Melbourne Memories (Heart of Australia)

by Marion Ueckermann

  Justin took the stairs to his room, shut the door, and sank onto his bed. He left the curtains closed, preferring the shadows. They suited his mood. He took his guitar out of its case. Music always soothed his soul. Especially the songs he now composed, inspired by the Psalms.

  Finding solace in the talent God had given him, Justin barely heard the door downstairs click shut. He stopped playing and set his guitar back in its case before rising. He shoved the case under his bed then moved to the door and cracked it open. “Mrs. Gibbs. Is that you? Are you home?”

  A hand clamped his throat before he’d even stepped over the threshold. Strong, hairy, tattooed—with a marking all Danny’s men wore.

  Justin gasped for breath as he was shoved up against his bedroom wall. He grappled for the hand shutting off his air supply. Pain burst across his middle. A knee hammered into his stomach. Then groin. He would have doubled over, but he remained pinned to the wall, unable to fight back. He groaned as agony shot through his body.

  An image of Pastor Jim lying beaten on the church steps shadowed Justin’s mind as the blows came, not from one man, but now two. So this was what Jim had endured. Thankfully someone had come to Pastor Jim’s rescue. Unless Mrs. Gibbs returned home, Justin had nobody. He’d die in this dark, dingy room. Alone.

  This couldn’t be happening. Didn’t enemies of war usually call a ceasefire on Christmas Day? But then, Danny Delaney was no ordinary enemy. And he’d never played fair. When the beating finally stopped, Justin fell to the floor feeling nothing but pain, tasting nothing but blood. He curled into a fetal position.

  Footsteps neared.

  Like the flickering end of an old movie, his eyes struggled against the torture that dragged them closed.

  “Phoenix, Phoenix. You’ve given me quite the runaround.”

  Danny. If he’d traveled all the way here, this was game over.

  Danny crouched beside him and tapped his cheek before turning Justin’s face toward him. A sneer distorted his hazy features. “Pay me back my money, and I’ll leave you in peace.”

  Would he?

  “And by the way, it’s now seventy thousand pounds. All those months of interest on your debt, airfares to Australia, hotel bills…it adds up quickly, and someone has to take responsibility. Best you pay up fast, guitar boy.”

  “I…don’t have… the money.” Sheer effort to say those five little words.

  “I know you don’t. But I know you can get it. That’s one fine boat your lady friend lives on. It’ll retail for more than enough to cover your debt, with some to spare.”

  No… He couldn’t ask Ella. That was her home. Her memories. He’d rather die first. Besides, she never wanted to see him again.

  “And just in case you’re thinking you couldn’t ask your little sweetheart, I think you can. If you don’t come up with the money within a week, the boys and I will enjoy more than just coffee with Miss Anderson.” He clicked his tongue. “You know what I mean.”

  Danny rose and all Justin was left to look at through his swollen eyes was the dusty floor and Danny’s shiny black size eight Berlutis.

  “One week, Phoenix.” Danny’s shoes moved out of sight as Justin listened to him edge toward the door. “Five p.m., New Year’s Eve. Ella’s. You and the money or Ella will never forgive you for not asking. Nobody plays me for the fool and gets away with it. Nobody.” The wall made a hollow sound as Danny tapped on the doorframe. “Okay boys, give him what he’s been missing for so long. Just don’t overdo it—you know how I hate to lose a good client.”

  Surely Danny couldn’t mean…

  Even though his vision was blurred, Justin could make out the four white lines that formed on the floor in front of him, and the rolled note Danny’s men placed beside the lines. He’d stared down those stripes—his old friends—so many times in his past, anticipating the pleasure, the rush they would bring.

  Not this time.

  He forced himself to think about the rolled up note. Five pound sterling by the faded blueish color. Or could it be a hundred Australian dollars? No. Danny would never use such a high value note. The distraction didn’t last long. Habit drew his attention back to the lines. He wouldn’t snort the coke. He was clean from that life and had no desire to return.

  Then a strap tightened around his bicep, and a needle pricked his skin, sinking deeper into his vein. He had bigger things to worry about than what currency lay curled on the floor ready to suck the white dust up his nose. That’s why they’d set up the lines on the floor. When he came crashing down from the short rush the shot in his arm would give, he’d be left vacant and dissatisfied. And much as he didn’t want to, he’d snort those lines to fill the emptiness. The craving.

  A soft bag was shoved into his hands. He knew the feel of that powder.

  “A little gift from me to you—to get you through the next few days.” Danny’s manic laugh sent a chill through Justin’s broken body.

  As the strap on his arm released, he felt the rush and heard the train coming. But it wasn’t the one on the far end of that empty lot outside. This one steamed right through his brain.

  Ella hadn’t stopped pacing the jetty outside her yacht for nearly an hour, not caring what people thought of her in her long black dress while they strutted about the marina in their shorts, T-shirts, and sun hats. She needed the sunshine and sea breeze to shed light on her thinking and clear her mind. Had she done the right thing chasing Phoenix—Justin—away? Sure, he’d kept quiet for a week, but there hadn’t really been a good time to tell her. And he had baggage, but he’d left it behind in his old life. Shouldn’t she have extended him grace and forgiveness? Jesus would have. Yes, Justin had made mistakes that impacted on the lives of those she loved, but despite the beating her Uncle Jim had endured, without a doubt he’d do it all over again to save another lost soul from the clutches of hell.

  Lord, what am I supposed to do?

  Her mobile rang in her hand. A call from heaven?

  She swiped her finger over the screen. “Aunty Mary…”

  “Oh Ella, you’ve been praying haven’t you?”

  “Yes, we… I have been.”

  “I know, because your uncle has started to stir from his coma. He spoke, although it was all jumbled and didn’t make much sense.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Something about being sorry, that he had to protect me. Oh, and to warn Justin. I would if I knew how to find him, but he’s disappeared off the face of the earth. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and Jim hasn’t spoken of him in as long. Until now.”

  Justin. He could be in danger. She had to get to him. And she had to tell him how sorry she was.

  “I have to go. Merry Christmas, Aunty Mary. Uncle Jim’s waking is the best gift I could have asked for this Christmas.” Her hand touched the bracelet on her wrist. Well, maybe the second-best gift. “Please give him my love and a kiss once he’s fully awake.”

  Ella scurried back to the yacht and into her stateroom where she grabbed her car keys from the dresser. She didn’t bother to change, but slid her feet into the nearest pair of shoes—bright blue low-heeled pumps. Didn’t matter. Anything matched black.

  Thank you, Lord, that I took him home last week. What if she hadn’t known where he lived? Truly You’re in control, even when it looks like You aren’t.

  Ella pulled her car to a stop outside the ramshackle house where Justin had indicated he stayed. The door was wide open. Hopefully the landlady’s doing.

  Hand on the doorjamb, she placed a foot inside. “Hello…”

  A soft groan trickled down the staircase. Fear sliced through Ella.

  Justin.

  She hurried up the stairs toward the groans. Inside the dark upstairs room, Justin lay sprawled on the floor, one finger on his nostril, the other hand holding a small straw-like tube. She turned on the light. Tell-tale traces of three snorted lines of cocaine still remained on the floor. She’d only seen stuff like this in the movies. Justin was about to sniff up
the fourth line. Cold fear paralyzed her. Had he returned to drugs because of what she’d said or hadn’t said? Or was this the work of whoever had done that number on his body and face? Perhaps that Danny Delaney he’d told her about this morning. If so, where were they now?

  She didn’t care that she could be in danger. She had to help him.

  Falling to the floor, Ella grabbed the tube from his fingers, brushing the cocaine away. It spread like dust across the already dirty floor. Her fingers felt unclean, and she wiped them on her dress.

  “Babe…no. What are you doing?” Justin swept his hands toward the white particles, trying to draw them near, his wail turning to uncontrollable laughter.

  “You came back…” He coughed then spat against his shirt, wiping his mouth across his shoulder. A dark red stain soaked into the torn white fabric.

  He needed help. Fast. Who knew what he’d taken—or been given. As she turned to take him in her arms, her foot kicked against something, and a white square skidded across the floor. Ella reached for it. It was soft, like washing powder, but she knew the contents were nothing that cleaned. Just holding the bag made her feel dirty. She’d need to give it to the police as evidence. Ella threw it onto the bed, out of Justin’s way. Then she lifted his bruised body. He shook as she cradled him, and tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “Babe, you came back…” Justin tried to raise his head then buried his kiss in her arm.

  Ella unlocked her phone and dialed 000. When she’d given the dispatcher the details, she sank back against the edge of the bed and waited for the sound of sirens.

  “Hold on, Phoe— Justin. The police and ambulance are on their way.”

  Ella sat on the edge of Justin’s hospital bed. How long would it take for the bruises and swelling to subside? Certainly not four days. At least he’d survived the cocaine crash. Today he seemed to have turned the corner on that. Watching Justin crave the drug, beg for it, bargain—his anxiety, depression, irritability, paranoia—it tore Ella in two. Part of her wanted to run as far away from this man as she possibly could, the other part knew she had to stay, because that’s what Jesus would have done. He wouldn’t abandon someone in their greatest hour of need. She’d already done that once this week—she wouldn’t do it again.

  Dr. Harris walked into the room, and Ella sprang to attention. His gaze shifted from her to Justin. “Good news. There are no longer traces of cocaine in your system. There’s not much else we can do except give you medication to manage the pain, so you can go home today. I’ll send a script to the pharmacy downstairs. You can collect the medication on your way out.”

  Justin nodded, but he didn’t look happy.

  Dr. Harris turned to go then stopped and faced him again. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Taylor. If Miss Anderson hadn’t found you so fast, you would’ve overdosed.” With a slight flick of his head, Dr. Harris indicated for Ella to follow him.

  She squeezed Justin’s hand. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Outside the ward the doctor spoke more freely. “Is there someone to watch over him once he’s home?”

  Home? He can’t go home.

  “For how long, Doctor?”

  “A month. Two. Three… However long it takes to be sure he won’t use again.”

  She could watch him for a week or two, but a month, or longer…?

  “I could hire a nurse.” She had the money. They could stay in her old house. It was empty.

  “A nurse is good for now, especially to tend to his injuries. But what he really needs is a sober companion.” He grabbed a paper and pen from the nurses’ station, scribbled on it, then handed the paper to Ella. “You’ll be able to arrange a sober companion with these people. That person will make sure he doesn’t use again, and that he attends his Narcotics Anonymous meetings.”

  Justin was already out of bed and dressed by the time Ella walked back into his ward. For someone who didn’t seem that keen on leaving, he’d dressed really fast.

  He glanced at her as he tucked his T-shirt into his jeans. “Thanks for being here for me, but you can go now. I’ll just catch the bus back home.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. Besides, there’s nothing to go back for. I’ve already cleared out your stuff, and paid your landlady what’s owing to her. You’ll stay at my parents’ home.”

  “I can’t take your charity, Ella. And I’ve already brought enough trouble on your family.”

  “I’m doing what I should’ve done on Christmas Day—giving you the greatest gift ever. Grace.” Ella shifted on her feet and brushed her hand over his. “How much money do you owe Danny?” Would he accept the second gift she’d offer?

  Silence answered her question.

  She stepped closer and pressed a hand against his chest, gazing into eyes that seemed darker after his brush with the fires of hell once again. “How much?”

  “Was fifty thousand pounds, but now Danny wants seventy thousand.”

  “Seventy? How can he just up it by twenty thousand pounds? The crook.”

  “He’s far worse than a thief.”

  Ella grabbed Justin’s hand and focused her gaze on him. “I have the money. Let me pay it and get him out of all our lives for good. Please.”

  His face crumpled, a frown drawing the worry lines closer. “No.”

  “Justin, my uncle nearly lost his life because of this man. So did you.”

  “And that’s exactly why I will not give him one penny or cent.”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her face. “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded. She did.

  His smile was clouded by the swelling on his face. Ella could see how much it hurt.

  “Then can you contact Detective Walsh, and tell him I’m ready to talk?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  SEATED AT A TABLE at Ella’s coffee shop, far from his usual window seat, Justin watched his coffee grow cold as he bounced his knee, the action a result of more than just the cravings for cocaine. Danny had done him no favors last week by inflicting this on him again. But he’d beaten drugs once, under far worse circumstances—he’d beat them again. This time he had Jesus and Ella as motivation not to use.

  He glanced around to Ella, hard at work behind the espresso machine, and smiled.

  She returned the smile, though her eyes showed her worry.

  It’ll be all right, Ella. God’s got this.

  Up until an hour ago, she’d still wanted him to just hand over the money to Danny and let him leave. He’d insisted this was the only way for them to be truly free of his former drug dealer’s clutches. His hand reached for the bag beside him containing some one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. He had no idea how Danny planned to take the money out of the country, and he didn’t care. Danny Delaney wasn’t going to get a single cent.

  His eyes scanned the coffee shop, now void of the decorations and tree that had brightened it over the festive season. At the next table, Detective Walsh nursed his cup and read the paper. He looked different in jeans and a light gray short-sleeved checked shirt. They pretended not to know each other—just two strangers having coffee at neighboring tables.

  Justin folded his arms tight across his body. Beneath his touch, he could feel the wire strapped to his chest. Thankfully Danny wouldn’t be able to search him in a public place. One plus to meeting here. The downside—someone innocent could get hurt. Justin had no clue which patrons were undercover police officers, and which were Joe Public. They couldn’t exactly hang a ‘closed’ sign on the door and fill the place with cops. At least Walsh knew who the cops were. And the man was astute enough to not agree to the sting unless he knew it would work. So here they sat—him, Walsh, and goodness knows who else from Australia’s finest.

  Ella’s was busy and no small wonder. It was New Year’s Eve. People were in and out of the coffee shop like bees buzzing around a hive. But with no place to sit, every new patron had to settle for a takeaway cup. If Ella rem
ained behind the counter, she should be safe.

  Justin kept one eye on the clock, the other on the door. Five minutes past five. Ten past. Would Danny show, or did he suspect a trap?

  At quarter past, Danny and his two henchmen entered, looking like regular tourists in their shorts, T-shirts, sunglasses, and loafers, man-bags strapped over their chests.

  The foam at the top of Justin’s cup had melted long ago. He lifted his spoon and scooped up a mouthful of cold coffee into his mouth—the agreed signal that the suspects had finally arrived.

  Detective Walsh flipped his newspaper over then took a swig from his cup.

  More signals.

  One of Danny’s henchmen shooed Justin over on the wraparound seat and slid in beside him, his hand reaching inside the bag over his shoulder. “Don’t try anything,” he said beneath his breath, “or you’ll be eating metal pellets for dinner.”

  The second henchman slid onto the seat opposite Justin, as did Danny.

  “Did you bring what you owe me, Phoenix?” Danny leaned forward on the table.

  Justin nodded.

  “Good.” Danny relaxed back into his seat. “But first I think we’ll enjoy a bit of Ella’s. What do you say, boys? Flat whites all round?”

  Danny’s men grinned.

  “I need to know something before you take off with all this money. Did you have Billy killed?”

  A frown crinkled Danny’s forehead. “Billy?”

  Of course Danny wouldn’t have known Billy by his name, only his stage name…like the man only knew him as Phoenix. “The Grouse.”

  “Ah, the Grouse. Coffee first. Call your Ella over here then shift the bag toward Sean.”

  He didn’t want Ella near there, but he had to get a confession out of Danny to either Billy’s murder or Pastor Jim’s attempted murder. Otherwise it was just his word against theirs, and Danny would have lawyers that would have him and his goons back on the streets in no time.

  Justin turned and waved Ella over.

  She frowned, then slowly walked their way, her hands clutching the edges of her apron.