Page 65 of The Question of Us
He was right, of course. “Just remember to try and keep outside by the pool where I can see you. And as soon as you’ve spoken to Lee, get the hell out of there. If he’s amenable to going with us, then simply give him the phone, nothing more. If not, then we call it a day and leave knowing we did our best. Got it?”
Gazza sighed. “Got it. I better get going soon. The guy with the clipboard is sending curious looks my way.”
“Then go,” I told him. “Good luck and check your phone.”
“I will.” Gazza chanced another look toward the guards. “The garden fence is directly in front. I’ll distract the security for a bit on my way to the house, so give me two minutes after I leave the car, then do your thing. And keep your head down.”
When he opened the door and slid outside, I fired a quick text to Mads.Gazza is on his way and I’m about to leave the car.
Mads reply was quick and to the point.Be careful. I want you back in one piece or I’ll kill you myself.
I grinned like a fool. How to say you care and pose a credible threat to life at the same time. My kind of guy.
I dropped a section of the back seat and crawled forward through the gap, keeping low. I waited a few seconds, then popped my head above the door panel to check on Gazza’s progress. Only a few metres from the security guards, he was already chatting and drawing their full attention. Time to go.
I popped the back door and slid from the car onto the crunchy brown vegetation that laughingly passed as grass. Keeping low, I chanced a look around. The driveway was cast in dense shadow, the beech trees towering like creepy giants against a clear starlit sky and a pretty half-moon. A few clouds would’ve been nice, thank you, universe, but there you go. The upside—there was enough light for me to find my way without tripping and giving myself away. The downside—if I didn’t move slow and stick to cover, I could easily draw unwanted attention.
Heeding my own counsel and keeping my head low, I crawled to the back of the BMW to make a final check on Gazza. Poking my head around the taillight, I saw all three men laughing. I blessed Gazza’s little cotton socks and crouch-ran my way back up the BMW toward the garden. I slipped between the wooden fence rails and headed into the thick plantings, sending a thank-you out into the universe for landscapers with generous budgets.
By the time I reached the corner of the house and checked the driveway again, Gazza was nowhere to be seen, presumably already inside. There was nothing to do but stick to the plan and keep moving. Ignoring the odd slap in the face from random branches and having to hopscotch my way through the sprinkler system and irrigation hosing, I slowly made my way down the side of the house toward the hum of the party rising from the backyard. The clamour of competing sounds echoed around the small amphitheatre, created by the tiered gardens, and afforded odd snippets of clear conversation amongst the background chatter and warm vocals of Cheryl Crow.
I stayed low to avoid being seen through the windows until I reached the back corner of the house, where thick plantings against a tall fence hid the patio from view. Here, the garden took a steep turn up the hill, and I climbed with it until the fence disappeared and I found myself on the corner of a raised bed of roses with a reasonable view across the expansive sunken patiobelow. I hunkered down and retrieved the tiny binoculars from down the front of my shirt.
The majority of partygoers were gathered around the impressive pool—a large kidney-shaped arrangement with a towering man-made rock formation embedded with a water slide. A number of scantily clad or naked women and men were making good use of the facility, watched by groups of people milling around the edge, talking and enjoying theserviceprovided by a circulating all-male waitstaff dressed in nothing but low-slung black leather trousers and a bow tie and bearing trays of champagne and nibbles.
It was hard to miss the occasional hand sliding over the bare skin and around impossibly tight arses, but nobody seemed to bat an eye, least of all the servers. Most pasted on a smile and simply dodged as best they could, while others flirted and encouraged the attention.
The whole thing felt... off. What the fuck had we got ourselves into?
More partygoers were gathered under the semi-enclosed marquee, taking advantage of an ample buffet table groaning under the weight of a mountain of food. And beside the pool, a luxurious summer house decked in rainbow-coloured lights was playing host to an enthusiastic DJ and a small group of dancers. I spotted a couple of partygoers engaging in a little hanky-panky in the shadowy garden alongside the summer house and could only hope that the rose thorns of the upper garden would act as a suitable deterrent for anyone else looking to get a little frisky.
The cool palette of tropical green was set against colourful beds of flowers, the impact amplified by the surrounding parched countryside. From the front door to the back, a guest moved from the brown of a late Aussie summer to the rich green and pops of colour more familiar with the tropics. And twinkling above it all, thousands of fairy lights played against the clearnight sky. It was admittedly kind of magical and attested to an irrigation system that likely cost more to run than most people could afford, me included.
A rough count told me there were around eighty to one hundred people in attendance. And judging by the excited squeals, belly flops, and uproarious accompanying commentary from the sidelines, a fair amount of alcohol had been imbibed by most of those present.
All in all, everyone looked to be enjoying the evening, and yet there was something off about the whole set-up. It took me a while to work it out, but it finally hit me. There was an overwhelming majority of male partygoers compared to female and an age divide, as well. About a third of those in attendance were older men, forties and fifties mostly, not unusual at a fiftieth. But there was a decided lack of women, and those that were in attendance mostly hit the twenty to thirty-year age group. And as for the rest of the men? Like the women, they tended to be model-worthy, practically naked, and in their twenties at a push. They were also gay or sexually fluid at the very least, judging by the level of handsiness going on between the generations, which to be fair, wasn’t being rejected on either side.
The longer I watched, the more uncomfortable I became at exactly what kind of party this was, and Gazza’s relative safety was suddenly less certain.Dammit.I scanned the crowd for any sign of him, but nothing. The problem was, although I had a good view over the pool and outdoor arrangement, I had virtually no line of sight through the patio doors into the house itself, which was hidden under a covered outdoor kitchen set-up.
My gaze swept across the backyard once again, then up into the tiered gardens. There was zero indication that I’d been noticed, or that Marty had employed any security beyond the two men checking arrivals in the front driveway. Part of mefelt reassured by that. Another part wondered what exactly happened at these parties that a security-conscious Marty didn’t want his employees to witness. Call me paranoid, but my Spidey senses were tingling.
I checked my watch. Gazza had been gone fifteen minutes. I swore under my breath. Anything could be happening inside that house. There was no choice. I had to risk moving down a tier or two to try to see through those patio doors.
I took a deep breath and crept along the brick wall to the end of the rose bed. Checking that the way was clear and no one was watching, I stayed low and made my way down the gravel path to the garden level below, where I slipped behind a larger-than-life-size sculpture of two naked men entwined. It was positioned between two maple trees whose dark crimson leaves were already crispy on the edges, irrigation be damned.
I peered around the stone torso of one and breathed a sigh of relief. The massive concertina patio doors had been pushed all the way open to expose a large kitchen/dining/entertaining area filled with at least another fifty or so people. And standing off to one side, talking with a man dressed in a colourful kaftan, stood Gazza, or quite possibly our dearly departed Gazza, once I got my hands on him.
The fucker seemed totally relaxed as he talked animatedly to kaftan man, and once again I wondered about his choice of profession. Nerdy book restorer just didn’t seem to cut it, not that I was complaining. On this mission of ours, he’d turned out to be an absolute gift.
Wouldn’t stop me killing the jerk for rattling my nerves.
I slid back behind the statue and texted Mads.Have eyes on G.I pocketed it without waiting for a reply and settled in to observe the master in action.
Gazza continued his conversation with the flamboyantly dressed man for a few more minutes before something orsomeone outside caught his eye. As he excused himself and made his way out of the house and toward the marquee, I scanned the area to locate what or who had caught his attention.
It didn’t take long.
At some point while I’d been watching Gazza, Marty Klein had slipped into the backyard along with four other men, one of them shirtless. The bare-chested man wore a pink sash with the wordsKiss me, it’s my birthdaywritten in bold lettering across the front. Jacob, the birthday boy, no doubt. Two of the other men seemed around the same age as Marty, but the fifth man was in his early twenties at the most. Slightly built and unsteady on his feet, the young man had thick blond waves, a flirty smile, and a pretty pixie face.
