The Lost Women

  Chapter 15

  Sunday 20th November, 1988

  Dana Roberts is Sally Brown

  Quiet Interlude

  The lustomanics next door must have been worn out last night, because they didn’t bother me; there was no wall thumping, moaning, or calls to ‘give it to me baby’. I had arrived home from Ruslen’s place, fallen into bed and not moved. But then, I’d had vivid dreams, staring, Tabra Hayden, working as a snake charmer and acrobat, down at circular key, and at one stage, Peter Ruslen drove past at the wheel of a city bus. Weird!

  Luckily the broken window had been fixed yesterday, as it was raining today. Outside there was a steady drizzle, and the sky was like a giant lead sinker, and dark, like it was heading toward night, instead of the beginning of a summer morning.

  I thought about last night; the arrival of the fire brigade was the cherry on top of a very strange evening. I considered Liz and Effie; I couldn’t imagine being in their shoes. They were obviously being paid by Ruslen from what Liz had said in the ladies’ toilets at Julianna’s, but was such a job worth the money? Surely there were better jobs out there which didn’t involve selling yourself. But, then again, I suppose most jobs involved selling yourself to some extent.

  I grabbed the compact, folding umbrella from my suitcase and soon I began to walk down to Bondi Beach, to buy some breakfast. I was wearing a pair of Levi jeans today, teamed with a too tight, white Bonds T-shirt, and a pair of red, high heels. A particularly ugly Glomesh handbag, which hung from my shoulder, swung idly, as I walked along the wet footpaths and thought about how I enjoyed walking in the rain, as it was relaxing and gave me time to contemplate. And generally, when I walked in the rain, I had the streets to myself. On the way, I would also stop off at a phone box and make a phone call.

  Digging a coin out of my purse, I dropped it into the gold phone, which sat in front of a small milk bar. The blob nosed man inside, who was wearing a jet black toupee, was watching me carefully, in the hope that I would buy a milkshake or a Chiko Roll. I didn’t get the feeling that he was making a fortune in this business. Perhaps, the toupee was scaring off the customers?

  I dialled the number and the phone began to ring. I hoped he was home.

  ‘Hi Harry’, I said. I didn’t have to tell him, it was me calling. He knew.

  ‘I’ve missed you’, he returned.

  ‘Me too’.

  Then he began to tell me about what had been happening on his end of the investigation; about how June Roze’s credit card had been used at a few clothing shops, and at the Regent Hotel, by a woman wearing a green dress. He told me that there might be some evidence coming from the Australian Federal Police, linking the murdered man, a Gary Nobbs, who had met Harry under the bridge, with Ruslen. The murdered man’s wife, Harry said, also, had links, at one time, with the Russian Mafia that operated in Brooklyn, New York. He told me that he had suspicions that Lee Lin was connected with Asian Triads. Then, we arranged to meet later.

  My mind felt like it was filled with a clan of chattering spider monkeys. How to make sense of all these crazy threads! I walked into the milk bar: I really needed a milkshake and a Chiko Roll!

  Down at the beach I held the umbrella snugly over my head and gazed out at the roiling waves, which rose and crashed in a kind of hypnotic anarchy. June Roze was Russian, too. This was more than a coincidence. Then, as I thought about it, I remembered the woman lying on the chaise lounge across from Phillip Ruslen last night. This woman had long blonde hair, like June Roze. A coincidence? Maybe.

  I walked back across the road and sat at a café and sipped a coffee and leafed through a newspaper that had been left on my table. There was a small article about Russia’s unmanned spaceflight and another about the dangers of cholesterol and eggs. Then, I came to the social pages and saw a full page spread of Ruslen’s party. Oh hell! There was a photo, clearly of me, half-naked being pulled out of the room by Peter Ruslen. The caption underneath said ‘Peter Ruslen Escorts Pebbles to His Cave’ Suddenly, I imagined Rochelle Jane and Jodie Lamb opening a packet of fish and chips one day soon, and beholding this scene. I then screamed inwardly at my bad luck, as the two ladies in question, pulled opened the door and entered the café.

  I braced myself for an onslaught from the two bullies, but amazingly, they didn’t even see me, as they shuffled past deep in conversation and sat right behind me.

  ‘It’s hard being engaged to Spud when I still really love Cyclone’, I heard Jodie Lamb say with acute seriousness.

  ‘I know, I had the same problem giving up Gonzo, when me ‘n Pud got together’ answered Rochelle Jane.

  And on they went talking about their love affairs, with the same people that they had been hanging around with since high school. In fact, hearing this conversation made me feel that I was back in year 10 maths, listening to the pair of them rabbiting on behind me; that is, when they were not trying to throw spit balls at my head and get me on detention.

  Carefully, I began to scrunch up the offending newspaper page, and then, quickly tucked it into my handbag. I got up quietly, and slowly, and tried to inch my way out of the cafe without attracting any attention. Unfortunately, I also managed to tuck the table cloth into my purse, along with the newspaper page, and my empty cup hit the floor with a loud ‘poing’. Luckily, it did not break. I turned around to scoop the cup up and set the table to rights, and as I did, I noticed that the two bullies hadn’t noticed a thing; they were still deep in discussion about their love lives. Phew! I said, and out I scooted.

  I walked out into the steadily falling rain and down the road and entered Cosmos, the restaurant where Tabra Hayden used to work; the place was empty. The sound of the rain was loud inside because of the metal roof and the large, front windows were fogged up, so that the ocean over the road was just a smudge of blue. A single young woman stood behind the counter.

  ‘We are not really open, yet’ she said with a shy smile.

  ‘Oh, that’s OK’ I returned. ‘Really……I am only hoping to find out some information about my cousin, Tabra Hayden, who used to work here…..She has disappeared’.

  The pretty young woman, a Eurasian, smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m not sure that I can help you, as I have just come from Hong Kong for a visit and my uncle brought me here to work in the restaurant, while he sees to other business’.

  ‘Oh! How interesting, growing up in Hong Kong’, I said.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t that interesting.’ Then her eyes lit up. ‘Not as interesting as growing up in Shanghai, like my parents did. My mum lived for a while in the Shanghai International Settlement, but that came to an end in December 1941, when the Japanese came. Before this, mum said that they had felt safe with the presence of the consulate on the Bund……..Sorry, I am talking too much’ she said suddenly, turning red and looking bashful. ‘But I find my family history so interesting!’ She continued eyes bright.

  A tall woman stepped out from the kitchen door and her blue eyes bored into me like electric drills. ‘We are ready to go now, Vera’, she hissed.

  ‘Yes mama’, the young woman replied, looking uncertain. She smiled at me slightly and disappeared through the door and I was left alone with my thoughts in the empty restaurant, while the rain continued to pound its fingers upon the roof, like the hand of god.

  ----------------------------------------------------

  I turned the lights down and glanced over at the table, set with a simple cloth and a single candle. The spaghetti marinara that I had cooked was resting in a large bowl and the wine was chilling in the fridge. A knock rang out on the door.

  ‘Hello darling’.

  ‘Hello to you, too….But get inside before anyone sees you’.

  Harry whipped inside and immediately began to waltz me about the room. I laughed, feeling suddenly light and happy. I didn’t trust many people, but I was starting to trust Harry: he hadn’t let me down yet. But of course, Harry himself tended to be a bi
t aloof and reticent in the romance department; but, from what I had heard, that was an appropriate response after his marriage to Linda.

  We sat down to eat and I have to say that my marinara was a success. I am a bit of a hit and miss cook, so I was glad. Then we began to talk shop.

  ‘What have you managed to find out about Peter Ruslen and his brothels and his sedative business?’ I asked.

  ‘The brothels have closed up shop, it seems’, he sighed. ‘But The Sarg has someone combing through old cases looking for reports of drink spiking around the city. Unfortunately, most women who have had their drinks drugged, never make a police report, but blame themselves for being drunk. We do, have some evidence from local hospital reports, of young women who’ve passed out and had their stomachs pumped, so we know that these drugs are counterfeit: not stamped with the brand names Rorer or Lemmon.’

  ‘Quaaludes, from what I know, hit you hard and fast and then you lose your short term memory’.

  ‘Sounds like you are talking from experience’ said Harry softly.

  ‘Yeah, I had some tough teenage years and my mum had some prescribed for anxiety and sleep problems. And plenty of the kids at high school tried them; called them the ‘love drug’ in fact.’

  ‘Obviously we went to different schools’, Harry said, looking worried and amazed. ‘You do know that Quaaludes are really addictive and if you take them with alcohol -- what some people call ‘luding out’, the sedative effect can be fatal.’

  ‘Yes I know.’ I said quickly, ‘now wishing that I hadn’t revealed my rough, teenage past. I hated the way I often ended up feeling up like I came from the bottom rungs, when I disclosed some of the reality of my earlier life, and how those who grew up comfortably middle class, looked down at me.

  ‘But Ruslen seems to be moving into ‘roofies’; that is, Rohypnol, from what I’ve heard’, added Harry.

  Any idea where he is sourcing them from?’ I asked; glad to move the conversation away from me, as I finished the last mouthful of my pasta.

  ‘We think they are coming in from overseas somehow…….And, I just remembered that, the name Quaaludes, supposedly comes from the words ‘quiet interlude’, Harry added.

  ‘We should be having a quiet interlude, don’t you think Harry?’ I said, and the silence stretched out.

  A loud knock sounded ominously at my door and we both looked at each other, with wide eyes. Without speaking, Harry got up and moved, panther like, out of sight into the bedroom, and I went to answer the door.

  ‘Hello, I have a special delivery of flowers for…..’ he looked down at a piece of paper… ‘a Sally Brown’.

  ‘Thank you’, I said, taking the enormous bunch of pink roses into my arms and then closing the door. Harry came out.

  ‘Have a look at the card’, Harry said, pointing to a card tied on with a gold string. It said.

  ‘Hello Sally,

  I hope that you will excuse my slightly unprofessional behaviour, but as I did not know your name and address, I was driven to calling our staffing manager, who most thankfully obliged me. However, I must admit that I was somewhat surprised to find you living in that particular building in Bondi, as I once knew someone who used to live there. But never mind that.

  I would like to talk to you about a job offer. A job that would pay you much more than you would make now, with casual waitressing. So, if it is convenient, I would like to pick you up tomorrow morning -- say about 10ish, so that I can tell you what I have in mind.

  My most fond regards,

  Peter Ruslen.

  I handed the note to Harry and after he quickly read it and we simply stared at each other in amazement.

  Didn’t you tell me that Liz, the women that you first encountered at Julianna’s, was of the opinion that Ruslen sees women in terms of a Madonna/whore complex, and that she believes that he sees you as a ‘good girl’ type.

  ‘Yes that’s what she said, and yet, you would think that my dancing with a man at the nightclub and wearing that skimpy outfit last night would have divested him of such a notion’, I added, ironically.

  ‘Perhaps it’s something about you?

  ‘Liz said that he idolises his mother, and that, I, maybe, look a bit like his fiancé.’

  ‘How very interesting, a fiancé! Who is she then?’ Harry said looking hopeful.

  ‘I don’t know. Liz implied that the fiancé had disappeared’.

  ‘Hmmm, another woman from Ruslen’s circle who has disappeared!’ I’ll have to look into this. However, in the meantime, come here.

  I walked into Harry’s arms and together we shut the bedroom door. It was my turn to entertain the neighbours.