Black Ice Part 8

'I dunno. A kid?' he said.

'He sounds fascinating,' she said. She thought she saw a smile.

They reached the group of buildings of their unit block and Seren tugged open the door that led to their stairwell and lifts. She waited for Marco to press the cracked b.u.t.ton of the elevator. He always loved to press the b.u.t.tons.

The lift smelled like p.i.s.s and one wall proclaimed that Jonno gave good head.

'Get any homework?' she asked.

'Maths. I did it in cla.s.s. I did all the stuff they're up to last year.'

'That's good. You'll know it twice as well. I'll have a look when we get upstairs,' she said.

When the lift b.u.mped open at the sixth floor they got out and walked the short distance to their unit. As Seren unlocked the door she heard a shout.

'HEY, SARAH! Over here!'

Great. Tready. Shirtless, standing in his doorway down the hall, waving at them, beer in hand.

'Come over and have a drink!'

One of the neighbours did not appreciate Tready's yelling, asked him to keep it down: 'Shut up, you f.u.c.ken drunk c.u.n.t!'

Seren bustled Marco through the doorway. 'So, you want a snack before dinner?' she asked him.

'That'd be great, Sarah,' Marco said, grinning up at her.

18.

Friday 5 April, 11 am.

At eleven am Ca.s.sie Jackson uncurled and stretched languidly in her king-sized bed.

That's the problem with having this mattress, she complained to herself. You just sleep too d.a.m.n well on it. Shopping for a new bed for this larger apartment last year, she had remembered her mum's advice don't pay a fortune for the bed frame, spend as much as you can afford on the mattress. When the salesgirl at David Jones had told her that this was the mattress she would buy if she won Lotto, Ca.s.sie had been interested. She always liked to have the best.

And then she'd seen the price tag.

'Eleven thousand dollars!' she'd exclaimed. 'Just for the mattress?'

'Try it,' the salesgirl recommended.

The new bed was delivered that same week, along with a couple of sets of one-thousand thread-count sheets, new latex pillows and the most deluxe doona the store could find her.

Now, nestled naked in the parchment-coloured fabric, Ca.s.sie bemoaned another broken pledge to get up at seven, eat a healthy breakfast and take a walk down to the beach.

She finally rose and shrugged into a slinky jersey dressing gown. She walked past the cigarettes on her dressing table your body is your temple, she told herself and stepped out onto her balcony.

From the nineteenth floor, even a drizzly Bondi Junction was delicious. She loved her view a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree panorama between the Harbour Bridge and the lighthouse at Watson's Bay. After dark, Ca.s.sie's favourite time, the spectacle could bring a halt to any conversation.

She moved back inside and made her way to the kitchen, where two avocados on her benchtop accused her of being wasteful. Her mum had bought them for her, already ripe, three days ago now, telling her to eat them immediately. She had just been released from the hospital and had been determined to do as her mum suggested.

They sat there.

'You're fattening,' she told them. Her mum had told her repeatedly that avocados contained 'healthy fats'. No such thing in Ca.s.sie's book.

She opened the fridge. A package of prawns, purchased yesterday. Pure protein, no fat: her favourite lunch. But she felt like breakfast. An egg-white omelette? Revolting. She grimaced.

If she popped down to a cafe she could order something 'organic and healthy': read low calorie. But this would be just the time that she would run into Tasha and the gang, and they'd want to know what she was doing tonight. This was the first weekend since the horror of the hospital and she was determined to make it through without drugs.

Ca.s.sie opened the freezer and found a package of frozen mixed berries. 'Yum, thank you, Sara Lee,' she said to her empty kitchen.

She rained the berries into her blender, whizzed them with some milk skim and yoghurt fat free. Carrying her liquid breakfast in a tall gla.s.s, she gathered up a soft, toffee-coloured throw rug and went back out to the balcony, feeling positively virtuous. Curled up in the cushions on her day-lounge, feeling part of the heavens, she took a sip of her drink. Not bad, she thought. Although a splash of vodka instead of the yoghurt could have improved things.

Bad girl, she thought, grinning into her gla.s.s.

When she'd finished her breakfast, she considered the day before her. Next stop, the gym. Ca.s.sie knew that she really was one of those b.i.t.c.hes who didn't have to work out. While she did use food deprivation to control her dress-size, a few really well placed curves remained without her having to do anything at all.

Nevertheless, her mate Bryce and his boyfriend, Nahid, former big-time party boys, had told her that they'd quit drugs using yoga and the gym. G.o.d knew, if they could do it, she could too. Bryce had been an absolute c.o.ke pig.

She slipped into footless leggings and a vintage Rolling Stones tee-shirt, threw gym shoes into her tote bag, and stepped into luscious heels she hadn't worn sneakers out in the street since she was fourteen. She grabbed her leather jacket from the chair and her keys from the table in the entrance hall. Then stopped.

Most often she would pause here on her way out to check her reflection in the mirror. Today, the mirror was obscured by a profusion of colour: old-fashioned roses, two dozen of them, many of the a.s.sorted-colour blooms the size of grapefruit. She'd never have found a container big enough to hold the display, but this had caused her no consternation as they'd been delivered in a heavy, lead-crystal vase.

Christian, of course. She stepped around the corner into her study, adjacent to the entry hall, and picked up the card he'd attached from the wastepaper basket. She read it. Smiled.

As she left her apartment, Ca.s.sie tossed Christian's card onto the hall table, where it skidded to a stop against the exquisite crystal vase.

Ca.s.sie had no patience for the personal trainer the gym had recommended. Really, the little b.i.t.c.h tried to kill her on just the first machine! Instead, she watched people moving around the circuit, waited until they had finished, and hopped on each machine to have a go. A few reps was enough for each one. No point in being excessive in life.

On the pec deck she began to feel impatient, an internal itch she'd noticed arising around this time every day for the past four days.

Like something was wrong; missing. Something just beyond the corner of her awareness that she'd forgotten to do, that was troubling her, annoying her. She felt a sudden viciousness towards the chubby man working out on the machine next to her. His sweat was ugly and his tee-shirt horrid. Why did he bother?

She got off the lat machine and walked to the wall of windows overlooking the city. The clock on the wall told her it was three pm. On a Friday.

She stared down into the buildings that encircled the tower housing this gym, her eyes searching, seeking. They stopped. And something clicked. Ca.s.sie gazed, mesmerised, into the cityscape-oriented bar in the building next door, watching the beautiful people her people toast the end of the working week. c.o.c.ktails and business suits, straps and heels, cigarettes and champagne, lime and laughter, music, vodka, lip-gloss, tequila, flirting, texts, friends, pills, blow in the bathroom. She peered into her world like a newly ex-smoker watching someone light up. With l.u.s.t, hunger, drive.

Ca.s.sie suddenly recovered her self-possession and stood straight again, turning away from the window. She moved towards the bathrooms.

Her handprint faded from the gla.s.s as she walked away.

She decided to take a shower here rather than wait to have one at home.

She picked up a towel from a pimply child at the desk and walked into the women's bathroom. In the communal dressing room, she stripped, used to being naked around a roomful of women. Two friends wrapped in towels stopped speaking for a few beats and then started again, their conversation more stilted, distracted, than before.

Ca.s.sie barely saw them. She threw her jacket and bag into a locker and took the key. She stalked naked into the shower, wrapping her long, honeyed hair into a knot on the way.

On her way out of the gym, newly made-up, hair sleek and shining, Ca.s.sie felt better than she had in ages. She thought perhaps she should just stop in at the shops and pick up something for dinner. From the window in the gym, she had spotted a grocery store in the complex next door.

Within moments of stepping into the gleaming granite building, Ca.s.sie was hailed by a girlfriend she had not seen in weeks. What was her name again? That's right, Adele Taha. She couldn't refuse a catch-up. It was Friday, after all; she'd really no excuse.

19.

Friday 5 April, 3 pm.

'Hey, Jelly,' said Jill.

Jelly watched the kids at the skate ramp, shuffling from foot to foot, waiting for his turn. Somehow he'd got his hands on another skateboard. Someone would have relieved him of this one by the end of the day, Jill was sure of it.

'Krystal!' he said. 'Got anything to eat?'

'No, but I'm hungry too, Jelly,' she told him. 'Let's go get some food.'

No point in asking Jelly where he wanted to go. Jill walked past an Asian food store offering sticky, red duck; spicy satay noodles; steaming pork buns past the Turkish takeaway, the windows full of fat pide stuffed with fetta cheese, spinach, nuts and straight into McDonald's. At the counter, she ordered their usual.

'Pay you back next time, Krystal,' said Jelly, half his Big Mac gone in a bite. 'Kasem's coming to see me today.'

Jelly always had cash when Kasem left.

'Yeah?' said Jill.

'Yeah, silly. I told you the other day. You said you'd come meet him.'

'Oh, yeah,' said Jill. 'I forgot.'

'Well, you'd better not forget again, Krystal, 'cause Kasem said he wanted to meet you.'

'Where are you meeting him?' she asked.

'Orbit. Same as always,' said Jelly.

An hour later, Jill walked with Jelly into the dim den of Orbit, a computer gaming and snooker venue. She saw an unmarked detective's car across the road. She knew it had nothing to do with her; Orbit was always being staked out. The cops knew that countless drug deals took place in its shadowy interior every day. But cracking down with the cooperation from the management was out. The place was owned by Triad gangsters who dropped by from time to time in Bentleys and Mercedes to play a round or two of mah-jongg out the back.

Jelly jogged over to a pool table, holding his skateboard under his arm.

'Kasem!'

'Brother.'

Jill saw Jelly pulled into a brief embrace by a tall, swarthy male in a black jumper and dark denim jeans. As the man pulled away from Jelly, she quickly checked him out for other identifying features. Close-cropped black hair, a broad nose that looked as though it had been broken a couple of times and a ten-centimetre vertical scar close to his right eye. His chest was huge, and looked rock-hard from where Jill stood.

'Who's this?' the man said. Kasem seemed to be giving Jill just as thorough a visual evaluation. She stepped back a smidge.

'This is Krystal,' said Jelly. 'She's my friend. I told you about her. Say hi to Kasem, Krystal.'

'Hi, Kasem,' said Jill.

'This is the kick-a.r.s.e hoodlum who saved your life the other day, Jelly? She looks too . . . sweet.' Kasem Nader closed the distance between himself and Jill and smiled down at her.

Although she would have preferred to walk out, or maybe arrest him, Jill smiled back at Nader, blinking her eyes a couple of times for good measure.

'I wanted to meet you, Krystal,' said Kasem, 'to thank you for helping out my brother, Jelly, here.'

'No problem,' she said. 'It was fun.'

Nader smiled. 'Yes, fun,' he said. 'You wouldn't happen to have caught any of their names, would you, Krystal?'

'Nah. p.u.s.s.ies p.i.s.sed off pretty quickly.'

'That's a shame. You're sure, now?'

'Yep.'

Jelly wandered off to play his favourite arcade game with a handful of gold coins from Kasem, who watched him leave, smiling.

'Can you play pool, Krystal?' he asked.

'You could find out. We could have a bet.'

'There's a lot I wouldn't mind finding out about you, Krystal,' he said. 'What kind of money were you thinking about?'

'I've got five bucks left,' she said, pulling the note out of her bra and smacking it down onto the snooker table.

'Tell you what, Krystal,' he said, picking up the money. 'If you win, I'll double your money. But if I beat you, you come to a party I'm giving out at Merrylands tonight.'

Jill wasn't certain that she could have won anyway, but of course she threw the game. She was playing pool with Kasem Nader, and losing meant an invitation right into the heart of his world.

By eight pm, Ca.s.sie Jackson considered Adele Taha the best friend she'd ever had. Within ten minutes of running into her, she'd found herself in the very same bar she had spied from the gym. Sitting now, legs crossed, on a tall barstool right by the window, Ca.s.sie turned her head to look up at the gym. Not so much because she wanted to see it again ugh, once was enough but because she knew that her profile from this angle was killer, and the boy in the beautiful suit who was buying her drinks would be afforded an even better view.

Adele sat at the barstool opposite her. Another beautiful boy in a suit by her side. Ca.s.sie felt a kick under the table. Adele wanted her attention.

'Saxon, sweetie,' Ca.s.sie purred with a smile to the man at her elbow. She tilted her empty gla.s.s backwards and forwards in her fingertips. 'I'm so thirsty.' She watched him walk to the bar with his friend. Saxon. What a ridiculous name. At least she wouldn't forget this one.

'You wanted to say something, darling?' she said to Adele.