Rugby Money

By Wix Hutton

It’s 2015, it’s rugby season and Seph Daniel is determined to run out in the starting line-up when New Zealand defends against the world’s best rugby teams. To get on the field, Seph must fend off lovers and opposing players – and sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. At first he smoothly dodges every tackle. But Seph trips over a series of bad calls, until his luck runs out and life will never be the same again. Problem is, money is vanishing for Seph and also, embarrassingly, for financial forensic consultant Cassidy StPaul, swept off to Paris and pre-season games with millionaire boyfriend Miles. Cassidy abandons friends and enemies – and sometimes she can’t separate them – and walks away from the hard grind of forensic consulting to indulge in high-stakes luxury. While the build-up to the rugby accelerates, Seph and Cassidy refuse to admit that living the dream costs more than they ever imagined. Meanwhile, unless Cassidy can find his missing money, Seph is only one step away from being sent home in disgrace ... Rugby Money is the must-read novel about a thrilling and dangerous game.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wix Hutton
• Release date: Mar 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9780473318925

Wix Hutton

Wix Hutton lives a life of crime in novels featuring financial forensic sleuth Cassidy StPaul. Fourbooks are available: Dead Money (2012), Conscience Money (2013), Texas Money (2014) and Rugby Money (2015), with Cassidy finding that there's no accounting for murder.Here's one reader's review: "Loved the first book – Cassidy StPaul leaps off the page and takes you on a sleuth journey in her Jimmy Choos. She's no airhead though, unearthing dodgy dealings and leaving no stone unturned in her quest for the truth, whilst remaining delightfully down to earth. Looking forward to the next book."

Book preview

Chapter 1: Curtain-raiser

‘Deaths.’

‘Deaths?’ A nasty crackle on the speakerphone distorted the voice.

‘A surprising number of people have died today.’ Text scrolled at the stab of a finger.

The voice at the other end of the line was wary. ‘A surprising number of people die every day.’

‘What’s your deadline?’

‘A few days, a few weeks.’ Speakerphone distortion again. Maybe.

‘Well, there must be someone – a death in close family, now that would be the ultimate. Someone must be dead, a lover, a childhood friend, a former confidante; you can spin it, with your imagination. Dig up the right death and that should be worth – well, worth at least –’

The voice on the phone acquired an edge. ‘Anyone’s death in particular? I ask merely to be informed, of course, in case I can’t find someone suitably dead, then I’ll know who to kill.’ Not too wary, then; but on the defensive.

Feet on the desk; chair-back near horizontal. ‘Got the picture?’ The plaster rosette wreath in the centre of the dirty ceiling had dropped one petal years ago. The memory of the crumbling remnant, like an old-fashioned apostrophe, that had plummeted with exquisite timing onto the bald head of a passing defamation lawyer evoked a smile even now.

The speakerphone crackled again. ‘Not a very pretty picture.’

The door slammed open. No-one came within peripheral vision but a thud heralded the city edition landing on his desk. The door slammed shut.

‘So, two halves. You get the money for the first half. Background is ninety percent of this. Someone like you can hammer out background with one hand tied behind your back.’

‘I heard you the first time.’

‘The professional game, the international stuff.’

‘Why it makes a difference. I said I heard you.’

‘Closer to deadline, second half, the target. You concentrate for now on the angle. You understand money.’

‘I understand money. I’ve told you I’ll do it.’ The speakerphone clicked off.

Chair castors squeaked and rucked the carpet; a single jab at the phone.

‘Yes?’

‘I want photographs.’

Chapter 2: Captain’s run

Seph Daniel’s replacement tooth ached.

‘Don’t stop smiling!’ His personal manager and agent, Morris, positioned himself between Seph and the cameras. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Morris twisted to face the pack. ‘Okay, guys. And remember, Seph Daniel is a gold donor to children’s sporting charities through fundraiser Generosity Limited. Gold donor, Generosity Limited, children’s sporting charities, get it right, okay? Have you all got my press release?’

Seph grimaced, dropping his chin and pulling at his lips, then flexed his eyebrows. He slapped his jaw, the palm of one large hand scuffing twice against one cheek, then the back of the hand twice against the other cheek. ‘My face hurts. Stiff.’

‘Okay, guys, time-out please, time-out.’

The wind shoved across the rugby field and Seph blinked grit into one eyeball. He rubbed to clear the specks of dirt, squinting and focusing on the distant signboards at the home end. Time digits stood ready for kick-off. The score board recorded St Joseph’s double zero, Visitors double zero. Outdoor broadcast vans angled carelessly behind a miniature grandstand with tiered rows of plank seats. Seph admired his car, glossy black with white markings, a thoroughbred among the OB vans and Morris’s bedraggled sedan. A tow truck hesitated behind the vans. An assembly of school classrooms lurked on the horizon.

A small voice asked, ‘Lockie? Are you doing autographs?’

Seph looked back, turned, looked down on the anxious face. ‘For sure,’ he took hold of the offered black pen and white rugby ball. He scribbled. ‘There you go.’

Basked in the worshipping gaze. More felt pens were pushed forward, more rugby balls were offered, most from the level of Seph’s waist, a few of the boys as tall as his chest. Seph smiled towards smartphones and tablets, chatted, scrawled with the felt pens. Good luck – Seph. Go well – Seph. Go hard out – Lockie. Kia kaha. Kia kaha.

While commentary streamed in his head …

… and the boys at his old school congratulate Seph Daniel, newly selected in the national squad. Seph tells the first fifteen he’s determined to wear the number four jersey in the starting line-up later this month when New Zealand will run onto the field, defending champions against the world’s best rugby teams …

‘You’ve got your back to the cameras.’ Morris’s command cut in and Seph’s running commentary cut out. ‘Turn round – they need shots of you doing the autographs.’

Photo flashes popped and dazzled.

‘How about a team shot?’

‘Seph, can we get you in the middle?’

Blinking, Seph rested his eyes, gazing across the dead-ball zone. The stand for spectators, empty except for the school’s rugby coach enjoying a quiet smoke. A banner hand-made by the boys, a bit hard to read now it was half-folded against the changing sheds, but he had signed it earlier and remembered that it proclaimed Keep the cup in 2015!

The wail of a car alarm tugged at Seph. He flicked his gaze over the school’s small car park until his eye snagged on the towie tightening the hitch under one of the vehicles. He squinted, trying to pick out the victim.

‘Morris – I think that bastard is towing your car …’

‘First fifteen at the front – steady, boys, please – second fifteen at the back. You, you and you – get tighter in the middle, otherwise we won’t get everyone into the photograph.’ The deputy headmaster’s commands went ignored as the boys jostled, clutching their signed rugby balls, pulling faces for the TV cameras, coughing and laughing into offered microphones.

Seph found himself blocked by a tiny front row, and hemmed behind by the backs balancing on the scrum machine that they had converted into temporary seating.

The towie hopped up into his cab. The tow truck rolled a little forward, then jerked to a brief stop as the towing chains took up the slack. The car alarm cut out.

‘How about a cheer? One –’

‘Lockie!’

‘Morris – I’ve gotta sort this –’

The tow truck nudged its way past the vans, and half-way out of the main gate decorated along one side with a placard that Seph had read while driving in. Lockie 4 ever!

‘Seph, look this way, Seph, this way …’

Seph struggled from the ranks, ignoring the deputy headmaster still trying to get the boys to cheer on cue. He pushed past microphones.

A shout of ‘Lockie!’

The tow-truck hesitated in the middle of the gate from the car park onto the road, waiting for a break in the traffic. Seph began to jog.

… and we can see Seph Daniel as he accelerates, incredible speed from a standing start, and already Seph is past the halfway line …

‘Seph, what are – what is he looking at? Is he looking at that tow-truck?’

A chant of ‘Seph! Seph! Seph!’ faded as Seph accelerated. As he closed on the try-line, he saw the traffic outside the school begrudgingly make a place for the tow-truck to exit the school car park. The towie bumped over the first judder bar and triggered the alarm again; the large black car, bright with white lettering; the black pennant on the aerial fluttering a forlorn goodbye.

Chapter 3: Kick-off

Seph tore across the few metres of dead-ball zone.

… and Seph Daniel is really racing now, he’s still increasing speed, he’s really upping the pace! And he’s through the goal posts and scores right under the cross-bar!

And, with a final desperate effort, up the small bank. Too late. His breath rasped, his shoes lost grip in the gravel. The traffic was moving slowly, the tow-truck edging his car out through the gate. Seph booted it and bellowed, ‘Bastard! Fucking bastard!’

From nowhere one of the schoolboys circled Seph and raced after the tow-truck.

‘No – come back, you little –’

The other boys swarmed around Seph, surrounding the gate and cheering their runner as he tried to jump onto the towed car. The towie’s truck swerved and missed, but Seph’s towed car sideswiped the boy as the towing rig over-corrected.

The towie kept going.

Seph jumped out into traffic, holding up one hand as horns blared and cars braked and slid.

‘Shit – are you – here –’

The boy tried to sit up and Seph braced the narrow shoulders as car doors slammed and legs and feet surrounded them.

‘Someone call 111.’

‘I’ve already called.’ Brown lace-ups.

‘Yeah, me too. They’re on their way.’ Steel-capped work boots.

Seph hugged the thin arms as the child’s wet eyes hid from view, the small face pressing into his shirt. ‘Don’t cry, mate, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine.’

‘Seph – look this way –’

‘Seph, did you run him over?’ School trainers.

‘Who is that?’ High heels.

‘Seph Daniel. Seph Daniel ran the boy over, apparently.’ Black wing-tips.

Seph heard a siren wail in the distance.

‘Okay guys, that’s enough photos, no more please. Some privacy for the – for – what’s the kid’s name?’

‘Here you go.’ Seph hugged the boy. ‘Here’s the ambulance. Hey, you’ll get a ride in an ambulance, cool, eh?’

The paramedics pushed Seph away and road-metal chip bit his kneecaps as he knelt, eased back on the hamstrings, then pushed himself to standing.

‘Seph, would you like to make a statement?’ A microphone thrust almost up his nostrils. Seph stepped back and bumped into someone else. He turned and Morris grabbed his fist before Seph could complete the punch.

‘My car – that bastard towed my car.’

Morris stumbled as Seph shook him off.

‘Make sure you’re getting sound. Are we recording?’

‘And my phone. My phone was in the car.’

Morris hustled Seph away from the cameras. ‘Get in the car – I’m parked over here – we’ve got to go, sorry we’re out of time –’

‘That towie bastard! Towed my car!’

‘Seph, would you like to make a statement about why your car was towed away?’

‘Got to go – out of time, sorry –’

‘Seph, are the rumours right about you being short of money? Why was your car repossessed?’

‘Next engagement – very tight schedule.’ Morris pulled open the car door and pushed Seph forward. Seph banged his head on the top of the door. Morris tried to close the car door on Seph’s leg.

‘Seph, is it true, why are you broke?’

Chapter 4: It’s away

Seph’s knee crunched against the gear-stick. He tried to straighten his right leg to relieve the snap of cramp in his calf.

‘Your car’s too small.’

‘Careful! Christ’s sake, you’ll have the car out of gear.’

Seph hunched forward and grabbed his right calf, squeezing tortured muscle until the savage bite of cramp eased. ‘Get an automatic.’

Morris signalled left and turned right out of the school gate, drawing the honking fury of oncoming traffic. Too fast for the turn; Seph felt tyres lose grip as Morris sprayed gravel over crumpled Lockie 4 ever! and media remnants still filming by the school gate.

… and Seph takes a breath to aid his focus, holds and counts two, releases slowly and repeats. But it’s no good as his heart pounds and he coughs …

‘Fucking towie – what the hell was he doing?’ Morris overtook without signalling.

‘You’re the worst driver, Morris – pull over and let me drive.’

Being a passenger was agony.

… and Seph panics on the bench that he won’t get onto the field, while the game goes on without him and he is appalled by the mistakes made by the forwards …

Morris ran a red light. ‘Forget it – just forget it. We’ll sort your car later.’

Seph breathed …

… and he breathes deep and turns to gaze out the side window and meets the eyes of two guys waiting to cross at the lights. The two guys pump the air and cheer …

This time Morris went through on the green.

Seph waved and his knuckles scraped against the side window. ‘And my phone’s in the car. Suppose Yaz needs to get hold of me – she won’t get any answer.’

‘Forget Yasu.’ Morris swerved left.

A schoolgirl on a bicycle wobbled dangerously and Seph watched her face contort. ‘She’s going to –’

The schoolgirl regained her balance and turned her head to shout, but anger smoothed from her face as she focused on Seph. She waved with one hand and wobbled again, Seph waved back and grinned, then he watched anxiously in the wing mirror as Morris roared down the side street. The cyclist dwindled in the mirror but stayed upright. Morris cornered again and the schoolgirl dropped from sight.

‘Nearly there.’ Morris’s phone rang.

And rang.

‘Answer it for me, will you?’

Seph leaned his head back. ‘No.’

His neck cricked and he studied a dirty splash on the car’s vinyl ceiling. The spray of brown grime looked like the starburst from a beer can opened after being shaken hard. The phone stopped ringing.

‘Those media – right at the end there, one of them said something about my car being repossessed. What was that about?’

A short distance ahead, a small crowd jammed the footpath.

‘Forget the journos.’ Morris pulled up outside the bookstore.

No-one turned around for the small grey sedan.

Seph hunched shoulders forward, enjoying the stretch then the relax. ‘What’s this one, anyway?’

Two women stuck at the back of the crowd stepped backwards and bumped into Morris’s car before turning around. One woman leaned across the wing mirror and stared through the windscreen, meeting Seph’s gaze. He watched recognition dawn on the other side of glass, her face delighted and her mouth grinning.

Morris kept the engine running. ‘Book signing,’ he shouted above the screaming.

Seph watched the mob turn, the flicker of smartphones lifted high above heads swivelling from the bookshop frontage to bombard the grey car beside the kerb.

… and Seph Daniel is mired in the ruck, he can’t make the break …

His neck crawled from the exhaled gust of Morris’s breath and the windscreen started to steam up. Seph eased from his side window as hysterical fans banged the glass, and he bumped elbows with Morris shifting centre from the other side.

… and the car begins to shrink, clamping Seph’s chest; he wriggles his shoulders, tries to ease the grip on his ribs, tries to breathe. The hot stink of Morris’s sweat, the slap of thousands of open palms and beckoning fingers against thin glass, the jostle of the seat under him – Seph holds his breath, forces his fist to unclench and eases a finger under the door handle pressed into his bicep and flaps the lever up …

He heard a thunk; the door didn’t open. He flipped the handle up and down, shoved hard against the door, up and down –

‘Don’t do that!’

A lull in the shouting, the edge of panic in Morris’s whine and the snap of central locking jumbled together in Seph’s hearing.

He forced words. ‘I thought we were in a hurry.’ The mob squeezed closer and Seph hesitated.

Morris said, ‘Security will be here in a minute to get you into the bookshop. You’re the last one, they want to get started on the signing. Remember you’ve read the book and you think it’s great.’

… let’s go, let’s get moving!

‘I want to complain to the towing company. Did you get the phone number off of that tow-truck? I mean, they’ve got my phone in the car. There might be an emergency.’

‘Don’t get excited, it’s just a phone, you can get another one.’

Seph waved a hand at the heaving mob; hands waved back at him. ‘I can’t go anywhere without twenty thousand people going hysterical. I can’t go out to get a phone.’

Morris yawned. ‘Why are you so worried about a phone? You’ll be out of the country by tomorrow.’

Morris’s phone shrilled.

Seph wiped his forehead. ‘Stuff is always happening.’ He half-listened.

Morris turned away. ‘I’m talking as loud as I can.’

Seph recognised two guys halfway between the bookshop door and Morris’s car, and waved. One of the security lifted a hand, the other tapped an ear and spoke into the microphone tabbed to his collar, and a starburst alongside the car dazzled Seph. He twisted but the passenger seat of Morris’s kiddie-car offered too little space to turn easily. He called to Morris over his shoulder, ‘The security guys are here already.’

He couldn’t hear Morris’s reply above the fans yelling. Security manhandled a camera operator aside. More fans clung to the car, tugging at the door-handle, keeping a tight grip on the aerial, pulling the windscreen wipers up.

The wipers suddenly flicked back and forth, losing the hand-holds.

Seph rounded on Morris. ‘Are you crazy? You’ll take someone’s eye out.’

When Morris didn’t reply, Seph studied him. Morris was holding the phone loosely at his neck.

‘Are you okay – you’ve gone a funny colour. What’s happening? Has someone picked up my car? And my phone?’

The car door was pulled open and Seph sucked in cooler air.

Morris shouted, ‘I’m talking as loud as I can. It’s the bloody fans screaming.’

The security hauled at him, Morris pushed and Seph was released from the vicious grip of Morris’s passenger seat.

Morris bellowed, ‘I’m sure he can’t hear me.’

Seph and the two security guys sidestepped as a trio and jinked, jostled by fans, towards the bookshop’s front door. At the two-metre line the security guy in front was ambushed by a microphone. Seph looked back towards the car, at Morris still on the phone.

‘Seph – Seph – why did you run over that kid? Why did you run away from the police?’

Elbows, knuckles, chins banged on shopfront glass. The clang of bone on metal – he guessed knees, boots against the car. Maybe even heads; Seph winced at the painful thought.

Security pulled him forward past the mikes, past the bursting fireworks of flashing lights, leaving him no time to respond.

‘Seph – Seph – why are you broke?’

Chapter 5: Handling error

Seph squared his shoulders and the hotel’s mirrored hallway watched his back.

… and Seph Daniel lines up a practice kick …

He tested his best attempt so far. ‘My car was towed today, bastards, they reckon I parked in the wrong place.’

A squeal fractured the silence of the hallway. A room attendant pushed a distant cleaning trolley towards him.

… and we can read his lips as Seph tells himself, practise as you mean to play …

Seph scratched his head, cleared his throat, forced himself to swallow and tried again. ‘I’m the only one in the squad that hasn’t read the book, so we can save a bit of cash because I’ve got to stay in tonight and read it.’

The trolley squeaked past and the attendant smiled shyly. Seph smiled back. The attendant sailed down the corridor and around a corner.

… and Seph Daniel keeps it simple …

Seph grabbed the door handle and opened the door to his suite. ‘How was your day?’

Yasu stood square in the middle of the hotel suite’s small entry-way. Seph kicked the door closed behind him and took the hit full-on: the lips, the legs, the heat, all in a bundle that barely reached his nipples.

… and Seph Daniel goes hard out …

Yasu held her phone like a shield. ‘He’s here. Can’t talk any more.’

Seph executed a move to the blind side. Yasu blocked deftly with an arm in black and gold wound tightly all the way to knuckle-sized rings and a full glass of wine in the hand that wasn’t holding her phone.

‘Gotta go.’ Yasu rose on tiptoe; Seph hunched; but no kiss. She bellowed, ‘Great news!’

‘Who you talking to?’

‘I found us a house!’

His shoes slithered on glossy tiles. In the suite’s miniature kitchen, Seph caught his jacket cuff on the cupboard handle. There should be a tin of tuna here somewhere … rice crackers …

‘You know the bank turned me down.’

Yasu tailed him. ‘This one’s cheaper. North Shore, only two million. I’ve sorted us a viewing, we should go now, we can get there and back before party time.’

Seph bit down on the rice cracker until his fake tooth hurt. ‘You want to spend my money?’

Yasu sighted over the rim of her glass. ‘Your money? You couldn’t tell me your bank balance if you tried.’ She hefted the wine bottle by its neck.

… and reckless media pack tight but Seph sells them the dummy …

‘I pay Morris to know.’

A snort. ‘Morris? That idiot doesn’t understand money.’

‘And you do?’

‘I do. From my very first dollar to my last. And every single one in between.’

Seph attended to the crackers. ‘I leave it to him. Don’t drink so much.’

‘Did you leave your car out front?’

Seph studied a cracker. Funny how they had those little crinkly edges. And his tooth had got looser. ‘I don’t know …’

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

Seph picked up a full packet of crackers, eased open the plastic wrap and extracted a cracker. This one was paler with no crinkles around the edges.

‘Seph? Earth to Seph? And you had your phone switched off this afternoon, why?’

Seph piled a forkful of tuna on the pale cracker.

‘Talk to me.’

There was a knock on the door. Seph faced the bench. ‘I’ll get that.’

‘Don’t you dare.’

Seph spat his tooth into his palm and listened to Yasu’s heels clatter across the entry-way tiles. Clack, thump, pause; she had reached the door, and he pictured the tightening of sinew as she tiptoed to spy the hallway.

… and Seph Daniel is right behind her, her towering heels tipped with tiny black sprigs, and he’s going all the way, pressing the tip of his tongue deep into soft skin behind her knee …

Murmuring scaled up and separated into two voices as Seph weakened at the memory of