Thicker Than Water. Lindy Cameron

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СКАЧАТЬ only 4.30 on a Friday arvo.

      Does everyone in St Kilda get off work early; or is this a secret life for those in the know?

      You're here working O'Malley, she reminded herself. Maybe they are too.

      "More coffee?" queried the out-of-thin-air waitress, startling Kit quite unnecessarily.

      "Ah no, I'll have a Cascade and a foccacia with sundried tomatoes and cheese, please."

      "Are your friends coming back?" The waitress began clearing the table of coffee cups.

      "She's not," Kit pointed to Erin's now empty chair. "But the other two are."

      Kit returned to the deliberation of her next move, or moves - she did have two cases on the go after all - now she was at least satisfied she'd done her best to prevent anything untoward happening to Carrie McDermid, either through naivety or inexperience.

      Like that was really any of your business, O'Malley, she thought.

      Which was kind of what Erin had muttered when she'd asked the favour of her. Actually, Erin had said, 'why do you care?' - with the emphasis on 'you' not 'care'.

      'Someone has to' was a lame reason but apparently good enough for Ms Carmody because, after she'd been filled in on the little Kit knew about the death of Gerry and its consequences so far, Erin called her counterpart on the North Star. She pointed out to 'Barry sweetheart' - in no uncertain terms - that apart from using 'his alleged common sense, he had a duty of care to ensure that his young reporters were properly briefed on the pros and cons of dealing recklessly, or in any way, with Melbourne's biggest crime family - goddamnit!' She rang back a heart-beat later, to say: 'and don't you dare take her off the story to cover your arse'.

      Erin had then left Kit and the boys to rush home and prepare a romantic banquet for her 'spunk monkey'; a term of endearment that Kit could not reconcile with Jon Marek no matter how she tried - which admittedly wasn't very hard, because she really didn't want to begin to imagine what it might mean.

      Kit spotted Enzo, wending his way back from the gents via cheery chats with several people who apparently knew him and vice versa, then spied Bill and Ben the Feral Feds in situ near the glass dessert cabinet. Enzo hovered behind his government antagonists, while they pretended to be wooden chairs, and then he continued on to another table where he whispered in the ear of a guy who looked like a refugee from a seventies rock musical.

      All of which prompted Kit to contemplate the men in her life: first by acknowledging the activity as an alien concept and wondering whether she'd ever done it before; and second by laughing that it wouldn't take long, as there were only three of them. As she rarely saw her crazy brother Michael, or old workmates like Nick, she didn't include them in the tally.

      Worth counting, in many more ways than one however, were Enzo McAllister, Jon Marek and Hector Chase - men who had little in common with each other, but for whom Kit would do anything; and, hopefully, vice versa. They were dear friends she'd scored through fate, good fortune, great management or, as she most liked to believe, because they deserved each other. While she often had these thoughts about her women friends, it dawned on her how wonderful it was to also have these three guys on her balance sheet.

      A quick calculation told her she'd known Jon Marek for thirteen years now; since she joined the force. He'd been her senior-ranked partner while in uniform, her colleague in the fraud squad when she'd made detective, and then her partner again during her brief stint in homicide before she left the job. The divine Enzo she'd known for only a few months; but Kit recognised valuable treasure when she came across it. And then there was Hector, a juvenile-d she'd once arrested for a bottle shop robbery; but who, even then, had more integrity and maturity than most adults Kit knew. He also had the will, and the sheer grit necessary, to overcome his shitty-life start and make something of himself. He was now twenty-three, a computer game designer, all-round techno-whiz, and Kit's semi-official sidekick.

      And now two of her boy friends were about to discuss work with her here at Leo's, while others played. Enzo had found a plausible way for her to check out Gregor Tereshenko in person but, as they couldn't discuss their the job while Erin was still there, Hector had dashed home to pick up his new surveillance toys.

      The waitress delivered the beer and food at the same time as Enzo and Hector returned to their seats, whereon they placed their own drink orders and agreed to share Kit's foccacia.

      "Given the chance," Enzo confided, "my long-haired friend Dean, at the table behind Snig and Snog over there, will accidentally-on-purpose make a mess all over our spooks."

      "Oh shit mate; are they still tailing you?" Hector asked.

      "They emerge from their cocoon every other day to remind us how excellent their absence was. But I can't go on like this. I'm thinking about hiring some ruffians to, to ruffie them up."

      "Just give the go," Hector laughed. "I'll get some mates to ruffie them good and proper." Kit, who'd been checking out the long-haired guys at all the other tables behind the Feds, patted Enzo's arm and queried, "How can you know so many Dean-things in the one place?"

      "Woo," Hector noted. "It'd be good if that question made sense. You been smoking something funny, O'Malley?"

      "Don't be silly, Hector." She pointed. "There's a hundred hippies sitting back there."

      "Uh-uh," Hector shook his head. "I refuse to look."

      Enzo did however; turning back to Kit with an expression that said he'd only just noticed the strangeness of the crowd. "They're Thespians," he said, as if that explained everything.

      "They're blokes, Enzo," Kit stated.

      "Th, th, thespians Kit, not lespians," Enzo grinned. "They belong to Foreplay, and they're doing a gay Godspell."

      "Why?"

      "Because they can, darling."

      "I am so not going to look," Hector stressed, widening his baby-blues until Kit's now-curious inspection of him, made him put on his uneasy face. "What?" he asked, cautiously.

      "Hector. You've had all your hair cut off. And you're all wet."

      "Really, O'Malley? And, oh it's pissing down outside."

      "Hmm," Kit noted. "Should I assume from that somewhat patronising tone, Hector, that you've been without ponytail for longer than, say, today? And if so, why didn't I notice?"

      "I had it cut yesterday, O'Malley, so you're not completely unobservant." Hector ran his ringers back and forth through his brown, now nape-length locks. "Why you didn't notice when I was sitting here earlier though, I don't know; but then why would you?"

      "Why wouldn't I?"

      "You don't notice things like that."

      "Yes I do. I just did."

      "She hasn't noticed your tips, I'll wager," Enzo commented.

      True. So? Kit thought, admiring the blonde bits now they'd been pointed out to her.

      Hector turned to Enzo. "Last week I watched Lillian perform acrobatics in her kitchen to draw O'Malley's attention to her new hairdo. Did she notice the do or the show? No."

      "I СКАЧАТЬ