Chapter 11.
Just a Little Crush
I found another old pub on the other side of Darlinghurst, and payed cash for a single room. I took out a load of cash from my suitcase, and stuffed it into my small back pack and locked the suitcase in the old timber wardrobe, and then, went outside to have something to eat. After that, I dropped into another charity shop and bought a baggy pair of black tracksuit pants and a sleeveless hooded jacket, which I put on over a plain t-shirt. Some cheap sunglasses and a plain blue baseball cap completed my look.
I walked down Oxford Street, with its gay bars and curry houses, strolled across Hyde Park, crossed the busy road, and entered into the heart of the city. It was time to go shopping in earnest.
My first purchase was a short, red, lycra cocktail dress, which was so light that it could be rolled up into a small ball. Then I scoured the boutique shoe stores, until, I found just what I wanted: a pair of shoes, made in Greece, which could convert from flats, to a slinky stiletto, by means of a flip out heel mechanism. What else? Ah yes! I needed a waterproof, backpack, swim pouch; a Speedo swimming costume, latex swimming cap, and a pocket knife. So, I rolled into one of those huge sports stores and was soon walking out with my purchases and heading along George Street, through a great crush of people. Then, I ambled along to the Byzantine style, Queen Victoria Building, and rode the lift up to the third floor, and bought a good quality platinum, blonde wig, in a short, blunt, bob style.
Now that I was somewhat organised, I could allow myself to bask in the excitement and the buzz, of the city full of people anticipating tonight’s celebration: as one year formerly ended, and another one began. All around me, there was a simmering fever of exhilaration, as people gossiped, ran for buses, bought new clothing, sprayed perfumes, munched on tasty foods, and sipped cold drinks. I also felt that there was a collective hope, that the day would not get too hot, and stay that bit milder, like it had been.
I went back to the seedy old pub and lay on the bed and started to read through the leather bound book. But it seems I fell asleep, as when I woke, the muted sounds and faded light of late evening, were coming through the open window of my room.
I was invigorated and ready for action.
--------------------------------------------
‘Come along this way sir’, purred the attractive Brenda, who led Agent Johnson out of one of the luxurious, private lounge rooms, decorated with pink, satin chairs, and gilt mirrors, and into a hushed hallway. He followed her swaying figure, up the carpeted staircase, of the four-level terrace house, on New South Head Road, in Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs, as oriental, citrus scents bloomed in the air around them. These aromas were designed to manipulate the brain’s limbic system, and so, create a more powerful bedroom experience.
Johnson followed Brenda into the spa room, decorated in a soft peach, with gold accessories and huge, fluffy towels neatly folded on top of a nearby satin covered, heart-shaped bed.
Brenda took off all her clothes and climbed into the shell-shaped spa bath, and smiled at Johnson. He unbuttoned his shirt and threw his clothes onto the waiting bed and climbed into the warm, perfumed water with her. Slowly, as though in slow motion, Brenda reached over and pressed the button, causing streams of air and water to spurt from gold jets on the bath wall. As the water turbulence increased, and the air bubbles began to detonate on his skin, Johnson moved closer to Brenda.
‘What is it you want to know, Johnny?’ Brenda asked, wide eyed.
‘We’ll get to that in a moment, Cheese Ball. How’ve you been?’
Benda giggled. ‘God! I haven’t been called that in a while’.
‘Do you ever miss the old neighbourhood?’ Johnson asked softly.
‘No….only when you call me that, Skinny Legs’, Brenda replied, as Johnson chuckled tenderly.
‘Speaking low, Johnson became more serious. ‘I want to know if there is a massage parlour around these parts, which might be linked to a bloke called, John Merlo otherwise known as Giovani Sciarra. It’s called Angel’s Place, but I haven’t been able to find out exactly where it is located’.
Brenda stared at Johnson with her doleful eyes. ‘The top floor here is called Angel’s Place. It is open only to the mega rich….and there is some high stakes gambling involved. I don’t know anything about those names you mentioned, but it is managed, from what I’ve heard on the grapevine, by a very beautiful young woman’.
The spa jets stopped and the room became a vacuum of silence. Johnson pressed the button again, and said, ‘so you don’t know anyone called Pasquale Scamardo?’
‘You must mean the security guy! I call him Pascal. I remember he told me once that his name means Passover or Easter, in Italian, but I had trouble saying it, the way he said it, and the name Pascal sort of stuck’.
‘He’s dead, sweetheart’.
‘Oh!’ Brenda responded, wide eyed. Then she continued, ‘by the way, my friend, Tika, is working for Angel’s Place tonight, on a superyacht parked out in Rushcutters Bay. Here’s her number.’
‘Thanks Cheese Ball, I owe you’, Johnson breathed into her ear, as he jumped out of the tub and pulled his clothes over his lean body. He leaned over and kissed Brenda on the lips and whispered, ‘You earned every cent sweetheart’.
Brenda laughed, throatily and said, ‘You know that I’d do anything for you Skinny Legs’.