As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Jack was able to make out two figures further along the laneway: one tall and thin, and the other very small. A muddle of thoughts quickly cascaded through his mind. It was the boy, Yusuf, which meant that Abdirahman and company were sure to follow him up the laneway, even if they hadn’t seen him yet. He might be trapped — where was Scabber when you needed him?
It didn’t take long for Jack’s fears to be realised. As he turned to check behind him, Abdirahman hobbled around the corner, his henchman beside him. Jack was cornered. He was in no condition to make a run for it, and his chances of rescuing Yusuf now looked grim.
Jack stepped back against the wall, instinctively seeking the protection of solid brick behind his back. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the book, and held both hands high in a gesture of surrender.
‘Okay! Here’s the book! We’re square …’
His two antagonists advanced cautiously down the laneway towards him, wary of possible tricks. In spite of his inglorious demise, Scabber had instilled in them a healthy respect for their opponents. Abdirahman already had enough injuries to worry about.
Then Jack saw another dark figure emerge from around the corner of the laneway.
Christ, he thought, now there’s three of them. He could hear Yusuf whimpering as the man holding him tightened his grip.
As the three advanced a few steps towards him, the most recent arrival, still behind Abdirahman, knelt down and picked something up off the ground.
To Jack’s astonishment, he leapt upon Abdirahman, grabbing him around the throat with his left arm and pressing his right hand — apparently holding some kind of hard object — into the small of his back. Jack was still trying to process this inexplicable turn of events when this mysterious new man barked out a couple of sentences in Somali. He then switched to English.
‘Jack! You will get Yusuf and give book to me! Go! Go!’
Jack snapped out of his confusion, rushed along the lane as quickly as his aching legs on uneven cobblestones would permit, and wrestled Yusuf from the arms of his captor, who put up little resistance. Still struggling to understand what was happening, Jack picked Yusuf up and marched back towards the three men. His unknown rescuer still had a tight hold on Abdirahman. The other two men didn’t move. There was no sign of Scabber.
As he closed on them, recognition dawned. It was Mohammed the taxidriver, no longer mild and friendly, as he had been on the day they’d met at the welfare centre.
As he handed him the book, Mohammed said with calm insistence: ‘Take him to mother. Now. I will hold them.’
Mohammed seemed to be pressing a small pistol into Abdirahman’s back. It was too dark to tell, but Jack now understood how he had immobilised Abdirahman and his cronies.
As an afterthought, Jack gave the mobile phone to Mohammed as well, and then hurried out of the laneway. He didn’t stop to question how Mohammed had become involved: Jack had Yusuf, which was all that mattered.
Jack asked Yusuf if he was able to walk, and then thought better of it. Carrying him was painful — Jack’s back was killing him, and his right arm wasn’t much better — but speed was essential. As he left the laneway, he looked around, but none of the kidnappers had moved. No doubt, Abdirahman was consoling himself with the thought that he had succeeded in his mission — possession of the all-important book, which was worth the pain and humiliation he had endured.
Breaking into a slow trot, Jack crossed over to the other side of Canning Street. He had to get away from the sources of trouble at the Dan — Leather Jacket, Abdirahman, and the cops — and into the cab as quickly as possible. There was no way he could go looking for Scabber. He was pretty sure Scabber had seen what had occurred and gone off somewhere to fix his headache.
The scene around the Dan was getting more chaotic by the minute. With flashing blue-and-red lights, fire-trucks, police cars diverting traffic, curious onlookers emerging from nearby homes, and disoriented patrons gawping at the spectacle, it wasn’t difficult for Jack to avoid attracting unwanted attention. He had mixed feelings about the police presence, as he was still very worried about being ensnared in Rowan’s schemes, but there wasn’t much doubt that it would scare away Abdirahman and his mates.
He crossed over Princes Street at the point where police cars were blocking traffic. He was struggling now, as Yusuf got heavier and his injuries became more painful.
‘Got to get the little one away from all this, mate — you know what kids are like,’ he mumbled to a curious cop. The officer’s inquiring gaze betrayed obvious surprise at the sight of a tall, bedraggled white man carrying a small black boy with one arm in plaster. The cop nodded, and turned back to watch the firemen unwinding hoses and donning breathing apparatus as they prepared to enter the building.
Within seconds, Jack was back at the cab, and after securing Yusuf in the front passenger seat, was hurrying away from the chaos on Princes Street.
17
Resolution
The look on Farhia’s face made it all worth it. The pain wracking different parts of his ageing body, the weeks of anxiety, the favours he now owed Scabber, all faded from Jack’s mind as be basked in the warm glow of Farhia’s gratitude.
Jack had only a vague appreciation of the intensity of the bond between a mother and her small child — especially a mother without a partner, struggling to survive in an unfamiliar, often hostile, environment. He was learning quickly, though, as he watched Farhia hold Yusuf tightly to her, muttering soothing phrases in Somali over and over.
She took hold of Jack’s hand, and looked straight at him with glowing eyes.
‘Thank you. Thank you. You have saved my life.’
Jack muttered a token response. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing.
Farhia released his hand and returned her attentions to Yusuf. Then Emily hugged Jack. In spite of his intoxication with Farhia, he couldn’t help the momentary thrill induced by the pressure of Emily’s breasts against his chest.
‘Are you okay, Jack?’ Emily had noticed the telltale signs suggesting he was in pain.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll have a few bruises and strains tomorrow, but I don’t care.’
‘You must rest,’ Farhia advised.
‘Yeah, sure. You’d better get Yusuf home to bed. Poor little kid’s a bit freaked out. Better be careful, too. I’m not sure what happened to Abdi-thingummy-bob and his mates, but once they work out they’ve been conned, they won’t be happy.’
‘Yes, I cannot go home. Abdirahman would be waiting. He knows where I am living.’
‘You must come to my flat,’ Aicha offered. ‘I have mattress. We will fix.’
‘You have to go home some time,’ Jack pointed out. ‘What’re we going to do about Abdirahman? We gave him a bit of a touch-up, but he’ll be back, I reckon. We should go to the cops. Abducting kids is serious.’
‘It does not matter now,’ Farhia replied.
‘What do you mean?’ Jack was incredulous.
‘I am going back to Somalia. We are not safe in this country. I must help my brother.’
Jack was lost for words. At the moment of his triumph, the only time when his infatuation with Farhia seemed like it wasn’t ridiculous, she was announcing she was leaving Australia. It didn’t make any sense: how could Somalia possibly be safer than Australia? He began shifting his weight from one foot to the other and scratching the back of his hand. The sky had just fallen in on him.
Eventually, Jack found his voice.
‘But … but … Somalia’s the scariest joint on the planet. Abdi-hoohah’s just an amateur, some pissant thug you rent by the hour. Won’t you have seriously bad guys after you over there?’
‘My family will look after me. Most of Somalia is safe. Only around Mogadishu things are very bad. If I stay here, they will still find me. Maybe next time, someone worse than Abdi
rahman. My father, he is paying for plane tickets.’
Jack was too emotionally and physically exhausted to argue any further. He looked at Farhia for a lingering moment, savouring once again the lovely face that would soon disappear from his life. One of the dramas that had taken over his life was over: the mystery was solved, Yusuf was safe, and Farhia was going back to Somalia. Maybe Australia had just been a convenient hiding place for a while, and now that it had turned out to be insecure, it was no longer of any use.
‘I guess I’ll catch up before you go,’ he said with a defeated air. ‘See you soon. See you, Aicha, Emily.’
‘Thank you, Jack.’
As he moved towards the door, Emily followed him, like a dutiful hostess escorting a visitor to the door.
He stood there, his right hand holding the door handle as if he needed to support himself. His legs were feeling rubbery, like he’d just finished a game of football.
Emily grasped his free hand in hers and looked up at him with an admiring smile.
‘Thank you, Jack. These people will never forget you, you know.’
‘No worries. Don’t like people picking on kids.’
‘I will see you at the centre. And we must go see that movie like you said …’
‘Movie? Er, yeah, that’d be great.’ Jack didn’t remember asking Emily to a movie, but his brain was now so befuddled that if she’d claimed he had agreed to go trekking in the Himalayas, he wouldn’t have disagreed.
‘I’ll give you a call.’
‘Great. Thanks again for helping out, too.’
Jack closed the door carefully, vaguely noting the hint of emotional connection with Emily that had been hovering for days. He thought once more of the unattainable Farhia, the first woman he had really fallen for in many years, and sighed. It was time to head home and collapse.
Over the next few days, Jack went to ground. That wasn’t easy for a taxidriver, of course, but the anonymity of the occupation helped. Even the driver’s mugshot inside the cab carried a number, not a name, as if to emphasise that he was a non-person.
He stayed away from the Dan, the welfare centre, Matt’s Blue Room, and anywhere else where there was a risk he might bump into anyone who’d been involved in his recent dramas. He had to suffer another visit from Robert Jeffrey, but he no longer cared whether or not he was a person of interest to ASIO. He suspected that Jeffrey was now going through the motions, because he’d realised that Jack had no connection to any terrorist activity.
The Dan was closed for a few days while they sorted out the mess from the fire. Jack didn’t contact Matt or Rowan. He certainly didn’t bother Scabber, who would have already moved on to other matters, and wouldn’t have been interested in revisiting the events of Tuesday night.
Jack didn’t even knock on Billy the Hippy’s door. He suspected he’d bitten off half of Leather Jacket’s ear, for which Jack was grateful.
He had plenty of mundane things to worry about, like replenishing his supply of Teludene. He almost enjoyed returning to normal. The biggest challenge he had to worry about was the occasional dickhead passenger. One bloke threw up all over the back seat at eight o’clock in the morning. Another spent half an hour quizzing him on why he was the only white taxidriver in Melbourne, and complaining that the country was being taken over by blacks and illegals. And there was a woman who smelt like the aftermath of a student party.
Jack handled all this with ease. He was now rationalising the sudden end of his Farhia fixation as one of life’s little adventures. Apart from his battered and bruised body, it hadn’t done him any harm. And the small but persistent inner glow of having done something good without reward was a pleasant, and very unfamiliar, feeling.
He put Rowan, Leather Jacket, and Matt out of his mind as much as he could. He didn’t know much about what had happened in the aftermath of the fire at the Dan. It had been put out quickly, apparently, and the damage was reasonably limited, and he heard from another driver that it would re-open on the weekend, with a section of the lounge bar hoarded off.
No one knew how the fire had started. It wasn’t an electrical fault — that had been definitely established — and no one could work out how the drapes in the far corner of the lounge had ignited. Jack suspected Scabber might have had a hand in it, but he had no desire to find out if his hunch was correct.
Rowan made no attempt to contact him. His plan for Jack to drive to Sydney had obviously been overtaken by events, and now the original plan to do it on the weekend was looking doubtful, too.
Just as Jack was beginning to think they’d forgotten about him, he got a call from Matt. It was Friday afternoon, so a weekend trip was still feasible.
‘Hi, Jack, it’s Matt — the banker. You free?’
‘Dunno. Every time I drive you, I end up in trouble.’
‘Don’t be like that. It’s cool. Just going to Sydney for the weekend.’
Uh-oh, Jack thought, here it comes.
‘Dirty weekend, eh?’
‘No, just visiting a few mates.’
Jack relaxed slightly.
‘Where are you?’
‘One-oh-one.’
‘There in five.’
Matt looked like he didn’t have a care in the world as he eased his way into the front seat. He was in full banker uniform again. He fastened his seatbelt with a confident, fluid movement, and turned to Jack.
‘Don’t spare the horses, James.’
‘What time’s your flight?’
‘Four-thirty. Plenty of time. I’m having dinner at Rockpool with a few mates.’
‘As you do,’ Jack muttered. He was dimly aware that Rockpool was an expensive restaurant frequented by very well-off people.
After four or five minutes of silence, while he concentrated on switching lanes and dodging motorbikes, Jack couldn’t help himself.
‘So what’s happened to Rowan?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like, on Tuesday night he was at me to do his stupid Sydney trip that night. Then there was a bit of a shit-fight, fire and all that, and haven’t heard nothing since.’
‘Gone to ground maybe. Got too hot for him — cops all over it, know what I mean.’
‘Not really.’
‘Rowan’s a big wheel, mate, a major player.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘You don’t buy all that stupid theatre bullshit, do you?’ Matt looked at Jack and snorted with mock derision.
Jack absorbed this piece of news with difficulty.
‘So where do you fit in? How’s a Collins Street spiv — sorry, no offence — end up in tow with some big-time dealer?’
Matt didn’t respond. He looked out the window at the Flemington high-rise flats as they entered the Tullamarine Freeway, and then exhaled loudly.
‘It’s like this,’ he began. ‘You know how you asked Rowan to help me out?’
‘Yeah?’
‘The guy I’m in debt to is his partner. Business partner, that is.’
‘So he does me a favour to save your arse for a few days, and collars a new courier?’
‘Er, something like that.’
‘So how come he set that ugly bastard in the leather jacket on me?’
‘Who? Oh, you mean Karl?’
‘The guy who chased us, or the one who beat me up? Twice, actually …’ The angry tone in Jack’s voice showed that he was still suffering from the effects of Karl’s handiwork.
‘Same bloke.’
‘What?’
‘Same bloke. Not too many round like him, thank Christ.’
Jack still couldn’t make any sense of this.
‘Anyway, let’s hope things’ll settle down now,’ Matt added with a touch of optimism.
‘Yeah. Do they still think I’m going to drive to Sydney after what happened?’
>
‘Don’t really know — not sure. Main thing is to shut up. They’re freaked out I got you involved. Tell anyone about it, and you’re a dead man. I persuaded them to lay off, but they don’t like taking risks.’
Jack withdrew into silence, still processing all this new information.
As they approached the airport, he accelerated past a lengthy line of traffic banked up on the entrance road.
‘Fucking four in the afternoon! Getting worse and worse …’ he muttered.
‘Plenty of time, mate. Flight’s not till four-thirty.’
They made it to the terminal with time to spare, in spite of the congestion.
‘Thanks, Jack. See you around. Hope it all works out okay.’
‘Yeah, see you.’ He hoped things would work out, too. The last few days had been a welcome relief from the upheavals of the previous couple of weeks.
It was already past his designated changeover time, so he tossed up whether to hang around for a return fare. He took the gamble, and was rewarded with a grumpy middle-aged man who had missed his scheduled flight and was now late for appointments in the city.
As he sped along the freeway, Jack reflected on the additional pieces of the puzzle he had just been given.
Leather Jacket was Karl. So who did he work for? Why was he chasing Matt and also heavying Jack? Why were they harassing him so much?
He was still grappling with this puzzle when he got back to the flat.
As he walked down the concrete driveway alongside the Balmoral Avenue flats, he heard a door slam. Then he was confronted by a grinning Billy the Hippy.
‘Jack! Was just going out to get a couple more drinks. Still got two left — how about we knock them over, have a yarn, then I go and get some more?’
‘Sounds good, mate. Could do with one.’
As Jack settled into one of Billy’s decaying armchairs and put his feet up on the low-slung coffee table at the centre of the lounge room, Billy flashed a knowing look at him.
‘Tastes a bit like pork, you know.’
‘What does?’
‘Human flesh. At least the human ear does — not sure about the other bits. Bit chewy, though. Thighs might be better.’
Comfort Zone Page 21