by Lisa Henry
Gio looked surprised for a moment, and then smiled. “Yeah. That’d be nice. Want me to bring anything?”
“We’re good,” Jason assured him. “Come over whenever you’re ready.”
Jason let himself into the station to unkit himself. He checked his desk to see if Sandra had left him any urgent messages on sticky notes before she’d closed up for the day, and then checked the messages on the station phone, but there was nothing that couldn’t wait until the morning.
He locked the station behind him and headed home.
Inviting Gio to dinner wasn’t a mistake—he hoped. They had to be able to work together, and to an extent, that meant being able to have a friendly relationship outside of work too. It wasn’t some city station where they’d never cross paths unless they were rostered together. They were neighbours too. And it was stupid for Gio to go home to an empty house and cook his dinner for one, when Jason and Taylor were cooking right next door. A shared meal every week or so wasn’t crossing a line. Jason questioned his motivations though. Was he inviting Gio over because it was the practical and the friendly thing to do? Or was it because he wanted to manoeuvre them both into a situation where another kiss was a possibility?
It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. He’d shut that down. Gio had shut it down too. But fuck, Jason still wanted.
There were a lot of cold showers in his future, probably.
When he got home, it was to find all the Target bags dumped on the living room floor.
“Taylor!” he complained loudly, and Taylor thumped down the hallway.
“What?”
“How is this putting your new clothes away?”
“You didn’t tell me to put them away! You just told me to take them home!” Taylor raised his eyebrows. “Anyhow, you’re supposed to prewash them!”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Then cut the tags off, and put them in the laundry basket.”
Taylor groaned.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said. “I’m so mean to you. Sort it out, Taylor. Gio’s coming over for dinner, and I’d prefer this place didn’t look like a bomb hit it.”
Taylor’s groan turned into a protracted growl, and he stomped forward to collect the bags. Jason crossed his arms over his chest and watched, waiting to see if Taylor dared push it any further than that. He’d find his new video game locked in the gun safe in the station if he did. But Taylor had always had a finely tuned sense of where the line was. He gathered the bags up and tramped off to the kitchen, presumably to get the scissors.
Good. Jason didn’t really want to punish him. It had been a long day, and Taylor was overtired.
By the time Gio came over, Taylor’s mood had improved, and he greeted Gio with a smile and a wave as he made himself an orange cordial to drink with dinner.
“I thought I said you didn’t need to bring anything,” Jason said.
Gio shrugged, and set the six-pack of beer down on the kitchen bench. “What can I do to help?”
“I think I’ve got it under control.”
Dinner was leftover curried sausages and rice from the night before. It was nothing special, but Jason hoped the company made up for the menu. Eating alone every night couldn’t be much fun for Gio. They talked a little about work—nothing interesting enough for Taylor to fix on—and a little about stuff around town that Gio might be interested in. The conversation flowed easily, and Jason was glad. It felt comfortable with Gio here with him and Taylor. It didn’t have to be awkward between them.
“There are a few sports clubs,” Jason said, “but you know what that’s like with shift work.”
“Yeah.” Gio nodded. “I’m trying to get back into a routine with running. You know, to make sure I get out of the house. It’s a good track by the river.”
“It’s pretty nice,” Jason agreed. “Me and Taylor take our bikes down there sometimes.”
“Have you got a bike, Gio?” Taylor asked. “You could come with us!”
“I think my bike is still in the shed at the back of my sister’s place in Brisbane,” Gio said. “I haven’t ridden it in years.”
“I wouldn’t either, with the bloody traffic on the Coast,” Jason said. “Or the hills in Brisbane.”
Gio grimaced. “I hated those hills when I lived there.”
“I ran over a snake on my bike once,” Taylor piped up.
Jason tried not to laugh at the horror on Gio’s face.
Gio shot him a wary look. “He’s kidding, right?”
“It was a king brown,” Taylor said.
“To be fair, we think it was already dead,” Jason said.
Gio winced.
“You’re having flashbacks to the taipan, aren’t you?” Jason asked.
“Every time I close my eyes,” Gio deadpanned, and stabbed at a piece of sausage with his fork. “Please tell me this didn’t happen on the track by the river? Where I go running?”
Jason hid a smile.
Taylor wrinkled his nose. “Nooo?”
“Very convincing.” Gio shook his head. “Great.”
“Snakes are more scared of you than you are of them,” Taylor said knowledgeably, and then shrugged. “Except that’s probably no consolation when they kill you.”
“Probably not,” Gio agreed, but he was smiling again, his eyes bright, and maybe they’d made another step today away from the awkwardness of the kiss, and towards actual friendship.
That was the goal here.
It had to be.
It had been a long time since Gio had looked forward to going to work, a long time since he hadn’t had to psych himself up to head in for each shift, but Jason was easy to work with. There were times when they were still a little unsure around one another, a little reserved, but those times were fewer and farther between the more the days stretched out. Even Sandra seemed to be starting to thaw to Gio, once he proved he could get into the station without setting the alarms off, and could actually do his job.
The investigation into Gio’s assault and Kev Lindeman’s arrest was, surprisingly, ticked and flicked. Senior Sergeant Gordon, the DDO from Townsville, had called Gio to tell him as much, but a part of Gio was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, and probably always would be. There were too many people just waiting for him to fail. And even if he never gave them a reason to fire him, they could throw enough shit at him and tie him up in enough investigations that eventually he wouldn’t be able to take it anymore, and he’d quit. And Gio knew that animus directed at him wasn’t only restricted to his former teammates. There was at least one superintendent who had told Gio to his face that if he saw him crossing the road, he wouldn’t brake.
But it got easier and easier with each passing day to put all of that aside, to relegate it to a different point in geography, to a different point in time. Things weren’t like that in Richmond, not with Jason. This was the job as he remembered it at its best. This was someone having his back again.
The pace was so different than what Gio was used to from the Coast—there were no taskings waiting for him, no targeted patrols, no daily briefing from Intel with maps of ever-changing hotspots—but he was growing to almost like it. He knew people now, and not just the town grubs. His small social circle extended beyond Jason and Vicki, to the usual transient population of towns like Richmond: the coppers, the nurses, and the chalkies. It was a younger crowd—a straight crowd as far as Gio could tell—but they were good to get a few drinks in with, either at the nurses’ quarters behind the hospital, or the house two of the teachers shared on Victoria Street. Sometimes there were a few backpackers thrown in the mix. Gio was always careful not to drink more than a beer or two. He was learning, slowly, some of those country-copper sensibilities that Jason had tried to explain in the beginning. These people were his friends, but, even if he wasn’t working, he was never truly off duty.
The rain arrived in October.
The first drops spattered on the roof of the station, and then the deluge hit with a roar. It didn’t relent for hours, an
d although the worst of the downpour was over by nightfall, it didn’t clear. Rain hung over the town in a persistent low grey shroud. By the next morning, a Tuesday, the highway was cut by flooding to the west, and a convoy of road trains and semitrailers pulled up alongside the highway to wait it out. On Wednesday morning, the highway was cut to the east as well, and on Wednesday night the flooding from farther north in the Gulf had made its way through the river system, and the river broke its banks.
The station buzzed with activity on Thursday. The volunteers from the State Emergency Service—bright in their yellow emergency gear—crowded into the dayroom alongside a few shire council workers and local volunteer firefighters. Taylor sat at the front counter playing Bubbles on Sandra’s computer, freed from school thanks to the flooding.
Gio stood back and let Jason take charge. He clearly knew exactly what he was doing, and he had an easygoing sort of authority that people responded well to. He was thoughtful and attentive to detail, and if someone asked a question he didn’t know the answer to, he was unafraid to admit it. Jason displayed the sort of leadership that Gio had always aspired to, and had the sort of qualities he admired in a colleague and a friend.
The council workers were dispatched to check the signage on the highway hadn’t been washed away overnight, and to put barriers up to stop people from attempting to drive through the flooding. Sandra manned the phone, checking in with local property owners. A report came in of people stranded on the road to the Baxter Mine, but they were locals, and had enough provisions to last a few days before they’d be in any serious trouble.
“We’ve also got tourists stuck somewhere south of here on the Winton road,” Jason said, leaning against Gio’s desk. “They’re definitely in Winton’s division, but there’s a good chance the crews from there won’t be able to get through. So they’re probably going to ask us to try before they send out a chopper. We won’t know for sure for a few hours, so in the meantime we’ll go doorknocking and doing welfare checks.” He looked around the room. “Pay particular mind to the oldies. There are sandbags at the council depot, but some of them won’t be able to get there. You can strongly encourage them to evacuate either to Saint Pat’s or the community hall, but it’s not a declared emergency yet, so you can’t force them. And remember, Saint Pat’s is taking pets, but the community hall isn’t.” He straightened up. “Okay. Let’s get out there.”
Gio grabbed his raincoat and left the station.
The rain itself wasn’t too heavy. It was more of a persistent drizzle. But with the river system already overloaded from what was being dumped up in the Gulf, there was nowhere for the water to go. The entire town had turned to mud. Residents closest to the river were sandbagging their properties. Gio went from house to house seeing who wanted to evacuate, and who needed help to do it.
Three hours later, working alongside Robbo from the SES, Gio got a call from Jason to meet him back at the station.
“Winton couldn’t get through,” he said. “We’re going south.”
Gio left Robbo going door to door on George Street, and drove back to the station. He trudged inside, leaving a trail of mud and water in his wake, and found Jason poring over a map.
“You good to go?” Jason asked, looking him up and down.
Gio was soaked—in rain or sweat, he couldn’t tell—but there was no point getting changed. Not when he’d be in exactly the same state the second he walked outside again. He nodded.
They drove through town, heading west on the highway, and passing the lines of semitrailers and road trains on the side of the road. The highway dipped just past the truck stop and the council guys on the roadblock splashed through the water to lift the barrier and let them through. As they hit the flooding, bow waves rippled out behind them. The muddy floodwater made it slow going, and it was impossible to see the state of the road underneath.
Jason grabbed the radio. “Richmond two-eight-nine calling Winton. You there, Emma?”
It took a moment for the woman to answer. When she did, her voice was almost lost in static. “Hey, Jason. You heading down here?”
“As far as we can, yeah. What’s it like on your end?”
“The rain hasn’t let up in days. I made it as far as Three Mile Creek and couldn’t get through. I don’t like your chances.”
“Me neither. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Good luck.”
A few kilometres west of town, they made the turn south onto the Winton road. The flood markers plotted their route. At first the water was still, but it didn’t take long for them to reach the first creek. The flood markers had vanished, and water lapped at the bottom of the guardrails. The water streamed across the road, carrying sticks and brush and circling piles of debris that caught in the rails. Swirling maelstroms rushed around the obstructions.
“Nope,” Jason said, peering through the windscreen. “No way we’re getting through that.”
Gio heard a sudden roar of water. He turned in his seat and saw a crest of sticks and debris being carried down the creek towards them. “Jason!”
“Shit!” Jason threw the LandCruiser into reverse just as the rush of dirty floodwater bulldozed around them.
Gio grabbed for the handle above his door as the water fought against the momentum of the LandCruiser and they were swept onto the bridge. There was a thump on the back of the chassis as something big hit. The knock was enough to push the LandCruiser sideways, and Gio’s stomach lurched as they lost all traction.
Metal scraped as they hit the guardrail.
“Hope that holds,” Jason said, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. The engine whined.
“Are we moving?” Gio asked, peering through the rain-splattered windscreen.
“Not backwards,” Jason muttered. He twisted around in his seat and looked out the back. “Fuck. Okay, so we’re going to try this one more time, and then we’re going to need to call for someone to winch us out. Cross your fingers.”
Gio gripped the handle tightly as the engine whined again and then jolted as the tyres at last found some traction.
They reversed very slowly off the bridge.
Gio’s heart pounded wildly.
Jason slumped back in his seat and reached for the radio. “Emma? Tell them they’re gonna need to get the chopper out.”
It was a week before the floodwaters receded and the highway was reopened. A week of running an incident room out of the station, and keeping tabs on everything. After the first day, Jason and Gio had worked opposite shifts, twelve hours each, so there was always a police officer on scene, in charge. Sometimes the twelve hours bled into fourteen hours. Once, sixteen. By the time the highway was open again, Gio wanted nothing more than a hot shower and an early night, and eight hours of sleep hopefully uninterrupted by a phone call. Fuck the Friday night drunks—was it even Friday? Gio wasn’t sure anymore—they could sort themselves out for once.
The call came at seven thirty.
“Giovanni?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s Dawn from Comms. We’ve got a call for a rollover on the highway. Looks like a fatal.”
“Right.” Gio tugged his fingers through his hair. “I’m heading out now.”
He wiped his stinging eyes and called Jason before grabbing a still-damp uniform out of the dryer and pulling it on.
Autopilot.
Gio was tired. So tired that the night came in flashes. The blue and red strobes illuminating the rain-soaked highway. The remains of the caravan strewn across a good hundred-metre stretch of bitumen like matchsticks. The woman, thin grey hair stuck to her scalp with drizzle, shaking fingers holding her oxygen mask onto her bloody face. The thump-thump-thump of the blades of the rescue chopper as it came in to land.
The man’s body in pieces, ripped apart on impact.
Hours blocking the highway, waiting for a forensic crash investigator to arrive from Charters Towers.
Not being able to move anything until then.
Th
e tick-tick-tick of the rain hitting the plastic sheet he’d thrown over the man’s arm.
He’d fixed his gaze on Jason, a hundred metres away at the other end of the field of debris, so he didn’t have to look at the body parts he’d covered up. Covering them up didn’t mean he couldn’t see them anymore.
Dozing off leaning against the LandCruiser, and jolting awake with a start. Taking too long to remember where he was. Slipping into a fugue state again, and losing all awareness of his surroundings.
“Come on,” Jason said, his face swimming slowly into focus in front of him. “Come on, Gio.”
Gio blinked at him, and somehow it was daylight.
The station, and then home, and Jason’s hand was on his shoulder, gripping him tightly, and steering him into the bathroom.
“Have a shower,” he said. “And get some sleep.”
Gio squinted at his watch. How was it 10 a.m.? How had he been on his feet for over twenty-four hours?
“Come on,” Jason said again. “Come on, Gio.”
“I’m just gonna . . .” Gio blinked. “Just gonna go to bed.”
“You’ve got blood on your uniform.”
Fuck.
Gio wrenched his shirt over his head and, breathing heavily, dropped it onto the floor. He looked at Jason. “You too,” he said, his skin pebbling. “You’ve got blood on you too.”
He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, only that suddenly his fingers were curled into the belt loops on Jason’s uniform pants, and he was reeling him closer. Then he was tugging Jason’s shirt out of his pants, and running his hands underneath, up Jason’s sides, feeling him shudder underneath his touch. Gio leaned in. Their stubble rasped and their mouths met, open and hungry. And suddenly Gio was awake again, his blood thrumming in his veins as arousal swept through him.
Jason moved away, and for a moment Gio thought that was it, they were done, another fucking mistake, but Jason only pulled his shirt off and dropped it on the floor with Gio’s.
Gio raked his gaze over Jason’s chest. He was a little more solid than Gio. He didn’t have a gym junkie’s body. He was strong but not ripped. The fine hairs on his chest were almost gold, darkening where they thickened into a treasure trail below his navel. Gio looked lower, to the obvious bulge in Jason’s uniform pants.
