Comfort Zone (26 page)

The only other person was a short, skinny man with crooked, protruding teeth and mottled dark skin behind the counter. He also looked Somali, but Jack couldn't be entirely sure.

Scabber didn't waste any time. He leant over the counter, grabbed the man's loose cotton shirt under his throat, and half-lifted him across the counter.

‘Abdirahman,' he croaked. ‘Where is he?'

The small man began to shake. Chairs scraped loudly as the other Somalis got to their feet. The backpackers disappeared without a sound.

Scabber fixed a nasty stare at the approaching men, who seemed uncertain about what to do. Jack tried to position himself between the group and Scabber.

With his face about an inch from the short man's, Scabber spat instructions at him.

‘Tell him to be at the Dan O'Connell tonight. Six o'clock. With the boy. He'll get what he wants. Understand?'

The man nodded, and Scabber relaxed his grip. He ignored the hostile group hovering around Jack, turned around, and walked out. Jack followed him, brushing past one of the Somalis standing in his way. He felt a lot braver around Scabber, but he breathed a sigh of relief when it became clear that this time there would be no physical confrontation. His height and weight had helped. The handful of young Somali men were facing two men who were a lot bigger then them, and one of them was clearly used to using violence to get his way. Once it became clear that Scabber was only delivering a message, they thought better of attacking the intruders.
Probably high on qat
, Jack thought.

He sat in the driver's seat of the cab and took a few deep breaths. Scabber was unperturbed.

‘Thanks, mate. Reckon he'll show?'

‘He'll show.'

‘What do we do then?'

‘Give him an old mobile, a couple of smacks, grab the boy. Simple.'

‘So get there before six?'

‘Pick me up at the Court House around five. Give us your number just in case.'

Jack knew Scabber was referring to the Court House Hotel in Sydney Road, a past haunt of Melbourne's less savoury characters that had long since been colonised by pokies. Jack gave him one of his cards.

He dropped Scabber off in Carlton and made his way back to the Lygon Street flats. After a few minutes of frustrating trial and error, he worked out where Emily's new flat was. He called out loudly as he knocked on the door, figuring they would be nervous answering an unsolicited knock. Emily opened the door: she looked frightened and exhausted.

‘Farhia here?' Jack didn't waste any time with pleasantries.

‘Yes, inside.'

She was sitting on Emily's bed, still being comforted by Aicha.

Jack got straight to the point. ‘We've sent him a message to bring Yusuf to the Dan O'Connell at six o'clock, and we'll give him what he wants.'

Farhia looked up at him, still very distressed.

‘Jack … I cannot … give him the book. When they have it, they will kill my brother.'

Jack was perplexed. He looked around Emily's bedroom, as if searching for a solution. Then he had a brainwave.

‘Let's make a fake one.'

Farhia didn't understand. ‘What?'

‘He hasn't seen the book, has he?'

‘No.'

‘Then we'll get another book like it and write out a few pages in Somali that looks like your brother's stuff. He probably won't know the difference. Just leave out the good bits.'

Farhia was unused to this sort of irony. She stared at Jack, a look of bewilderment spreading across her face.

‘Copy the stuff that doesn't matter, leave out the dangerous stuff, make up some shit. By the time he's worked out it's crap, we should have Yusuf. We can find another mobile and take photos of the fake book. He won't know the difference.'

The three women all looked at each other, weighing up assessments of whether Jack was inspired or merely insane.

‘I think there is no other plan.' Farhia nodded a couple of times as she spoke. She was fiddling with the hem of her robe and breathing unevenly. Her impassive demeanour had been shattered by Yusuf's abduction. She was struggling hard to remain calm.

‘Okay,' Jack replied. ‘If you girls can make up a book, I'll find a phone.' He looked at his watch and did some quick mental arithmetic. ‘I'll be back around four. Call me if anything happens.'

He turned to leave, then swivelled back towards Emily.

‘Make sure you look after her, okay? Call me … don't worry about false alarms. I'll be around. You okay?' He could see that Emily's illness was weighing heavily upon her.

‘I'm okay. Tomorrow won't be fun, though.'

‘Hang in there. See you in a little while.'

He couldn't understand where this new, decisive Jack had come from. Maybe it was from playing sidekick to Scabber. Having struggled to keep up with all his challenges, Jack now felt liberated. He was sick of being manipulated, and tired of being kept in the dark. The stakes were now a lot higher than an ageing cabbie's pointless crush on a young single mum. His nervous system still buzzed with panic and paranoia, his hands still shook, and his eyelid fluttered, but something even stronger had taken over.

He stopped for a bite to eat at a café in Rathdowne Street. It wasn't one he usually patronised — it was too up-market for cab drivers — but he only wanted a sandwich and a coffee, so it didn't matter much.

As he tried to prepare for the looming showdown, Jack scanned the walls of the trendy café. It was way too groovy for its own good: Picasso prints, a beautiful lime-green model of a 1950s Chevy, pieces of abstract art, and assorted objects that were everyday items when he was a kid and were now called collectables. The exposed floorboards and dimmed lighting completed the atmosphere of pretentious superiority. He almost felt like returning to the Toledo for lunch.

Just as the waitress placed his plain roast-beef sandwich and glass of Coke on the table, Jack's phone rang.

‘Mister van Duyn?'

Shit, what now? These
ASIO
pricks wouldn't leave him alone. At least Jeffrey had said his name right for once.

‘I'm just calling to warn you. It seems that your friend is connected to some serious criminal activity in Somalia. Possibly not Islamic extremists, but we're keeping a close eye on it. You'd be well advised to sever all contact.'

‘Yeah, sounds like a good idea.' So they didn't want him to spy on Farhia any more: that was a relief. The last thing he wanted was
ASIO
sticking its nose into the enormous mess they'd landed in.

‘Make sure you let us know if you come across any more suspicious information. And I need to see you again. I'll be around at your place late tomorrow afternoon. Shall we say 5.30?''

‘Yeah, no worries.' Jack knew he didn't sound very sincere, but he was beyond caring. He had more immediate things to worry about. He hung up and turned his attention to his sandwich.

He enjoyed the ten minutes of calm that followed. He almost felt pleasure at the realisation that unexpected contact from Jeffrey no longer freaked him out. Things had moved to a different level.

Jack finished his sandwich, stood up and stretched, and walked out into the afternoon haze. The battle was about to begin.

15

Ultimatum

Jack walked across Rathdowne Street to the cab and opened the driver's door. He had one foot in the cab when his mobile rang again. He decided to answer it first. The cops were cracking down on people using mobiles while driving.

‘Hey, Jack!'

‘Yeah?'

‘It's Matt. Matt the banker. You free?'

‘Yeah. Where you want to go?'

‘Toorak. Have to pick up some documents from my MD's place.'

‘101 rank? Ten minutes?'

‘Cool. Be there.'

Jack was so preoccupied with rescuing Yusuf that he had temporarily forgotten about his other problems. Matt might be a distraction, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He still had to fill in some time and do his job. He reminded himself to call Ajit and tell him that handover would be late.

Matt was in a pensive mood when Jack collected him in Collins Street. He was wearing a snappy suit, but no tie. This struck Jack as odd, but he made no reference to it.

‘Hi, mate, we're off to Clendon Road, Toorak. Know it?'

‘Yeah, went to a garden party there just last week.'

‘Very funny. Let's go. Have to get this stuff toot sweet, you know.'

Matt wasn't his usual suave, assured self. Jack could feel nervous tension emanating from him, like an invisible force field. Something was up.

‘Want me to wait?'

‘Yeah, that's the whole idea.'

Toorak was where seriously rich people lived, so Jack assumed that the risk of more violence and unscheduled getaways was low. The blocks were huge, so it took him a while to find the house, an enormous late-nineteenth-century mansion partly obscured by a high hedge. Matt remembered what it looked like, but not its precise position in the street.

Within a few minutes, Matt had returned, clutching a couple of bulky red folders.

‘Thought we wouldn't need them until next week, but this gas deal we're working on has blown up big time.'

Jack hoped Matt wasn't speaking literally. ‘Couldn't he have just sent his secretary or something?'

‘Couldn't be sure she'd come back with the right stuff. He's not big on labelling things, and he's pretty chaotic generally. Got stuff lying all over the place at home. Needed someone working on the deal to make sure we got the right stuff. Christ only knows why he took it home with him. There's no electronic copy at our end. Paranoid client and all that.'

‘Yeah.'

Silence filled the cab for a few blocks, and then Matt spoke with a casual tone that was clearly forced.

‘All set for the big drive?'

‘Yeah, guess so.' Jack couldn't think of anything else to say.

‘I think Rowan's going to call you this arvo. Need to catch you tonight.'

‘How do you know Rowan?' This question had been nagging at Jack for days.

Matt let out a soft snort, still affecting an offhand air that Jack sensed wasn't genuine.

‘You know what the dope scene's like. He's a mate of the guy who's after me, helped me out, so I'm helping him. No big deal.'

Jack let the conversation lapse. He was wary of Matt now. He was unsure who he really was and what he was up to. Jack had a good nose for dodgy characters, honed by decades of having to deal with them, and Matt was starting to smell like one. He might have intervened to protect Yusuf and Omar, but that didn't mean he wasn't a crook.

He dropped Matt off back in Collins Street, noted the absence of a tip on this occasion, and propped at the rank. With half a dozen cabs in front of him, he had some time to do a bit of thinking.

The opportunity didn't last long. Just as he was war-gaming the approach to rescuing Yusuf, his phone rang again. He tried hard to remember the vaguely familiar number on the screen, but eventually gave up and answered.

‘Jack? It's Rowan. We need to catch up pronto. Things are moving.'

‘Er … bit on, mate. Serious shit happening, got to sort it out.' The last thing he needed was Rowan getting in the way while they were trying to save Yusuf.

‘Tonight Jack, we're moving tonight. Come to the Dan. Early.'

‘What do you mean? I've got serious shit to deal with — and the last time I met you there, your loony mate roughed me up!' Jack was indignant.

‘None of that matters. No choice, Jack. See you there. No later than six-thirty. Sorry, can't be helped.'

The apology at the end almost sounded sincere, but Jack knew better. There was a steely tone in Rowan's voice, one that brooked no dissent.

‘Can't we make it a bit later …' Jack realised that Rowan had hung up.

‘Fuck!' He banged his hand on the top of the steering wheel. What a balls-up. While he and Scabber were shaking down the Somali guy, Rowan would be sticking his nose in. And maybe throwing Leather Jacket in for good measure.

He thought about it all for a while, and concluded that this latest development mightn't be all bad. Maybe Scabber could solve both of his problems in one go. Stranger things had happened.

Perhaps he could manoeuvre Rowan and Abdirahman into fighting each other. Maybe they were all in it together, with the pirates branching out into drug smuggling. It was all getting too ridiculous for Jack's liking. He was starting to wish for his old life back.

An unkind reference to Indian students on the radio reminded him that he had to call Ajit. What excuse would he use? He tended to take Ajit for granted, but if he bailed out, where would Jack find a replacement? While they split the weekly fee, they had to pay the owner of the cab and its licence — which also covered maintenance and registration — but Jack was the lead contractor. Finding a driver to replace Ajit would be an enormous hassle.