Interruptions Plague Xanthe

After dark, the kids tucked up and sleeping, and her sceptical friend parked on the couch with a packet of chocolate biscuits, Xanthe heads out once again. This time, she follows a black hatchback to a bowling alley. She watches as a frizzy blonde head ducks out of the car. The woman stops, tugs on the hem of her sequin mini-skirt, and then teeters across the carpark. She’s only a few steps from the door when a man comes out. She pauses, he walks toward her, she backs her way along the edge of the wall. She clearly knows this man but her body language is hard to read; is she frightened of him? Then he closes the distance between them, drawing her into a long embrace; not fear then. Xanthe snaps some photos and she checks the shots she’s captured. Not conclusive enough, there’s no kissing, nothing that couldn’t be explained away by a quick thinking adulterous as a friendly hug. The right, tell-all photo is so hard to capture. Xanthe watches them enter the building and decides she has nothing to lose by doing the same.

As she’s tucking her camera away – far too obtrusive in a well-lit building – the phone she’s just picked up to act as proxy begins to ring. ‘Jesus Christ.’ She slams the steering wheel with her palm and her car gives a short, strangled toot. ‘Shit.’ Thank God the suspected couple already gone inside. ‘Hello, Mother. What can I do for you?’

‘Xanthe, I called the house. Imagine my surprise when Grace answered your phone.’

‘Yes, she’s fully capable and equipped to answer phones Mother, I’m not sure why that gave you such a fright.’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I was merely surprised to find that you weren’t home. And at night, while your husband’s out of town.’

Crap. Xanthe hasn’t thought of a cover story, she’d never had to formulate one before. No one was ever shocked to find a twenty-something single woman out at night, that never begged explanation. She checks her watch. ‘Mother, I’m sitting in a gym car park right now trying to recover from forty-five minutes of cardio that I swear came close to killing me. If you have something you want to say, can you just get on with it.’ It doesn’t occur to her that Grace could have given her mother any alternative explanation in the world for her absence.

‘Grace told me you were picking up groceries.’ Her tone is smug.

‘After the gym Mother. I’m hardly going to leave bags of food to defrost in the boot of my car while I sweat my ass off, am I?’

‘Oh, don’t be vulgar.’

‘Again, why are you calling?’

‘No reason in particular, can’t I just call my daughter? Do I need a permit?’

Xanthe takes a deep, patient breath. ‘Well I must be going now and it’s dangerous to drive while on the phone so, goodbye.’

‘Just one more thing, I was driving past your place today and I noticed your lawn was looking a little dry. I know Mike’s away and you so hate yard work, but would it kill you to turn the hose onto it?’

‘Goodbye Mother.’ Xanthe hangs up.

In this short exchange, though justifiably distracted, Xanthe has been watching the door of the bowling alley to make sure her targets remain inside. She gathers her bag now – turning her mischievous phone to silent – and sets about her waylaid chore.

The fluorescent lights inside the building take Xanthe some adjusting to as she steps in from the steadily darkening parking lot. She takes in the scene, which can be summarized as sparsely populated and more than a little depressing. Three lanes are in use; players are slumped on seats in various states of engagement/drunkenness. She had hoped for a busier, more vibrant atmosphere, one that would provide more cover for a solo woman who has no intention of bowling tonight. The advantage is, though, that Xanthe can more easily spot her frizzy blonde. In a booth against the far wall, she manages to do just that. The male companion is nowhere to be seen and the woman is engrossed in the screen of her phone but this is a start at least. Xanthe must now find a way to blend into the scenery, she goes with the obvious choice, a seat at the bar.

‘Vodka lime and soda please.’ One drink won’t hurt. Xanthe takes the stool right at the end of the bar, nestled next to the wall. She can prop herself against it – most of the people here are propped against something – and swivel her head for a full view of the room, more specifically, frizzy blonde Sonia. She turns her attention now to locating Sonia's male companion but given the poor lighting outside, she can’t be sure which, if any of the men loitering around the place, is him. She must watch and wait to see who joins Sonia in the booth. Xanthe sips at her drink and stares listlessly around the room. She fits right in.

Finally, a man walking in Xanthe’s direction sparks some recognition but almost immediately thereafter she registers that this is not the man she is trying to spot, this is not a man she hopes ever to spot, anywhere. He sidles up to her and leans across the bar. ‘How’s it going my love?’ he asks her, his tone teasing. ‘Wasn’t expecting to see you here.’

‘Shane,’ is all she gives him in reply.

He orders a drink and stubbornly stays put. Xanthe looks anywhere but him wondering how this night could possibly get any worse. Just then, she spots the man from the parking lot. She’s sure it’s him and this is confirmed when he walks over to Sonia’s booth and slides in cosily next to her. There’s no inconspicuous way to get footage now with this oaf by Xanthe’s side. She can’t give away her reason for being here, her target. The strongest motivation for an investigator to keep their dealings to themselves is reserved for bitter rivals.

‘You’re looking bloody fantastic might I say?’ Her antagonist gives her an appreciative appraisal.

It’s far from appreciated by Xanthe. ‘Look, Shane, I’ve just been talking to my mother on the phone and that’s been more than enough hell for one day; I’m really not in the mood.’

‘I’m just sayin’, couple of kids and you still got it. Most women aren’t so lucky.’

‘Is there a reason your still here?’

He throws his hands up in disbelief, almost toppling his beer, which he deftly steadies in the next move. ‘Can’t I enjoy the company of a beautiful colleague? What the hell’s this world coming to? Feminists, that’s the problem. Can’t even look at a woman now without them feeling violated.’

‘Last time we ran into each other Shane you tried to set the room on fire, with me in it, I find it hard to believe you suddenly enjoy my company.’

‘Yeah, but things were different then, weren’t they? Times were tougher, competition was fierce.’ He draws the last word out, giving it a sleazy quality that makes Xanthe shudder.

‘How’s it any different now? I guess you’ve gathered I’m not here because it’s my favourite hangout? You’re many things Shane Mason but unobservant isn’t one of them.’

He gives her a sharp-toothed grin. ‘Oh, how things have changed my sweet, you just paid me a compliment.’

‘Come on, either tell me why you’re talking to me and getting in the way of my business, or piss off.’

He raises his palms in defence now. ‘Hey, hey, settle petal. Look, competition isn’t as brutal as it used to be is all I’m saying. I’ve got work coming out my ears, I couldn’t care less if you’re back on the scene. Heck, I’ll send some your way.’

‘Why?’ Xanthe asks trying to sound far less interested than she is.

Shane misunderstands which part of that she’s questioning. ‘Ever since the latest gangs rolled into town the competition has, well, dropped off, so to speak. Pyro 9’s, Darts, couple other smaller ones, they all streamed in about the same time thinking there was all this relatively untouched territory for the taking. They didn’t count on each other, see. Within a week two-thirds of this town’s PI’s were hired by one gang or another to dig up dirt on their rivals. Within a month, two-thirds of this town’s PI’s had turned up dead. Extremely dead.’

‘I read the papers.’

‘Yeah? Well, it was something else living through it. What a change in the marketplace.’ He laughs here and Xanthe fights the urge to punch him squarely in the balls. ‘It’s true what they say, survival of the fittest and all that. I knew it was a bad move to take on that shit and it turned out to be not only my saving grace but my considerable vocational advancement.’

Xanthe is surprised Shane knows such big words. ‘So, you don’t care what I do now because you’ve got more than enough work, too much in fact.’

‘Exactly.’ He winks.

‘In that case Shane, as much as I’ve loved catching up, how about you fuck off and let me get on with the work you don’t mind me doing?’

He chuckles. ‘Always did have a mouth on ya.’ He gets up from his stool. ‘I’ll be leaving you to it then precious. Tell you what, you give me a call if you ever want me to liaise on anything.’ He tilts an invisible hat and makes his way toward the front door.

‘Asshole,’ Xanthe mutters under her breath. She turns her attention back to the booth now only to find it empty. She frantically scans the massive room but finds no sign of Sonia or her man. ‘Fucking asshole,’ she corrects.