Rubdown by Leigh Redhead Read Free Book Online

goddamn it if I didn’t feel incredibly fucking alive. I allowed myself a small thrill remembering the sensation of his hands on my skin, listened to Portishead and drank and smoked some more.
    Then I ate some leftover chicken and went to bed smelling his aftershave on my shoulder. I realised there was no way in hell I’d be channeling that much sexual energy so reached for the vibrator in my bedside drawer.
    I slept well.
     

Chapter Eight
    The next morning I woke up and had a quick jog in the pale sunshine along Elwood beach, did a hundred stomach crunches on the lounge room floor and cooked up poached eggs with grilled tomato. The pash on the doorstep had left me strangely energised and I was ready to tackle the day. More than tackle. I was gonna kick its legs out, then bodyslam it from the ropes, pro wrestler style. My plan was to pick up Neville’s tail at the GT Club when it opened, and have a sniff around Tamara’s flat beforehand.
    It was nine when I knocked on the door. No one answered so I put my ear to the wood and felt vibrations from someone moving inside. I banged louder. Louder still. A young woman wrenched the door open.
    ‘Alright already! Jesus.’ A satin slip clung to her pale, plump body. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
    ‘Simone Kirsch, Inquiry Agent.’ I thrust my licence at her and she yawned and examined it through bleary, kohl rimmed eyes.
    Her dyed black hair stood up in birds’ nests and her fingers were clustered with silver rings shaped like skulls and snakes.
    ‘Seriously?’ She looked me up and down, clocking my grey trackie daks and matching zip-up sweatshirt. Had to be comfy on a stakeout.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Good. I thought you might be the real estate.’ She cocked her head. ‘You spying for Centrelink?’
    ‘No. I was wondering if I could have a look around. I’m investigating the death of a girl who used to live in this flat.’
    ‘Tamara Wade?’ Her eyes lit up.
    ‘You know about her?’
    ‘Fuck yeah. Part of the reason I moved here.’ She jutted her chin out.
    I nodded like that was a perfectly reasonable proposition even though my mind was screaming ‘Freak!!!’.
    ‘You wanna come in?’
    Tamara’s flat had been totally transformed. Swatches of red and black velvet hung from the walls and candle wax had melted over every available surface. The couch was a folded-up futon and the coffee table home to an overflowing ashtray, pack of tarot cards and a wizard shaped bong. What was it with wizard shaped bongs?
    Chloe owned one just like it. Was there some giant factory down in Cheltenham pumping them out twenty-four hours a day? Shredded newspaper filled a fishtank in the corner. The girl plunged her hand in and a white rat scurried up her arm and perched on her shoulder, its pink nose quivering.
    ‘This is Aleister.’
    ‘Interesting name for a rat.’
    ‘As in Aleister Crowley .’ Like I was dense.
    ‘And what’s your name?’
    ‘Morgana. Want some chai? I’m having one.’
    ‘No thanks.’
    She padded into a galley kitchen, separated from the lounge by a breakfast bar, and started clattering around. I tilted my head to read the titles on the bookshelf. The Complete Compendium of Magick, The Tibetan Book of the Dead and a whole bunch of HP Lovecraft that appeared to have been stolen from a library. Soon the smell of cinnamon overrode the cigarette ash and melted wax.
    ‘Mind if I have a look around?’ I asked. Morgana waved a hand, which I took to mean yes, and I wandered down the hall, past the bathroom to the bedroom. It was dark and smelled of dirty sheets and patchouli oil. Black clothing was strewn across the mattress on the floor and a grey army blanket covered the window. Posters for Bauhaus and Sisters of Mercy had been tacked to the walls and built-in robe. I picked my way through the mess of Doc Martens and ripped lace and lifted the edge of the blanket. There was a block of flats and a tin fence with a large gum tree behind, too far away to provide