Comfort Zone

by Lindsay Tanner

  Jack smiled. His suspicion had been confirmed, and another tiny part of the mystery was cleared up.

  ‘What if they come after you?’

  ‘Who? How would they find me? No one knows who I am, mate. Under the radar, low profile, all that stuff. Never had a driver’s licence, never been on the dole, never done the census. I don’t exist! And he didn’t even see me that well, anyway.’ Billy cackled with evident delight.

  ‘Thanks heaps, anyway, you’re a lifesaver. That prick was going to kill me.’

  Billy stood up and turned off the small gas heater.

  ‘No worries, brother — bit of fun.’

  ‘Thought you were one of them non-violent types. What about all that hippy philosophy and all that shit?’

  ‘I am. But you’ve got to stick up for mates, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, true. Well, here’s to it, mate, I owe you one.’ Jack raised his can towards the ceiling with a flourish, and drained it with exaggerated relish.

  ‘Aargh, Robur!’

  A soothing silence settled on them. Jack noted that Billy didn’t ask about the origins of the brawl. He was obviously a good man to have around when trouble started.

  ‘Anyway,’ Billy continued. ‘Not many people still around who were at Sunbury, you know. Got to look after them.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Want another can, mate? Here, have a listen to Pink Floyd while I’m gone. Back in ten.’

  ‘Here’s some cash, mate, I owe you.’

  After Billy returned, he and Jack blathered on about Spectrum’s performance at Sunbury 72 as they drank themselves into oblivion.

  ‘You got any brothers and sisters, man?’ Billy asked as he sank deeper into his moth-eaten armchair.

  ‘Yeah, one sister. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just heard from my brother yesterday. Haven’t seen him for years.’

  ‘Don’t particularly want to see my sister.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Thinks I’m a no-hoper. Married to some bloke, sales manager or something, some joint in Mordialloc. She’s a real social climber, you know.’

  ‘Older or younger?’

  ‘About five years older, might as well be twenty-five. Always hassling me …’

  ‘Big-sister type?’

  ‘Big time. Even when Mum was dying, we’re standing there in the hospital, she’s telling me to make sure I’m sober at the funeral, get a proper job, all that kind of shit. Pain in the arse. Doing the sums on the will before Mum’s even dead. Not that there was much to fight over, of course …’

  ‘What’d she die of?’

  ‘Cancer. Horrible. Was like a skeleton in a rice-paper roll at the end. All yellow, couldn’t move. Bloody awful.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘About thirty, maybe.’

  ‘Yeah, man, awful.’

  Billy lapsed into silence, as the enormities of life and death and the transience of their own existence weighed heavily on them in the alcoholic haze.

  Jack had no idea what time it was when he staggered up the stairs to his flat. He hadn’t had any dinner, and he couldn’t be bothered cooking, so he made himself a toasted-cheese sandwich — always a messy process because of the hopeless griller in his old stove — and slumped down onto his couch.

  He kicked off his shoes and let out a sigh of satisfaction. His version of normality might be very mundane, but it was good to be back. Getting pissed with another single bloke long past his use-by date wouldn’t appeal to most people, Jack suspected, but it was fine by him. He’d had enough excitement for a while.

  The bruises and strains from his various altercations were healing slowly, and he’d even had a couple of good days in the cab. He didn’t let himself get carried away, though: he knew from experience that bad days always followed good ones. It was the third certainty in life, after death and taxes.

  As the memories of his adventures were fading, while he was sitting on the Elgin Street rank, trying not to think about Farhia, Jack got a call from Scabber.

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Scabber — need a lift.’

  ‘Anywhere you want, mate. Long as it’s not Perth, of course.’ He chuckled nervously, wondering what Scabber might be up to.

  ‘Got to put the wind up a bloke in Thomastown. Not worth pinching a car for, and I don’t want to leave footprints. Just need you to drive and wait.’

  ‘Sure. When do you want it?’

  ‘Tomorrow lunchtime. He’s a night-owl. Catch him when he’s just got up.’

  ‘No worries. Where’ll I pick you up?’

  ‘Court House’ll do.’

  ‘No probs. I owe you for sorting that shit out last week … How’s your head?’

  ‘Fine. Rowan been near you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Gave him some friendly advice. Looks like he took it. Smart bloke, Rowan.’

  ‘So why was he into me?’

  ‘Haven’t you worked it out? — it was his little Collins Street mate.’

  ‘Matt? What’s his story?’

  ‘He ripped them off. Then when they gave him a tickle-up in Doncaster, he used you as a hostage, told them he’d spilled everything to you in the cab. Not worth popping you, but you were a risk. You’d seen the house, maybe even heard some names, might blab if they whack the banker. They’re paranoid about that shit. Who’s to know who you might spill your guts to? They’re always looking for drivers, and who better than a cabbie? So they kill two birds with one stone. Once you’re involved, you’ve got a pretty good reason for shutting up. Lot simpler than sending you off to the great freeway in the sky.’

  ‘He told me he was scoring for his boss — some banker guy who doesn’t want to get his hands dirty.’

  Scabber laughed. ‘What’d you expect him to say? “I’m a two-bit double-timing coke-head”? My guess is his boss is as pure as the you-know-what. Anyway, the big guys don’t care who he’s doing it for — he still ripped them off.’

  ‘Shit. What’ve they done to him?’

  ‘Think he paid up. With interest, of course. Getting you involved bought him some time, but they made him clean up the mess. He got the flick from work too.’

  ‘Aren’t they still scared I’ll talk?’

  ‘Probably. Not the only thing they’re scared of, though.’

  ‘What’s Rowan on about? What the …’

  ‘He’s a player. Not the big guy, a distributor. Bit of a pissant, really. I reckon one of them told him about the situation, and somehow it came up that he knew you. Then you became his problem. Must’ve lent the heavy to him to sort you out.’

  ‘So how come they had their goon chase me and Matt all around Brunswick and Carlton?’

  ‘Who was it? Did you see him up close?’

  ‘No, just his car. Night me and Matt saw you at the pool joint.’

  ‘So you never saw him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Probably because there was no one to see. Matt’s in on it, you know. All about putting the frighteners on you.’

  Jack thought about this for a few seconds. He realised that the only evidence of them being pursued by Karl that crazy night in Brunswick was Matt’s statements. Was it all a giant sham?

  ‘I still don’t get it.’ Jack wrinkled his brow, trying hard to understand. ‘Did Matt know I was a mate of Rowan’s when he got me to drive him?’

  ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘So how come …?’

  ‘How many serious dealers you reckon there are in Melbourne? And how many people do you drive in your cab? Once they put the squeeze on him, how hard do you reckon it was for them to work out who you were? You drive a bloke who’s up to no good, gets in a blue with a drug mob, turns out they’re connected to your dodgy mate. Who would’ve thought?’
Scabber’s voice usually carried a hint of sarcasm, but it was on full throttle now.

  Jack thought about it some more. Maybe it wasn’t that much of a coincidence.

  ‘Shit. So they going to come after me again?’

  ‘Told Rowan you’re sweet, to leave you alone. Better not let me down.’

  ‘No way, mate. Don’t like cops any more than you do. Life’s too short. What about them Somali guys?’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Might come after us.’

  Scabber snorted.

  ‘Doubt it. That Abdi bloke’s going on a holiday. A long one.’

  Jack never knew how much of Scabber’s heavy talk was just bluff, but, as usual, he chose not to put it to the test.

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah, see you.’

  At last, the confusing events of the past few weeks were making some sense. Everyone was bullshitting everyone else, and he’d been the poor bastard stuck in the middle.

  18

  Departure

  As Jack waited for Scabber at the Court House hotel, his phone rang. He reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed it.

  ‘Hi, Jack, it’s Emily. How’s it going?’

  ‘Great. How’re you?’

  ‘Not bad. CFS goes up and down, but it’s okay today. Any chance you could drive Farhia and the kids to the airport tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. They leaving already?’

  ‘Yeah. Flight’s at ten, I think, so you’ll need to pick them up early.’

  ‘No worries. Let me know what time, and tell her I’ll call when I get there.’

  ‘Oh, better call me. She’s cut off the phone.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. No worries, let me know.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack. Catch you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah, see you, Emily.’

  Jack was pleased he would get to say goodbye to Farhia. He suspected it was all about getting a free cab-ride, but he didn’t begrudge that. He could draw a line under the whole Farhia business and get on with his life.

  The Thomastown job for Scabber was very straightforward. Glad he’s on my side, Jack thought, as they drove back towards the inner city after a ten-minute interlude in Melbourne’s north.

  He dropped Scabber off in Carlton, and after a few more fares, decided to call it a day. It was a little early for changeover, but he could go home and sort out a few things before he passed the cab to Ajit. He had an overdue electricity bill to deal with, and he didn’t want to risk getting the power cut off. That might mean paying a reconnection fee.

  Jack still felt seedy after some serious drinking over the previous couple of nights, so he opted for a quiet evening watching Law and Order and an early night. He would need to be in good shape in the morning. Although he was saying goodbye to Farhia for good, that was no reason for not doing it properly. No hangovers and dirty shirts, that was for sure.

  He was refreshed and fired up when he walked down the stairs from the flat the following morning, a pleasant spring day that promised much. He arrived at Elgin Street almost ten minutes early, so he took the opportunity to do some stretching and yawning. He called Emily, and a few minutes later he was carrying luggage to the cab.

  Farhia didn’t say much during the journey to Tullamarine. Emily held court from the front seat for most of the trip. For someone with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, she sure can talk, Jack observed.

  ‘They won’t ever change. Always happens — you get a new minister, they promise to fix things, nothing happens, they move on. At my friend’s place in the Richmond walk-ups, there was a hole in the bathroom wall so big you could see the sky through it. They never fixed it.’

  ‘Aren’t they pulling those joints down?’ Jack asked.

  ‘The walk-ups? Yeah, probably going to put up private apartments.’

  Jack kept his thoughts to himself. In his opinion, people paying well below market rent had no right to be choosy. His place wasn’t that much better, and no one gave him a rent subsidy.

  ‘I am thankful for my flat in Carlton. Many people in Somalia do not live very well,’ Farhia said.

  ‘Good point,’ Jack replied. ‘We’ve got a few problems, but Australia’s still a pretty good place.’

  ‘Do you think you will ever come back, Farhia?’ Emily asked, sensing an all-round lack of sympathy for her complaints about public housing.

  ‘I do not think so. Somalia is getting better, and I must help my brother. The Shabab will be defeated.’

  ‘Remember your friends here.’

  ‘That is right. I will telephone you when I am there. There are mobile phones now in Somalia.’

  ‘What do you think, kids? Excited about going on a plane?’ Jack’s attempt at banter with the boys sounded forced, and Yusuf and Omar didn’t respond. He abandoned his efforts to make conversation, and concentrated on his driving. A cocktail of emotions was swirling around inside him.

  ‘So, Farhia, how did Mohammed get in on the act? He’s the one who saved the day, you know.’

  ‘Yes. Aicha speak to him, told him where you are going. I think he followed you, waited outside. He was in Somali army. Many years ago now. But he knows about fighting.’

  ‘How come he’s got a gun? Driving cabs can be dangerous, but I dunno whether guns are really called for …’

  ‘He has no gun. He says he picked up a piece of pipe on the ground, told Abdirahman it was a gun. Abdi knows him — I think he is scared of Mohammed.’

  Ah, thought Jack, that pile of building rubbish I tripped over turned out to be useful. He decided not to question Farhia any further. Clearly, the internal dynamics of the Somali community were even more complex than he had realised.

  As they approached the airport, he turned quickly to Emily: ‘I assume I’m giving you a lift back?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, that would be great, Jack.’

  ‘I can’t park the cab, so I guess I’ll drop you guys at the kerb, and do a loop or two and pick you up.’

  ‘Thanks. I think I’m needed to help with the luggage, find the right counter, all that stuff.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll do the round trip, call if I can’t find you.’

  He drove slowly up the ramp to the departures level, past the Virgin terminal, and came to a halt at the front of the international terminal. The traffic wasn’t that bad, as the morning peak was almost over.

  Jack busied himself lifting their things out of the boot, and helped Farhia and Emily arrange them so they could wheel and carry them into the terminal. For someone leaving the country for good, she had surprisingly little luggage.

  He stepped aside, straightened his back, put his hands on his hips, and took one long, last look at the woman who had captivated him. Her beautiful oval face, deep, enticing eyes, and flowing garb were all indelibly etched on his mind. A mixture of sadness and satisfaction washed through him. His pursuit of Farhia had always been hopeless, but he’d done it anyway, and it had changed him. He was quite proud of what he had done for her.

  ‘Thank you, Jack. I will think of you always. You saved me and my family. I will not forget.’

  Struggling to suppress a banal reply, like ‘All part of the service,’ Jack nodded and mumbled, then looked at Emily as if beseeching her to rescue him from his own emotions. There were tears in his eyes. He made no attempt to embrace Farhia, as he assumed this would be unwelcome. He understood that she was exchanging one set of terrors and threats for another. Who could imagine what awaited her in Somalia?

  ‘We’d better get a move-on. I’ll see you in about ten minutes, Jack.’ Emily could see that he was upset.

  When he collected Emily as arranged, after completing a couple of circuits, the first thing he thought of was her illness.

  ‘Hope you didn’t have to do too much carrying, and all that.’

  ‘No, only a coup
le of small things. Really just an excuse to help her sort out her tickets, and so on. Not easy getting served properly if you’re a Somali woman in traditional dress.’

  ‘Yeah, suppose so. They okay?’

  ‘No problems. Got the tickets, luggage checked, all that. Seats near the back. The flight’s about fourteen hours.’

  ‘Ever been over there?’

  ‘Not really. I went to Lebanon and Turkey when I was a student, but I’ve never been to Africa. Where I live, you don’t need to. I’ve got the rest of the world all around me in my own building.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘What about you? Travelled much?’

  ‘Went to New Zealand once. And a couple of drunken holidays in Bali and Phuket, that sort of thing. That’s all.’

  ‘I’d like to travel again, maybe to central Asia, all those places that end in –stan. Or perhaps eastern Europe, like Bulgaria, Romania — places like that.’

  Jack wasn’t sure why anyone would want to do that, but he thought it prudent not to ask. He let Emily continue her travel musings, and allowed himself to be tantalised by the musical tones of her voice. She sure is different, he kept thinking, as she moved on to Latin America and the struggles of various indigenous peoples.

  The return trip passed quickly.

  ‘Where do you want me to drop you? At the flats?’

  ‘Thanks, that’d be great. Do you want to get a coffee?’

  ‘Er, probably should get round to doing some work …’

  ‘Yeah, guess so …’ There was genuine disappointment lingering in her response.

  ‘… but hey, what the hell. A morning off won’t kill me. Probably end up just sitting on a rank somewhere anyway. I can’t be much more broke than I already am.’

  ‘We can work out which movie to go and see …’

  ‘Yeah, ah, good idea.’

  Jack wasn’t accustomed to being invited out to the movies. He felt out of his depth. Farhia was different. The unbridgeable gulf between them had allowed him to remain in the comfort zone of guaranteed failure. Basking in her admiration and fantasising about a relationship was a good substitute for the real thing. It was almost like relationship porn: no risks and no obligations. Emily was much scarier, because there was a small chance that it might be real.