by Drew Lindsay
‘Good Lord, look at you?’
Ben lifted his head from the carpet and tried to sit up.
‘Dead drunk again last night. You’re disgusting.’
Ben turned over and sat up. He tried to focus his bloodshot eyes on Fay but it didn’t work so he shut them. ‘I got sort of fired.’
‘What do you mean, sort of fired? You’re either fired or not.’
Ben rubbed his eyes through closed eyelids. He felt pain throbbing through his temples. ‘I’m sort of suspended for a while over the last shooting.’
‘And who is going to pay the bills now?’
‘I’m on full pay I think.’
‘You’re hopeless Ben. Look what you’ve turned into?’
‘I haven’t turned into anything. I didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘You’re washed up as a cop and a husband. You must be doing everything wrong.’
‘And you’re Miss Perfect I suppose?’
Fay turned and stomped out of the lounge room. She took the stairs two at a time and slammed the master bedroom door. Ben pushed himself up from the floor and slumped into his desk chair. His mind was numb. His mouth tasted dry, salty and his tongue was sore where he had bitten it as he fell.
The morning sun streamed through the lace curtains. Heat was already building as yet another summer day formed. Ben was troubled. He couldn’t work out why but something was bothering him deep down. It wasn’t that he had fallen down drunk. He’d done that before, and recovered. It was something else. He looked around the room and his eyes stopped at the computer screen. The system had hibernated. That meant he hadn’t closed down in the normal manner.
A dread crept through his chest as recall tried to kick in. He had typed and sent an email. How many times had he warned himself never to send emails when he had been drinking? Same with text messages. Emails, text messages and alcohol were usually always a bad combination and last night he had consumed a great deal of alcohol.
He re booted the computer and opened Outlook. His worst fears were realised as a copy of his email to Brenda Grant’s web site appeared in the ‘sent’ tray. His hands trembled as he read the text. He deleted the email from the sent tray and also the deleted items tray. He turned the computer off and got to his feet. He felt sick and unsteady.
Ben looked at his watch. It was 8.34 am. He stumbled through the kitchen to the spare bathroom at the rear of the house, undressed and stood in front of the mirror. He was unshaven and smelt of alcohol and body odour. The warm blast of shower water felt amazing on his skin and he stood under the downpour for a long time.
Fay was gone as he entered the master bedroom. A towel was wrapped around his hips. He shaved, brushed his teeth and dressed casually. Now he felt more like facing the world but only marginally.
Fay hadn’t left a message but she was obviously gone. He didn’t care; in fact he wouldn’t have cared if he never saw her again. That troubled him also because he had loved her so much.
Ben was hungry. The kitchen presented little hope of physical satisfaction but ‘Maccas’ was nearby. He retrieved his mobile phone and car keys from the kitchen sideboard, walked outside and locked the front door.
McDonald’s was packed but he ordered a tray full of bacon and egg muffins with a large hot coffee and three orders of hash browns. An old man vacated a tiny corner table and Ben quickly took his place. He ate quickly and gratefully.
Later he took out the mobile phone and thumbed through the contacts list. Akira Misaki appeared and he pressed the call button.
‘Yes.’
‘Aka?’
‘Ben?’
‘You kept my number.’
‘No, I forgot to delete it.’
‘Nice.’
‘What do you want Ben?’
‘A talk.’
‘About what?’
‘I want to train again.’
Laughter rang in Ben’s ear. ‘Train to do what?’
‘I need to get back into condition Aka.’
‘You were one of the best I had and you pissed it away. What’s your problem this time?’
‘I got suspended yesterday. I need to get back into condition.’
‘Go to Pete’s gym. He’ll take care of you.’
‘I don’t want Pete’s gym. I need to get back the power.’
‘The spiritual power?’
‘Perhaps that too. Will you see me?’
‘You only ever got half of it Ben. You learned the moves but you lacked the Zen.’
‘I’m not a Buddhist.’
‘You don’t have to be a damn Buddhist you idiot. You never really got it, did you?’
‘Look Aka. I need help!’
Silence.
‘You there?’
‘OK. Get over here at noon and I’ll have a look at what a mess you’ve made of yourself since I last saw you.’
‘Thanks Aka.’
‘You been shooting people again I hear.’
‘No choice.’
‘You know Karate. You got a choice.’
‘I guess I got a bit lazy, but Karate won’t stop bullets and knives.’
‘Perhaps not bullets unless you’re close, but it will stop knives. You know that. See you at noon.’
The call was terminated. Ben put the phone back in his pocket and sipped his coffee.
“****”
Chapter Six