St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(38)
The old wooden shutters were gone. Large picture windows had taken their place, with light spilling out through the gap between brightly coloured side curtains. The small, hand-painted wooden nameplate over the door was still there but it was now supplemented by an illuminated sign suspended from an awning over the footpath. The menu pinned inside a glass-fronted case next to the entrance was once totally in Hungarian but now a very precise English translation for each dish was given.
Berlin opened the door and walked into a bright dining area with white-painted walls and polished floorboards. There was a cheery buzz of conversation and tables that had once been covered with butcher’s paper were now set with red and white checked tablecloths and gleaming silverware. The room was full of well-dressed, smiling couples enjoying a night out and no one turned a head in his direction.
A smiling young hostess had replaced the surly headwaiter and Berlin guessed her outfit was supposed to make her look like a Hungarian peasant serving wench. Who knew Hungarian peasants went in for low-cut necklines and very short skirts? Luckily the girl had the figure to show off both of these fashion elements to their best advantage.
‘I’m here to see Mr Horvay, my name is – ‘
‘Mr Berlin, yes, of course.’ She ticked a name off a list on the clipboard she was holding. ‘Please come this way, he’s been waiting for you.’
THE DESERT, Early afternoon
The whimpering from the rear of the car was getting to be a little annoying. The boy considered using the knife again but decided he had no interest in Abo blood. He used a rock to finish the Aborigine off, deciding a head injury would be consistent with a car crash. There was blood on his shirt and pants by the time he finished but there were spares in his kitbag. He stripped off his clothes.
It took a long time, longer than he expected, to dress the boy in his shirt and trousers. He only had one pair of shoes but decided that the corpse being barefoot wouldn’t be a problem. Getting the body into the passenger side was a real effort and it took him almost an hour. Sliding Brother Brian’s body across the front seat and away from the steering wheel and pedals was a lot easier and he was glad he had killed him where he sat. Brother Brian was mostly skin and bones in any case.
He was sweating and exhausted by the time he finished and he had swallowed almost half of one of the water bottles before he stopped himself. He knew he would need to ration the water, so washing the dried blood off his hands was out of the question. Squatting naked in the desert, he rubbed his hands and arms and face with sand to scrub away the evidence. A rumbling from his stomach told him he should probably eat and he stood up. Brother Brian’s big breakfast had kept him going well past the time they would normally have stopped for morning tea and it was a long time since the boy’s bowl of porridge.
He took one of the hotel sandwiches from the paper bag in the back of the car. The sandwich was already warm in its greaseproof paper wrapping and flies descended on it immediately. He moved round to the side of the Dodge, to the open front-seat passenger door. What was inside was of more interest to the flies buzzing around his sandwich and they left to join the swarms already congregating on the bloody corpses. Still naked he stood and watched as he ate, chewing every mouthful slowly and carefully, his eyes never leaving the scene of carnage he had created.
After his lunch he had trouble starting the car until he realised it had to be out of gear. Once it was started, the combination of clutch and accelerator pedal was hard to master. Eventually he got the car moving, jumping and jerking. He left it in first gear because he didn’t really understand what the gears did, but this actually worked for him across the sandy desert surface. He needed to be far enough away from the road to avoid casual discovery but not so far that it would take him too long to walk back.
There was a large clearing in the scrub about a half a mile in from the track that seemed suitable. The vehicle stalled a couple of times but he eventually managed to park it in the middle and well away from the spinifex and the dried desert grass. It would be best to avoid starting a brushfire, which might spread and call attention to the vehicle before he was long gone. He took the water jugs and sandwiches and his kitbag from the back of the vehicle and set them far enough away to be safe. There was a tow rope in the back and he cut off a section, making a loop through the handle of the kitbag so he could carry it over one shoulder. He would need both hands for the water bottles and he would need both water bottles if he was to survive.
SIXTEEN
Berlin followed the hostess towards the rear of the restaurant. At the back of the dining room he saw a glass display cabinet filled with steaks and plates of prawns. Behind it was a large stainless steel grill where two chefs were cooking meat over charcoal. Occasional bursts of red flames flickered up through the bars of the grill when the fat from the meat hit the coals, the smoke instantly whisked away by exhaust fans.
The hostess stood beside Lazlo and put her hand on his shoulder. He put his arm around her waist. She smiled at Berlin, the smile saying, ‘Aren’t I a lucky girl?’ If she was more than twenty or twenty-one Berlin would have been very surprised.
Lazlo stood up and the two men shook hands. ‘Too long, Charlie, much too long. Six months, I think. You are hungry, like always? Sit down, Charlie, sit down and we shall eat and talk about old times. The children are well, and Rebecca also?’
The hostess pulled out a chair and he sat down. ‘Everyone’s good, Lazlo, but I can’t stay, there’s something big on.’