The first thing Sandra did when she got to The Four Legs was to make a dash for the lavatory. As she sat on the cold seat she did the second thing she’d desperately wanted to do. She reached into her jacket pocket where she’d callously stuffed it in a needless act of defiance and pulled out the envelope Sebastian had given her. She didn’t remember it feeling this fat. She placed it on her lap and carefully decreased it. She stared at it. There was no part of her that was unsure that she would eventually open it, but every part of her was unsure of what she would find. Carefully she turned it over, and opened the back.
She peed. There was a very good reason why the envelope felt fat. It wasn’t a few notes, or a token gesture, it was a wad – she suddenly understood how the word would actually be applied – it was a wad of cash. She’d never had a wad of cash before. In the past she’d had some. A bit. Her bond and first month’s rent. But a wad? Better still, a wad of hundreds. Why did he give her this? Did he feel guilty? Was he manipulating her further into feeling like she owed him? Because if that was the case then by cracky, she was still going to spend it. Just not on stuff that he’d think was a good idea. No bag to start with. Given that she’d just spectacularly quit her job, maybe she’d start with the rent. Damn. That’s just what he’d want.
She continued to pee. She flipped through the notes, too scared to take them out in case some bizarre quirk of fate hurled them into the toilet bowl. Or under a cubicle and into the air vent. Or a monkey came and got ‘em. Anything. There had to be five thousand dollars stuffed in there. She’d nearly thrown it at the shit busker when she got out of the limo just to defy Sebastian. Maybe she should have. Maybe he’d go away, spend the money on some lessons, come back and croon, she’d be none the wiser and not utterly baffled for the 37th time in two days.
She continued to pee. God, this is what a beer and four espressos can do to you. She took one – no two – nah, make it five notes out of the envelope and put them in her purse. She then took another two and stuffed them into her sock. She stuffed another two into her bra – that was uncomfortable, who invented that? – the rest stayed in the envelope which returned to her jacket pocket. She had to remind herself that, no matter how warm it got, that jacket was to stay on. She’d always remembered to grab everything when leaving a public place, unless it was something valuable. Then it was doomed. The public transport companies did quite well out of the things she’d bequeathed to them on her journeys.
She continued to pee. The second Liz got here she’d get her to stash half the money somewhere. Just to be on the safe side. She wondered how far away she was. She grabbed Sebastian’s phone to see if she’d received a text. She’d only briefly had an iPhone (train trip) and had no idea how he’d set this one up. She unlocked it, and began to flip through it. Not much. It seemed to be fairly factory standard, whatever that was. No games to play while you’re peeing out an entire morning and half the night before. Doesn’t seem so smart.
She’d nearly finished peeing. Check the text messages – nothing. She went to put Liz’s names in the contacts. She remembered Sebastian had told her that his number was in it if she needed it, and she scrolled down to make sure. She quickly discovered his name was not there. There was one number, but the name was different.
Daniel Cameron.
She finished peeing, as if to punctuate a moment.
Daniel Cameron. Daniel Cameron. That name. That damn familiar name. She vaguely remembered being right here, being in the lavatory, only not quite. There was talking, men talking, she heard the name Daniel Cameron. It came with a smile. A smile and a hand shake. Not in the bathroom, but somewhere noisy. It must have been out in the bar, there was background noise. He was introduced to her by someone, who the hell was that?
She blinked, not able to remember anymore. Why was Daniel Cameron’s phone number in the phone that Sebastian had given her? She went to dial the number, and then realised she was still in the cubicle. She should probably not do it in the toilet. And she should probably speak to Liz first.
When she emerged from the bathroom Liz was seated across a chaise lounge, some unknown cocktail in her hand.
“Well, this is an early start for a Wednesday. Should I be congratulating or commiserating? And do we want lunch here? Cause if we do we’d better just get the wedges, I spent the last of my money on this thing. I know you’re unemployed now but can I borrow 50 bucks?”
Sandra sat down opposite her, eyes glazed, brain processing. Conversing was out of the question. Mouth functions had been shut down and all spare energy was funnelled to the cerebral cortex. As she sat she reached into her bra, pulled out the uncomfortable two hundred dollars and handed it to Liz. As she did she took the drink off her, and took a sip. It was disgusting. It was like drinking sugar that had been processed with sugar, mixed with ice sugar and had aniseed poured all over it just to make it taste worse. It briefly snapped her back.
“Jesus that’s disgusting. What is that?”
Liz was gazing at the money she’d just handed to her.
“I don’t know I asked for the cheapest cocktail. It was still fifteen dollars. Um – what’s this?” she asked, waving the money around.
“It’s two hundred dollars. Shh, I’m thinking.” She took another sip, grimaced, but her brain was too busy to register that having another sip was a bad idea. She was operating on instinct. Drink in hand. Therefore drink. Rarely did her brain interfere with that particular process, even when not solving a crime.
Liz ignored her request.
“Yeah but you just pulled two hundred dollars out of your tits. And you’re drinking my hangover cure. And, you just bailed this morning with some suave guy in a suit. Now you’ve quit your job. What’s going on San?”
“Sssh.. Wait – don’t sh. Does the name Poehler mean anything to you?”
“Nope. Nothing.”
“Sebastian Pohler? Richard Pohler?”
“Nope.”
“Right. What about Cameron. Daniel Cameron.”
“Yeah. Of course. Shouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know, should it?”
“Creepy Guy introduced us to him the other night. Said he was a mate of his. He set up the bar tab, that was the only reason we stuck around with him.”
“Really?”
“Jesus, you don’t remember that too? We were sitting just over there, and Creepy Guy got spotted by Daniel who came over and invited himself to join us for a bit. Didn’t really speak to him though. Only really spoke to Creepy Guy.”
Sandra was in shock.
“What did he look like?”
“Kinda suave. Well dressedish. Clean shaven. Red shirt, suit, but casually nice not really dressed up. Good shoes actually. Disarming smile in a way. Made you feel more comfortable than you should. Charming actually.”
“How do you remember all of this?”
“We talked about him. We excused ourselves to go to the loo and had a conversation about him. You don’t remember that? What he looked like, what they were talking about so seriously, and then when we came back he’d gone and creepy guy had set up a tab for us. We made up a whole personality for him.”
“Jesus I don’t remember this at all. Why didn’t we talk about this last night?”
“I dunno. It never really came up. Didn’t think of it.”
Sandra took another sip of the disgusting drink before her brain broke trying to thread it all together.
“Suave guy, in the limo – Sebastian Pohler - gave me a phone and said his number was in it. But the only number in it is for Daniel Cameron.”
“Call it.”
“I was going to. But –“
“Call it.”
Sandra reached for the phone, unlocked it, found the name and selected the number. It started to ring as she placed it just away from her ear so Liz could hear as well. She waited, on edge, as it continued to ring. Liz was paused, having reclaimed her drink she was leaning towards Sandra, the straw perched on the edge of her lips as if anticipating the inevitable slurp.
The phone continued to ring.
Sandra wondered what she expected from this. She’d never seen naked dead guy’s face, so she couldn’t be sure if he was this Daniel Cameron they’d met. Or if Daniel Cameron was really Richard Pohler. Or if Sebastian Pohler was really Daniel Cameron and the Daniel Cameron they’d met was someone pretending to be Sebastian Pohler pretending to be Daniel Cameron. Why would somebody do that? And why involve her?
The phone continued to ring.
Liz looked like she was going to explode. Or a like child at the Christmas table before the presents have been opened. Or –
“Hello?” said a voice down the phone. Sandra burst into a sweat. She knew damn well that if it were Sebastian, he would have said his name. He was that kind of guy. And it sounded nothing like him. So who was this?
“Hello?” they said again. Liz could hear and was urging her to speak as if she was convincing a tribesperson yes, good food, eat.
“Hi” she said, far more confident that she had intended. And felt.
“Who is this?” he asked.
“Um. I think I might have dialled a wrong number. Who is this?”
There was a pause.
“This is Daniel Cameron. Who am I speaking to?”
“Oh, I’m sorry”, she said. “I was looking for Sebastian Pohler.”
The funny thing about tension is the way you can perceive it down the telephone without the other speaking.
“Who is this?”
“No one. Sorry.”
“Who is this? Where did you get this number?”
She didn’t know what to say. She shouted in the phone:
“Wrong number. Who are you? Why did you call me? How did you get my number?” and ended the call.
She sat there, stunned – partially at her reaction, but partially at the level of hostility from the person on the other end of the phone. Liz, on the other hand, was laughing as she finished her drink.
“Why did you call me? How did you get my number?” she laughed, “where did that come from?”
“I don’t know. I panicked. I. Just.. I was freaking out. That guy was really freaky.” She put the phone on the table gingerly like it was about to explode.
“Didn’t seem that weird to me.”
“He was pretty insistent on knowing who I was.”
“Why not? I am when someone I don’t know calls me.”
“Even if it’s a wrong number?”
“Especially if it’s a wrong number.”
“Why?”
“No reason. Passes the time.”
Their conversation was interrupted by intense vibrations and the sound of the The Clash singing Rock the Kasbah from the table. The caller ID said : Daniel Cameron.
“Answer it”, Liz said.
“No.”
“Fine” and Liz picked up the phone. “Hello, Sandra Walker’s message service.” She paused and looked at the phone. “They hung up.”
Sandra glared.
“You told them who I was.”
“So what?”
“You told them who I was. Fuck Liz. Are you mad?”
Liz wasn’t really paying a lot of attention as she flicked through the phone.
“Come on, there’s no great conspiracy going on here, it’s just some dude’s number he forgot to delete from the phone. Oh look, he’s called this number heaps.” She was flicking through the call records. Clearly the phone wasn’t blank. Sandra snatched the phone back, and scrolled through the list of numbers.
“There’s three days worth of calls here. Back and forth. Nothing before Monday.”
Liz loudly slurped the bottom of her drink through the straw. Sandra could see the gravity of the situation dawning on her.
“You’re thinking there’s some great conspiracy going on here aren’t you”, Liz said as she chewed on her straw. “You think naked guy was murdered and you were deliberately put in that situation, but something went wrong somewhere and now you’re getting drawn into it unwillingly and now you’re life is in danger. Right?”
“Actually, I hadn’t considered my life to really be in danger, but now that you mention it, I am a tad concerned.”
Liz looked at her seriously, and then smiled like a crazy person.
“Ok. If that’s what you think. What are we going to do about it?”
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