial to a Jack Daniels if you’ve got it.’

Reuben was on the verge of saying he didn’t have any then decided it would be mean to hold out on him. When he’d told Thommo he couldn’t pay him for his Finn gig until payday next week, Thommo said, ‘Don’t worry about it – we’re mates now, aren’t we? Buy me a carton of beer.’ It had given Reuben a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He opened the pantry, dug deep at the back and produced a bottle. Thommo’s eyes lit up and he whistled.

‘Whew! Gentleman Jack! The best bourbon in the world!’

Reuben poured it over ice with a splash of soda water. In his previous life, it had been a regular indulgence. He and Derek shared many a bottle, kicking back after work on the days they’d run out of weed, with a couple of Gentleman Jack’s on ice to soften the sharp edges of the day. He often wondered what genetic mutation had resulted in his being blessed, despite his humble circumstances, with an innate sense of quality and an aspiration to the good life. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth but brought up with a plastic one.

Now Gentleman Jack was a special occasion drink only – he’d bought it to celebrate his wedding and it was still three-quarters full. But what the hell – a visit from your imaginary friend, your only friend, was a special occasion. He got another glass, threw in some ice and poured himself a drink. With just a drop of soda.

They joined the others on the patio. After the introductions Jo said, ‘You’re nothing like I imagined.’

‘Why?’ Thommo said.

‘I thought Finn was a Scandinavian name – I imagined you to be tall and blonde, like a Viking.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Thommo said. ‘My grandmother had a fling with a Swedish cello player though. Does that count?’

Jo giggled. Wayne tipped his chair back and rested his can of beer on his stomach. ‘So what do you do for a crust, mate?’

‘Marketing,’ Thommo said.

‘Computers,’ Reuben said at the same time.

‘Marketing computers,’ Thommo said.

‘I see,’ Wayne said. ‘So you get around a bit in your job?’

‘All over the place. One day I’m in Perth, the next I’m in Darwin. Sometimes I have to turn on the TV to know where I am. It’s not as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be, you know. It’s pretty lonely in those hotel rooms at night...’

He hung his head and looked broodingly at his shoes.

‘Reuben tells us you’re a free man now, mate,’ Wayne said. ‘You should go out and hit the town, meet some of the local talent.’

‘Wayne!’ Jo glared at him.’ That’s so insensitive! You can see poor Finn is still upset about his marriage break-up.’

‘As far as I’m concerned, any woman who cheats on her husband isn’t worth crying over.’ He placed his beer on the table and folded his arms. ‘I’m sorry, but I tell it the way I see it and I don’t make any apologies for it.’

‘None needed,’ Thommo said. ‘I agree with you. She’s chosen her bed, now she can lie on it. There’ll be no more tears from me!’

He caught Reuben’s eye. ‘Not many, anyhow.’

Carlene brought out the tray of meat, and Reuben threw the sausages and steak onto the barbecue.

‘Is the barbecue hot enough yet?’ Wayne said.

‘Yes,’ Reuben said.

‘It’s got to be really hot when you put the meat on to seal in the juices.’

‘It’s hot.’ Reuben indulged himself in a vision of Wayne being roasted over an open fire, like a large, hairy pig on a spit.

‘So, Finn, you went to school with Rubie,’ Carlene said.

‘Yep, I sure did.’

‘What was he like as a kid? You’re the first person I’ve met from his childhood.’

‘Well,’ Thommo said, ‘he was very funny.’

‘In what way?’

‘He was always playing practical jokes – you know, putting frogs in the girls’ desks and spiders in their schoolbags.’

‘Oh Rubie, that’s awful,’ Carlene said.

‘There were some good ones though – the time he put the whoopee cushion on the headmaster’s chair…’

Thommo continued his saga until he’d credited Reuben with just about every hackneyed practical joke known to schoolboy kind.

‘I had a kid like that in my class at school,’ Wayne said. ‘Absolute pain in the arse. I got him out the back of the toilets one afternoon and blew up his bottle of exploding ink. All over him.’

‘But that’s only one side of him,’ Thommo said. ‘He was also very heroic.’

‘Yeah?’ Wayne said.

‘Once, we were on a school excursion looking at rock formations and one of the girls fell into a lake. She couldn’t swim, so Reuben ... sorry, Rubie,’ he smirked, ‘dived in, clothes and all, and pulled her out. Of course he had to give her mouth-to-mouth, and she was a hot babe, even dripping wet and blue in the face.’

‘Very noble of you,’ Carlene said.

‘And then there was the time...’ Thommo was on a roll, well-lubricated by Jack Daniels. By the time they’d finished their steaks, Reuben’s passion for practical jokes had been vindicated by his ability to save his classmates from certain death and recruitment into the school choir.

‘Did you actually do any schoolwork?’ Jo asked coolly. Lately, she’d deigned to acknowledge Reuben’s presence and occasionally speak to him, though her attitude was still distant. Reuben didn’t know if Carlene had spoken to her about it, and he didn’t want to know. The whole scenario was too distressing to think about – he felt as if he himself had been violated and held a smouldering resentment towards Jo.

‘I managed to fit some in,’ he said.

‘Not one iota,’ Thommo said at the same time. ‘He was a natural, straight A’s for everything, never opened a book.’

‘I thought you said you just scraped through with passes,’ Carlene said to Reuben.

Reuben gave Thommo a pointed look. ‘I think you’re confusing me with someone else.’

‘Am I?’ Thommo looked vague. ‘Maybe I am. Or maybe I knew that underneath, you were naturally brilliant and should have got straight A’s.’

He eyed the remains of steak and sausage on Jo’s plate. ‘Mind if I finish that off? Thanks.’

‘Unfortunately that brilliance was misdirected,’ Carlene said. ‘But you’ve turned over a new leaf now, haven’t you, honey?’

‘Really?’ Thommo said. He stopped shovelling food into his mouth and gave Reuben an appraising stare. ‘Glad to hear it, I always said he’d come good.’

He held up his glass. ‘How about another Gentleman Jack?’

‘I think you’ve had enough,’ Reuben said.

‘Bullshit,’ said Wayne. ‘Let the poor bloke drown his sorrows. And what’s this about Gentleman Jack? Have you been holding out on us? I’ll have one too, thanks.’

Gritting his teeth Reuben went inside, poured Thommo another bourbon and one for Wayne.

‘It looks like Rubie has well and truly turned over a new leaf,’ Thommo was saying as he returned with the drinks. ‘Now that he’s going to be on TV.’

‘Yeah?’ Wayne said. ‘Doing what?’

Reuben told them about his new role.

‘So you don’t actually say anything?’ Wayne said.

‘No, just smile and pour beers.’

‘That’s a useful skill to have,’ Jo said in sarcasm-drenched tones.

‘Damn right it is,’ Thommo said. ‘He did bloody well for a first audition. There were hundreds there.’

‘Did you audition as well, Finn?’ Carlene asked.

‘Er … yes. I happened to be in Brisbane at the time so I thought I’d go along for a bit of a laugh.’

‘You didn’t tell me that.’ Carlene looked at Reuben as accusingly as if he’d neglected to tell her that Finn was a terrorist.

‘Must have slipped my mind.’ Reuben got up and started gathering up the dishes. ‘Anyone for dessert?’

***

He and Carlene stacked the dishwasher then flopped into bed. Carlene, as usual after a couple of drinks, was giggly and amorous.

‘Finn wasn’t at all what I expected,’ she said as she unbuttoned his shirt.

‘Why?’

‘He didn’t seem at all depressed. Quite the opposite. And eat! I’ve never seen anyone eat as much as he does. And drink.’

‘Yeah,’ Reuben said gloomily. Between the two of them, Thommo and Wayne had finished off the Gentleman Jack. They’d forged an alliance based solely on that partiality and bolstered by a rousing rendition of football songs. It was at that point Reuben called a taxi for Thommo, poured him into it and helped Jo out to the car with her tired, overwrought children and barely standing husband.

‘He’s not usually so over-the-top. It was just the alcohol – he’s been drinking a lot more since his wife left him.’

‘He’ll end up with an alcohol problem if he’s not careful.’ Carlene moved her hand up to his face and she traced the outline of his lips. ‘You’re lucky you’ve got me to look after you.’

Irritation niggled him. Again. At the beginning of their relationship, he’d gone along with her self-appointed role as his saviour, with a sense of playful irony. In a strange way it had turned him on. But as it became increasingly obvious that she viewed herself in this role with an enthusiasm bordering on obsessive, he became proportionately more annoyed. He removed her hand from his mouth.

‘Yeah, I sure am.’

Carlene made her way slowly down his body with her lips and fingers and he became aroused, despite his irritation. As they made love, visions of Lucy filled his mind and he imagined it was her body lying beneath him, quivering and puckering under his touch. His last interview with her, as Thommo was diverting Bomber from his task, replayed itself. He was just coming to the end, when her mobile phone was ringing, when a brilliant idea flashed before him. Her password! In the same moment he climaxed.

‘Ohhhhh … yeah!’ It was a cross between a yell and a moan.

‘You went off like a firecracker.’ Carlene snuggled into him and draped an arm over his chest.

‘You were smoking hot yourself,’ he said, stroking the hair off her forehead. It was true. She
was
hot. It just wasn’t her he’d been fantasising about. Within minutes she was asleep, emitting her rhythmic little pffts. Reuben wanted to leap out of bed and ring Curly straight away, but he knew he’d get short shrift. Curly was more than likely to be in a deep, cannabis-induced sleep.

***

‘Curly! How’s it going?’

‘What are you referring to when you say “it?” My state of health or this cunt of a job you’ve got me doing?’

‘Both.’

‘The first answer is “fucking terrible” and the second is “absolutely nowhere”.’

‘That’s not good, on either count.’

‘You realise I’ve been out of this industry for a while – it’s not as easy as it used to be.’

‘I thought you said you still did a few select projects.’

‘I lied.’

So the one person he’d pinned his hopes on to get him out of this mess was useless. Too much alcohol and weed had killed his brain cells. Or all the useful ones. Reuben cast out his last line of hope.

‘I just thought of something that might help. Lucy’s ring tone on her mobile phone is the theme song from
The Addams Family.
’

‘You think she might have the hots for Lurch? Or fancy herself as Morticia?’

Reuben saw Lucy gliding down a long staircase, an auburn-haired Morticia, her long dress plastered to her like a second skin, accentuating every curve. At the bottom, Reuben, in an imitation of Gomez, kissed her feverishly all the way up her arm to the swell of her breast...

‘I’m thinking something to do with
The Addams Family
could be her password.’

‘You could be right.’

Curly sounded distracted, as if his mind was on something else. Which it probably was.

‘Thanks for the tip,’ he said.

‘Listen, this is a matter of life and death...’

But Curly had already hung up.

***

When Joe went to the bank, Reuben stood at the back door of the kitchen, breathed in a lungful of steamy air and checked his phone. One text message. ‘Got it, ring me.’