Bleeding Hearts. Lindy Cameron

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СКАЧАТЬ O'Malley, Private Investigator' not 'Katherine Turner, writer" - and gave it the older of the two security guards. "Take him to South Melbourne Police Station and get him locked up. Ask for Detective Wilkes, Hanson or Barnes, give them that card and tell them I'll be there in an hour to file assault charges."

      "Sure thing," the guard smiled. "Our pleasure."

      "Who the hell do you think you are?" the Director demanded.

      Kit raised her eyebrows and cast a glance back at Angela who was being tended by the two women who'd rushed over with everyone else.

      "Did you hear me?" the Director asked.

      "Have you called an ambulance yet?" Kit asked by way of reply, pointing to the mobile in the Director's otherwise unhelpful hand.

      "What? I asked you who you were."

      "A deranged man, with a restraining order against him, gained unauthorised entry to your studio, assaulted two people, we're still waiting for you to call an ambulance, and all you care about is who I am," Kit exclaimed, flinging her hands up to demonstrate her exasperation. "I feel like I'm in a soap opera," she added dramatically, and then stepped back to see how Angela was.

      "Well, who is she?" the Director asked.

      "Gimme that, Tony," Dylan snapped, grabbing his phone.

      "She's coming round," one of the women said to Kit.

      "Angela, you okay?" Kit asked.

      "I don't feel so good," Angela slurred.

      "Forget the ambulance Dylan," Kit called out. "Get us one of those golf cart thingies, will you?" "Okay. I'll be right back."

      "Can you stand up Angela?"

      "Maybe. Can't guarantee I won't throw up, though."

      "That's okay," Kit said, as she and the other women helped her up and then over to the bench.

      "You're not really a writer, are you?" Dylan asked five minutes later as he snapped the safety belt around Angela in the back seat of Kit's car.

      "What makes you say that?" Kit asked.

      "I can ask Andy what your business card really said," Dylan threatened with a smile. He got into the front passenger seat beside Kit and pointed to show the quickest way off the studio lot.

      "I'm a private investigator," Kit admitted.

      "Cool!" he exclaimed. "I knew it. I mean I knew you weren't writing a book. Not at first, obviously, but you know."

      Kit laughed. "But I am writing a book," she stated.

      "You are?"

      "Yeah. I'm writing a detective novel."

      "A detective writing a detective novel. That's very Angela Lansbury. But that's not why you wanted to talk to me, I bet."

      "No," Kit agreed.

      "Was I a cover story so you could catch Barry?" Dylan asked.

      "No," Kit snorted. "I didn't know about Barry. I wish I still didn't know about Barry. The bastard has completely messed up my morning and, to top it off, as a consequence of now knowing about Barry, I am going to be late for a very important date."

      Kit glanced at the dash clock. It was 10:45 am. She might, might, manage to get Angela to Casualty, then drop into the local cop shop to make a formal complaint about Barry, before someone decided to let the bastard go, and get back into the city by midday - but she doubted it.

      Alex had said to meet her for lunch at noon. Kit already had that desperate sinking feeling that no matter how hard she tried, she was going to be late for the only thing in the world she wanted to be on time for.

      Murphy's bloody law, she thought angrily. Anything that can go wrong will be completely fucked up. Who the hell was Murphy, anyway? Kit wondered as she turned into Dudley Street, heading towards the top end of the city. She contemplated tracking him down and shooting him for thinking up such a stupid thing in the first place. This was obviously all his fault, being a twist on Lillian's rotational theory of life and art, because if Murphy hadn't made the law, this perverse universe wouldn't have to adhere to it.

      "I hope it's not a date date," Dylan said.

      "Why?" Kit asked, wondering if she'd been thinking aloud.

      "Because the other thing that Barry messed up this morning was your face."

      "What?" Kit asked, trying to get a look at herself in the rearview mirror.

      "He decked you with his arm," Dylan said. "Don't you remember? Didn't you feel it? Don't you feel it now? Man, perhaps I should be driving. You've probably got head injuries too."

      Kit pulled up at the next set of traffic lights, because they were red, and took the opportunity to swivel the mirror so she could see.

      "Oh shit!" she exclaimed.

      This was not unlike how she looked back in January; the last time she'd seen Alex - the last time Alex had seen her. Shit, shit, shit! The woman was going to think she was accident-prone or that she habitually attracted types of the undesirable whack-you-in-the-face variety.

      "Aaagh," she groaned, taking off again as the lights changed.

      "It's okay," Dylan said cheerily. "It's a radical purple. You could pretend..."

      Kit pulled up again at the Peel Street lights. She turned to Dylan, narrowed her eyes and just... looked at him.

      "Okay, yes, you're quite right," he acknowledged. "There's nothing that can be done. Oh look, Vic Market is very busy today. I didn't even know they opened on, whatever today is. How are you going back there, Angela?"

      "Just dandy, thanks Dylan. I'd be even better if you weren't babbling so loudly."

      "Right. I'll shut up now," he said, facing forwards. "The lights aren't going to get any greener, though," he added, giving Kit a sideways smile.

      "Dylan, mate," Kit said, making a left turn, "when you're rich and famous - which Rebecca Jones seems to think is in your stars - I'd like you to do something for me."

      Dylan eyed Kit suspiciously. "Sure Katherine, if I can."

      "If you make any of those big action movies where you play the hero that saves the girl or the world or both, then every time a stunt person takes a fall for you, I'd like you to remember today," Kit said, tapping her face. Ow! That was dumb.

      "Okay," he shrugged. "Why?"

      "Because I want you to remember how I got this bruise while you just stood around with a large and useless pole."

      "Oh," Dylan nodded. "I could probably do that for you."

      "Thank you," Kit said.

      What a spiteful place to put a mirror, Kit thought. There you are, on your way to an appointment with Melbourne's top modelling agency on the first СКАЧАТЬ