Читать книгу Serpent Song - Toni Grant - Страница 11

The Five Dock café bustled in morning activity. Francesca greeted the owner with warm familiarity and found a private table at the rear of the small room.

Over breakfast, the detectives explored Chi You habits and the creep in the car across the river in low, private voices. Their hushed but intense discussions went largely unnoticed until the second round of coffee. By now the place was beginning to fill with groups of mothers and small children.

Francesca switched subjects when she realised one of the groups was paying more attention to them than to the whining children.

They stood out like dogs’ balls anyway. Cops have a look about them and Little John with his messed-up ginger nut lit up like a beacon amongst the dark-haired crowd of well-dressed customers.

Johnno leaned back in his seat, causing it to stretch alarmingly under his bulk and surveyed his partner of 12 months.

She was a looker all right. Physically a beautiful specimen of average height with curves in all the right places. Her dark hair fell in waves down her back and stopped midway to shapely hips. Startling green eyes sparkled with vitality, emphasized as they were with thick black lashes and heavy eyeliner. During the summer months her skin turned a deep golden, a tribute, he supposed, to her Italian heritage.

The boys in the squad called her Movie Star and she took it in her stride. Everyone in the team had a nickname. Usually it related to an unfortunate mishap on a job, or an obvious character or physical trait. His was Little John because there was nothing little about him.

The coffee had been delivered and he watched her sprinkle the sugar over the top. She seemed absorbed in the process, waiting and watching as the sugar perched high above the tight foam before slowly descending.

“You know …” she started.

“That’s the sign of a great coffee. Made to perfection. When the sugar can sit on the top like that it means the milk has been agitated to …” Johnno finished the sentence of the girl he’d come to regard as a little sister.

“Smart arse,” Francesca responded her lips forming a playful pout. “I don’t say that every time.”

“Have you ever tried to sit the sugar on the coffee crema? Now when that happens you know the coffee is good,” Johnno continued to bait her.

She looked into her coffee as a playful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She composed herself enough to look directly at Johnno and smiled sweetly revealing pearly teeth and a surprising fullness to her face.

“Alright you’ve had your fun,” she said simply, returning her focus to the coffee, creating patterns in the milky froth with her spoon.

Johnno watched her. He couldn’t put his finger on it but recognised the cracks behind the stylish clothes and façade, signs that she wasn’t coping. Distraction and agitation replaced by a 1950s housewife. A fresh homemade treat every morning tea accompanied by obsessive fussing over process and court preparations. The lucky dip of emotional outpouring that the team bore daily.

“How are you going with the Chi You brief?” he asked casually.

Whether the cause was work-related or chick’s business made no difference. Every detective on Johnno’s team was subjected to the same scrutiny. They worked a deadly game. Knowing the importance of this, Johnno employed numerous tactics to help each member stay on form and focused.

“Good,” she lied, thinking about the papers scattered around her home. If she missed something in the brief and Chi You walked, she’d never forgive herself. In one month, the pressure valve would be released enough for her to relax a little and get a decent night’s sleep. Subconsciously she stretched her shoulders, flexing and prodding the tight muscles with her fingers.

“Do you need a hand? I can organise for someone else to handle this new matter if you like,” he persisted noticing again the hollows under her eyes that makeup couldn’t hide.

“What? No way. I’m good Johnno. Besides, we all have massive case loads, there’s no one else available. Truly, I’m good. Just a bit flat at the moment, that’s all.” She reached across and squeezed his arm where it rested on the table. The girl smiled reassuringly.

“Coming to Ruthie’s tomorrow night?” He changed tack. “Great band, good food, great blokes. You never know, you might pick up! That drummer you hooked up with last time, what was his name, Peg Leg Pete, is playing.”

Francesca shook her head in disbelief. “You’re an arse, you know that. His name was Van Peart. We didn’t hook up.”

“Bullshit!” Johnno cupped his hands over his mouth, pretending to sneeze. “I saw you leave with him.”

“If you must know, I caught a cab. Alone. After he offered me a joint.”

Francesca burst out laughing at the memory of his stunned face as she left him at the curb with a warning.

“What! No way! You never mentioned it before.” His rumbling laughter caught the attention of the mothers’ group again.

“Shut up Johnno. And you will never mention it again. It was frigging embarrassing. So, yeah I’ll come but I’ll sort out my own love life thanks very much.” Francesca played with the spoon, licking the cold froth from the handle.

“Right. So now I know your type. You’ve expanded your repertoire. Potheads and arse-holes. Why don’t you hook up with one of my mates? They might not be as classy to look at as your latest and greatest, but they’re decent blokes. And they know how to treat a lady.”

Francesca blushed as the whole café turned their attention to the unlikely pair and the topic of their conversation. She looked into her empty coffee cup, hiding bright red cheeks.

“Thanks Johnno, you are really sweet and I love your mates, but you know me. I don’t mix business with pleasure. If it all fell to shit, well, it would be awkward. Besides, my taste in men is not THAT bad! I agree, in the past, I’ve made some bad choices.”

She paused, sobering. “To be honest, lately I’ve been so wrapped up in work I haven’t had time for relationships. When you’re a cop … think of it from my perspective. Our profession doesn’t turn men on to me like the women turn on for you. Besides, I have my work cut out keeping all of your team in line!”

She tried to sound light. The truth being every guy she ever met was invariably compared with Delarno. Forget the glass ceiling, no man could get close enough to her to bust through the Nicholas Delarno ceiling.

“Let’s go,” the detective said abruptly, not wanting to get trapped in her head again. She pushed the chair back and stood before Johnno had a chance to respond. “The boss will be chaffing to talk about this morning’s call out. I bet the Minister’s been on the phone already. He’s a pain in the arse. I hate election years.”

She switched her phone off silent to find five messages from the boss. She shoved it in Johnno’s face, emphasizing her point. He would have the same if not more. The boss rarely phoned her.

“All right sister, let’s get rolling.” Little John stood, dwarfing her. His chair scraped loudly across the tiled floor. He got the hint… personal life off limits. Again.

Francesca glanced guiltily at his hurt expression. “Thanks for looking out for me ol’ buddy. Hell, I dunno know where I’d be without ya, an’ all,” Francesca said, mimicking a wild western drawl that sounded more like goofy on the drink. She finished the display with an exaggerated wink and a dramatic fluttering of her long eyelashes.

“Come on you dag. That’s the worst accent I’ve ever heard.” Johnno resisted the urge to flick her across the arse with the napkin as they headed out of the café into the sunny winters day.