Page 16 of The Question of Us (Fisher & Church #2)
CHAPTER SEVEN
Madigan
We arrived in Melbourne on the Monday evening and overnighted at an airport hotel.
My healing ear ached like a motherfucker as the plane descended, and both Nick and I were nursing headaches from the lingering effects of our concussions.
A good night’s sleep saw to the worst of it, but I was feeling a little jet-lagged, nonetheless.
Tuesday morning started hot and cloudless with a late summer heatwave barrelling its way through Victoria.
We collected our two rental cars—a newer model black BMW SUV for Gazza and a bog-standard Kia for Nick and me.
It gave us options and meant Gazza could appear to be travelling separate from us, if necessary.
Then we’d driven just over three hours northeast through the Victorian high country to Kettleworth, a small country town on the tourist route known for its autumn colour and proximity to the winter ski fields.
It was also the closest town to Marty Klein’s horse stud, which, according to Google, bore the unimaginative moniker of M. K. Stud.
We did a quick drive around Kettleworth to get our bearings, then headed for our motel.
Nick had found a small place within walking distance of the town centre and booked two rooms with a connecting door but on separate accounts.
Once we’d settled and cooled the stuffy inside of the serviceable but comfortable motel unit, it was time to let the cat out of the bag.
“You’re there right now?” Samuel’s outrage echoed around the small motel room.
“I’d ask why you didn’t tell me, but I think I can guess the reasons, so let’s leave it at that.
Do you have a plan? You better. Because if you tell me you’re just going to stroll up and knock on Marty Klein’s door, I will end you myself.
And that means all three of you. Do you understand me? ”
Gazza and I shared an I-told-you-so look while Nick gave a quick summary of our plan and then adjusted the volume on the speakerphone downward as Samuel blew up.
“I said you needed to have Madigan’s back, not behave like the Three Stooges in the process.”
Nick ignored him. “Oh, and can you drive over and collect Shelby please? We left her with enough food for a couple of days, but she’ll get lonely.”
“I . . . what . . . ? Jesus, Nick.” Samuel sounded close to exploding.
“Well, someone has to feed her,” Nick answered smoothly and even I wanted to slap him.
To his credit Samuel ignored him and pivoted back. “This whole plan is nuts. I won’t allow it.”
Oh boy. I didn’t have to see Nick’s face to know how that little gem had hit home. Did Samuel have a death wish?
“Allow?” Nick repeated the word in a dangerously calm tone. “You don’t get to allow or disallow anything to do with me, Samuel. We’re all grown-ups here.” He glanced Gazza’s way. “Well, most of us.”
Gazza flipped him off.
Samuel went quiet for a long moment, possibly evaluating how far he could push things without royally pissing Nick off and ensuring he wouldn’t be heard at all.
“Okay,” he said wearily, and I smiled to myself.
Not that far as it turned out. “But if any of you break the law, I won’t be able to help you, even if I was so inclined, which I can assure you I won’t be, understand? ”
Nick nodded. “We understand. But we don’t intend to break any laws. If we talk with Lee and he tells us to get lost, then we’ll leave. Simple as that.”
Samuel chortled like that was the funniest thing he’d heard all day.
“But if Lee’s not happy,” I continued, “then I promise to call you before we decide what we’re going to do about it, okay?”
“No. Not really,” Samuel grumbled, “but I don’t appear to have any say in the matter, do I? Goddammit, what the hell is Mum going to say when she finds out?”
Nick winced. “Why the fuck does Lizzie have to know?”
“Really?” Samuel scoffed. “You really think she isn’t going to guess where you are after finding all three of you suddenly gone?
Not to mention, Jerry and Lizzie are apparently best friends now, thanks to your little shenanigans a few weeks ago.
My girlfriend and my mother sharing god knows what over a wine?
My life has become a shitshow of epic proportions.
And since I have a snowball’s chance in hell of keeping any of this from Jerry, Lizzie will know of it tout de suite.
As will Madigan’s Aunt Shirley since she’s hooked up to their hotline as well. ”
I looked frantically to Nick. “Really? Aunt Shirley? Okay, fine, but tell her not to mention anything to my brother. I can do without another of his I’m so worried about you calls.”
Samuel groaned. “So I’m on speakerphone, am I? You really are an arsehole, Nick.”
Nick shrugged. “Did I forget to mention that?”
“I’m switching to video,” Samuel muttered. “I want to flip you all off in person.”
Nick accepted the request and his brother-in-law appeared on the screen, his middle finger on full display.
“Nice.” Nick leaned the upright phone against the bedside lamp. “Now take a good look and tell me again that we don’t have a chance.”
Samuel’s wide-eyed gaze ran over the three of us before he fell back in his chair. His obvious shock would’ve been funny if he wasn’t so obviously pissed off with us. The others must’ve felt the same because none of us laughed.
“Jesus.” Samuel’s gaze returned to Gazza and lingered there as he absorbed the dramatic changes in his appearance. “If I didn’t know it was you, I’d never guess.”
I couldn’t have agreed more. Every time I looked at Gazza, I did a double take.
Gone was the dark hair with its shock of pink at the front, and in its place was a spiky asymmetrical avant-garde style with a tight undercut and bleached tips.
The new look did nothing to detract from Gazza’s beauty but was so startlingly different from his old cut that I’d been worried it would almost be too memorable and attract too much attention.
Mike, however, disagreed. He’d said that Gazza was too memorable anyway and that we should lean into that idea rather than try to dilute it.
Just make him memorable in a different way.
Hide him in plain sight, so to speak. And he’d been right.
Even Australian immigration had taken some convincing he was the same guy as his passport photo.
They went so far as to take him aside to check.
The haircut and colour had done most of the heavy lifting, but Mike had fine-tuned the rest of Gazza’s look as well.
He had a much more casual dress style, hazel eye contacts, a beauty spot on his cheek, makeup covering his neck tattoo, and a quick lesson in changing the gait of his walk.
By the time Mike was done, I doubt Gazza’s mother would have recognised him.
And being the diva that he was, Gazza carried the whole thing off with the required aplomb that dared anyone to think otherwise.
The new Gazza would still have most of a nightclub’s patrons frothing to get into his pants, but they’d never guess he was the same person as the old Gazza.
At least not for a while. And that was all we really needed.
Gazza stood and did a twirl. “What do you think?”
Samuel sighed. “It’s good. I’ll give you that.
And you might actually have a chance at pulling this off.
But as for you two—” He narrowed his eyes at Nick’s super short clipper cut, which surprisingly suited him, and the early stages of a beard intended to distract the eye from his face.
Even the scar on the back of his head and jawline added a different quality to the man, a slightly dangerous one.
Something my dick had definitely appreciated, a surprise all around.
“You look like a pretty thug,” Samuel concluded, and he wasn’t far off. Then he turned his attention to me and shook his head at the grey ponytail wig I’d chosen from Mike’s collection. “And you look like a sad ageing rocker.”
I chuckled. “I’ll take that. I drew the line at cutting my hair. Nick has a dark wig as well so he can change up his look if we get made.”
“Get made?” Samuel huffed in disgust. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows.
But looking like that, if you keep your distance, neither of you should raise any immediate red flags.
But you’re still gonna need to be super careful.
Marty, but maybe more importantly, Freddie, his PA, won’t be fooled for long if you get too close.
This is a dangerous fucking game you’re playing. You do understand that, right?”
“We do,” Nick acknowledged. “Refer back to the reasons I never wanted to do it in the first place.” He shot me a pointed look and I kicked him in the shin. “And we appreciate your help.”
Samuel harrumphed. “Stow it. If I knew what you were planning, I wouldn’t have been so goddamn helpful. I swear if any of you do something truly stupid, I’ll have your balls nailed to my wall quicker than you can say Jack Robinson.”
Gazza frowned and looked between us. “Who the hell is Jack Robinson?”
Nick snorted, and Samuel rolled his eyes. “Is this guy for real?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I answered. “Have you forgotten how old we are?” I turned and patted Gazza’s hand. “Suffice to say that particular adage is so old that nobody knows the actual answer.”
Gazza shook his head. “Then it should be retired—” He shot each of us a look. “—kind of like the rest of you. And who the hell says adage?”