ThornyDevils Read Online Free

recently.’ Concheetah crossedher legs in Peter’s direction and whispered, ‘I recognised him from the paper. You know. He was caught in a pool with a starlet from that soap show. By the look of the photos he was giving her swimming lessons: breaststroke.’
    ‘Him,’ Peter laughed. ‘Tony Donarto.’
    ‘All of them were very chummy.’
    ‘He’s Deputy Mayor of Melbourne and a successful businessman. Though I think he will soon be the former Deputy Mayor of Melbourne. I’m sure he mixes in wide circles.’
    ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what happened next?’
    ‘Okay. What happened?’ Peter sighed. He was losing interest.
    ‘I went over to greet them in my usual hostess style. You know. Be friendly and get them drinking more,’ she began slowly, tears welling in her eyes. ‘As I was standing there saying my spiel that slime Donarto…’ She stopped to wipe the tears away with a tissue pulled from inside her bra.
    ‘He hit you?’ Peter attempted to guess.
    ‘No,’ Concheetah cried. ‘He grabbed my crotch! The bastard! I wanted to hit him but with two cops there…’
    ‘Did he hurt you?’ Peter’s eyes widened.
    ‘No. He couldn’t grab hold,’ she murmured. ‘I’m strapped into the cockpit, darling.’
    ‘Yes. Of course.’ Peter blushed. ‘I should have known. What happened then?’
    ‘I pulled away. I think I said something like you wouldn’t be able to handle it .
    ‘And? Any other developments? He’d tried having sex with you?’
    Concheetah shook her head.
    Peter nodded, closed his notebook and put his pen on the table. Interview terminated.
    ‘Did you find my tale of woe boring, my dear?’ Concheetah sounded miffed. She poured another glass of champagne. In the background Ted was still tapping as the guitar droned away.
    ‘Look, Concheetah,’ Peter sighed, ‘I don’t know if I can make a story out of this. This is St Kilda. I’m sure patrons attempt this all the time.’
    ‘But these are men of authority,’ she said tearfully. ‘I thought you could help me. This is police harassment, Peter.’
    ‘I want to help you, but the cops didn’t do it.’ He found himselfpatting her shoulder sympathetically. ‘There isn’t enough to work on at this stage.’
    ‘The cop bastards were laughing. I was humiliated,’ she paused. ‘Oh dear. I have to put this beautiful body of mine on the line so you’ll have your scoop. Rape me please, Mister Donarto . Fuck you, Peter Clancy.’
    Concheetah flicked a finger at Peter, stood up and started to drift towards the stage. Peter followed, feeling uncomfortable that he had hurt the diva. Ted was holding a walking stick with one hand, waving the other in the air and dancing around it as if it was a maypole, like a possessed Morris dancer. The guitarist strummed a series of chords in a flurry of unbridled passion. The guitar stopped and Ted fell dramatically to the ground like Torvill minus Dean. It was an operatic tragedy without the opera.
    ‘Come on, Concheetah,’ Peter retorted defensively above the music. ‘My editor won’t even touch it.’ Ted lay motionless. Peter looked him over with a small element of concern, hoping the old dear hadn’t carked it on stage. Then again, that could be turned into a story.
    ‘Use your creative licence. Your rag is renowned for that.’
    ‘It’s not enough. If they’d taken it…’
    ‘When I’m lying on a hospital trolley at the Alfred, raped beyond recognition, I’ll remember that.’ Concheetah stood at the stage with arms akimbo, watching Ted rise slowly to his feet. Interview terminated. Peter decided it was an appropriate moment to exit this melodrama. He slowly tiptoed towards the door just as an argument erupted between Concheetah and Ted. He stopped at the doorway to watch the unfolding fracas.
    ‘Ted, all I said was it’s not your best. It needs a lot of work,’ she screeched.
    ‘You give me no praise,’ Ted shrieked back, throwing his glittering hat like a Frisbee. It curved