Hana Du Rose

by K T Bowes

  Logan stood and blew out a breath. “We both know I can, Hana.” He closed his eyes to lock her out of the conflict in his head. “But I won’t.” He took a step forward and kissed her forehead, his lips tender as they lingered on her skin. “Stay inside, Hana. Don’t leave this building. Promise?”

  “Logan, you’re scaring me.” Hana’s green eyes widened like jewels in her porcelain face. Even the dusting of freckles across her nose paled in her distress.

  “Don’t worry.” Logan looked down at her lips and pressed a kiss to her cheek. His stubble grazed her flesh. “Please do as I ask. And trust me.” With one last glance backward, he left.

  Hana stood like a statue, perplexed at his worrying behaviour. “You gave in way too easily, Du Rose,” she muttered. His footsteps faded in the silent corridor and she settled back on the carpet with her plan. Sheila changed her mind twice more about exhibitors and Hana tipped the squares onto the carpet and began again.

  When the bell rang, Peter North emerged from Logan’s English class with his wispy hair on end. Irritation and defeat replaced his usual languid expression. “Little bastards!” he muttered to himself as he stalked towards the tuck shop. He screamed when Logan stepped in front of him and his shoulders slumped. “I want a pie!” he groaned. “Get out of my way!”

  “No!” Logan grabbed Pete’s arm and dragged him against the flow of traffic. He looked up at the set of Logan’s face and quailed. He’d seen that look before. Logan’s determined stride made him afraid that this new crisis might run past interval.

  “Can we go via the tuck shop?” he begged, trotting alongside to keep up. “If I don’t get there fast, all the cheese and steak pies will go. Bloody greedy boys.”

  “No,” Logan growled, leading him upstairs to the staff workroom on the first floor. Pete stumbled through the doorway and Logan slammed the door behind them. He turned to Pete with panic in his eyes. “The crap’s hit the fan,” he announced, running his hand through his hair. Pete bumped into a chair and watched Logan pace.

  “Are you gonna hit me?” he asked, wincing in anticipation.

  “No!” Logan balled his fists in exasperation and Pete whimpered. “Why do you always think that? We haven’t fought since school.”

  “But I always lost.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Logan waved his arms. “Shut up. I need to think.”

  “So why am I here? I could be eating a pie right now.” Pete shaped his hand into a pie holder and imagined steak gravy laced with greasy cheese running through his fingers. His brow knitted in temper. “Your Year 9s are a bunch of little gits. Next time you run out on them, get someone else to teach them.” Logan ignored him, pacing between the door and the wall of windows. Pete contemplated an escape and then dismissed the idea. His pie hand folded and he peered at his shiny fingernails. Henrietta gave him a manicure before she flew back to Wellington. “It’s not nail polish Peteepoos,” she promised. “It’s calcium hardener.”

  His nails still looked jolly shiny. He held his hands up high in front of him, the backs of them close to his nose and the fingers curled over like a dog begging for a treat. “Do these look weird to you?” he asked Logan.

  Logan stopped his pacing and stared at Pete, his face a mixture of bemusement and disbelief. “What?”

  “My nails. Do they look weird?”

  Logan stepped towards him, peering at Pete’s fingers. The door opened with a click and the geography teacher pushed his way in, loaded down with books and stationary. The sight of Pete begging Logan for something made him want to work elsewhere. “Weirdos!” he spat, exiting at speed.

  “Yes, no. I don’t know!” Logan exclaimed, peering at the shiny nails but unable to make a decision. “And right now I don’t care!”

  Pete sighed and turned his hands over, buffing his thumbnail with his tracksuit cuff and blowing off pretend dust. “I think the shine is too much,” he complained.

  Logan returned to his pacing. When he stopped and slapped his thighs in defeat, Pete looked up. “It’s not the baby, is it?” he asked, genuine concern in the widening of his blue eyes. “I want to be god parent.”

  He looked so concerned, Logan experienced one of those rare flashes of realisation about Pete. Lazy, self-centred and unkempt, he could behave with utter sincerity. Logan pulled out a chair and sat, running his hand over his eyes. “Baby’s fine,” he said. “All the tests came back normal. But I have a massive problem.”

  It took a while to explain. Pete looked at his watch as the school grew silent after lesson change. The last sports class he abandoned went for a tour of the grounds including adjacent residential gardens. They threw rotten fruit at each other and Angus roasted him for negligence after complaints from angry mothers. He wondered how many last warnings he could sustain. He tuned back in to Logan’s last statement. “So, you stopped a fight between two Year 11s.”

  “Yeah.” Logan rubbed his eyes again. “Over a fifty dollar note.”

  Pete fought to stop his eyeballs bugging. “I’d love a fifty dollar note,” he breathed.

  Logan pulled it from his jacket pocket. “Well, here it is.” He shook his head in disgust. “That’s all it took to sell my wife’s safety.”

  Pete reached out for the money and then withdrew his hand. “Oh, I guess it’s evidence.”

  Logan nodded it and slipped it back inside. His fingers shook and Pete recoiled, recognising the signs of fury. “I don’t understand this,” he complained, turning his attention back to his fingernails.

  Logan resumed his pacing. “The boys shared responsibility for delivering a message in exchange for fifty dollars. The dairy outside school refused to change it and they fought about who would keep it safe.” He closed his eyes and Pete watched temper flare in his steely eyes. Logan shook his head. “They delivered the message to Boris.”

  “What did it say?” Pete leaned forward.

  “Pay your debts or next time will be worse.”

  The colour faded from Pete’s face, leaving him pasty white. “Oh, crap! It’s about that internet gambling thing, isn’t it?”

  “What?” Logan whipped around, his face dark and suspicious. “You knew?”

  Pete cringed like a whipped dog. “I knew he got into a little debt over it.”

  “Oh nice one!” Logan kicked a table leg, causing a heap of papers to cascade like a waterfall. He glanced at the mess and left it. “Well, one of the boys is Matthew Larne’s nephew.”

  “Oh.” Pete reared back in his chair, his lip curled in distaste. “The money lender?”

  Logan balled his fists. “Even I’ve heard of him and I’m not a bloody local!”

  Pete squirmed, standing and edging himself nearer the exit. “I didn’t know Larne owned the debt though.”

  “Boris owes thousands!” Logan roared. “If Larne bought the debt, it’s bad.” He spun on his heel in frustration and then rounded on Pete. “Why didn’t Boris go home to Germany? They wouldn’t follow him there.” His shoulders sagged at the memory of Hana’s suspicion about Boris and Caroline, answering his own question.

  Pete’s eyes grew wide like saucers. “Can I move in with you? I don’t want them turning up at home and hassling me.”

  “No,” Logan snapped. “You can’t.” He tapped the toe of his boot on the floorboards. “If Larne is the local guy, then the men who attacked you and Hana the other day must work for him. Larne’s helping Laval.”

  Pete pouted. “Larne lends his guys to all sorts of bad people. That’s nothing new. This is nothing to do with Hana’s safety. This is all about me. You have to keep me safe now. I’ve met Larne and he’s evil.”

  “You were collateral damage, Pete. Don’t flatter yourself. The next part of the message said, ‘She’s in Huntly. Get the address. No more excuses.’ Why did it say that?” Logan ran a hand through his hair. The rigidity of his body heralded an explosion of temper. Pete gripped the door handle and started to turn it.

  “You thi
nk Laval knows where Hana is?” He cocked his head, curiosity vying with fear. “It might not mean her. Larne’s got no reason to look for her.”

  Logan closed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s her! Who else does Boris know in Huntly?”

  “I don’t know.” Pete’s shoulders twitched. “It sounds suspect.”

  “I tried to talk to him earlier and he gave me a cryptic warning. If he’s told them where we live, I’ll kill him!”

  “Nah. He never came to your new place. He won’t know the address.”

  “You know it.” Logan narrowed his eyes and Pete swallowed.

  “I didn’t tell him.” He backed away. “He doesn’t come home much. I think he got himself a woman.”

  Logan resumed his pacing. “Hana saw Laval’s guys in Ngaruawahia. We blamed Ethel, but maybe Boris rolled over.” A sudden thought made him stop and turn to Pete, “Hey, remember when someone broke into your place?” Pete nodded. “They searched it and took loose cash, didn’t they?”

  Pete nodded and his shoulders slumped. “They wrecked it but left no fingerprints. Henrietta wouldn’t stay there for weeks in case they came back.”

  “What if Boris staged it?” Logan chewed his lower lip. “You’d expect his fingerprints to be there, anyway. What if his debt to Larne made him an easy blackmail target?” Logan tapped his fingers against his thigh. “I need to find out the link between Larne and Laval.”

  Pete hugged the door handle while Logan made a phone call. Logan said little but looked uneasy as he disconnected. Pete wrinkled his nose. “Does Hana know you talk to them?” he demanded. “She won’t like it. Her son’s a cop.”

  “Shut up!” Logan snapped. “Larne is a small time money lender and debt collector. My contact says he made some bad bets recently and lost a lot of money. He floated his existing debts using an Auckland player who goes by the name of Michael Laval.”

  “We should find Boris and ask him ourselves,” said Pete, squaring his shoulders. Then his usual reticence returned. “I’ll let you find him. You’re better at hitting people.”

  Logan nodded in agreement on both counts. “You’re right. We’ll find him and sort this mess out ourselves.”

  “What about Hana’s son?” Pete clung to the door handle, his knuckles white. “He could sort this out faster.”

  Logan winced and dragged his phone from his pocket. Bodie answered on the first ring, the sounds of a fast food place in the background. “What?” he snapped, over the sound of pop music and shouting.

  “I’ve got a problem,” Logan replied. He told the tale as fast as he could and waited for Bodie’s verdict.

  “It sounds suspect,” he agreed. “I’ll tell Odering. Do nothing for now.”

  Logan rolled his eyes and disconnected the call. “Do nothing? Who does he think I am?”

  “You should listen to him.” Pete gripped the door handle with one hand and his crotch with the other. Logan exhaled at his outward signs of distress.

  “I’m looking for Boris,” he said, pushing him aside. “Right now.”

  Pete groaned and trotted behind him, stopping at Logan’s office to check Boris’ timetable on the computer. “Gym,” Logan concluded, following the codes on screen with his finger.

  “He isn’t there.”

  “How do you know?” Logan knitted his brow and Pete pointed through the second floor window to the doors of the gymnasium standing wide open opposite.

  “There’s nobody there.”

  Logan shook his head. “We need to find him.”

  At the start of the next period, boys poured into the buildings and Pete admitted defeat. “He’s nowhere,” he whined. “Do you think he’s hiding?”

  “I don’t know.” Logan looked at his watch. “This is my free period. You go to class and I’ll keep searching.” He watched the bald patch at the back of Pete’s head bob away in a tide of boys. Frustration drew lines in his olive forehead and he tried to plan his next move. Checking on Hana seemed obvious.

  Logan experienced eagerness in the pit of his stomach as he crossed the common room. She drew him like a moth to a flame and his powerlessness terrified him. He enjoyed a mental illusion of her waiting for him at the hotel, a child on her hip as he finished some backbreaking endeavour on the farm. It represented a view of perfection and he nursed it in his heart.

  He navigated through a queue of boys waiting to see Sheila and caught sight of Hana. She’d fought her hair back into the clip and her pink cheeks spoke of health and pregnancy. Her body arched as she peered over the floor plan still and Logan released the ready smile onto his lips. Then he froze.

  Boris sat in Pete’s dirty chair, legs crossed and eyes studying Hana’s progress with the coloured squares. He laughed at something she said and they both jumped at the sight of Logan.

  “Hey babe.” Hana gave him a coy smile and her hand strayed to her stomach, fingers caressing the gentle swell. “Did you realise Boris never visited our new place? I said he should come for dinner one night.”

  Logan gritted his teeth and gave Boris a smile which didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, what a great idea,” he said, willing Hana not to say anything more.

  “Do you know where it is, Boris?” he asked and the other man shook his head and paled.

  “Oh. I’ll write the address down for you,” Hana said, reaching for a piece of scrap paper. “I never thought of that. Silly me.”

  “No need.” Logan strode towards Boris and yanked him up by his arm. It took effort to make the action look more friendly than he intended. “I’ll do it. Angus is asking for you, mate. I’ll walk you down there.”

  “Okay.” Hana gave a tiny wave and turned back to her map.

  Boris got to his feet, looking unsteady as he gripped his ribs. Logan’s fingers closed around his forearm like a vice. “Let’s go,” he hissed into Boris’ ear. “Nice and quiet.”

  They walked down the main staircase, Boris limping ahead of Logan. The steps gave him difficulty and Logan jabbed him in the back twice to hurry him along. All vestige of friendship abandoned them as Logan played the game to win. At the principal’s door, he ran foul of the personal assistant. “You can’t see him,” she announced, beating them to the opening. “You don’t have an appointment.”

  “Don’t need one.” Logan shoved Boris forward and the poisonous woman pushed him back again. “Angus wants to see him.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” she insisted. “Or I would know about it.”

  “Ah, Mr Du Rose.” Angus joined the fray and eyed the men with a calculated stare. “I see you found our esteemed colleague.”

  Logan ground his teeth in his jaw and shoved Boris forward. The assistant dived sideways as Boris lurched inside, but Angus stopped Logan from following. “I want to hear what he says,” Logan snapped and Angus shook his head.

  “No, Logan. Let me deal with this.”

  “But you don’t understand!”

  Angus spread his hands to prevent Logan following Boris, leaving the taller man with two clear choices. Either he barged his boss aside and slapped Boris into next week, or he did as Angus asked. The principal lowered his glasses to the end of his nose and peered at Logan over the frame. “Don’t you teach a Year 11 class this period?”

  Logan gaped in horror. “I’m not leaving.”

  “Yes, my friend, you are.” Angus slammed the door in Logan’s face in a swift, crafty movement. When Logan tried the handle, he found it locked.

  “Don’t even think about it!” The assistant dragged his arm away as Logan reached into his pocket. He dropped the metal pick back into its resting place. She slapped his hand. “I know what you’re gonna do.”

  “What?” he snapped, his face screwing into a sneer.

  “You’re gonna break the door down,” she stated, folding her arms. “Then I’m calling the cops.”

  “Do it!” Logan spat and she took a step backwards. A fog descended in front of his eyes and he recognised a rag
e bigger than ever before. Boris’ behaviour threatened everything he held dear and it paralysed Logan in a heady mix of temper and terror. He retreated, determined to flush Boris out later. Angus couldn’t protect him all day.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Logan taught his class. It pained him to listen to the terrible Shakespearean accents in an attempt to capture the essence of Hamlet. His mind remained elsewhere. He let the boys ramble through the text, impatient at their ignorance of iambic pentameter despite a term of teaching it. They picked up his veiled temper and acted up as though testing where the boundary might have shifted to. Logan kept his phone in his trouser pocket, pulling it out and checking for a message from Bodie that never came.

  He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and cursed. When he looked up, thirty silent faces observed him with nervousness. He sighed. “You know what boys? I don’t feel so great. Let’s wrap this up for today. Take an early lunch and stay out of trouble.”

  The boys cheered and left without complaint. Logan slammed the classroom door, his hands shaking as he fought to lock it behind him. He ran down the back stairs three at a time. The assistant blocked him in front of Angus’ office door. “He’s not there.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  She set her face in an expression of perpetual disdain, flaring her nostrils and peering through the corners of her eyes. “Never you mind!”

  “Where is Boris?”

  The assistant lost interest. “Oh. He left. Mr Blair got called to a sick child at the boarding house and Boris left.” She fluttered her eyelashes and primped her hair. “Such a lovely young man.”

  Logan exhaled through his teeth. “Did he go back to class?” He eyed her computer, weighing up the risk of accessing Boris’ timetable from there. She blocked him by walking around the desk and sitting down.

  “I don’t know. And, if I did, I wouldn’t tell you!”

  Logan clutched at straws. “When did he leave?”

  Refusing to answer, the assistant pointed towards her office doorway with a jabbing finger, indicating he should leave. She ignored any further attempts Logan made to question her.