by Bowes, K T
Grit moved under Logan’s heels as he looked around him. The guy wasn’t in a great place to be found but he didn’t want to move him out into the open either. He contemplated tipping Bodie off but figured his stepson might go purple with rage, seconds before he lost his job. “Going to have to take your chances,” Logan remarked, nudging the stricken man with his boot, “or crawl.”
Logan moved away with the phone to make his next move. He paused for a second. These men had abandoned each other before in the Achilles Rise house under pressure. There was nothing to suggest one would come to the aid of the other this time either. A text was probably the most reliable method of connecting with the loose man. Logan brought up the text box and put in a message. The keys clicked and made an irritating sound as he typed, ‘Got him. Outside rear doors. Turn left.’
It was a heck of a long shot but anything longer would have betrayed the sender. A loud peal of noise rent through the air like a scream. The bell - indicating the first talk was over.
It seemed to go on longer than usual. A couple of volunteer Year 10’s operated it manually from the box behind the receptionist’s office. Evidently they were having a lot of fun. Everyone stopped talking until the deafening noise finished; which it did, eventually. Then pandemonium broke out. The scraping of chairs on wooden floors, the sound of feet shuffling, turning, moving, the noise level trebled all in the space of a second or two. Logan cursed inwardly. A public showdown was the last thing he wanted. Witnesses wouldn’t be a great thing either.
He slipped into the darkness around the back of the gym feeling thwarted, clutching the stolen phone in his hand. A column of people moved past in either direction, talking, laughing, discussing or arguing. There was a five minute break for them to get into place in front of the next speaker of their choice, but hundreds of other bodies to negotiate first. A steady stream of people ambled across the lighted courtyard to Q Block, where the big tertiary players waited to make their pitch. Logan could see the logos for Massey University and Victoria through the classroom windows which leaked bright yellow light into the darkness. The classrooms filled until it was standing room only. It seemed that students and their families had made this their second choice. Latecomers lined the windows outside, hiding from the cold under the inadequate porch. The windows were wide open and body heat rose from the packed rooms like white haze. Witnesses everywhere.
Logan ran a nervous hand over his face. Surely the big man would guess. He ran around the side of the gym to the rear of the school, back to where he started. He passed dark, empty classrooms and dangerous unlit spaces. It took him a few minutes less to traverse the outside than it did the big man to cross the room, dodging people settling in chairs for the second talk before exiting through the doors. Lots of folk milled and poured into the hall, making it more difficult for the guy. Logan banked on it.
He couldn’t risk appearing anywhere inside the dimly lit courtyard. At more than six feet and four inches tall, Logan was a whole head and shoulders taller than the Chinese man and this guy had followed his quarry enough times to pick him out immediately. A quick look showed him the man stood on the steps, exactly where Logan’s text told him to go.
To draw him over, Logan used the lights behind him to silhouette his outline. He hunkered down to around the height the Chinese man should be and poked his head around the corner of the building again, shuffling his feet to create a noise in the grit under his shoes at the same time. The man on the steps was also backlit and his outline was both tall and sturdy as he turned his gaze towards the sound. Logan leaned forward and beckoned furiously with his arm. He prayed it wouldn’t make his opponent overly suspicious, knowing his best asset would be an element of surprise.
The man moved off the steps but came over cautiously, looking all around him with every footstep. Logan did more shuffling, trying to create the illusion of two people standing around the corner. He prayed to Hana’s God but realised his prayer was unlikely to be answered, not when he was about to cause someone deliberate physical pain. As the man got nearer, Logan took off running and covered the whole of the side of the classroom smoothly before the other man reached the first corner. Hearing the quick footsteps, the man took up the chase just as Logan knew he would; the human instinct to chase being overwhelmingly strong.
Logan whirled around, using the wooden struts on the corner of the weatherboard building to slow himself down and spin. He felt a shard of wood go into his palm and the ensuing pain, but ignored it. His opponent came flying round the corner, straight into Logan’s bunched fist.
Logan had estimated the height of the guy, hoping to break his nose or cause some facial damage but underestimated. His fist went straight into the man’s throat, knuckles first, causing his opponent to reel backwards instantaneously and go down onto the gritty surface, gasping and spluttering.
“Damn!” A jolt of pain shot through all Logan’s finger joints and up his left arm into his shoulder. It was a ruthless punch from a boxer’s viewpoint, badly timed and inaccurately aimed. The art of the sport was to put an opponent down without injuring himself. Logan could feel at least two finger joints grinding and guessed they were broken. The haemophilia that blighted Logan Du Rose’s life would make the bruising horrific. But he had put Hana’s attacker down; just differently than intended. Logan collected his wits about him and knelt down next to the man on the ground. He turned him over, putting him into the recovery position so the pressure on his throat pulled down and outwards, rather than constricting his breathing. “Your mate’s in a mess just like this,” Logan said, sounding casual as though they just met socially, “so unless you want to join him, you need to start telling me stuff.”
The man breathed more easily in the new position and Logan shifted so his knee leaned down hard on the elbow on the ground. No point allowing a counter attack. “So,” he continued, pressing down nearer to the dirty blonde head, “why are you chasing my wife?”
“Get stuffed!” came the angry, muffled reply. The man flicked his head back swiftly, catching Logan straight in the bridge of the nose and causing his eyes to water furiously. But he didn’t gain any ground and it was a wasted move. Logan used the heel of his hand to smack the man’s head and his face hit the concrete hard. Logan gave him a moment to think about it and then did it again.
“She’s got something of Laval’s,” the man rasped, anticipating more pain as Logan paused the same length of time and then lifted his hand again. “Something he needs.”
“A box,” replied Logan, “a box with papers in it?”
The man nodded furiously and Logan heard the skin of his face moving the grit underneath him. “Well buddy, sadly for you, the cops have got that box and have had it for weeks now. So tell Laval from me, he’s wasting his time.” The man remained still. “What was the paper, out of interest?” Logan asked.
“Deeds, a will. It was important. The family doesn’t want him to have it. The land is...” the man tailed off to cough and splutter some more. Logan pushed down hard on his elbow, causing him to groan mid-way through a cough.
“The land is what?”
More pressure on the man’s elbow. But he didn’t reply. He used a paroxysm of coughing to avoid answering. Logan leaned hard on the joint, pushing in above it. He heard the grit move underneath and felt the muscles straining in the upper arm, resisting break point. The man let out something between a groan and wail, “It’s oil, they’ve found oil. One will left it all to Laval. He’s got a buyer. It’s worth a fortune. The papers you found protected the family and he needs to destroy them to validate his claim.”
“So why didn’t the family keep everything safe?” Logan asked, disbelief leeching into his voice.
“They thought they had...” the man’s sentence ended in a grunt and he grabbed at his throat with the hand not trapped underneath him. Logan shook his head. It all seemed too fictional to him. All this; over a piece of paper?
Logan took his knee off the man’s arm and squatted do
wn closer to his ear. Something occurred to him. “You said, they thought they’d kept it safe. So what’s your angle?”
The man lay inert, while he thought for a moment. Then he answered, “I work for Laval. But let’s just say I have a vested interest in finding the box. I won’t be giving it back to my boss though.”
Logan sighed and shut his eyes, unconsciously running his right hand through his hair. The fingers on his left hand throbbed painfully. “Does Laval know?”
The man pushed himself up from the ground gingerly, rubbing his sore larynx. He got himself to a sitting position and leaned back against the weatherboard. Upright, his breathing became easier. “He’s sharp, real sharp. Huang had an extra order tonight. He’s got a pistol, but he left it in the car. I think this is my last chance.”
Logan’s eyebrows knitted together in the darkness. “Huang was going to take you out?”
“Hell yeah!” said the guy, “Drop me in the Waikato River and let the divers find me months later or some kid with a fishing rod. Easy. That’s what they did with the old lady...dropped her in some water somewhere...” he stopped and Logan was surprised to see distress in the man’s face.
“So your employment is terminated then?” Logan said, as though he discussed some legitimate contractual agreement.
“Pretty much,” replied the man, with an equally casual air. “He’s got this flash young idiot to do his bidding and collect his debts now.”
Logan sighed and tutted, knowing exactly who he meant. The blonde man stared down at the ground intently. Yet it wasn’t rejection Logan read in his expression, but failure. He had failed someone else, ‘the family’ he spoke of. “Whose copy did we have, stuck under the car?” Logan asked. But he already knew the answer, even before it came.
“Mine.”
Du Rose Legacy
Chapter 8
Logan met Bodie as he strode purposefully through the back doors. Bodie smiled as he walked towards him, unnerving Logan with his apparent calm. He looked questioningly at his stepson, who produced his phone and turned the screen on, facing it towards Logan. “What the heck does this say?” he asked laughing, “Predictive text I’m guessing?”
Logan read the text and sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. ‘Guys here. Going after them. Find me,’ had turned into, ‘Got herpes. Going aqualung. Fund me.’
He felt physically sick. “I need to go back to Hana,” he said abruptly and took the stairs two at a time.
Hesitating, Logan knocked on the balcony door and called softly to his wife. He didn’t want to frighten her by using the key. He heard a noise on the other side of the door, like cloth brushing up against it and guessed she sensibly peeked through the unused mortise hole half way down the door. “It’s me, Logan. You can open it up, babe.”
The Yale lock ground and turned from inside and the door opened slowly. Hana’s face peered out and Logan pushed his way in, careful not to bang her with the door. “Sweetheart! What happened?” He cradled his wife in his arms.
Her white face betrayed she’d been crying. She held her mobile phone up to him and stammered, “Every time it connected to the police station, it cut out.” Her breath came in sharp sobs. “It was awful, I couldn’t get help. I tried 111, but it wouldn’t work. I must have tried a hundred times. I didn’t know what to do next. It’s b...b...broken.” Her body became wracked with sobs and Logan caught her up and held her. Her voice was muffled in his shirtfront. “I’m so useless, I’m a liability. No wonder you’re sick of me.”
Logan shook his head, held her with one arm and took the phone in his sore left hand. He flicked a button so the screen came on and saw the signal bar. Empty. “There’s no reception up here. I should have checked. It’s not your fault. Bodie must have got my text as I left the balcony.” He looked up at the intricate vaulted ceiling, “Something in here must block it. And Hana I’m really not sick of you.”
Hana pulled her head out of her husband’s shirt at the sound of her son’s name. She looked hopeful. Her face was covered in tear streaks and snot and her mascara was half on her cheeks and half on Logan’s shirt. “Did Bo help?”
Logan sank into the seat nearest the back, pulling Hana down with him. “No, my text scrambled in the rush. Read as a load of crap. Nobody came because nobody knows.” He ran his hands through his hair and Hana noticed his bloody knuckles and the open, oozing gash in his palm from the splinter of wood. Panic returned to her face and she looked stricken again. Taking his hand gently, she looked at the damage.
“What happened?” Her eyes were wide and her pupils looked huge in the balcony, lit only by the spotlights down in the main hall. The buzz downstairs was deafening as people moved around again in their game of careers-musical-chairs.
“Let’s just say, I took care of them.”
Hana slumped heavily on Logan’s legs and let go of his hand as though it was contaminated. Logan saw the thoughts coursing through her brain. “Oh no, you killed them?” she whispered, horror and accusation in her face.
Logan was irritated. “No!” he bit back nastily, scorn and anger crossing his handsome features. “Geez, what do you take me for?” He looked away from her and tutted. She was instantly contrite and stood up, reaching out to put her arms around his neck.
“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Hana’s stomach got in the way but Logan didn’t reciprocate as anger made him ignore her. With hurt in her face, Hana removed her arms from him and stood away.
“Do you trust me?” He asked the question and it was loaded and heavy. The air crackled and tingled between them and suddenly the words had more power than they should have. The wide hall downstairs grew silent as another talk began. Everything hung on Hana’s answer. She felt the weight of responsibility and knew if she answered wrongly, her world would change and her marriage would be over. But she didn’t want to lie either or duck out of the truth, knowing this was the first of many times they would visit this huge issue in their marriage. The stains of her first marriage and its web of lies stained her heart and she chose honesty, this time. Hana took a deep breath and wiped her wet cheeks with the palm of her left hand, buying herself a moment of recovery.
Logan’s grey eyes bore into her, watching her carefully, reading her like an open book. He was no fool. Hana looked back at him, holding his gaze, letting him see her wrestle before she answered in a hushed whisper. “Where my safety’s concerned, definitely. I trust you implicitly with that. To do the right thing, I think so. But you have secrets, Logan and it makes me doubt you.”
Logan looked taken aback. He thought he was cleverer than that, but she had read him well and he was temporarily lost for words. He looked down at the floor. Then he nodded slowly. She had told him the absolute truth and it was good enough for now. He looked back at her and stood up in one fluid movement. “Trust me now, please?” he mouthed.
Hana thought for a moment and then nodded. Logan walked towards the balcony door but when he looked back, he saw Hana poking into her cuffs and then her tiny handbag which was still slung across her body. Smoothly, like an old fashioned beau in bygone days, Logan reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the clean handkerchief he always carried. He offered it to his wife. She hesitated and then took it, giving him a small, tight smile. “Thank you.”
They had reached some kind of understanding. The handkerchief was a white flag, not of surrender but negotiation. It was a starting point.
Putting the white hanky to her nose, Hana smelled Logan’s familiar scent, his deodorant and shower gel. The hanky was immaculately creased with the smallest bloodstain in the corner from Logan’s hand. He was picky about everything and did his own ironing on a Sunday night. Hana intended it to be a dainty nose-wipe, but the tears made her feel snotty. Instead, Hana blew. She blew so hard the noise echoed around the silent hall downstairs, making everyone jump and causing Logan’s eyes to pop open in surprise. “Geez woman!” he hissed.
The sound hit the vaulted ceiling and reverberated. Around a tho
usand pairs of eyes glanced up at the balcony. Logan looked horrified and Hana stifled a giggle. Had there been anyone on the stage, the noise-makers would have been visible but luckily, the audience was down on the main floor and largely seated. It highlighted the fact it was time to leave.
Logan unlocked the door and amidst Hana’s hysterical sniggers, they left the balcony. By the time Sheila bustled up the stairs to find the owner of the giant sound, Hana and Logan were two rooms and a corridor away. Hana fussed around in the staff washroom and Logan leaned casually up against the wall outside, waiting for her.
Hana went to the toilet, washed her face and touched up her make up from the small bag at her side. When she emerged, Logan held his usual stance, one leg on the ground and the other bent up underneath him, the sole of his boot on the wall. He absentmindedly left a sole mark on the paint, which the head groundsman would have a fit about. “He’ll know that’s you, you know,” Hana pointed to the dirty mark on the wall. “Nobody else wears cowboy boots. He’ll come after you.”
Logan raised an eyebrow in challenge and Hana shook her head. He spoke into his mobile phone. His voice was low and his speech clipped and to the point, but Hana failed to distinguish any particular words as he disconnected as soon as she buried her face in his chest. “The food just arrived,” he informed her, “they said to put the savouries in the oven to keep hot.”
“Cuddle me,” she demanded like a petulant child and Logan wrapped his strong arms around her back. His chin rested on the top of her head and he bit his lip thoughtfully.
“Come on,” he urged. “Let’s put this food in the oven and get this stupid night over with.” He moved off through the double doors into the staffroom ahead of her but once in the room, Hana grabbed at his cuff.