Read Online Good Money by J. M. Green - Free Book Online

none of those scratches the ice addicts do to themselves. ‘I’m working,’ he said, pushing his sleeves down. ‘Going straight — and this time I mean it.’
    I let my sigh go on till my lungs nearly collapsed. ‘How long?’
    â€˜Only for a couple of weeks.’
    â€˜One week.’
    He grinned and dropped his backpack. ‘What’s in the fridge? Fuck me, Stella. What do you live on?’
    â€˜Toast.’
    â€˜You can’t live on toast. You need vegies. Five serves a day.’
    â€˜You want toast?’
    â€˜Sure.’
    â€˜One week, right? And that’s it.’ I dropped a couple of slices of Wonder White in the toaster. ‘How did you know I wasn’t at work?’
    â€˜I didn’t. I was going to hang around until you got home.’
    â€˜You’re pathetic.’ I put margarine and Vegemite on the bench.
    He stood guard over the toaster. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’
    â€˜Mind your own beeswax.’ I left him to sort himself out, toast-wise. Heaven knew it was the only kind of sorting he could do.
    In the bathroom, I opened the door of the medicine cabinet so I could see my wrinkles in the mirror — they were there. I turned to leave and whacked my forehead on the corner of the cabinet. I stood there cursing and holding my head. Then it occurred to me that Tania may have had an accident at home. If she had slipped in the bath and was lying there unconscious this whole time, I’d feel like a real dill. I found Ben in the kitchen sorting my mail. Perhaps this was what a personal assistant was like. I thought of Finchley, imagined the order and elegance of his daily routines.
    â€˜Who’re Joyce and Frank?’
    â€˜Wrong letter box,’ I said. ‘I’ll take it down later.’
    â€˜They’re having the best time . Snorkelling and paragliding, and tomorrow they’re taking a boat to Oarsman’s Bay.’
    â€˜Ben?’
    â€˜S’up?’
    â€˜With all your unauthorised skills and talents, are you able to break into, say, a third-floor flat? Hypothetically?’
    â€˜Is the Pope an accessory to child abuse?’ He munched his toast like a starved animal. ‘ Hypothetically? What’s the flat?’ I gave him a truncated version of the particulars and a fib about lending Tania a DVD — sure she wouldn’t mind , must have it back .
    â€˜You’re sure she won’t mind? I’m on parole, you know.’
    â€˜Yes. Totally sure.’
    â€˜Alright, let’s do this shit.’
    Apparently the paperclip-in-the-lock thing was bollocks. Ben told me that with a disdainful look. And with the words, ‘Where’d you get that stupid idea?’
    â€˜ Terminator 2 ,’ I said. ‘What, then?’
    â€˜Bathroom window.’
    â€˜On the third floor?’
    â€˜It’ll be open. Everyone leaves their bathroom window open.’ He was already bounding down the stairs, two at a time. I bolted after him and skirted round to the rear courtyard.
    Ben was at the back of the flats pointing. ‘See?’
    I followed the line from his finger to a not-closed casement window roughly ten metres from the ground. He tested the downpipe; it seemed secure. He grabbed it with both hands and began climbing up the wall. He swung a leg round to rest a foot on a second-floor window ledge, and manoeuvred his weight across and up further. Then he grabbed Tania’s window ledge and raised himself up. He flicked the metal arm, pulled the window back and squeezed in. Easy as you like . ‘I’ll open the front door,’ he called, in a stage whisper. Unnecessary , I thought. And a bit conceited. I ran round and up the stairs. Tania’s door was ajar.
    Her flat was a mirror image of mine, only much, much better. The TV was the size of a boardroom table. A black leather Bauhaus chaise — a reproduction surely — stood in the corner. On the wall