Read Online Challis - 01 - Dragon Man by Garry Disher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Garry Disher
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chopped-short, sun-bleached hair catching the sun.
A wonderfully shapely face for a seventeen-year-old. No adolescent roundness,
pimples or bumfluff. Cheerful. Uncomplicated. All that mattered to him were the
surf and the surf school. It would be good if he had a little left over for
her, she sometimes thought, even if he were jailbaitor at least cause for her
to be reprimanded, maybe even dismissed, for disgraceful conduct.
The others were drawing ahead now.
Pams breathing grew laboured. Her whole body ached. Plenty of exercise, the
specialist had told her, but nothing with a percussive effect. No jogging, only
careful gym work, plenty of swimming, regular massage and physiotherapy. He
hadnt said anything about surfing, but Pam had always loved to watch it on the
box, the Bells Beach classic, Hawaii, the swift, nifty manoeuvres. She admired
the women. So much guts and careless talent. It looked to be incredible fun.
So, after the accidenta three-car pile-up in pursuit of a stolen Porsche in
South Yarraand her rehab and a breakdown that left her afraid and doubting and
drained of esteem, and this posting to the Peninsula, far from the badness of
the past, shed seen the surfing lessons advertised in the milk bar and had
thought, Why not?
Now Ginger had seen that she was
struggling. He told the others to stop and gear up, and came back for her,
smiling and concerned.
You okay?
His wetsuit filled her eyes. She
imagined his pale, slender, hard, hairless chest and stomach. A few aches and
pains.
Her own wetsuit hid her scars. They
werent so bad, as scars go, but no-one knew the damage and pain they stood
for. Gingers glance went to her hip and shoulder. Would you like me to
massage you?
She blushed. Ginger.
I mean it. Im always massaging
people who seize up in the water.
Well see.
Keep it in mind, he said, taking
her board for her and walking with her at her pace.
She was thirty, almost twice his
age. As far as she knew, he didnt have a girlfriend. But someone would turn
his head eventually, someone his age. She had to keep telling herself that.
Two hours later, back at Penzance
Beach to shower and change and catch the bus to work, she saw a man, no more
than a skinny kid, jemmy open the side window of the house opposite her flat,
and climb inside. She was waiting for him when he came out.
* * * *
Clara
had mixed feelings about van Alphen, not least because he was a copper and
because of what had happened last night, when hed been so sweet to her,
attentive, shy and clumsy. Shed slept badly, the night wracked with dreams of
masked figures tearing away their masks to reveal other masks. She hadnt drunk
much of the vodka, simply curled up on the sofa with the big copper until shed
felt sleepy, but her head boomed now. She needed something to level her out.
Shed sworn off coke, but what she wouldnt do for a snort right now. Trouble
was, she couldnt afford to go looking for a supplier. There was no-one she
could trust. Smoking dope and doing coke was the old Clara, and her enemies
knew that, and that was where theyd have their feelers out, even from as far
away as Christchurch.
Midday. Her house in Quarterhorse
Lane stood opposite a broad paddock of rye grass. As she watched, winds pushed
at the grass heads in long sweeps back and forth, like rollers pitching in an
ocean. It looked lovely, but it was also a fire hazard, and she trembled again.
The patrol car crept along the dirt
road toward her front gate. She watched it pause at the mailbox, then turn in.
Hed come back, just like he said he would.
She hugged him briefly. He looked
tired. His hair was damp. She felt shy. You came back.
Just passing. Did you sleep?
So-so. You?
Managed to snatch a couple of hours
at the station.
Hed shaved badly. She touched his
jaw. Coffee, Van? That will blow the cobwebs away.
I cant stay long. We had a woman
abducted three nights ago and I have to supervise another line search.
She tugged gently on the
A wonderfully shapely face for a seventeen-year-old. No adolescent roundness,
pimples or bumfluff. Cheerful. Uncomplicated. All that mattered to him were the
surf and the surf school. It would be good if he had a little left over for
her, she sometimes thought, even if he were jailbaitor at least cause for her
to be reprimanded, maybe even dismissed, for disgraceful conduct.
The others were drawing ahead now.
Pams breathing grew laboured. Her whole body ached. Plenty of exercise, the
specialist had told her, but nothing with a percussive effect. No jogging, only
careful gym work, plenty of swimming, regular massage and physiotherapy. He
hadnt said anything about surfing, but Pam had always loved to watch it on the
box, the Bells Beach classic, Hawaii, the swift, nifty manoeuvres. She admired
the women. So much guts and careless talent. It looked to be incredible fun.
So, after the accidenta three-car pile-up in pursuit of a stolen Porsche in
South Yarraand her rehab and a breakdown that left her afraid and doubting and
drained of esteem, and this posting to the Peninsula, far from the badness of
the past, shed seen the surfing lessons advertised in the milk bar and had
thought, Why not?
Now Ginger had seen that she was
struggling. He told the others to stop and gear up, and came back for her,
smiling and concerned.
You okay?
His wetsuit filled her eyes. She
imagined his pale, slender, hard, hairless chest and stomach. A few aches and
pains.
Her own wetsuit hid her scars. They
werent so bad, as scars go, but no-one knew the damage and pain they stood
for. Gingers glance went to her hip and shoulder. Would you like me to
massage you?
She blushed. Ginger.
I mean it. Im always massaging
people who seize up in the water.
Well see.
Keep it in mind, he said, taking
her board for her and walking with her at her pace.
She was thirty, almost twice his
age. As far as she knew, he didnt have a girlfriend. But someone would turn
his head eventually, someone his age. She had to keep telling herself that.
Two hours later, back at Penzance
Beach to shower and change and catch the bus to work, she saw a man, no more
than a skinny kid, jemmy open the side window of the house opposite her flat,
and climb inside. She was waiting for him when he came out.
* * * *
Clara
had mixed feelings about van Alphen, not least because he was a copper and
because of what had happened last night, when hed been so sweet to her,
attentive, shy and clumsy. Shed slept badly, the night wracked with dreams of
masked figures tearing away their masks to reveal other masks. She hadnt drunk
much of the vodka, simply curled up on the sofa with the big copper until shed
felt sleepy, but her head boomed now. She needed something to level her out.
Shed sworn off coke, but what she wouldnt do for a snort right now. Trouble
was, she couldnt afford to go looking for a supplier. There was no-one she
could trust. Smoking dope and doing coke was the old Clara, and her enemies
knew that, and that was where theyd have their feelers out, even from as far
away as Christchurch.
Midday. Her house in Quarterhorse
Lane stood opposite a broad paddock of rye grass. As she watched, winds pushed
at the grass heads in long sweeps back and forth, like rollers pitching in an
ocean. It looked lovely, but it was also a fire hazard, and she trembled again.
The patrol car crept along the dirt
road toward her front gate. She watched it pause at the mailbox, then turn in.
Hed come back, just like he said he would.
She hugged him briefly. He looked
tired. His hair was damp. She felt shy. You came back.
Just passing. Did you sleep?
So-so. You?
Managed to snatch a couple of hours
at the station.
Hed shaved badly. She touched his
jaw. Coffee, Van? That will blow the cobwebs away.
I cant stay long. We had a woman
abducted three nights ago and I have to supervise another line search.
She tugged gently on the
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