Comfort Zone

by Lindsay Tanner

  ‘Got one. Don’t ask where from, though. Took some pictures with it.’

  Jack smiled. One less thing he had to worry about — or ask Scabber to help with.

  ‘Emily, you’re a star.’ For someone suffering from Chronic Fatigue, she was remarkably resourceful.

  He turned back to Farhia and Aicha. ‘Can you guys stay here for a bit longer? Hey Emily, why don’t you get them something to eat?’ He offered her a twenty-dollar note.

  ‘Thanks, Jack, we can cope.’

  ‘No, take it. Couple of good tips this arvo.’ Once again, he was unable to recognise himself.

  Emily accepted the creased note, and Jack sat down on a tiny stool beside the main window.

  ‘Tell me more about this pirate stuff,’ he said to Farhia.

  ‘There is not much more. For five years, it is a big business. Mainly in Puntland. Other countries, they are stealing our fish, dumping poison rubbish, then Americans pay two million dollars to get a ship back. Insurance companies make deals with pirates, give them money. So they see that stealing ships is good business. Puntland men are smart. A lot of them lost jobs when al-Shabab came — like police, in government, these things.’

  ‘Why were they sacked?’

  ‘Puntland has always ruled Somalia. Hawiye hate us. Al-Shabab are mostly Hawiye. Others from the south do not like Puntland either.’

  ‘Why’d they get into the pirate game?’

  ‘There is not many things to do. They must eat, find food for their families. Some are educated, like my brother, but there are no jobs for them. Many ships come past Puntland. It is easy to take them and get money to give them back.’

  ‘How’d your brother get involved?’

  ‘Our father is in government. He is a …’ She hesitated, and looked at Aicha. ‘I think it is called official. My brother is smart, but he is wild. He does not like to be official, so he goes with the pirates. He did not go on ships — he organises, money from Saudi, guns, food, everything. When he see them killing people, giving money to politicians, he ran away. But he knows much, so they go after him.’

  It was now making sense. By the simple act of picking up Farhia’s book and taking photos of it, Jack had inserted himself into this web of intrigue. And while Farhia’s brother was still alive, it was hard to imagine an end to it. Even if they rescued Yusuf from Abdirahman, another petty thug would pop up in his place. They had to neutralise the threat from her brother. Jack understood that piracy was big business in Somalia, and that they didn’t follow any rules. And underneath the surface, the woman he’d become obsessed with was living in unimaginable torment.

  ‘I’d better get moving,’ he said to Farhia. He turned to Emily, who was staring out the window, looking quite detached and calm. ‘I’ll call you when there’s any news.’

  ‘Please, Jack, bring Yusuf back to me,’ Farhia pleaded as he moved towards the door.

  ‘I will.’ Trying to display a confidence he didn’t feel, Jack departed, thinking bleak thoughts of soldiers in the trenches about to go over the top into the machine-gun fire. Even though he had the comfort of Scabber on his team, he was feeling very frightened.

  16

  Confrontation

  The Court House Hotel was one of Melbourne’s older pubs. It was little more than an extended shopfront, on the west side of Sydney Road, just south of where Brunswick turned into Coburg. Unlike most inner-Melbourne pubs, it had defied the gentrification trend and remained proudly down-at-heel. Few inner-city professionals ever graced its well-worn carpets.

  As he entered, Jack spotted Scabber standing where the token half-size pool table had once lived but was now just another nest of pokies. As soon as he noticed Jack, he started moving.

  ‘Ready?’

  Jack nodded. As they walked out, a couple of older patrons cast wary glances in Scabber’s direction. He inspired respect in this part of Melbourne.

  ‘So what’s the plan, mate?’ Jack asked as they wriggled into the front seat of the cab.

  ‘Not much. Sit and wait. They’ll show.’

  ‘We faked up a book — should get us through, but the mobile’ll be tricky. Pretty easy to work out when they were taken. What if they arc up?’

  ‘We grab the kid, thump them a bit, then scarper.’

  Jack wasn’t sure if he was joking.

  ‘There’s another complication.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Scabber sounded like he wasn’t keen on complications.

  ‘Rowan rang me and told me to turn up at the Dan tonight. Early. Says they want to get a move on. Was supposed to be the weekend. Told him I had other stuff on, but he wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Around six-thirty. Bit vague, though.’

  ‘Could get interesting. Rowan involved in the Somali stuff at all?’

  ‘No.’

  Scabber went quiet for a couple of minutes as they crawled along the southern end of Sydney road. The traffic was heavy.

  ‘So what do you reckon?’ Jack asked.

  ‘We’ll work something out. Bit more confusion might help. But I need to know one thing. What matters most? The boy, or getting Rowan sorted?’

  Jack thought about this dilemma, and then had to swerve to avoid an erratic cyclist.

  ‘Um, the kid, I suppose.’

  Feeling embarrassed by his uncertainty — more for his own sake than Scabber’s — he added: ‘No, the kid, definitely. Rowan’s a pain in the arse, but we can sort him out later.’

  ‘Okay. Need to know.’

  They drove on in silence, eventually turning into College Crescent. The peak-hour traffic was always very heavy in this part of Carlton, so it took some time before Jack was able to turn into Canning Street and park a little way north of the main thoroughfare. He wasn’t sure whether it was better to have the cab well out of harm’s way or close by if they needed to make a quick getaway, but this spot was about the closest he would get anyway. Princes Street was one of Melbourne’s main traffic sewers at any time, and in the early evening it was always choked with cars. A quick getaway would be easier from the northern side, but that meant crossing the road on foot. As he didn’t really expect they would have Yusuf with them, he didn’t worry about the challenges of making a run for it with a small boy in tow.

  It was still well before six o’clock as they crossed Princes Street at the pedestrian lights and entered the public bar. An unpleasant mixture of apprehension, adrenalin, and panic surged through his body.

  As Jack passed through the discoloured grey-green door leading into the bar, he noticed a sign: ‘Happy Hour Tuesday 5.30–6.30’. That explained why the bar was crowded. It might complicate their efforts to negotiate Yusuf’s release, particularly if they were dealing with Rowan at the same time. He had probably chosen the time deliberately, to give himself extra cover from a dense crowd.

  As they wriggled their way through to the lounge bar, a couple of drinkers noticed Scabber, and made an effort to get out of his way. He still commanded respect at the Dan, too.

  The lounge wasn’t quite as crowded as the public bar, but there were more patrons than usual for an evening early in the week — perhaps fifteen or twenty of them.

  ‘Get some drinks. I’ll be over here.’ Scabber gestured towards the far side of the lounge, and walked off. Jack took a nervous glance around the room, but he couldn’t see Rowan or Leather Jacket in the crowd. He leant on the bar and waited to be served.

  He did notice out of the corner of his eye that Billy the Hippy was at the other end of the bar, deep in conversation with an equally bedraggled, weather-beaten man. Jack raised his left hand in a token gesture of recognition, but Billy was too engrossed to notice. Probably crapping on about the Isle of Wight or some rubbish, Jack thought.

  After receiving his drinks, he wandered around cluttered tables and boisterous patrons, carefully
protecting the glasses in each hand. Scabber had parked himself at a tiny table against the rear wall.

  He was about to sit down when a melodious voice laced with false bonhomie boomed from behind him.

  ‘Jack! Great to see you’re already here. Can we pull up a chair?’

  Rowan looked neat and dapper, as always. Immediately behind him, looking every bit as nasty as he had at their previous encounter, was Leather Jacket. It looked like he hadn’t even changed his clothes.

  ‘I’ll decide that,’ Scabber growled at Rowan.

  Rowan shrank back a little as he took note of Jack’s drinking companion. Then he resumed the phoney charm-offensive.

  ‘But of course. I’d offer drinks, but you seem to be well provided for already.’

  Jack had recovered his balance by this stage, and he tried to put Rowan off.

  ‘Rowan, we’ve got some serious stuff to attend to. Can I catch you a bit later?’

  ‘So have we, my boy, so have we. You’re going to have to travel tonight, I’m afraid. Bit of urgency and all that. Change of plan, that sort of thing.’ Rowan seemed to be playing a character from a Miss Marple movie.

  ‘You’re kidding!’ Jack exploded in response. ‘No fucking way, mate. We’ve got a big problem to sort here. Kid’s involved. You’re going to have to wait.’ Jack put the glasses on the table and pulled out the remaining chair. Leather Jacket was now hovering close by.

  ‘Jack, Jack, I’m sure we can work this out. We don’t have any time to waste.’ Rowan’s tone was getting smoother as his intent got nastier.

  ‘You heard what he said. Now piss off.’ Scabber’s voice was flat, and he didn’t alter his expression or position as he delivered this instruction.

  Leather Jacket bristled like an attack dog at the end of a chain. Rowan raised a restraining arm.

  ‘No need for any excitement. We don’t have any issue with Mister McPhee.’

  ‘He won’t be driving anywhere tonight, except home. It’s not convenient.’ Scabber still didn’t raise his voice, but there was a steely ring to it that suggested dissent was out of the question.

  ‘I’m afraid we have an arrangement …’ Rowan’s voice was harsher now, the friendly veneer discarded.

  Scabber stood up. Leather Jacket grabbed Jack’s left arm in an iron grip.

  ‘Let him go.’ Scabber’s tone was still very matter-of-fact.

  Rowan took a small step forward to interpose himself between Scabber and Leather Jacket. Jack wrenched his body hard to the left in an attempt to wriggle free. As he struggled, his line of sight shifted. Almost subconsciously, he noticed two dark figures walking carefully around the edge of the tables. It was Abdirahman and another man, presumably also Somali — and quite possibly the man who’d attacked him in the playground.

  ‘It’s him! He’s here!’ he hissed at Scabber as he continued twisting and turning his body in a futile attempt to escape Leather Jacket’s grip.

  ‘Sorry, sport, business to attend to.’ Scabber suddenly pushed past Rowan, and as he did, slammed his right foot hard down on Rowan’s. Whatever footwear he was wearing, it was harder than Rowan’s flimsy loafers. As Rowan let out an agonised yelp and lurched backwards, Scabber thrust the heel of his right hand hard into Leather Jacket’s solar plexus — a half-blow, half-push that had just enough force to wind him and loosen his hold on Jack.

  Jack couldn’t help admiring Scabber’s finesse. He didn’t want to start a serious brawl, but a couple of warning shots were entirely in order. Scabber kept walking, and Jack was able to disentangle himself and follow. Within a few seconds, they were standing eyeball to eyeball with Abdirahman and his minion. Jack glanced back to check whether they were about to be attacked from behind, and saw Rowan sitting on the chair Scabber had vacated, and signalling to Leather Jacket to wait. Scabber’s crunch to his foot had probably done some damage.

  He pulled out the small book from his pocket and held it up in front of Abdirahman as a sign of serious intent.

  ‘Here’s what you’re after. Where’s the boy?’

  Abdirahman lunged at the book, but Jack was too quick for him. Scabber was even quicker. He grabbed Abdirahman’s right hand with his left, and Jack heard a cracking-crunching sound, suggesting that small bones were breaking.

  Abdirahman didn’t get a chance to retaliate. While Scabber’s left hand was exerting maximum force on Abdirahman’s fingers, Scabber’s right had grabbed his assailant’s genitals. He squeezed so hard that it looked like Abdirahman’s eyes would explode. The two of them were now locked in a bizarre embrace, dancing a ridiculous waltz as the busy lounge bar bubbled and crackled around them. Jack checked again for Rowan and Leather Jacket, but there was no sign of them.

  ‘Tell me where the boy is, you get to keep your balls. Get it?’ Scabber hissed in Abdirahman’s ear. His offsider was paralysed with indecision, clearly unable to act on his own initiative, and probably unused to dealing with someone like Scabber.

  Abdirahman’s left arm waved around helplessly as he fought to overcome the intense pain. He pointed towards the wall and croaked: ‘Out there …’

  ‘In the lane?’

  He nodded, his face still contorted with pain and anger.

  Scabber spoke to Jack without taking his eyes off Abdirahman. ‘You go. I’ll look after Michael Jordan here.’

  Jack looked around the crowd. The other patrons seemed not to have noticed the violent altercations occurring in their midst. Warily eyeing Abdirahman and his sidekick, he took a few tentative steps towards the door. He quickened his pace and relaxed slightly. Then he felt a vicious blow right in the middle of his back. Pain, shock, and disorientation flooded through his body, and he crumpled to the floor. A pair of knees then dropped onto his prone torso, pinning him to the floor. His right arm was grabbed and wrenched up behind his back. The pain was so intense he almost vomited. He was completely helpless.

  He was unable to see his assailant, but as he turned his head while trying to free himself, he caught sight of the corner of a very familiar jacket.

  ‘It appears Jack has other business to attend to after all,’ he heard Rowan say from somewhere behind him.

  It was hard for Jack to follow the events of the next minute or two. He heard a good deal of yelling, and saw Scabber and Abdirahman moving back towards the far end of the bar. Abdirahman’s offsider had disappeared.

  Then he heard a mounting chorus of panic-stricken yelling.

  ‘Fuck! It’s on fire!’

  ‘Shit! Fire!’

  ‘Call the fire brigade!’

  ‘Cops!’

  ‘Watch out … shit …’

  ‘Let’s get out of here!’

  Suddenly, Leather Jacket’s weight on his body shifted, and he let go of Jack’s arm. Some kind of scuffle was happening above him. An abrupt bellow of pain almost ruptured his eardrum. For a moment, he was unable to move. Then his regained freedom of movement washed over him like a liberating spell. He felt another hand grab his arm, and heard Scabber hiss: ‘Let’s go.’

  As Jack stood up and looked around, he saw a grinning Billy the Hippy slipping away through the chaos. Leather Jacket was following him, one hand holding a torn and bleeding ear. Evidently, Billy’s teeth weren’t quite as rotten as they looked.

  Scabber now had a tight hold of Abdirahman’s windcheater behind his neck, scrunching it up so much he was close to strangling him. He was terrified now, and Scabber’s attentions weren’t the only reason.

  A large curtain in the corner of the room was on fire, with flames licking up against the ceiling. All around them, people were scrambling to escape — shouting, stumbling, and bumping into each other.

  It was plain that Abdirahman was just a small-time local thug, and no match for a pro like Scabber.

  As they approached the exit, buffeted by the panic-stricken crowd, Scabber barked at Jack: �
�Give him the book.’

  Jack reached into his pocket as they bustled through the narrow doorway and stumbled out into the crisp, still Carlton night. He didn’t get a chance to complete the process.

  As Scabber stepped down onto the footpath, Abdirahman still firmly in his grasp, there was a blur of movement to their left, followed by a loud ‘thwack’ as a solid piece of timber hit Scabber on the side of the head. He buckled at the knees, staying upright momentarily as he fought the onset of unconsciousness, and then collapsed on the footpath.

  Abdirahman fell forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for air, bathing in the sweet relief that his release had unleashed.

  As Jack was immediately behind them, he lost his balance among the tangle of bodies filling the space he was stepping into. He noticed a dark figure to his left, still holding a piece of timber that seemed to be about the length of a cricket bat. He assumed it was Abdirahman’s henchman, who’d somehow managed to slip outside before them in the confusion.

  To Jack’s relief, the thug’s first priority was extracting Abdirahman from the melee, so Jack was able to wriggle his way to safety, crawling on his hands and knees until he had escaped the crowded area around the doorway.

  Maybe Scabber’s met his match, he thought grimly. Not quite as professional as I thought.

  He didn’t have time to consider Scabber’s failings for long. Abdirahman and his offsiders were now scanning the milling crowd on the footpath, obviously searching for him. Whatever damage they’d managed to do to Scabber, Jack still had what they were after — Farhia’s book. Rowan and his unpleasant partner had disappeared, so at least he was able to concentrate on the main challenge.

  Jack crept around the corner of the Dan into the laneway that had so recently provided him with an escape route. It mightn’t be as useful this time, he thought, as he tried to determine if any dangers lurked along the lane. It was very dark, but going back inside the Dan was hardly an option.

  He stumbled over the pile of discarded building materials still scattered along the side of the hotel, and only just managed to keep his balance.