by Bowes, K T
Hana seemed pleased with the suggestion. “Genius!” she smiled at him. “Then I can sit down on the staging if I feel funny again.”
They made their way indoors and past the Great Hall. Logan held tightly onto Hana’s hand, ignoring the amused look of students from his Year 13 English class who turned to watch them go upstairs. From the cavernous, wooden panelled hall, came the steady hum of the presenters as they spoke to groups of between ten and fifty people each. Some of the audiences stood and some sat. Some looked interested and others like they picked the wrong talk to listen to, counting down the minutes until they could politely extricate themselves and dash to hear someone else.
Standing in front of the double rimu doors to the balcony, Hana realised she didn’t have a key. “I’ve never had one. I’m not important enough,” she griped.
Logan shuffled through his bunch quickly, ignoring the slighted remark. He inherited the keys from his predecessor and hadn’t yet worked out what half of them were. He separated out the two he regularly used, his form classroom and office and then peered at the rest. Hana reached for one with an engraved number four on it and held it up. “This one,” she said confidently. “Heads of department must be really important.”
Logan fitted it into the lock and heard a satisfying click as the metal inside responded. They hustled in quickly and Logan closed the door behind them. He contemplated locking it but then decided against it. Nobody would think to look in there. The balcony was a wood panelled area, high above the Great Hall on the mezzanine floor, running lengthwise over the entire room. It was an addition from the 1990’s, which hadn’t been particularly popular at the time. It had robbed the space of its openness and obscured the high, beamed and vaulted ceiling on one side. The immense and intricately carved ceiling had once been a striking original feature, dating back to when the hall was the first chapel. On the ground floor under the mezzanine it felt claustrophobic, even though the tallest man was a long way from banging his head on the white plasterboard. But the additional space the architects had made available was gratefully, if grudgingly received and proved its usefulness time and time again during concerts and performances. Yet it was unlikely to be repeated on the other side of the hall.
Wide steps from the double doors at the back of the balcony led down to a solid viewing rail. Seating was set out permanently from front to back, staggered along the steps to give the appearance of a theatre. It would have made much more sense for the balcony to be at the back of the hall instead of over to one side, but the architects had never known the exercise would be unrepeated. Their brainchild was too visually unappealing. As a result of the alleged desecration of a town heritage building, the school had since been listed and was protected from further such harm by legislation.
Logan joined Hana at the rail, looking down on the room with a perfect bird’s eye view. The only parts not visible were the doors underneath the balcony. From above, the masking tape boundaries which denoted the rectangular spaces for the stalls were clearly visible, looking like a sports field. Hana winced at the wonky bits where she had struggled to crawl around on the parquet floor, measuring and sticking for the best part of the day. The Bay of Plenty Polytechnic presenter stood in the middle of an interesting rhombus, which possibly explained why he was unable to line his stand and table up properly.
Biting her lip, Hana looked sideways at Logan as he joined her at the rail and wondered whether she should point it out before he noticed. Logan Du Rose was a perfectionist. He could be picky about things not lined up correctly, like a piece of wallpaper in the hallway at Culver’s Cottage which had gotten away from Hana and crinkled slightly in the corner, fixing itself at a jaunty angle. Hana hid it in the swags of the curtains she made, but Logan more than once mentioned getting another roll and fixing it up. He didn’t inflict his compulsiveness on other people – he would sort it out himself, but it was obvious when something bothered him. “They’re wonky,” she said, watching for Logan’s reaction.
“What are?” he asked, his grey eyes raking the room. It was quickly evident he had other things on his mind and Hana shrugged, feeling relieved she had gotten away with it.
The scene below looked orderly and productive. Attendance was high and the whole area filled with groups attentively listening or at least appearing to be. Hana lifted the office digital camera out of the small bag she carried diagonally across her body and took pictures of the different presenters. It was a good camera and she zoomed in, taking snaps that would please Sheila and probably appear on the posters for the next event. She spied some people she knew and waved, but they didn’t think to look up and so she went unseen. “Oh look, do you think I should text Paul Foster from the bakery?” Hana sniggered. “He’s by the mechanical engineering stand.”
Logan shook his head in irritation and returned a whisper, his breath tickling Hana’s ear. “What and disturb everyone? Probably not a good idea.”
Hana bit her lip feeling chastened. The heat from a few hundred accumulated bodies rose up to sit in the high vaulted ceiling, circulating around the balcony. It was like a damp fog and started to get to Hana again. She sat down abruptly in one of the seats behind her and Logan looked down at her with alarm in his face. “I’m fine,” she said smiling up at him, “my legs ache that’s all.”
He looked unsure and she handed the camera up to him. “Can you take some photos for me? You take nicer ones than I do and my arm is aching.”
Logan took it from her outstretched hand and leaned over the rail. Hana admired his neat backside as he bent to get an excellent shot of Peter North picking his nose and eating it, over by the stage. Zooming in, Logan noticed Pastor Allen stood at the back of the group listening to the Waikato Institute of Technology presenter. His eldest stepson sat in a seat near the front. Logan thought to himself what a good father he seemed. There were mothers there by the hundreds, but not many fathers had turned up.
Logan heard the sound of a small baby crying and zoomed in on a woman moving towards the group. The child hadn’t yet begun full-out-screaming, but he watched through the camera as the woman unhooked the baby from a sling around her middle and handed it to the pastor. He took the infant without quibble and kissed its little face, jiggling it almost roughly as he slung it over his shoulder and swivelled his upper body from side to side. The crying stopped and the child used its big unfocussed eyes to peer over his back and look at the people behind.
Logan watched as a long trail of white liquid barfed out of the baby’s mouth and splatted on the floor behind the pastor. People instinctively moved backwards a little way. The child’s father was oblivious. Logan laughed softly and Hana slapped him lightly on the bum. “You’re not meant to be stalking people,” she complained. “Take some photos or Sheila will get mad at me!”
Logan moved the camera around the room and took some shots he thought might make good publicity images.
“Logan,” Hana’s voice sounded tentative. He looked round at her, twisting his body awkwardly. “I love you,” she said and smiled. Logan moved backwards and sat on the seat next to her. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers and tasted the sweetness of her tongue on his. He broke away for a second while he put the camera on his knee and then kissed her again, momentarily forgetting everything else. When his hand snaked seductively around Hana’s waist, she pulled back with a naughty look on her face. “Logan Du Rose! Do you want to be caught necking in the balcony?” Hana whispered and bit her lip, her eyes daring him.
“Maybe I do,” Logan replied, pulling her into him. There was a clang as the expensive camera hit the floor. Logan swore. “Sorry, sorry,” he hissed. The camera was fine apart from a slight scuff on its casing and Hana smacked Logan’s butt as he stood up and peeked over the balcony rail at the scene downstairs. Eyes had turned upwards but seeing nothing, returned to the droning voices before them. Logan zoomed the camera lens in again, checking that it still worked. “It’s fine,” he whispered back to an anxious Hana.
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sp; The glint of light on glass caught his eye as he focussed on the digital screen. He looked up towards where it came from and noticed the side doors at the front of the hall swinging open. They had been pushed shut, but latecomers had perhaps used them to enter the room and Logan altered the zoom again to focus in and check them out. “That’s weird,” he muttered to himself.
“It is weird,” Hana replied. “My phone’s vibrating all by itself. Look. Do you think it’s broken?” She held it up to her husband and he nodded without looking properly, his attention firmly elsewhere. His scrutiny was rewarded.
A slender man with Chinese features stood in the exit, keeping it blocked. A woman carrying a small grizzling boy pushed on through the throng towards the doorway, but the man held his ground while he scrutinised her carefully. Then he stepped aside and let her pass. It was an uncomfortable moment for the mother, demonstrated by the way she kept looking back at him as she clutched her son and headed off into the darkness. Logan gritted his teeth and scoured the room quickly. He didn’t think he had seen the man before, but ill intent spewed off him in waves. “Gotcha!” he hissed under his breath.
Laval’s heavies seemed to come in twos, so there must be another one somewhere, working the room. Hana moved and made to stand up again. Logan was sharp with her, “Just sit there. You look pale. I don’t want you fainting.”
She felt chastened and wondered if she was more of a bother to him than she realised. Hana decided she probably was and her face dropped with sadness. As soon as the Expo was over, she would make it up to Logan for being a pain recently. The distant threat of Caroline, his divisive ex-fiancé made her feel insecure at the back of her mind and so she watched in fear for any change in her gorgeous husband’s attitude towards her. Hana sat in silent guilt, feeling suddenly vulnerable and unloved.
Oblivious, Logan’s combative brain moved through scenarios as he played through the best way to deal with the unfolding situation. He spotted the man’s sidekick, unobtrusively skirting the crowds and peering across at everyone in turn. Searching for Hana. They looked like bodyguards, the way they so thoroughly worked the room. The second man looked like the guy Logan had fisted in the Achilles Rise kitchen and he glanced back at Hana. Hana sat quietly, her face unreadable. Logan decided to level with her.
After taking two decent photographs with the camera on zoom, Logan took a pace backwards and sat down next to his wife. Handing her the camera, he told her to replay the last two photos. She did it half seriously, thinking he wanted her to admire his photography skills but she blanched as soon as she saw the faces displayed in the camera window. “Is that them?” asked Logan.
Hana nodded, her eyes wide and terrified. “Not the ones who bashed Pete at Achilles Rise, but the ones from before, yes. The blonde one attacked me at the house and cut my hand with a knife.” She clutched at her stomach protectively, dropping her voice to a whisper, “I thought he was in jail. I thought the cops caught him. Why did they let me think they did?”
“No idea but he’s obviously not!” Logan replied with an edge of irritation which could be heard through his gritted teeth. “Is he the one you hid from in Ngaruawahia?”
Hana’s head bobbed again and she looked petrified.
“Look, I need you to stay here and keep out of sight.” Logan gripped her wrist as she started to protest, lifting the lightweight cast up carefully so it was in front of her face. “This should have come off yesterday, Hana,” he reminded her, “but it’s not healing. I don’t want anything else to happen to you.” Then he looked pointedly at her stomach, “Or my baby. You need to protect the baby!”
Hana conceded. She could disregard her own safety, but her unborn child deserved better. Something in the way Logan had said ‘my baby,’ affected her like a guilt trip. She squared herself on her seat. “What shall I do?”
Logan hugged her tightly, reassuring her before outlining the plan and getting her to dig her mobile phone out of her little bag. He put a number into the keypad but didn’t press the ‘dial’ button. “As soon as I go, lock yourself in here and let this number dial. It’s the police station. Ask for Odering and make them get him for you. If they act difficult, hang up and dial 111 for emergency. Tell them you’re pregnant and scared and the two guys that are here, attacked you before. But Hana,” he looked at her, his eyes full of seriousness and concern, “if you have to dial emergency, it’ll cause mayhem here. The Expo will be over because the cops will crawl all over it. It would be better if they just gave you Odering and let him deal with it.”
Logan grappled in his jacket pocket where for once, he made sure he had his mobile phone. He took it out and found a contact quickly. He sent a text as fast as his fingers could work across the keypad, struggling with Amy’s old phone. “I’ve texted Bodie. He’s downstairs in the police talk. He might struggle to get out, but he’s here anyway.” Logan got up and took the wide steps two at a time, looking back at Hana, “Come on Hana, lock it up!”
She got up with frustrating slowness, moving up the stairs in a way that made him want to scream. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice forced.
Logan shook his head and reached down and kissed her roughly on the lips without answering. He pulled the door open and slipped through, waiting on the other side until he heard the click of the lock as Hana pushed the button down to shoot the brass metal home. She could get out but nobody else could get in. The keys jangled in his pocket noisily as he ran down the back stairs. He unbolted an external door to the left of the hall and heaved it open, making sure it didn’t bang behind him. Then he silently slipped around the outside of the hall in the cold night air. He skirted the building to the door where he last saw the Chinese man waiting, managing to stealthily creep up behind him.
There were five more minutes before the bell was due to sound and the whole room would begin moving like a game of musical chairs. The windows were set high in the room so Logan didn’t need to crouch or avoid being seen from the inside. He snuck up to the exit and peered in. The man’s squat body stood squarely parked in the doorway, blocking the centre of it and making it difficult for anyone to go past. Logan debated throwing a stone at his head to get his attention, but concluded it would alert anyone else near the door as well. He needed the guy to come outside to him. Alone.
In the end, it was as easy as walking up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder. The guy spun around and saw Logan retreating to the bottom of the steps. While Logan may not have seen the man before, it was clear he knew Logan. Without thinking, the man moved towards him, outside into the half-light. Logan backed off, drawing him farther away from the massive audience. The man was small but clearly not afraid of a fight. Down the steps he came and out into the courtyard, fists clenched, face anticipating enjoyment of the frenzied, sadistic kind. Logan’s intention had been to overpower him and then ask some pertinent questions but he changed his plan on seeing the determination in his opponent’s face. He could see the ‘slam dunk’ approach would be the best option.
The man misunderstood Logan’s backing away as defeatist and it gave him a false sense of superiority. He increased his speed, fists ready, right arm drawing back as he came, aiming to contact with a chosen part of Logan’s body. But Logan abruptly stopped moving backwards. He used the man’s stance, his weight on his rear foot as he drew back to punch, to kick hard into his opponent’s leading knee with the sole of his boot. He heard a sharp intake of breath as the joint gave and the man’s own weight crushed the ligaments inside. He aimed for a shin-stomp, but a knee was better.
The agony dropped the man forward and Logan fisted him in the face to prevent any further noise. It was a fighter’s trick and the end of the man’s nose bent sideways before the cartilage twanged and snapped onto his cheekbone. “Let’s go for a little chat!” Logan got both arms around the man’s waist and hauled him backwards and round the side of the adjoining building. Too easy. Out of sight, he dropped him to the ground and then used his limp feet to drag him
down the alley between F Block and the gym, noticing the glint from his intensely shiny shoes. “Nice shoes,” Logan whispered to him remembering similar details from a fight with one of Che’s protection guys a decade previously. “They don’t look so good on broken legs.”
Whimpering at the pain in his knee and face, the man made bubbling gasps and Logan told him roughly to shut up. When they were cleanly out of sight, Logan leaned down over him and asked, “Who ordered this?”
Blood and air bubbles ran down the man’s broken face and he couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to. Logan turned him over onto his front, so he didn’t choke to death and then whispered in his ear, “Don’t come near me or my family ever again. Or I won’t just put you in the hospital!”
Logan frisked the man, reaching into his left jacket pocket where he found a phone and wallet. He flicked through the wallet, ignoring the cash and cards until he came to the driver’s licence. “Interesting name, Huang,” he said provocatively, “I’m sure Mrs Che was missing a man named Huang last time I visited the Triad base. Maybe I’ll tell her I found one. Maybe I won’t.”
The man squirmed and writhed on the ground in desperation, instantly confirming what Logan had intimated. Logan tried the buttons on the phone and found it locked. He turned the man on the floor until he was sitting half up and forced the phone into his hand. “Unlock it.”
The man struggled with the buttons and then there came a satisfying beep as the screen lit up brightly. He pushed the phone away and lay face down on the floor panting. Logan pulled his head back, holding him by the spiky dark hair and thrust the phone back towards him. “Who’s your mate?” he asked.
Forcing himself painfully up again, groaning when he moved his knee, the man snatched the phone back one-handed and did something in the contacts screen. A box appeared with the name ‘Flick’ in it and the man sank to the floor again. “Sure this is the guy with you?” Logan checked and the man groaned and nodded emphatically. Logan nodded, believing him. “The cops are on their way, they’ll take good care of you.” Logan stood up, tall and towering over the fallen man. “Sorry about your leg and all that, but you didn’t give a stuff about my wife.”