by Fiona Palmer
Ryan made it to Jamison’s compound with ten minutes to spare. He always arrived early, was checked in through the big gates then would park in the staff area behind the big shed that housed Jamison’s cars. His private residence was further up a rise to make the most of the ocean views. Ryan had learnt that Jamison had two houses he moved between, this one in the city and a much larger acreage block near his farming land.
Ryan would take the car out of the shed and wash and clean it, ready for the day’s work. Mr Randall would always notify him of times the car was needed but he had to be ready to go in an instant. It was Ryan’s job to make sure it was always fuelled up too. He’d done that last night after dropping Jamison home, so this morning he was just going to give it a quick wet and shammy. Not that the shiny black sleek-looking Jaguar needed it.
His phone rang when he was almost done. Leaving the cloth to dry on a nearby tree branch, he answered it.
‘Hey, baby, you shouldn’t ring me when I’m at work,’ he said straight away.
‘I know,’ said Annaliese, ‘but Dad won’t mind. It’s me,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘Are you picking me up tonight? Remember we have that dinner with Shopie?’
Ryan groaned inwardly. He could handle Annaliese, play the doting boyfriend, but it was hard work when they met up with her friends. He disliked them even more. At least now he excused himself from the drugs they took, saying he didn’t want to jeopardise his job with her father, and Annaliese took that as a good sign. Still, it made it difficult at times.
‘Yes, seven I’ll be waiting at your door, babe. I’ll let you know if your dad has any late errands but we should be good to go.’ From the corner of his eye Ryan could see movement at the house, bodyguards looking more lively and doing a double-check of the area. ‘Look, I’ve gotta get back to work. I’ll talk to you soon.’
‘See you then, Reece. Tell Daddy I love him,’ she said before hanging up.
Ryan got the nod from Mr Randall to bring the car over, so he quickly jumped in and drove it up the paved driveway to the front door. The turning circle was tight out the front of the house, made harder because of the overgrown bushes and shrubs that were overdue to be hedged. Maybe Jamison liked the privacy they provided?
Jumping out, he opened the back door and waited for Jamison to exit his large oak doors. They were on thick black hinges and no doubt very dense and bulletproof.
Jamison walked out, his dark blue suit clean, his black leather boots shining and his walk slow and commanding. Jamison didn’t rush for anyone, everything was done in his time and every move he made seemed so precise and deliberate, which made him come across as calm, controlled and important.
‘Good morning, Mr Figlomeni,’ said Ryan as he held the car door open.
‘Morning, Mr Lancaster.’ Jamison climbed into the back of the car.
Jamison was always polite too. Old school values and attention to detail seemed to be his thing.
Ryan shut the door and slipped into the driver’s seat. He never talked to Jamison unless spoken to, and Mr Randall rode in the back with Jamison, and a spare guard sometimes took the front seat. It seemed to be Mr Wilkins who rode shotgun and it was usually on their visits to the warehouses, but sometimes on different meetings that Ryan was yet to infiltrate. Being made to stay with the car was limiting, he really needed to find a way to step up. Maybe Mr Wilkins needed to disappear or get sick. It could be arranged but would have to be done really well. Men like Jamison didn’t like changes. Men like Jamison were always double-checking their backs for cops and the like.
Ryan drove Jamison to his first meeting, which was at a bank in the CBD. Even after a month or more working as a driver, Ryan never let his guard slip, was always trying to take in his surroundings, people coming and going just in case there was a clandestine meeting in the works.
The second stop was at a restaurant for lunch, which meant Ryan had time to grab a meal from the nearby Subway that he ate outside by the car. His job was a lot of waiting, but this was a prerequisite to being an agent. Patience was the key, waiting for that one slip-up.
Next Ryan drove him out of the city centre and towards his market garden, no doubt to check on the books and everyday running. The scenery of tightly packed houses changed to bigger spaces and rows of growing vegetables. Ryan had been here before so he knew Jamison like to be driven straight to the warehouse, a large shed-like structure in the middle of the farm. His house was to the left and closer to the road. It looked Italian in style with white walls, pillars, terracotta tiles and lots of garden statues.
The shed was cream in colour and had crates of all sizes stacked around one side, and rolls of black plastic. He knew the plastic was probably for the strawberries and not burying bad workers. But still his mind connected it to Jaz when they were in the hanger together with Salvatore. He didn’t want to think about her, but she always crept into his mind without warning. Her smile, silky dark hair and those contrasting blue eyes, so bright and intimidating. His lips twitched with a need to smile but he fought it off.
Stopping the Jaguar outside the shed, Jamison exited with both bodyguards and Ryan was left to wait without a time limit. Workers came and went, some on little tractors, others on motorbikes. He didn’t know what was inside the shed, except for what he saw when the sliding door opened so the tractor could drive in its trailer-loads of lettuce and other vegies. More workers were inside, sorting and packaging, and down the back of the shed looked like an office area. Ryan sighed, there was no way he could get near them without being seen and suspicious. He still tried by walking around the shed, with his phone to his ear, pretending to take a call. It made him seem inconspicuous this way. But he couldn’t hear anything, nor were there any other windows within reach, just a door that was solid and locked. All he could do was stand by the car.
While he was waiting he did notice a small man hovering around the shed. He was dressed like all the other workers, blue uniforms that looked like they’d been passed down from worker to worker, and boots covered in soil. Ryan took a stab at his nationality, maybe from South East Asia, Philippines, but it was his anxious manner that brought him to Ryan’s attention. Why was he nervous? Had he just stolen something? Maybe he’d been hiding drugs? A list of possibilities rattled through his brain until he noticed the door to the shed open and Mr Randall came out, followed by Jamison.
Ryan opened the car door in readiness.
The Filipino man came closer and called out. ‘Mr Figlomeni, sir. You find my daughter?’ he asked.
‘Excuse me,’ said Jamison, stopping reluctantly. The look in his eyes gave away the fact he knew exactly what this man was after.
The small Filipino man took a step closer and that’s when Ryan realised he had a large knife in the back of his pants. The worn handle just visible.
‘I work free so my daughter, Yanna, come to Australia, you say you bring her. It’s been long time. Where is she?’
The little guy was desperate and angry. Ryan glanced to Mr Randall but he just stood there with his arms crossed, and the other bodyguard had continued to walk to the car, not seeing this man as a threat. Any man who has something to fight for, to die for should never be underestimated, no matter their size or shape.
‘Mr Randall, where are we on this Yanna situation?’ said Jamison, turning to Randall. He was calm and not even ruffled.
‘The girl is still working off her debt, sir. Another month or two I believe.’
‘No. I pay her debt, not Yanna. You said.’
‘You knew it came with a price,’ said Randall.
Before Randall had even finished his sentence, Ryan was running for the little man. He’d seen his arm move to his back, going for the knife, and in a split second Ryan knew he had to take action.
‘Knife,’ he yelled as he tackled the man to the ground, grabbing his arm. In the scuffle the sharp knife cut his hand and he felt the blood release. It looked like a knife used for the farm work, Ryan hoped it was clean.
&nb
sp; ‘Reece … what?’
Jamison called him by his fake first name in the shock of his sudden movements. Ryan looked up as the man wriggled underneath him. Randall had taken up position in front of Jamison but it was a little too late. Jamison would have taken a knife to the belly and he knew it. His eyes were large as comprehension set in.
Twisting the man’s arm, forcing him to release the knife, Ryan then bent it back in a hold while he removed the weapon from him. With a flick, he sent it sliding through the dirt at Randall’s feet. Randall bent to collect it while Ryan got up, bringing the Filipino man with him and holding him tightly.
‘Sorry Mr Figlomeni, but I only just saw the knife,’ said Ryan.
‘No, no need to apologise. That was mighty impressive. Thank you.’ Jamison glanced at his other two bodyguards as if to say ‘what the heck do I pay you for?’
‘Sorry, Mr Figlomeni, I didn’t see it from this angle,’ said Randall solemnly.
‘What shall I do with this one, sir?’ asked Ryan. He felt sorry for the man he held. The fact he was now crying and mumbling about his daughter. Ryan knew that he was the innocent man in all this. He guessed his daughter was being used in prostitution under the pretence of paying her way to Australia. But he doubted that poor girl would ever be released now. It sickened him knowing this man’s daughter could even be dead if she didn’t comply, and he should have let him attack Jamison but the man would have only paid for it with his life, Jamison would have lived and nothing would have stopped. At least this way Ryan was hoping for a leg up into Jamison’s world. Hopefully he could eventually find these girls, put Jamison away and get his business shut down. The agency wanted all the links from overseas found and severed. It would need more than just cutting off the head of the snake.
‘Mr Randall, will you please deal with this?’
Randall nodded his head and took the man from Ryan, who was no longer resisting. He probably knew his fate. Maybe death? Maybe a holding cell? Ryan was yet to find all this out but with any luck, soon.
As Randall took the Filipino man into the shed, Ryan pulled up his jacket sleeve so his cut hand didn’t bleed all over it. He dug a tissue out of his pocket and used it to help stop the bleeding.
‘Are you okay, Reece?’ said Jamison.
Ryan took that as a good sign. Was there a little trust growing?
‘Fine, sir. Is there somewhere I can get cleaned up before I drive you home?’
Jamison’s brow rose. Ryan was dying to know what he was thinking.
‘Yes, Mr Wilkins, will you please drive us up to the house. My housekeeper Mrs Latina will help you. Will it need stitches?’
‘No, sir. This will be fine. I just need to stop the blood and then I’ll be right to go.’
Jamison nodded and went to the car. Ryan still managed to shut the door for him before getting into the front seat.
At the house Jamison led him inside and called out to his housekeeper.
‘Yes, Mr Figlomeni,’ said a large lady in a white uniform. She had sweat along her brow as if she’d been vacuuming or doing something vigorous. It made her dark curly hair, streaked with grey, cling to her head like a wet mop.
‘Can you help Mr Lancaster get cleaned up, please. I’ll just be in the drawing room having a quick Scotch. I’ll have one waiting for you,’ he said, directing the last sentence at Ryan.
Mrs Latina took him to the laundry and used a flannel to clean his wound. She rattled off words in another language but Ryan got the gist from the tone of her voice that she was unimpressed with the deepness of his cut. ‘Stay,’ she said, before ducking off and returning with a first-aid kit. She put little sticky strips on it to hold it together then bandaged it up to keep it clean.
When she guided him back to the drawing room, Jamison thanked her.
‘Is very deep, sir. Will need stitches.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Latina,’ said Ryan bidding her farewell. ‘This will be fine.’
She shook her head, frowning at Ryan and walked out unimpressed that he wasn’t rushing off to a hospital.
‘I think you’ve earned this,’ said Jamison, holding out a glass with a nip of Scotch.
Not to offend, Ryan took it. ‘Thank you, sir. I’m ready to go when you are.’
He could tell Jamison had been trying to work him out this whole time. Probably wondering what Ryan thought about the man he’d apprehended, about his missing daughter, about if he’d go to the hospital with his wound, and hopefully he was wondering if Ryan was trustworthy enough.
‘Annaliese did tell me you were a great bodyguard, but I did think she was maybe prone to exaggeration due to her affection towards you.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘But you’ve clearly shown me twice now that you are more than capable of handling any situation.’
‘And with the utmost discretion and protection, sir. I take my line of work very seriously. I don’t plan on letting you down, or any future employees. I’m very grateful for this job but I do hope to move to a position I’m more qualified for. I don’t want my weapons training to go to waste.’ He hoped he wasn’t pushing his luck. ‘Sorry to speak out of turn, but I’m still wanting a position in the league of Mr Randall’s position. Eventually I’d like to run my own business.’
Jamison took a sip of his Scotch, let it wash over his tongue before swallowing it. ‘You are a man who wants to get to the top. I see that. You have more dedication than most of my staff. They are happy where they are, yet you, I see you are over-qualified for this position, even though you do it well. I have a feeling you do any job well.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ve been trained by some of the best. I will not let situations like today happen again. I am set to take you home if you are ready?’ he said, quickly finishing off his drink. He wasn’t really in a rush to head off. Every moment in this house Ryan was trying to take notes, retain what he’d seen to memory. Any little detail could help. But he wanted to come across as an eager to please worker.
‘Let’s go.’
They walked to the door and Ryan quickly opened it for him and checked the area outside. ‘It’s clear, Mr Figlomeni.’
Jamison paused by the door. ‘Reece, how would you like Mr Wilkins’ position as my bodyguard?’
‘Sir?’ Ryan held his breath. He didn’t want to blow this. Everything was riding on this next step.
‘I do not feel safe around Mr Wilkins, I do with you. I would prefer it from now on if you took over his position and he became the driver. Would that suit you?’
‘Very much, sir. Thank you.’
‘Great,’ he said, shaking Ryan’s hand. ‘I’ll inform Mr Randall.’ He glanced across and saw Wilkins leaning against the car. ‘Mr Wilkins, you can drive us home please. Mr Lancaster is unfit to drive.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Wilkins, quickly moving to open the back door.
On the outside Ryan was walking to the passenger side door, on the inside he was doing a victory dance. He was now one step closer.
Into the den of the lion he went.
Chapter 12
Jaz walked to the gym from school, as she had nearly every second day this past month. She didn’t bother driving as she needed the exercise and the weather was nice. Her schoolbag was heavy with books, study for exams was nightmarish but Anna was helping. The gym was theirs now so meeting there after school felt right, their own place where no one could kick them out. Jaz picked up her pace as she saw The Ring come into view. She did think about giving it a new paint job, but why? When it still worked fine on the inside. A new coat of paint would probably just make it a target for the local thugs. Mind you, Jaz would be quite happy to have someone to challenge right now. She had so much pent-up frustration that sparring with Tick or Cody just wasn’t cutting the mustard. She wanted a raw, adrenaline-filled fight.
Some days when she walked back from school she almost wished that gang would come upon her again. This time she’d be ready for them. She was older, wiser, stronger and capable of
playing dirty to survive. This time she wouldn’t need Ryan to save her. This time she knew she had what it took to win no matter the odds.
The gym door was open, letting in the warm afternoon air. Jaz stepped inside and smiled. Nothing had changed. Muhammad Ali’s pictures still hung from the raw brick walls, everything was in its normal position, as Pax wanted it.
‘Hi ya, Bags,’ Jaz yelled out to her mate, who was down the corner with a group doing a boxing lesson.
He raised his padded hand and gave her a wave while still instructing the group.
Jaz headed into the kitchen, she knew Anna and Tay would already be here. They had to get some books from the library and then Tay drove them here via their house so they could change. Jaz already had moved half her clothes to Pax’s.
‘You took your time,’ said Anna as she looked up from the pile of books, papers, pens and highlighters. Her iPad was off to one side, with a plate of Tim Tams and coffee cups.
‘Yeah, hard slog with these buggers,’ she said, thumping her bag down onto the table.
‘Pull up a chair, Anna is going over some shit,’ said Tay as he got up. ‘I’ll make ya a cuppa.’
‘Thanks Tay.’
‘Hey,’ said Anna. ‘It’s not shit, its physics.’
‘Same thing.’ Tay shot her a teasing smile.
Jaz sat down and got her books out, along with her iPad and notebook. She liked her afternoons studying with these guys. It was a nice routine to have. They would study, then Anna went into Pax’s computer room and Tay and Jaz sparred. Sometimes Cody came by too.
It had been a month since Pax’s funeral and longer since Ryan’s goodbye but still she couldn’t help but look up every time someone entered the gym. How did she stop her heart from hoping? Would this feeling ever go? Or was she doomed to wait for Ryan her whole lifetime?
‘Cody said he was coming by this arvo with some news from Tilly.’
This made Jaz sit up. She stared at Tay, waiting for more.
