Five-Ring Circus by Jon Cleary Page A

man. “Don’t mention we know their records.”
    The door was opened by a handsome dark-skinned man who filled the doorway. “G’day. What’s the problem now?”
    â€œA few more questions, Kip.” Napolani introduced Gail and Sheryl. “They’re from Homicide.”
    â€œWomen?”
    â€œI’m afraid so,” said Gail. “We’ll try to be as genderless as possible.”
    Kip had a smile like a truck headlight. “Come in. Me mate handles women better’n I do.”
    Sheryl and Gail exchanged looks. “Ain’t we the lucky ones?”
    Keith, the delicate handler of women, was slightly less dark than his flatmate and only slightly less huge. The five people seemed to push back the walls of the small living room. “Siddown,” said Keith, and cleared a couch of what looked like a month’s laundry. “Sat’day’s cleaning-up day.”
    â€œWhen did Mr. Zhang move in upstairs?” asked Gail.
    Keith looked at Kip. “I dunno—what? Six months ago?” Six sounded like sex. “He always kept to himself.”
    â€œHe ever have any visitors?”
    â€œOccasionally,” said Kip. “Always Chinese. They were a quiet lot.”
    â€œHow do you know he was a student?” asked Sheryl.
    â€œI asked him straight out one day what he was doing here.”
    â€œHe didn’t tell you to mind your own business?”
    Kip and Keith exchanged smiles, as if no one had ever been foolish enough to tell them to mind their own business. “Man, he saw I was just trying to be friendly. We’re a friendly lot, us Kiwis. Right, mate?”
    â€œNobody friendlier,” said Keith; and you’d better believe it or else, said his smile.
    â€œHe said he was doing computers at the University of Technology, Sydney. He spelled it right out, like I was dumb or something.”
    â€œ Friendly but dumb, that’s us,” said Keith, the truck light gleaming again.
    Gail looked at Napolani. “I didn’t see a computer in his flat. Surely he’d have one at home to work on?”
    â€œThere was none.”
    â€œOh, he had one, all right,” said Keith. “I saw him carting it up there just after he moved in. What’s going on up there? We’ve had trouble in these flats, but never a fucking murder.”
    â€œWhat sort of trouble?” said Sheryl.
    Both men shrugged, a major tremor of bone and muscle. “You know, a party getting outa hand, some guy and his girl having a fight, the usual stuff. But someone being shot—” Keith shook his head. He had a flat-top haircut with shaven sides and when he frowned it seemed to start up a vein, like a lizard, in his right temple. “The landlord’s gunna be outa his fucking mind when he hears about it.”
    â€œWho is the landlord?”
    â€œWe dunno. All we ever see is the agent, he comes knocking on the door, we don’t pay the rent.”
    â€œHow often don’t you pay the rent?” said Sheryl, but smiled.
    â€œWe miss occasionally,” said Kip. “But it’s never a big deal.”
    â€œWhat do you do?” said Napolani, although from their record he knew.
    â€œWe’re dole bludgers. Ain’t that what all Maoris are supposed to be? We only come over here to bludge on the Aussie system. You got a better class of welfare here.” For a moment Kip’s broad face went a shade darker. Then he grinned. “No, we both got jobs. I work at a service station up on Bondi Road, Keith’s a public relations officer at a club up the Cross.”
    â€œA bouncer?”
    â€œYeah,” said Keith.
    â€œYou’d be good at it,” said Napolani.
    â€œYeah, I got a diploma in bouncing. From UTS.” He was all smile, it would be a pleasure to be bounced by him.
    â€œ If you saw someone coming into the flats with a gun,” said Gail, “what would you do? Bounce