 
Incy

Wincy

Spider

By Alex Focus

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental and to be honest would be completely mad. The EMP effect used as part of the story line, however, is real.

Smashwords edition published in 2014 by Alex Focus, Killing for Pages.

Copyright © Alex Focus 2014, but

feel free to share it with friends or enemies alike.

Thank you for downloading this Smashwords book by Alex Focus. I would like to get feedback from you. Good, bad or indifferent; feel free to like my Facebook page or give me a review.

Copyright © 2012 Alex Focus

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13:

978-1478363552

ISBN-10:

147836355X

#  Dedication

For Adelise, Jimmy and Johnny.

# Prologue

The computer screen was still. Thirteen names. Thirteen addresses. Thirteen men.

His anger, born of unbearable anguish, bloomed like the mushroom cloud of a nuclear explosion. The half-empty bottle in his hand sailed across the small room to smash against the opposite wall. Sharp fragments of glass exploded in every direction, while the yellow liquid calmly foamed its way down the wall, to pool onto the polished wood floor.

His anger, his guilt, his pain grew inside him like a forest fire. It scorched his rupturing heart until a guttural, inhuman scream erupted from his lips. As he screamed, he smashed his fists on the hardwood desk until his hands were numb from the pain and his voice was but a scratchy rasp.

When his calm had returned, he sought comfort in lining up the thirteen spiders he had carefully killed and prepared — one for each man. Next to each spider, he carefully placed two 0.22 calibre bullets. He counted them and then counted them again. As he counted, he checked that each one had been scored with eight deep cuts in the tip, like the legs of a spider.

He smiled, pleased with his preparation. Even though one bullet would be enough, two would be better. A few microseconds after entry, each one would break apart into eight messengers of death and destruction. The brain would look like a milk shake from hell.

Nevertheless, he was a careful man. He was going to use two, just to be sure, "bang-bang, bang-bang, bang-bang, bang-bang..." he repeated as a mantra.

He would make himself part of their lives and become the instrument of their death, one by one. "Soon, soon... I will be coming for you, motherfuckers! Very, very soon!" he promised them, screaming in the room filled with sadness and anger, filled with sharp glass and sharper hate.

He waited, immobile, for night to come. He was ready.

"I am coming for you," he murmured to himself, over and over. "I am coming for you motherfuckers, I am coming for you motherfuckers..."

Then, he was there, in the house. The lovers were upstairs; he could hear their grunts and their sighs. He could hardly contain himself. His heart beat so fast and so loudly in his chest that he was sure that, they would hear him. His hands trembled and his body was covered with cold sweat. Yet, he waited for them to finish. In the dark he waited, and prepared himself. He slowly took cold and ruthless control of his mind and body

He waited for the three lovers to finish their disgusting orgy. When they were finally finished, he waited for two of them to leave. Then his man was all alone...

He entered the bedroom then, without knocking. The man was now standing and was moving toward the sumptuous ensuite. Startled, he turned around saying, "Are you still here, Mark?" Then he realised that it was not one of his lovers, "What are you doing here?" he asked, embarrassed by his nakedness. It was then that he saw the gun. "What are you doing?" he repeated, the first touch of fear in his voice.

"Shut the fuck up, you motherfucking prick." The killer ordered, pointing the gun at his face.

"Why? What is going on?"

"Shut Up!" The killer screamed at him. "Get down on your knees at the end of the bed, face the wall, your face makes me sick."

"But why? What have I done to...?"

"DO IT! NOW!" The killer shouted again, placing the gun a few centimetres from the man's forehead.

"Please...if it's money that you want...you can have anything, please..." the man begged.

"I don't want your filthy money, you motherfucker! I want you to remember what you did a year ago... do you remember?" The killer gave the man a hard nudge with the end of his pistol, urging the man to answer. "Well, do you?"

"I...I...we...never... please," he begged, sounding very afraid. His bladder emptied onto the expensive carpet, marking the onset of his naked, all embracing fear.

"Please...please we did not mean any harm..." the man said, hoping to be believed.

"NO HARM? NO FUCKING HARM? You fucking pervert! I ought to kill you very slowly, shoot you in the guts and watch you squirm for hours... how would you like that, huh, Motherfucking pervert?"

"No, no... please I am sorry, I am so sorry ... please, I'll never do it again... please oh please," he begged still, tears of despair forming in his eyes. The killer laughed then; he laughed loudly, but not at all nicely.

"Oh, I know you will never do it again, arsehole," he reassured his victim. "You will never do ANYTHING again. You, you are going to die tonight!"

"Please... please have mercy... please."

"Ask mercy from God. I have none. Prepare to die, motherfucker," the killer said and moved his gun to the man's temple, but he paused for a few moments. The man trembled as he waited for death. When it did not come, he turned to the killer hoping that there was to be a reprieve. The killer smiled at him, almost with kindness. "No, no mercy, for you ... die now... the world is a much better place without you."

Bang, bang.

The little gun had coughed twice and the man was still. The smell of death — blood and released waste — filled the room.

The killer picked up the two spent cartridges and then checked the room for any trace of his presence. He found none. He removed a small jar from inside his pocket, he then transferred the little spider onto the dead-man's back, and then he left as quickly and as quietly as he had come.

The small jumping spider was his only message to the world.

# Chapter 1

Sydney – Tuesday: September 22

"Someone is here to see you, Louie," Maria's stern voice woke me from my midday nap.

"Uh?" I answered, as I stirred from a reclining position. My mouth felt like a microwaved gym sneaker, my brain somewhere between dreamtime and the worse hangover of all time. "... Err... Maria, I'm much too...too," I searched in vain for the right words. Suddenly, one lonely neuron sparked and I found them. "Err... too busy right now." Satisfied, I leaned back and prepared myself to return to dreamland.

"It's a client, Louie," Maria said impatiently, emphasis on 'client'. She knew the current state of my workload and bank account - both of us had gone without pay for a couple of weeks.

"Client?" I repeated, startled. What an unusual idea!Thinking like greased lightning, I said, "Okay Maria, please give me a few minutes to... err... finish up here."

"Sure thing, Louie," I could sense in her tone the unspoken "dream -on buster". She knew what I had to do.She had seen my office when she had come in this morning.I had entertained a bunch of the guys from the old days. We had been playing poker all night and had not stopped until sunrise. Now, if you think that you can imagine the result, do not even try. It was bad, very bad: it would need a new word in the English language, something lower down on the scale than 'putrid' might work.

But, always an optimist, I knew that I had it in me to succeed.I sprang up from the old desk chair as if I was on speed. The sudden impetus almost broke it in half. Undaunted, I looked around at the mess in deep thought. I moved around in a circle a bit, as dogs do, when looking for just the right position to curl up and lie down. Decision made, I quickly shoved everything, clean or dirty, rubbish or not into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet - sometimes, my own brilliance even surprises me!

I sprayed a bit of that Aeroguard stuff around while I grabbed a file at random from the top drawer of the very same filing cabinet: "always give the impression you are extremely busy" is my motto.

I took off my three-day-old T-shirt and shoved it in a desk drawer; I had a quick shower-in-the-can with some Gillette Super-Dry and donned a reasonably fresh, microfiber short sleeve shirt over my jeans.

I was good to go! Thirty seconds max, what a performer!

I pressed the intercom, "Maria, I am all finished here, please show them in," I said, proudly assuming a very professional tone.

"You are?" She asked incredulously, "okay, if you say so, Louie."

A few seconds later she opened the office door, poked her head in to check for herself on the state of the office. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Did I note a hint of admiration? She pushed the door open fully and then ushered into my office a young woman, probably in her late twenties.My new, soon-to-be-client, wore a navy blue silk suit that fitted her like a second skin. A string of pearls adorned her neck, the necklace and her large brown eyes were highlighted by matching pearl earrings. She was tall, but not too tall, with a slim body having subtle curves that moved and shifted under the silk in all the right ways. Her face was reminiscent of the kind of rare beauty of a young Elizabeth Taylor. Her auburn hair was naturally wavy, glossy and thick. It had been expensively styled so that it complemented her face perfectly. In short, she was a knockout.

"Louie, please meet Mrs. Lidia Harrison." Maria announced in her official tone, "Mrs. Harrison, Louie Breccia," she added presenting me as if she had just performed a magic trick and conjured me from thin air. Introductions done, she looked at me once more. Her expression told me not to stuff this up and then she retreated to her office, closing the door behind her.

Lidia Harrison seemed to be stuck in the middle of the room, uncertain what to do next. Her expression told me that I had not been what she had expected. I am thirty-seven years old, but through a quirk of genetics, I look as if I am barely out of my twenties. About six foot tall and two hundred pounds, with a dark complexion – I have been told that I remind people of a young, sun burnt, hirsute Gene Hackman on steroids,but I am sure they were just being kind.

"How do you do, Mrs. Harrison," I said offering my hand across the desk, making her next move easy for her. She moved toward me and placed her small hand into my huge and scarred paw. It was soft and cool but her grip was firm. I noticed that she wore no rings and that her nails were spotlessly manicured. A young girl's gold bracelet was on her left wrist, perhaps a remnant of her teenage years.

"Please, would you take a seat," I continued, pointing to the better one of the two old chairs that inhabits the space in front of my desk. She looked down uncertainly, probably wondering if she was likely to catch something terminal, like from a toilet seat. Bravely, she carefully lowered herself onto the lip of the chair – minimum contact might keep her safe from old chair coo-tees.

As she sat down, her short skirt rose up alarmingly high, revealing perfectly formed, bare legs. With some effort, I dragged my eyes up and smiled innocently at her. "How can I help you, Mrs. Harrison?" I asked, wondering if those were brown panties I glimpsed or maybe, no panties at all?

"Mr. Breccia, my husband is Ian Peter Harrison Jr. Does that name mean anything to you?" She said, completely ignoring my inner victory of self-control.

"Ian Harrison of Harrison Industries?" I asked. Panties forgotten, as I mentally reeled back: Harrison Industries were to manufacturing like Coles is to retailing... a very big company, a very rich man. "Why me?" I wondered, inwardly. "Why choose a no-frills detective agency, with all her money?"

"Yes, Mr. Breccia, the very same," she confirmed.

"I see... err... what brings you here, Mrs. Harrison, to see me?" I asked.

"A friend recommended you, I mean recommended your firm, to me... err... John Richards from Richards, Hawthorne and Cheng... the law firm?I believe you have worked for them in the past?"

"Yes I have" I said. I had met Richards when I had worked for his large law firm just once. Fortunately, I had resolved their security problem to our mutual satisfaction.

"I see," I said, but of course, I did not, not yet, "Mrs. Harrison why don't you tell me how I can help you?" I added, helpfully.

"Mr. Breccia, my husband is dead. He was shot, sometime on Sunday. The police will see me as the main suspect. I need you in my corner to prove to the Police that I had nothing to do with his murder." She spoke in short quick sentences, like from a Gatling gun, keeping her tone flat and sharp. She paused, out of ammunition.

She picked up her expensive looking purse and found a gold cigarette case, extracted a cigarette with trembling fingers. I jumped up to light it for her, fishing in my pocket for my trusty, but not gold, Bick lighter. I sat down again, looked for and found an ashtray in the top drawer of my desk. I carefully emptied the many butts it struggled to restrain, into the bin next to me. I moved it toward her on the desk.

She was trying hard to look calm and in control, but the tremor of her hands had let her down. Even her lips trembled a fraction as they parted for the first puff. She inhaled deeply. I must admit that I had lost some of my cool too. Her words had been entirely unexpected. I had been mentally prepared for some sordid divorce work, especially considering how rich Ian Harrison was. In my long career as a detective, I have found that people with lots of money often have the time and opportunity to play up, and they do so, invariably.

But I had not been mentally prepared for murder. I took a few minutes to regroup my thoughts: I followed her queue and looked for a smoke. I found a crumpled packet in the back pocket of my jeans with just a couple of sticks bent and squashed left in it. Carefully extracting one of them so that the paper would not crack open, I placed it in my mouth and lit it up, inhaled deeply and assumed a wise expression, trying not to cough and spoil the moment. Lighting a smoke is always a good cover when your brain is taking a short break.

"I am really sorry for your loss, Mrs. Harrison," was the best I could do after a few moments of deep thought. I paused while she acknowledged my condolences and then I pressed on. "You are right; the immediate family and friends are always the first on the list of suspects. That's just how the statistics of murder turn out to be. Please don't take it personally," I said. I paused again; trying to think of some more words to reassure her but, could find none.

"First off, Mrs. Harrison, you'd better tell me everything that happened leading up to your husband's... err... death. Everything you did and, as far as you know, everything your husband did... leave nothing out, no matter how insignificant it may seem to you," I said and feeling proud of myself, I sat back in my chair, adopting my 'I am just like a doctor, you can trust me' expression.

She, on the other hand, was not impressed. For a moment, she seemed startled at the mere thought of it. Then she shook her pretty head. "Surely, you must be joking, Mr. Breccia. That will take hours. I have another appointment in fifteen minutes..." she said, stabbing her half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray to punctuate her statement.

I knew it was too good to be true! It was time to turn the pressure on. I thought for a moment or two, "I understand completely," I lied, shaking my head in turn. I then stood up and offering my hand, I continued. "Well, it has been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Harrison."

She hesitated, not understanding what was happening.

"You will help me?" She asked, looking confused.

"I am very sorry, Mrs. Harrison, but no, I can't help you." I paused for effect, "you see, Mrs. Harrison, I can't take a case where I am working in the dark from the get-go," I added in a tone that reflected how truly sorry I was. Moreover, I was sorry - the job would have paid a motza! "Look, Mrs. Harrison... if at present you have more important things to do, well..." I paused thoughtfully, "perhaps you can give me a call, after the police arrest you?" I finished, speculatively, tongue-in-cheek.

Was that a killer move or what?

Again, she hesitated. I guessed that the idea that I would refuse the job was not one she could have imagined, let alone considered as a reality. An uncomfortable silence followed. I stood there looking down at her and said nothing, still holding out my hand, as if time had frozen us in this moment of indecision.

Finally, she huffed in annoyance. She briefly searched her Gucci purse, extracted a slim mobile phone from it, and then pressed a speed-dial digit. Her call was answered immediately; she spoke with a very annoyed tone. My extended hand drifted slowly to the desk's surface as I listened.

"Park the car somewhere Henry. I am going to be a while. Could you please call Dr Singh and postpone my appointment for this afternoon? Thanks, and Henry, you might as well go and get some lunch or something...I will call you when I am ready. Right. Thanks."

She then looked at me with the typical pissed-off-female body language working overtime. I was impressed.

"Satisfied?" She asked, arching a beautifully shaped eyebrow over her long brown lashes.

I retracted my hands from the desk, and with a sort of embarrassed gesture of peace-making I said in a tone dripping with apology, "look , Mrs. Harrison, I am sorry, that we seem to have started off on the wrong foot...I do apologize if I have offended you. Please understand that my job is one that centres on information. Without it... there is no job," I explained, sitting back down. I leaned over the desk looking at her with all the sincerity I could muster so early in the day, and without a drink. "Mrs. Harrison, I have been doing this sort of work for a long time. I was a cop in homicide for a few years and then a private investigator for a few more... trust me when I say that minute details are the lifeblood of this business. So, please bear with me and I'll try to be as quick as possible," I said, trying to soothe her bruised feelings.

"I am sorry, Mr. Breccia, of course... I understand. This, this... it all seems like a nightmare," she said. Her lovely body trembled briefly, as if a shiver had just journeyed down her back.

"Please, there is no need to apologize at all, Mrs. Harrison; I cannot begin to understand how hard this must be for you. Please do relax, and think about the last few days. Meanwhile, if you don't mind, I would like to ask Maria, my assistant, to come in and take down some notes as you talk. Is that okay with you?" I asked. She seemed to relax a bit more and nodded her assent. I pressed the intercom, "Maria could you please join us?"

"Sure Louie, I'll be right in. Anyone want something to drink?" She asked and I looked up at my guest.

"Would you like a cup of coffee or tea... err... water?" I asked. I could not hold back a small tremor in my voice as I spoke the last choice.

"Would you have... something a little bit stronger? I think I am going to need it," she answered.

"JD and Coke, pre-mixed... will that do?" I said, sub vocalizing a silent prayer.

"That will do very well, thank you," she said with relief in her voice

"Did you hear that, Maria?" I asked, while thinking to myself: 'There IS a God! And He wants me to have a drink!'

"I did," she said.

"Thanks," I said.

After a few moments, Maria entered the office carrying her steno pad, many sharpened pencils, three cans of JD and Coke and three frozen-cold glasses. She poured quickly and efficiently three drinks and placed them on my desk. She sat down and looked at me with the female expression of, "Well? What are you waiting for?" I nodded in obedience. To show some measure of independent thinking paused to take a long, cold pull at that glass. Thankfully, a few billion brain cells finally woke up. My client greeted her drink with the same apparent sense of relief.

"Well, Mrs. Harrison, why don't you start right at the beginning? A short history, you know...how you met your husband. The kind of marriage you had... err... any affairs, yours or his and finish off by telling us about the last few days in as much detail as you can?" I said to her, encouragement oozing from my tone. At first, she seemed a bit unsure where she should start. She looked into her lap for a few moments and then began her story.

"I met Ian..." and then she talked for about two and half hours. Occasionally, Maria or I would interrupt the telling, if we needed clarification of certain aspects of her story, but for the most part, it was just her show.

".... and that's about it, Mr. Breccia. Do you think you can help me?"She concluded.

"I'll certainly do my best for you, Mrs. Harrison.Give me a little time to find out what I can from the police. Meanwhile, if you do not already have a good solicitor experienced in criminal law, you need to get one right away. If the police decide to question you some more, and they will, and soon, you must say nothing, without a solicitor present." I admonished.

"Can... can you suggest anyone? I have never needed a criminal solicitor before... I really don't know if John Richards does that sort of thing," she said. I smiled inwardly at her terminology: 'criminal solicitor'; what they charge is certainly criminal!

"No, his firm deals with just commercial law and the like. You need a specialist. One of the very best I know is a lady by the name of Sandra Pavlakis. She can be a real thorn for the police, as I know from bitter experience. Would you like Maria to make an appointment for you?" I said.

"Would you please?" She asked, looking at Maria with puppy eyes.

"Of course, Mrs. Harrison... I will go and do it right now. Please excuse me," Maria reassured her. Fortunately, she did not pat her on the head on her way out.

"Mrs. Harrison, my rate is a thousand dollars a day, plus expenses. Do you have any problems with that?" I asked, my hands under the desk, fingers crossed.

"No problems at all, Mr. Breccia...will this do for now?" She asked extracting a cheque, which she must have written in advance, and handing it to me... it was for five grand!

"It will do fine, thank you," I smiled, hiding my relief the best I could. I stood up and extended my hand, "Maria will give you our standard contract to sign. Mrs. Harrison, please don't worry, you will be in good hands. Sandra is great. Meanwhile I'll be doing my best for you as well... and, again I am really sorry for your loss," I added.

"Thank you, Mr. Breccia, you have been very kind..." she said standing up in turn and extending her delicate hand.

"Please, Mrs.Harrison, call me Louie..." I said smiling, taking care not to squeeze her hand too hard.

"I am Lidia... thank you again, Louie," she turned around and went to see Maria in the outer office. I watched her walk away from me and she looked just as good going, as she had looked coming.

I sat back in my chair and went through her story step by step in my mind. I would be doing it again with Maria and her detailed notes, but the feeling I had at this stage was that beautiful Lidia had lied to us, which was not good news.

It was a straightforward tale: old-money-catholic-girl meets self-made-man. They fall in love and then they marry, in spite of vigorous parental prohibition. The love must have gone elsewhere at some stage in the marriage, because right now, she did not seem to be too broken-up by her recent loss. I wondered why she had lied. Could she be guilty?

Maria entered my office without the need to knock, she sat down with her notes in her lap and still nurturing the same drink, but she had brought me a fresh one. She is a true gem.

"Thanks," I said taking a drink and lighting up the last smoke, "so, what did you think?" I asked.

"She is lying," she said.

"Yeah, I think so too. Do you think she lied about all of it?" I asked.

"It's hard to tell where the truth ended and the lies began," she said.

"What do you reckon?" I asked.

"Dump her."

"Just like that?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes, we can't have a client who lies to us. We'd be chasing our own tails like a stupid puppy," she said.

"I see," I said.

"But I know you won't dump her. I saw you looking at her legs, her boobs, her eyes... you are really hopeless," she said, shaking her head, in mock despair.

"We can't dump her. She signed a contract, right?" I pointed out, not denying any of her observations.

She said nothing.

"And she has agreed to a thousand a day plus expenses," I announced and then I played my ace-card, handing over the cheque.

"In that case she is definitely a keeper," she said, quickly changing her mind. "At least I'll get paid soon..." she added wistfully.

"We will both get paid." I agreed, and smiled.

"So, where do you want to start?" She asked turning the pages of her notebook to where she thought would be a good place to start.

"Any suggestions?" I asked, taking the bait.

"Well, while you were still dreaming about her bra-less boobs, I phoned Steve and found out that he is the lead detective on the Harrison case... lucky for you, uh?" She said.

"Very," I said. Detective Sergeant Steve Lucas had been my partner when I was still with the Force, about three years ago or so. He is still my best friend. A friend like Steve comes around once every three lifetimes, if you are real lucky.

"You two are having a late lunch, liquid or otherwise, in about two hours, at the usual spot," she added, with a smile. She knew that I was always keen to have a drink with Steve.

"Excellent. Will you join us?" I asked.

"No. I have something that needs taking care of..." she said and her tone changed, the smile had gone from it. "You two talk better when alone," she added to divert the focus away from herself.

"Right," I lied, disappointed and alerted that something was not at all right.

"I may not be here, when you drag yourself back... I need to leave early. Anyway, you'll be too pissed to think straight after a lunch with Steve. You'll probably want to take a nap," she predicted with the confidence based on experience but her body language was awkward, a little artificial: as if her true emotions it were being suppressed.

"Right," I repeated, like an idiot. While a strange and unpleasant, feeling descended on me like a cold, wet blanket. Trouble? Was she having some kind of trouble?Was she afraid of something... someone?

"Trouble? Can I help?" I asked, starting to worry, "I want to... anytime, you know that," I continued with the empty-stomach feeling growing in me.

"I know, Louie," she said, nodding. When she looked into my eyes, I knew that she was in trouble and at the same instant; I realized that she was not going to tell me about it. "But there is no trouble, get along now or you'll be late." She added diverting her eyes.

I slowly got up and ambled to the door with no enthusiasm; I hesitated at the door. I was looking for something to say, but there was nothing. Nothing that would have convinced her to open up to me. She noticed my hesitation and nodded in my direction

"I am okay, Louie, really. Go on or you'll be late," she repeated forcing a smile. I nodded in turn and left the office, all the while knowing, that I should have insisted.

# Chapter 2

Sydney – Tuesday: September 22

Parramatta is located about 23 km west of the Sydney CBD. The Darug people lived in the area for many generations prior to the European invasion. They called the area 'Burramatta' which, when translated, means "the place where the eels lie down". Not coincidentally, the local Rugby League team calls itself the 'Parramatta Eels'.

The suburb of Parramatta sits on the bank of the Parramatta River and lies in the approximate geographical centre of the Sydney Metropolitan Area. Since the year 2000, because of its central location, Parramatta has grown in importance to the State Government. The relocation of the New South Wales Police Force Headquarters to Parramatta was part of this expansion and it was where Steve was currently stationed.

From the CBD you can reach Parramatta by road, by train or by catching a very pleasant ride on a ferry or, affectionately, the River Cat. This twin hulled ferry sails from Port Jackson up the Parramatta River to arrive at Parramatta about an hour later, with a few stops at various wharfs to pick up and disembark its few intrepid commuters.

At night, the drive from the City to Parramatta is not too taxing. It's almost a straight-line journey: down Broadway, which morphs into Parramatta Road, then onto the M4 freeway and in half an hour, you are there. In the middle of the day, it is another story: the traffic will send you bonkers. The train ride is uninteresting as it passes through many industrial areas, with their associated English-style industrial slums.

I decided that the ferry ride on the River Cat was just what that mythical doctor might have ordered. I left the car where it was and left the trains to serious commuters. Because the river runs through many industrial areas of Sydney, its upper regions were, for more years than I can remember, regarded as being devastated and polluted beyond redemption. Enter the 'greenies' and that paradigm shifting event known as the Sydney 2000 Olympics: the banks of the river were given a second chance at life. They are now almost pristine mangrove habitats with much bird and fish life. It was an enjoyable and relaxing way to spend an hour. Although, I knew that I would be catching a taxi back to the office. As Maria had predicted, I would be too pissed for a repeat of the adventure – if you fall out of a taxi, you have little chance of drowning.

I was due to meet Steve at our usual pub. It is a quiet watering hole, within walking distance of Police Headquarters.Its patrons are mostly cops. It is a good place to discuss cases or just take time out and relax. You can do this without the fear of being overheard by strangers and especially by the enemy of any investigation: the press. The last reporter that dared enter our 'Copdom' is now writing for the gardening section of a country newspaper – no one would talk to him and the only way he would have got a story was to kill someone himself.

I was early for our meeting, being a self-employed freeman. Steve was late, being a State employed slave.

"How yer going?" He asked, as he walked toward me. Steve is taller than I am and quite thin. His body is wiry and has that easy-flow, relaxed movement that you will only find in the Australian outback. Born and bred in the bush he transferred to the Big Smoke to become a detective. When we were first partnered, I had hated the idea of dragging a rookie with me, and a country bumpkin to boot. But Steve had proven himself to be very fast learning and only after a few short weeks working together, we seemed to mesh like a hand and a glove. Now, I could not imagine life without Steve in it.

"Good and you? And you are late," I said.

"Overworked and underpaid... guess why I'm late," he answered.

"Come work with us, then you can be underworked and underpaid, but at least it will be fun." I said.

"Please, don't tempt me. But I have a wife, kids, a mortgage, a boat, and a very hungry dog to look after. Whereas you, you just have your drinking problem," he protested in a mock, downtrodden tone.

"I have no problem drinking, I do it expertly." I assured him, "and I have Maria to look after too," I added proudly.

"In your dreams, boyo! It is she that looks after you. Though why she does it, is still a mystery to all of us. Me, I think you must be blackmailing her or something," he said.

"Thanks, with friends like you, who needs..." I started.

"... Beggars can't be choosers," he finished.

"Anyway," I reminded him, "you don't have a wife, kids, house or boat.All you have is that thing you insist is a dog. Everyone else knows that it is actually over-ripe road kill."

"Leave Roger alone, he is a dear thing...when he is not farting," he said, protectively.

"What do you feed that dog, anyway? His arse should have 'BEWARE: Toxic Waste' stamped in big red letters all over it!" I suggested.

"He eats what I eat," he said, proudly.

"And that explains why you live alone," I said.

"Thanks," he said.

Now that the male-bonding thing was over, we both took a thoughtful and long sip from our drinks. In Australia, when ladies meet they hug and kiss and all that stuff. On the other hand, males usually trade insults in an affectionate kind of way. For example, it is not unusual to hear someone greet a good friend in pub screaming at the top of his voice, "How yer goin', ye ol' cunt?" This can be a startling experience to tourists and other sensitive people.

"So!" He said, "The lovely Maria said that you want to know about the Harrison case. Is that right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Harrison ... Lidia has hired me to make sure you don't fuck up completely and arrest her for it," I explained.

"Sorry to tell you, old mate, but so far, she looks real good for it." He said smugly and counting each point on his thin but strong fingers, he continued. "She has no alibi. They had a very loud argument the previous day. Divorce was the topic, which he refused to give her. He was shot twice with a .22 gun. She is registered as owning one of those, which, by the way, has miraculously disappeared. She inherits the whole lot... and we are talking about a LOT, with capital letters," he finished with a self-satisfied look on his face and took a long drink.

"I sent her to see Sandra," I dropped my bomb, deflating all his smugness in one hit. It was definitely my straight flush to his four aces.

"Shit! Gee, thanks a lot, you bastard! She is going to be a right pain in the arse!" He complained loudly, acting depressed.

"Sorry, Steve, but my clients always get the best." And this time I counted on my fingers. "The best detective and the best lawyer." I imitated his lost smugness.

"Bite my arse," he answered, smiling.

"Cheer up mate, Sandra will keep her honest," I pointed out, trying to be the positive.

"And double the amount of work I'll have to do," he parried, trying to be negative.

"Where was he shot?" I asked, changing the subject.

"In the bedroom," he said, pan faced.

"Not in the library? I meant, where on his body?" I said.

"Two contact shots to the temple," he said raising his hand and showing two fingers up, taking the opportunity to give me the 'bird'.

"Mmm... That doesn't sound right to me. Women-scorned or women-angered, usually empty the whole gun, not minding what they hit... and they mostly miss." I said, ignoring his rude gesture.

"Yeah, I know that," he said.

"It sounds like it was done by a pro," I said.

"Yeah I know that," he said.

"And that's why she is still walking around... right?" I said more as a statement than as a question.

"Yeah I know that," he said.

"Of course she could have bought herself a hit-man, with all her money," I said.

"Yeah I know that," he said.

"But, it takes some time and a lot of know-how to find a hit-man," I said.

"Yeah I know that," he said

"That's all you got, so far, right?" I concluded.

"Yeah, I know that," he said.

"Gees, you have been a big help!" I said.

"Yeah, I know that," he repeated for the nth time. Sometimes, Steve's vocabulary can be somewhat limited.

We both ordered another drink and sat for a while with our own thoughts. When the drinks came, we ordered a couple of their homemade toxic pies. That's because we are real men and hence don't know any better. He took a long pull at his light beer.

"Anything else?" I asked. I knew there was a lot more, but Steve likes a lot of foreplay.

"He was having an affair," he said and I nodded, not in the least surprised.

"She was having an affair," he said and I nodded, but I was disappointed that Lidia had not mentioned it. I now needed to have another chat with our client.

"He was banging his..." he started to say.

"... His secretary?" I interrupted.

"Yeah...but, his secretary is a man," he said, feeling he had won a point.

"What? He was gay?" I asked, surprised.

"Looks that way," he said.

"With a wife that looks like that?" I said, thinking that this was something else that she had left out of her story.

"Go figure," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Is she banging the chauffeur, then?" I asked.

"No, she is banging her doctor, and probably as we speak," he predicted.

"Shit! I am already sick of this case!" I said.

"Me too," he said.

We both took long drinks and pondered upon the lunacy of the human condition. Well, Steve probably did. Me, I thought that I really needed to go and take a leak. Being a man of action, I went to take a leak. When I returned, it was Steve's turn to take a leak. When we were both leaked out and sitting down again, our noxious lunch was served with a flourish reserved for a gourmet meal. I did not like the evil smile on the waitresses' face as she placed them before us... it almost had a hint of a dare.

At this stage, the conversation stopped entirely because Steve is a slow and meticulous eater. His attention was focused in the careful inspection of each portion before attempting to put it into his mouth. Small bits of unidentifiable material started to line up on the edge of his plate as he performed an autopsy on his lunch.

I used an entirely different method, which had been honed by being brought up with six brothers: if you weren't a fast eater, you missed out. I added lots of tomato sauce, pepper, chili sauce and then the pie was good to go. Three bites, with little or no chewing and it was gone. You see, I fully trusted my stomach to sort out the edible from the inedible.

By the time Steve finally finished sorting and eating, I had devoured my pie, sucked down another drink and consumed two smokes.

"What are you going to do next?" He asked.

"I am not sure," I said.

"Me neither," he said. We like to keep our conversations simple, that way we both understand them.

"Anything interesting from the pathologist?" I asked, as he knew I would.

"Oh yes, now that you mention it," he said, as if it had slipped his mind – he just wanted me to ask.

"And..." I said, expectantly

"Whoever shot him, wasted their time and bullets," he observed.

"How so?" I asked. This was beginning to feel like I was extracting teeth.

"Ian Harrison had terminal cancer, he would have been dead inside three months," he said.

"Do we know if he knew?" I asked.

"He probably knew or at least suspected something was wrong," he said.

"Do we know if she knew?" I asked.

"I have not asked her yet," he said.

"If she knew about it, she would have just bid her time, instead of shooting him." I pointed out.

"Maybe," he said, and then as if, the thought had just struck him, "maybe not." He added.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Maybe she could not wait," he said. "Maybe the Doc was putting pressure on her."

"Maybe..." I said, not convinced. "Anything else from the patho report?" I asked, but I knew there must be, unless the pathologist had been blind and stupid.

"Yeah," he said.

"And?" I prodded.

"He had sex not long before he died," he announced.

"The patho?" I asked, smiling.

"No, the victim," He answered, raising his eyes skyward.

"Homo or...?" I hesitated.

"Definitely homo..." He said.

"Bodily fluids?" I guessed.

"Yep, two locations: 'in the anal cavity and in the oral cavity'" he said, using his index fingers to place imaginary quote marks.

"Great!" I said, thinking about the pie. It had been bad going down, and I certainly did not wish it to stage a comeback.

"And that's not all," he added, with obvious glee at my discomfort.

"There is more?" I asked, fearing the worst.

"Yep, from..." And he paused, trying to add suspense, or increase my discomfort, or probably both, "at least two... different men!" He finished, with the satisfaction of having achieved the right effect on me. He had a long drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled at me.

Don't get me wrong I am not homophobic. I reckon people should derive pleasure anyway they see fit, as long as it hurts no one. But, please, just don't tell me about it.

"You mean that, he was two-timing a boyfriend, with whom he had been two-timing his unreal looking wife?" I asked, almost recovering from the mental picture. "The guy needed shooting." I commented.

"And," he continued, drawing out the 'and' as if it was three syllables, "the Doc. feels that they may have been simultaneous," he finished, smiling.

"Simultaneous? That's a big word for you; you even know what it means?" I asked.

"One up front and one up back," he explained with obvious enjoyment.

"Thanks for the picture." I said, grimacing.

"No problem," he said.

"Anything else?" I asked with dread in my voice.

"That's about it... and now, that I have spoiled this unlovely meal for you, I really need to get back to work," he said, " you know, some of us do work for a living" He added, looking at his watch and then finishing his drink..

"I live to work!" I claimed.

"What's that mean?" He asked.

"No idea, but it sounds good. Are you going to do some DNA screening?" I asked.

"You bet. I'll send Martha to collect a sample from you," he promised.

"You do that and I'll come over and shoot your dog," I promised in turn.Martha is a particularly unpleasant desk sergeant we both disliked. Don't worry, the feeling was returned in spades.

"You leave Roger out of this," he warned, shaking a finger at me as if I was his naughty two-year old son.

"I'd rather fuck Roger than Martha." I said.

"Me too," he agreed, thoughtfully. He stood up and saluted."Cop-you-later-mate-r. Let me know if you do any brilliant detecting," he finished, getting ready to leave.

"I will, as soon as Maria tells me what it should be." I countered, waving a goodbye.

"Yeah, I know that," he mumbled on his way out.

When I got back to the office, Maria was long gone. I decided to do some deep thinking about the case on the office lounge. I was asleep within the minute.

# Chapter 3

Sydney – Wednesday: 23 September

Maria woke me up the next morning when she opened the office at seven, as she had done every weekday since she had started working with me. My own hours were a lot more... err ... Flexible.

"Have you been sleeping in here all night long? This place smells like I don't know what!" she said, opening the only window, just as I was surfacing toward reality.

"What does an 'I don't know what', smell like?" I asked, always eager to learn more.

"Like the pies from that place, except worse," she retorted.

"Don't remind me," I begged with a shiver in my voice.

"Why do you two insist on eating there?" she asked, looking at me, with no pity in her eyes

"Tradition... it's a boy thing," I edged: I really have no idea why we still battle with those pies; one day they'll kill one of us. I changed the subject, "Everything OK, then?" I asked, still worried.

"It will be," she assured me. "What did Steve have to say?" She asked, changing the subject in turn.

I told her what Steve had said, including our discussion of Roger, Steve's dog.

"Roger is sweet," she said, surprising me.

Had she been to Steve's place? How come I did not know about it? I let it pass, for now.

"I guess you will go and have another talk with Lidia and while you are there why not talk to the house staff and finally to the unethical doctor?" She continued, in a way that it wasn't really a question.

"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing." I lied.

"Really?"She asked, surprised.

"Yeah," I lied again.

"I phoned Lidia yesterday afternoon, she is expecting you at 9. You have plenty of time to go home and take a shower first." She said and looked at me with an expression that should be reserved only for wives, and not for the objects of our wildest fantasies.

"Yeah, I was on my way to my apartment right now, you bet" I lied, this was becoming a habit. I came off the lounge and made my way toward the door.

"Good, then... I guess...I'll see you later on, Louie," she said. But the tone in her voice stopped me. I turned around and looked at her and was about to say something; anything. But she smiled to reassure me that all was OK, and waved me to go on.

"Uh...OK see you soon, Maria" I said uncertainly, wanting to say more, wanting to ask her what was going on, but being unable to phrase it so that it did not come out sounding like the third degree. "...then, see you, soon" I repeated uselessly, turned and left.

I wish I hadn't.

My studio apartment is situated within walking distance of my office in an inner city suburb with the endearing name of Woolloomooloo. The flat is basically, a very expensive cupboard with the redeeming feature that from its miniscule balcony I can see the blue waters of Sydney Cove. I can even see a small portion of the now famous Finger Wharf.

For many years, Finger Wharf was reputed to be the largest timbered-piled building in the world. It was finished in 1915 at which time it was used to export bales of wool to the 'old Country'. It was also used to export Australian troops for the protection of the 'old Country' in two World Wars. As such, it may have been the last part of Australia that many Diggers touched before going to strange lands to be killed for obscure reasons by almost identical young men.

Today it has been extensively revamped as an expensive multifunctional complex, consisting of a five star hotel, restaurants, shops and residential apartments, which are some of the most expensive and sought after residences in the country, probably due in part, to a well-known 'Gladiator' having his own $14 million penthouse on Finger Wharf.

And with that, who needs anything else? That is, essentially, all I had: a bed and a good stereo system and a view.

I am not one for cooking, or washing up. I had no pots, dishes, cups or cutlery. I did not need to cook – just down the stairs was Sergio's Café, an excellent little Italian restaurant and espresso coffee bar. As I passed Sergio's establishment to enter the little doorway that led to my apartment, I waved to him and he knew to prepare and bring up a double-shot short black with no sugar and two croissants with ham and cheese. They would be waiting for me when I finished showering.

I don't like washing clothes either, by the time you wash and get them dry or even take them to the dry-cleaners and all the rest...what a fucking hassle! Instead, I jump into Lowes (there is a Lowes-Clothes-Discount-Store in every shopping centre of every suburb in Sydney, it must be Council Ordinance or something) a few times a year and buy a couple of dozen of everything I need. I throw the used ones into the Smith's Family or St. Vinnie's bin when I'm done wearing them, charity begins at home, right?

Cleaned, clothed and breakfasted I was ready for some detecting. I drove towards Lidia's house in my other vice: Doris.

Doris is a fully reconditioned 1955 Cadillac Eldorado, and she is the love of my life. No doubt, she is a petrol-guzzling dinosaur in this day and age, with a carbon footprint of a T-Rex, but who cares? Not me, I love looking at her, sitting in her and driving her. On a nice spring morning, even sex is not as good as driving with Doris with her top down, believe me. Okay, okay, maybe not, but it's close.

And as luck would have it, it was a beautiful spring morning.

Sydney, for the most part, has a temperate climate: most days are great, some are a little hot in the middle of summer and in winter the temperature seldom gets below ten degrees C. But spring and autumn are the best: mornings are bright and crisp and make you feel like life was meant to be easy. While other parts of the world are suffering under all sorts of calamities, like tornadoes, cyclones, floods, avalanches and the like, 'Sydneyites' complain if the temperature rises above thirty!

So I put the top down on Doris and feeling great, I cruised through the city streets, past Hyde Park and down William Street toward the part of Sydney known as the Eastern Suburbs, land of the rich and famous and of a lot of Kiwis, our close brothers from New Zealand.

Lidia lived in an 'eastern' suburb of Sydney called Point Piper. Point Piper was named after a Scottish-born military officer, Captain John Piper, who arrived in the newly formed colony in 1792. He quickly had a mansion built by the freely available convict labour on 190 acres of waterfront land, which today would include not only Point Piper but also portions of Double Bay and Rose Bay. Unfortunately, a review of Capt. Piper's performance as the head of the Customs led to his attempted suicide by drowning in one of the wonderful bays that were his backyard. He was subsequently forced to sell his holdings at Point Piper for £5 000, and move to the bush. How are the mighty and greedy fallen!

Today, the price per square metre of real estate in Point Piper is one of the most expensive in the world, To give you an idea, the total value of the properties water-fronting on just one kilometre of the Wolseley Road has been estimated to be just a smidgen below a billion Australian dollars. That's a thousand dollars for each millimetre!

The Harrison residence was a multi-floor mansion on the waterfront. From my balcony, I could see one of the best harbours in the world; the Harrisons could swim in it, had they been crazy enough to tease the resident and always hungry sharks.

As expected a security guard in a smart uniform, stopped me at the gate.

"Hi, I am Louie Breccia, and I am expected." I said, waving my PI license as if it was a ticket to Xanadu, and Kublai Khan's widow was expecting me for lunch.

"Yes sir, please drive through." He said smartly, but I caught him eying my Doris with impudence.

"Nice car," he said as I passed.

"You bet," I answered the pervert, and without hesitation, drove through.

I drove up the short circular driveway to the front door of the mansion, and parked. I had expected a maid or a butler to open the front door, but Lidia herself was there to welcome me in.

"Impressive," she said.

"I know... the car looks good too," I said and she was polite enough to smile at my lame joke.

"How are you today, Louie?" She asked showing me in. She did not look good today; it must have been a sleepless night. Her features were pale and drawn.

"I am fine, thank you. How are you doing?" I asked.

"I have had better days or nights. Thank you for asking, Louie... please... come... this way," she answered, showing me into an elegantly attired lounge room, which must have been three times bigger than my entire flat. She sat on the white leather lounge and I picked one of the very comfortable looking armchairs.

"Would you like a drink?" She asked.

"I am fine thanks, Lidia," I said, fighting the need to take my shoes off and curl up into a foetal position, the chair felt like a womb. "I need to ask you... just a few more questions, if you don't mind. Then I would like the address of your... err... doctor" I said, not one to beat around the bush.

"Why would you want to talk to him?" she asked, trying to hide her sudden alarm.

"Lidia, you hired me as a detective. It should not come as a surprise that what I do is 'detect'. It would be a real good idea if you stopped all this bull and started being straight with me. You know, I am working for you and I only have your interest in mind. I think you know very well why I wish to talk to him." I said, probably a little more harshly than was necessary. What the hell, once started, I do tend to get carried away.

She looked at me for a long time, at one point I thought she was going to break out and cry, but she was a tough lady on the inside, and quickly got a grip on herself.

"Yes, I guess I do... I am impressed, Louie, it did not take you long to tear open my sordid life," she said in a matter of fact tone.

"It's what I do, Lidia," I said. "It would have been a real good idea if you had been straight with me from the get-go." I added.

"Yes, I see that now. Okay, Louie, let's start again... no more lies," she promised, like a good little girl would do, to a scolding parent. That's when I realized what she was really like:a grown up little girl lost in a life she had not been prepared for and had never imagined.

"Good," I said, easing my tone and smiling, and resisting the temptation of adding 'girl' at the end of it.

"My marriage was crap, Louie. Ian was as gay as they come from the very beginning. He married me so he could stay in the closet for as long as possible. Lately, I needed something in my life too, and Mho has been there for me." She said, admitting it as if it was a sin, and I was her confessor.

"Mho?" I asked.

"Dr Mohamed Sing, he is the kindest and most beautiful person I know," she said, brightening up at the mere thought of his name.

"I see," I said noncommittally.

"Ian had many lovers... all male. No token females for Ian, not even his own wife" She said bitterly.

"How long have you been seeing Mho?" I asked

"About six months, and don't worry, he is not married," she added as if that was going to matter to me or as if I was sitting there in secret judgment of her actions.

"Why didn't you get a divorce?" I asked.

"I was afraid of being left with nothing.I married Ian against my parent's wishes, as I think I told you. They hated him and mistrusted him from the very start. But, I did not listen; I thought I had found my one true love. Ian insisted on a prenuptial, I did not know why at the time but, I was so in love with him that I agreed without thinking. Recently, I decided I wanted out of the situation and I really did not care if I ended in the poor house or not, I just wanted out of the scam that was our marriage... we had a really bad fight a few days ago when I told him I was going to get a divorce. He hit the roof... he was so angry. He shouted that there was no way that would happen, and then he laughed and said I would be penniless. I lied and told him that I had evidence of all his infidelities and that most courts with that sort of evidence would ignore the pre-nup. That got him really wild. He shouted that he would kill me first... I thought he was going to kill me, literally. He hit me to the floor and had his hands around my neck, choking me. Fortunately, Henry intervened and I was able to get away. I stayed away for the whole day and night. When I returned, the next morning, I found him naked in our bed, dead. I called the police, and later I called Henry," she said, her words coming out like air being released from a pressure can, "the bed looked like it had been the stage of one of his disgusting orgies," she added with an unpleasant expression on her pale face.

"Why didn't you tell me all this yesterday?" I asked.

"It's all so... so, I don't know... dirty, disgusting... embarrassing. I was brought up very strictly, Louie, catholic education, catholic all-girls school, I was a virgin when I married Ian and, would you believe it... I was still a virgin when I met Mho. This sort of stuff was all new to me all... so, so frightening I guess." she answered.

"So, where did you go, when you left here?" I asked.

"I was so upset I just drove and drove...I am not even sure for how long, but it was a long time, most of the day. I ended up booking a room in some dingy Motel and drinking myself to sleep... not sure how many of those little bottles I had before I passed out," she said, hesitating as if trying to recollect something that had happened a long, long time ago.

"Can anyone support this? Do you have the name of anyone that you saw, that you met...maybe Mho?" I asked.

"No, I was in too much of a state to see Mho... and my face with Ian's slap showing, I... I did not want Mho to see me like that. I suppose, the Motel would have my signature... if that helps?" She said.

"Where was the Motel?" I asked... it couldn't be that easy.

"Not very far from here, not sure of the suburb, but it took me about a half hour to get back here," she said. I had been right - it wasn't going to be that easy.

"I thought you said you drove for a long time," I asked, confused.

"I did but... I guess I just went around and around, I wasn't thinking about it," she explained, her voice becoming strained.

"OK...well it doesn't help us. The police will say that you had plenty of time to come back here, shoot Ian and then return to the motel," I said, shaking my head in disappointment.

"But I didn't, Louie...I really didn't, please believe me," she said, pleading, close to tears.

"I know you didn't Lidia. I was just saying what the police would be able to say. I did not say that I believed it," I assured her.

"I guess so," she said, "Sandra said the same thing to me," she added.

"It is a tough deal on you Lidia, I am sorry. Unfortunately, the police will use some, if not all of it to build up a motive, a good one by the sounds of it. And now they will be able to show opportunity, as well. Still, it's not all bad news, Lidia. For starters, the lead detective is a very good friend of mine; in fact, we were partners for a long time. I know that he is straight, but best of all - he is frightened shitless of Sandra, so he is not going to rush into anything." I reassured her, "what did you think of her?... err... Sandra?" I asked.

"Oh yes! She is great! Thank you so much for that. Between you and her, I know I will be all right now. If I was going to kill Ian at all, I would have killed him during our first year, that was the worst," she said, her eyes saddened by the memory.

"You did not know he was gay, when you married him?" I asked, stupidly.

"No idea, I thought he was a real gentleman, not asking for sex before marriage. I thought he respected my catholic upbringing... but, all the time he was having it off...with his mates, his lovers. Not long after we were married... he delighted in upsetting me with his doings. He would leave pictures, and worse of all, used condoms, un-cleaned toys for me to find. It was horrid. That first year I hated him, hated him so very much. I could have killed him then, I wanted to. But, slowly I got used to it and finally I started ignoring it all... for the last three years we have hardly talked...until the fight," she said, remembering it as if it had occurred to someone else, someone she had loved and lost.

"Make sure you don't tell any of this to the police, OK?" I cautioned, alarmed at the motive she would be handing over to them on a platter... silver or not.

"I will not be speaking to the police, unless Sandra is there, anyway," she reassured me

"Good, good," I said, "was Henry the only member of your house staff here that morning of the fight?" I asked.

"Yes, the rest go off on Saturday night and don't return until Monday night," she confirmed.

"Would he be available? I would like to ask him a couple of questions," I asked.

"I'll send him right in, would you like a drink now?" She asked, standing up.

"A coffee black, no sugar, would be great. Thanks," I said, and as she turned to go, I added "Lidia, would you mind calling Dr Singh... err... Mho, and ask him if he can see me at his earliest convenience?"

"Sure, any excuse... is a good excuse to talk to Mho," she agreed, brightening up.

"Right," I said. She was a little girl trapped in a woman's body, no doubt about it.

A few minutes after she had left me alone in the huge room, Henry entered carrying a cup of coffee on a silver tray. He was a tall man with a crew cut and wide shoulders, about my age I would have guessed, in his late thirties. From his bearing, his body language, the stiffness in his backbone I suspected a former career in the armed forces. His walk, however, seemed to be strained, as if he was walking barefoot on rocks.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" He asked politely, placing the cup carefully in front of me, onto the small acreage that they conservatively thought to be a coffee table.

"Sure, please sit down Henry, and please call me Louie," I said, pointing in the general direction of the lounge.

"Ehm... I'd better remain standing, Sir. It wouldn't be right..." he hesitated, glancing behind.

"Two things Henry: First, sit down or else I'm going to have to shoot you in the knee, you see it's either your knee or my neck, the choice is simple. Second, call me sir once more, and I'll definitely shoot you in the knee." I said, smiling.

"If you put that way... er... Louie, I guess I will have to sit down... thanks, my feet are really killing me," he said, with obvious relief in his voice.

"Been standing a lot?" I asked.

"Nah, I was in the army once, a long time ago in another galaxy..."he smiled sadly at the recollection, "One day, like any other, I was unlucky to step on a mine. But, in a way, I guess, I was also lucky, that the mine was faulty and it just messed up my feet pretty badly, it didn't kill me. Many operations and many months after the event I could walk painfully. After a few years at a desk job, I got out of the army for keeps. Now the pain is less, or I'm getting used to it, but it's always there. All I can do; is drive a car," he said.

"And fuck the boss?" I asked to test his reaction. It was a very foolish thing to do, considering his size. I thought he was going to jump up and hit me; his face went a bright red. I could see the veins pulse in his neck, then, suddenly, a smile broke the tension.

"... And fuck the boss?" He asked, shaking his head. "No, I am not that way inclined, Louie."

"So, you knew about his... err... inclinations?"I asked, relieved to be still among the living.

"Of course," he said. "I knew of Mr. Harrison's many lovers. I was the designated driver for most of his many cruising forays. Often, he'd have sex right in the back of the limo or I would have to drive him to Motels, shit he even had lovers right here in the house." His expression was blank, but his eyes were slits.

"Do you think she killed him for it?" I asked.

"Louie, in her place I would have killed him, many times over. But no, I don't think she is capable of it. Early in my army career, I was a drill sergeant and I trained people to kill other people. That's, after all is what the army does." He looked up at me and continued. "I could always tell the ones that were never going to kill anyone, the ones that would purposely miss even on the battlefield. Not many people realize that a great many shots fired in battle are intentional misses. Some people just cannot kill, no matter the training or the danger to themselves. Mrs. Harrison is definitely one of those... in my opinion."

"I tend to agree with you," I said. "Please, tell me about the fight?"

"What would you like to know?" he asked, and I could tell that he was uncomfortable even talking about it.

"Start at the beginning... I'll ask questions as we go along. Okay?" I said.

"Err... I was working downstairs in the garage, changing the oil on Mr. Harrison's Porsche, when I first became aware of the screaming and shouting that was going on... It really startled me," he recollected.

"Why?" I asked.

"They hadn't even talked to each other with more than a few words all the time I have been employed here, let alone fight," he explained.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"A few months," he said.

"Okay, go on, please," I said.

"Well, I stopped what I was doing and quietly walked to the kitchen. I wanted to see what was going on... but I didn't want to intrude, if you know what I mean?" He said and I nodded.

"I had been listening for a few minutes inching slowly toward the bottom of the stairs... it was mostly Mr. Harrison shouting. Then I heard a slap, very loud. I heard her hit the floor... I knew then it wasn't going to be just a quarrel," he continued with a sour expression on his face. I guessed that like me, he had no time for women hitters at all.

"As I was hesitating on what to do I distinctly heard chocking sounds... once you have heard those in your life, you never forget them," he stated and paused to take a breath, the expression on his face told me that it wasn't a pleasant memory.

"Where, in the house, were they?" I asked.

"In the bedroom... I rushed up the stairs and when I got there, Mr. Harrison had Mrs. Harrison on the floor on her back, he was kneeling over her, his legs on either side of her, and he was strangling her, her feet were kicking...I did not hesitate, I got him in a head lock and I pulled him off her. I held him and he struggled, boy did he struggle to get at her, he was out of his mind. Louie, I am a strong man and I had trouble holding him. I shouted at her to run, to get out, and to get away from the house. Which she did, all the time rasping to get her breath back... soon after, I heard the tires of her Mercedes screech as she pulled out. It was then that I let him go," he finished, tired as if he had just relived through the whole thing.

"What did Mr. Harrison do once she had left?" I asked.

"Well funny thing, he calmed down almost right away. Shit, I was sure he was going to fire me, but instead he thanked me for stopping him from doing something really stupid," Henry said, looking surprised that he was still working here.

"What happened then?" I asked.

"Well, since it was a Sunday...and it is my usual day off, I left. I usually take Sunday morning to Tuesday morning off. I did ask Mr. Harrison if he wanted me to stay back on that particular Sunday, but he said no, to go as usual... he had company coming," Henry said.

"Do you know who was coming over?" I asked.

"Sorry, no idea... probably a lover," he said with a blank expression on his face. "... I left right away, in case he changed his mind," he added smiling.

"What time was that?" I asked.

"I guess, about ten in the morning," he said.

"So Lidia, would have left well before then?" I asked

"Yes Mrs. Harrison left about nine thirty," he agreed.

"Do you know where she may have gone?" I asked.

"No, I have no idea," he said, but I could tell that he wasn't being straight with me.

"Henry, I am here to help her, I need to know what you are keeping back, and I can't help her very well without information. Do you understand?" I said. "You are not helping her by holding stuff back, probably the opposite," I explained.

"I guess so..." he said uncertainly, then glancing behind once more he added, sotto voce. "I think she is quite fond of Dr Singh..."

"Don't worry you did not reveal a hidden secret, Lidia has already told me about her relationship to Dr Singh," I said and I could see that he was relieved to hear it. He was a good man, loyal.

"When did you get back here?" I asked.

"Monday morning...when Mrs. Harrison called me... told me about Mr. Harrison being dead and that the police wanted to talk to me," he answered.

"Did you tell all of this to the police?" I asked.

"Well... most of it. I had to, the detective, a Detective Lucas I believe...he is pretty good at asking questions," he said, almost apologetically. I had been wondering how Steve had got into everyone's affairs so quickly, now I knew.

"Okay thanks, Henry... would you mind telling Lidia that I am leaving?" I asked.

"Sure thing Louie," he said and got up with some evident effort, taking the now empty cup with him on the silver platter. Not long after, Lidia returned into the room, with sparkling eyes, happy. That Dr Mho must be something else.

"I talked to Mho. He will see you after two, today... if that's okay. Till then he is doing his rounds at the Hospital," she explained.

"Thanks, Lidia that's fine... I'll be in touch," I said.

"Louie... err... Thanks for being so patient with me," the little girl in her said to me. She escorted me to the door.

"No worries, Lidia, you take care of yourself now..." I said.

I got into the Caddy, purred it awake and drove down to the gate. The guard opened the gate as he saw me approaching. But I did not drive through; instead, I parked the car, got out and walked toward him.

"Hi, Louie Breccia," I said, extending my hand.

"Joe Rossi pleased to meet ya. How can I help you?" he said, shaking my hand.

"Ah... a wog, like me, second generation?" I asked.

"You bet," he said.

"Do you speak it?" I asked.

"A bit, to my mum mostly, she never bothered with English," he said.

"Yeah mine either," I lied.

"Nice car, that car of yours," he said, glancing back at Doris.

"I saw you perving on her," I said shaking a finger at him. "She is a beauty isn't she? Listen, Joe... Did you happen to see or hear anything interesting here the night Mr. Harrison died?" I asked.

"Now, how did I know you were going to ask me that?" He smiled. "Nope, it was my day off."

"Was it everyone's day off? Isn't that a bit unusual?" I asked, surprised.

"Nope, it was the same every Sunday; Mrs. Harrison spends Sundays away from the house. All the help are off and Mr. Harrison, well... I can't say, I wasn't here," he said, assuming the now familiar blank expression.

"Did you see Mrs. Harrison leave?" I asked.

"Oh yes, she stormed out of here about nine thirty in the am. She was barrelling down the driveway; I just about had no time to open the gate for her. She flashed through with millimetres to spare on either side," he said in excited recollection.

"Did she look upset?" I asked.

"Frankly I did not have enough time to even see her face. But she drove like she had the proper shits, if you ask me"

"Did you see Henry leave?"

"We sort of left together," he confirmed. "I let him out of the gate, and then followed him through. I did not close the gate behind me... we had orders from Mr. Harrison to leave the gate open on Sundays. Then I went home," he finished.

"I see," I said. "Did you know what went on in here on Sundays?"

"Una porcheria!" He exclaimed with a disgusted look on his face as if I had just farted.

"A pig sty?" I translated loosely.

"You said it," he confirmed.

"OK, I think I get your meaning. Joe, thanks for your help, and be good to your mother," I advised while walking back to Doris.

"Are you kidding? If I'm not good, she slaps me right across the face," he retorted, smiling.

"Shit! Joe, we must be brothers," I said to him through the open window, as I passed through the open gates

"Must be," he answered, nodding wisely.

I eased Doris through the gate and headed back toward my office, but I wanted to stop about halfway there at a place known as The Cross. King's Cross-, is the part of Sydney that never sleeps, it is Sydney's red-light district. The area boomed during the Vietnam War, with hundreds of American servicemen on R & R leave being serviced by flocks of working girls that worked its streets. Organized crime and police corruption soon followed.Much of this activity was reputedly controlled by a well-known criminal with the not so-endearing name of 'Mr. Sin'. This rise in crime, vice, corruption and drugs was perhaps the tacit revenge by the spirits of the traditional owners of the land, the Eora people, who lived in the area for many thousands of years, and were decimated by smallpox and their wilful destruction by European settlers.

There was a guy at the Cross that I wanted to see. His name was Neil Richardson, also known as Richo. True to form, Richo was a very shady character. Basically, he was a pimp.He owned and operated a string of 'escort' agencies and strip joints throughout Sydney.He was allowed, if not encouraged, to exist by the Vice Squad because he was valued as a good source of information, and he never used under-aged escorts, stayed away from drugs and allowed no violence on his premises. Richo may have been immoral but he wasn't stupid.

As far as I knew, Richo never slept and was always in a little office above one of his many strip joints. This guy was loaded, and yet he did not own a house, an apartment, a room or even a car. He was happy as a pig in shit, just sitting in his smoky, air conditioned little hovel of a room right on top of a shady strip joint... go figure.

Parking a car anywhere in the Cross is like trying to push a camel through the eye of a needle, and that is not easy, as the good Book teaches us. So I drove Doris well past the Cross and parked her in the Domain Parking station and caught a taxi back to the Cross.

As I stepped onto the curb near Richo's lair, I noticed a working girl waiting for a pick up. She recognized me before I could put a name to the familiar face.

"Not seen ya 'round her for a while, Louie. How you been?" she said as I remembered her name just in time. The last time I had seen her, she worked in one of Richo's escort establishments. She was a lot prettier then and she seemed to have aged, well beyond the time span that had passed.

"Hi Margie, you're looking well," I lied.

"Bull shit, Louie I look like crap. Where you been? Are you out of vice now?" she answered with a grimace.

"I'm not even a cop anymore, Margie. Times change, shit happens," I answered.

"You can say that again Louie," she agreed, taking a cigarette out of her small purse.

"You're up and working pretty early, Margie," I commented while lighting her cigarette for her.

"Thanks, Louie. Cop or no cop you were always a gentleman," she said with a smile on her now weather beaten face, "yeah, gotta start early these days... inflation, you know?" she added. Or a costly drug problem, I thought but did not say.

"You shouldn't knock inflation, Margie, after all your business depends on it," I said with a wink.

"Always with the bad jokes, Louie... that hasn't changed at least" she said raising her eyes skyward.

"Anyway, Margie, take care. Take my card let me know if I can be of any help,"

"You are good people, Louie, cop or no cop," she smiled sadly while taking my card and stuffing it in her purse without reading. "You take care too, Louie." We gave each other a quick hug and I continued toward Richo's den.

The huge bouncer guarding the front of Richo's strip joint knew me from my Vice days and waved me in.

"Is he in?" I asked as a long-standing joke.

"Is the Pope in Rome?" He answered on queue. I walked up the short corridor from the entrance as the smell of the joint hit me like a wall. I could hear the music coming up from the lower floor where the girls were entertaining lonely men by removing what little clothes they had been wearing in the first place. The corridor was like a landing with stairs going down to the floorshow and stairs going up to Richo's office. The stairway ended right at his door. I tried to open it, but it was locked.

So I knocked politely to gain entrance into his office-come-habitat.

"Louie, you ain't no cop no more. I don' hav' to see ya no more so... Piss off!" he said, his squeaky high-pitched voice coming right through the door like if the door wasn't there.

So, I kicked his door open.

"Did ya hav' to do that? Now who's gonna pay for it? Uh?" He winged from behind his desk. Richo was a little rat of a man well over sixty and looked like Steptoe, from that great English comedy, including the tip-less woollen gloves. I think that he secretly modelled himself after that character.

"Not me, Richo, right? It pays to be nice to old friends, or you're liable to piss them off, when you're pissing them off," I answered with a smile on my face, walking toward him.

"Always the fucken' jokes. So, why have you decided to ruin my day today, Louie?" He asked looking up at me and pressing a button on his intercom. "Babe? Get Tom up here right quick, my door has had an accident."

"Sure, Mr. Richo," a girls voice answered, and giggled.

"Mr. Richo? Wow... She is a keeper," I commented.

"You wait till you see her, she'd be a keeper if she was fucken' mute," he agreed. "So, Louie what-a-u-want-a?" He said waving his hands as if he was of Italian decent and in an almost friendly tone.

"Ian Harrison," I said.

"The rich guy who got shot? Yeah, I knew him," he answered.

"You know about his death, all ready? I am impressed," I said, but I really wasn't. I knew that Richo got the news almost before it happened. He had more spies and informants than the KGB.

"Yeah, I got lucky," he said.

"Yeah right. So, he was one of your customers?" I confirmed.

"Yeah, but he was only interested in men...the younger the better," he said with a wink.

"How often?" I asked.

"Couple of times a week...sometimes three or four," he stated, with matter of fact tone, as if we were discussing how often Harrison ate.

"What about Sunday nights?" I asked.

"Nope... never on Sunday, as the song goes," he said with a smirk, no doubt pleased with his little joke.

"You sure?" I said.

"Very sure... I thought it might hav' been some sort of religious thing, you know? Who can tell how their minds work? And who the fuck cares, so long as they pay?" He said.

"Richo, you are turning into a philosopher, in your ancient age," I remarked.

"Bite my arse," he answered.

"Did he have a favourite boy?" I asked.

"Nope... variety was his game, always complaining because I didn't hav' enough different ones. So I just rotated 'em, got 'em to change their appearance and use different names, he was happy with that... maybe he never even knew," he pondered.

"Did he ever see more than one at one time?" I asked.

"Oh for sure, he liked two and maybe three sometimes... he was a good customer, a very good customer...I will miss him," he said and assumed a proper sorrowful look, shaking his head from side to side.

"You'll miss his money, you mean," I said and he changed from shaking his head to nodding.

"Especially," he agreed, grimacing.

"Any of your boys like the rough stuff? Tend to be violent?" I asked.

"Not if they want to remain with me, they don't... you know that," he answered.

"Yeah I know that. Any of them take a recent trip, or have gone walk-about?" I asked.

"Nope. All here and accounted for, Sir," he made a mock salute.

"You are not much fucking help, are you?" I exclaimed.

"A negative result is a result none-the-less," he preached at me.

"Thanks for nothing then," I said and walked out.

"Fuck you too," he shouted behind me.

The bouncer looked at me as I walked out and said, "I see you two are still getting along."

"Like brothers, mate, like brothers," I said rubbing my forefingers together.

I retrieved Doris from the parking station, after waiting about ten minutes before I could get a taxi back to it. She was cool and comfortable and I was glad I had not parked her in the sun. I pointed her toward the office and looked forward to talking the case over with my splendid Maria.

But, alas, Maria was not there when I arrived. My gut told me this was not good. I really wished she had let me help her. But, as well as being brilliant, she is also stubborn and fiercely independent.

I really didn't know much about Maria, she did not confide easily. Easily? What am I saying? She did not confide at all!Her interview for the job had been very short. I must admit, I had been frozen in a state of suspended animation as soon as she had entered my office.This sort mental paralysis does not happen to me very often, but Maria had reminded me of Sonia.

Robyn, a 'lady' that had suckered me into a previous but unfortunate case, had asked me to take Maria on as my assistant. Robyn worked for the Australian Intelligence Agency, Australia's spook central. With a sour taste still in my mouth from our previous association, I had been prepared to tell Robyn to go fuck herself. But, she had outsmarted me. She walked in towing Maria behind her. One look and the rest was history.

I stood there at the entrance to my office, disappointed and worried by Maria's absence. I looked around, becoming depressed. It was then that I noticed a note from Maria, in her tidy and miniscule handwriting. It was pasted to the door of the small grog-holding fridge, where she would have been sure I would find it. The note was brief and, at first reading, unremarkable:

Steve would like you to call him ASAP.

Love you... M.

xxxxxx

Then it hit me: Love? Crosses? Are those kisses? Kisses? From Maria?No way in hell!She would never put kisses on an office message or any message. We certainly did not have that sort of relationship (not from lack of trying, on my part). Anyway, it just was not her style. That funny feeling in the pit of my stomach developed into something a lot more solid, more insistent, as the adrenalin started doing its work.

I called her mobile – switched off.

I called her flat – rang out.

I called Steve.

"Hoi!" He said

"Hi, it's me. Maria is not here, not at home and does not answer her mobile and left me a note in the office with fucking kisses on it" I said, hoping that their presence would mean as much to him as they had meant to me. They did.

"What? Are you sure? That does not sound like Maria. Are you sure?" He said, confused.

"Shit Steve, I know a fucking cross when I see one!" I shouted.

"Okay, okay take it easy. She's never done that before, uh?" He confirmed.

"What? Are you crazy? Never. You know her, she wouldn't. Will you stop asking stupid questions and get your arse down here?" I said

"On my way, any idea where she might be?" He asked, forever the cop.

"Oh...fuck it with the questions!" I said and hung up.

I then tried her mobile and her home numbers, again. No answer, again.

Maybe I was over-reacting. I hoped so. But that funny feeling told me that I was not. I started going through every inch of her drawers, examining every bit of scrap paper, paperclips... anything. The place had been cleaned out! There was nothing of a personal nature left anywhere, nothing at all. It was as if she had never existed, never worked here at all. What the fuck was going on?

"What the fuck is going on?" Steve asked as he walked in.

"No idea. There is not a trace that she ever worked here, except for the note," I said

"I tried her mobile and home phone. No answer," he said.

"Me too," I paused, "we should go take look at her place," I suggested, fearing the worst.

"Let's go and take a look at her place," he repeated, absentmindedly. He was probably entertaining similar fears.

"Right," I said, getting my gun from the bottom drawer of my desk, and putting it in the waistband of my jeans.

Steve used the siren, because the drive from the office to her place cuts right through some of the busiest parts of the City.Maria lived in a quaint area of Sydney called The Rocks.The Rocks is a 19th century village trapped in the middle of a 21st century city.The Rocks is where Captain Arthur Phillip started the small settlement that grew into Sydney, it is regarded as the birthplace of modern Australia. I just hoped it would not prove to be the opposite kind of place for Maria.

We parked illegally right in front of her block of flats and rushed inside, although her apartment was on the third floor, we did not wait for the lift - there wasn't one. This was The Rocks, you were lucky to get electricity. We ran up the stairs two at a time and found that the door to her flat was shut... but not locked.

We looked at each other; this was not a good sign. My heart jumped in my mouth. I was having trouble breathing; the adrenalin rush was in full swing now. We both took our guns out. As we had done many times before, we went in together and rolled Steve to the right and me to the left. I guess it might have looked comical, as the flat was completely deserted.

Deserted, but not untouched. Someone had sure been here; the place had been tossed, and tossed thoroughly. It was a real mess. Every book, DVD and CD was out on the floor either torn apart or ripped open. Every chair had been cut and its guts pulled out. Even Pot plants were torn out and all the dirt shaken out of them. Pictures and frames torn apart. In the kitchen, every food container had been emptied on the floor or in the sink: cartons, boxes, cans, packets, bottles, frozen or unfrozen. All the drawers had been emptied and the linoleum flooring cut and lifted. The same thoroughness was used on the bedroom and the bathroom. Since the work had not stopped half way, I concluded that, unless they had found what they had been looking at the very end of their search, they had not found what they were looking for.

"I don't think they found what they were looking for," I said.

"Me neither... whatever it was. Shit I was half expecting to find her in here, dead," Steve said with some relief in his voice

"Me too... what the fuck do we do now?" I said, my mind frozen.

"We need to think for a bit," he said.

"Right," I said. "But not here. This place is getting to me... err... Why don't you call the forensic boys over and see if they can come up with any clues for us?" I suggested. 'When in doubt — get forensics' was my motto.

"Good idea. They are not going to love me when they see this fucking mess," he grimaced, bitterly.

"They hate you anyway," I pointed out, helpfully.

"True," he admitted, and as we left, he placed a call to Central on his mobile. Not far from Maria's, flat there was one of the hundred thousand espresso cafes that have sprung all around and in the City. We walked over and sat down at one of their outside tables so that we would be allowed to smoke. We ordered two short blacks, and lit up in unison like a move in a strange ballet.

"Anything strange, out of the ordinary, happened in the last few days?" Steve, the cop, asked.

"You mean apart from yesterday and today?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"No. Nothing I can think of..." but I had answered a bit too quickly, without giving it enough thought. So I made myself go through the days over the past week in my mind, "wait a minute. Wait a fucking minute... there was something on... last Friday, I think...yes definitely on Friday," I said, trying to picture it in my mind in as much detail as possible.

"Yeah? What was it?" he asked, his interest mounting. Steve is perhaps four years younger than me; he is a little taller and a little less muscular. He has two main things that work in his favour as a cop, one is his tenacity and the other is his eyes. They are like twin laser beams and, on many occasions, they have proven to be too much for a lot of recalcitrant perps. He now focused them on me. Normally, when he did that, I would tell him to quit it – it gave me the creeps. But this time I ignored them. My mind was working on re-living the whole scene in my mind.

"Yes, we were just discussing the week, having a relaxing drink and a smoke. You know, you have been there many times yourself. At one point, she got a phone call on her mobile. This was unusual in itself. I don't remember her getting a call at the office on her mobile, ever. Anyway, I remember her saying hello, and then she seemed to physically stiffen and go very pale. She hung up right away, did not say a word. I asked her what it was all about. She seemed to think about it for a minute and then she said it had been a dirty phone call. But, I knew, I knew right then that she was lying. But Steve, you know what she is like... asking her more would have been fruitless. If she did not want to talk, she didn't. Insisting would have just pissed her off. So, I just let it drop" I said, "fuck!I should have insisted... I should have..." I added, feeling I had let her down.

"No point mate, as you said, it would have just pissed her off... A phone call on her mobile, you said... on Friday?" He asked extracting his mobile.

"Yeah," I said. He speed dialled a number and without saying hello, he spoke into it, "Richie get me the phone records for last seven days for this number," he rattled off Maria's mobile number, "and I need them an hour ago, Ritchie! I'll give you ten minutes, and then I'm coming down there and cutting your balls off personally!" He hung up. We both sat up a little straighter, it felt like we were actually doing something.

But, we did not need to wait the full ten minutes.

His mobile rang back in less than five. He picked up and listened.

"What? Are you sure? Okay, okay, well thanks... yeah, yeah I'll let you know, bye," he hung up and looked at me. I did not like his expression.

"What?" I said.

"It's the fucking Feds!" He exclaimed.

"The Feds?" I asked dumbly, not understanding.

"Yes... Federal Police, AIA...CIA who the fuck knows. Her phone records have been sealed, sealed from Canberra" He said.

"What the fuck?" I said.

"Exactly," he said. "Your spook friend in the AIA wouldn't have something to do with this, would she?" he asked. Steve did not like spies, of any kind.

"AIA? Yeah, you may be right... in fact... it was her, that asked me to employ Maria, in the first place," I said, and it was my turn to go on the mobile.

"What? You did not tell me that! I have warned you before about getting yourself involved with those spooks!" Steve said, beginning to get angry. I waved at him to shut up as the phone was ringing. It rang twice, as always, and then a sexy female voice said:

"Yes?"

"It's Louie." I said

"I know who it is," she said.

"Do you know why I am ringing?" I asked

"Yes I do," she said, no hesitation, she had been expecting me to call.

"Care to tell me?" I asked

"No," she said. She paused and then she added. "But I hope you are still coming to my dinner party tonight, since you're in town"

"Of course, I would not miss it, seven thirty wasn't it?" I said.

"That's right, see you then, and take care, you," she said.

"You too, bye," I said. She hung up without responding.

"What the fuck was that about?" Steve asked impatiently.

"She knows, but won't talk about it on the phone. She said I should meet her at about eleven o'clock tonight, and make sure I'm not followed," I explained.

"Eleven? I thought you said seven thirty," he said, puzzled.

"I did, the 'seven-thirty' was spook doubletalk. It means eleven pm tonight," I explained.

"What a lot of bull shit!" he commented. "What now?"

"I guess we wait till tonight, want to come along?" I asked.

"You bet, I'm coming along," he said.

"You'll get to meet the spook lady," I said.

"Is she good looking?" he asked, brightening up a fraction.

"You wouldn't believe me" I said.

"You are right there," he said.

"In her note, Maria wrote that you wanted me to ring you urgently, so what's up?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Oh right. Well, I think your client is probably off the hook," he said.

"So soon? How am I going to make a living with you around?" I complained.

"Not my fault, there was another one last night," he said.

"Another one? Another what?" I asked.

"Shooting, same M.O., and same weapon," he explained.

"Any connection? Apart from the killer, that is," I asked.

"Too early to tell, but does not look like it for now," he said.

"Who got killed?" I asked.

"Another rich guy, a certain Tom Stevens... heard of him?" he asked.

"Nope, what did he do?" I asked.

"Big in computer software of some sort or other," he said.

"Was he gay too?" I asked.

"Does not look like it," he said.

"Great! A serial?" I asked.

"Maybe, I guess time will tell," he said.

"Isn't life great?" I said.

"Yeah, except when it isn't," he agreed.

"I'm glad Lidia is off the hook, she is a nice lady, who landed in a shitty situation through no fault of her own. This news lets me concentrate on Maria, which is fine by me." I said, trying to rationalize the loss of badly needed income.

"Me too, but I guess I'll have to work on this second murder as well. Which sucks," he said then, brightening up, he added. "But, this gets Sandra off my back, which is a definite plus!"

"Lucky bugger. I am glad you are driving up with me tonight, it's good working together again," I said.

"One thing, Louie, if we find that someone has hurt Maria. I don't want you going off, half-cocked, okay? I am still a cop and I would hate to have to arrest my best friend," he warned and I knew exactly to what he was referring to.

It was the reason I was no longer a cop and no longer his partner.

# Chapter 4

Sydney – Three years ago

I had been working in the Homicide Division for about two years, when I first met Sonia Lewis, an officer in the Federal police, more commonly referred to as the Feds. We were thrown together because I had been investigating a series of three murders that seemed to lead back to one major crook, John Keats, the new 'Mr. Sin'.

Mr. Sin was the head of a crime syndicate that had its hands in every type of crime and amoral act in the state of New South Wales. It now seemed that Mr. Sin had not been satisfied with just one state, but had spread his slimy tentacles all over Australia, Hence, he had awaken the special attention of the Feds.

She came into my office one stifling hot Monday afternoon and introduced herself abruptly and then proceeded to demand to know what I knew about Mr. Sin and to see my case files. It was almost instant dislike, I told her to bugger off back to Canberra. She had exited my office in a huff, slamming my door on the way out. I remember shouting, "And fuck you too." Although I had not been impressed by her manners, her looks had me wondering whether I should have played my part a little more smartly.

"Oh well, what's done is done" I had consoled myself, "I'll probably never see her again, anyway". Three minutes later, I was proven wrong.

My intercom buzzed and the calm, deep voice of my boss, Detective Senior Inspector Jack Pollard, asked me to please step into his office for a minute. When I arrived and entered his well-appointed kingdom, she was there, sitting in one of the chairs facing his mahogany desk.

"Louie, come in... I believe you have... err... Met Sonia Lewis, from the Federal Police?" He asked, with no noticeable reprimand in his voice. But I knew that he never asked anyone to his office to congratulate them on a job-well-done. For that, he would come down personally and offer his thanks and a "keep up the good work". He was a good boss, demanding but fair.

"Err... Yes, Sir... Ms Lewis and I just met in my office," I admitted, still standing near the doorway and avoiding eye contact with her, as she turned around to face me.

"Is there a problem with us cooperating fully with Sonia, Louie?" he asked, but it was no question.

"Err ... No Sir, no problem at all," I said. "But Ms. Lewis..." I started to make some sort of excuse. But he interrupted me and looking at Sonia.

"There you are, my dear Sonia... You see? It's just like I told you. Louie is very a very cooperative kind of guy, I am sure it was just a misunderstanding," he said, then turned to me. "Wasn't it Louie?" His tone was as cold as an iceberg.

"Yes, Sir... That's what it was, exactly, Sir," I remember babbling. One thing you did not need in that department, was Detective Inspector Pollard speaking to you in that manner more than once a year...that is, if you did not wish to return to directing traffic somewhere in the back of Whoop Whoop.

"Louie, what Sonia is working on, is right down your alley. So for the remainder of the Investigation you two will work together as partners...understood?" He said in no uncertain terms.

"But Sir...my cases...Steve..." I tried to protest, to no avail.

"Steve will be fine without you for a little while and he can carry on with your other cases, Okay?" Again a question that was not a question. I gave up.

"Yes Sir," I nodded, unhappily.

"Well, you two..." He said, standing up and motioning toward the door, "go forth and collaborate!" He finished with a smile. We both smiled in respect and exited his office. I led the way back to mine, but I allowed her to enter first – pissed off, but forever the gentleman, she was a dish after all. Although, just for an instant, I did consider tripping her.

I sat in my chair and looked down in my lap unable to say anything closely resembling civilized conversation.

"How about lunch? On me?" She had said out of the blue.

"Uh?" I had answered, forever the expert conversationalist.

"Lunch...let me take you to lunch, please...as an apology," she repeated. I looked up and this time I saw her, the woman inside, not the arrogant cop that had entered my office a few minutes before. She was blushing a little; as if she feared that a refusal on my part would be too much to bear, her lips trembled slightly as she waited my answer. Like the dingbat I am, I think I fell in love with her then and there...go figure!

"Sure...lunch, I think that's a great idea," I said, bad mood dissipating like mist in sunshine. She smiled back in relief, showing me a set of teeth that any one in Hollywood would kill for.

"Where would you like to go?" I asked.

"Well, I am new to Sydney, somewhere nice, where we can spend a little time getting acquainted and even discuss the case," she said, with a very cute whiff of a smile.

"I know just the place...and it's not too expensive, either," I said, and could see some relief in her face. I guessed the Feds didn't pay much more that the State did. "Come with me, we'll take my car," I said and led her down to the car park.

"Oh! My God! A '55 Eldorado, my favourite car!" She exclaimed bringing her hands to her mouth, looking at me and then looking at my car and back again a couple more times. She walked all around Doris and inspected every inch. She even asked to see under the bonnet, which I was pleased to do. As a rule, I am not a tidy person, my office, my flat all suffer from my lack of domestication.But, my car is always spotless...everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Again, she exclaimed delight when I lifted the bonnet and showed her Doris's private parts, resplendent in chrome and polished to a high sheen.

"A car like this MUST have a name," she said, still excited, from just looking at her.

"Sonia meet Doris" I said with a flourish, "Doris meet Sonia." I finished the silly introduction. And then an inspiration hit me, it must have come from a Guardian Angel, I added, "why don't you drive?"

"But I couldn't..." She answered too quickly; I knew that, just at that moment, she wanted to drive Doris more than anything in the world.

"Of course you can. Doris will love it, and I can be navigator," I assured her.

If she treated Doris well...why, I was sure going to marry this girl!

Sonia eased Doris out of her parking place with the confidence and ability of a competent driver. I directed her to a small Italian restaurant; about twenty minutes drive from Police Headquarters. Sonia proved herself a very competent driver, I did not expect anything else – she was a cop, after all. She drove: not too slow and not too fast, with confidence and that sixth sense that told her when the other drivers are about to do something really stupid. She reversed parked Doris in one go with a few centimetres to spare in front and behind and from the curb.

"You drive very well," I commented, impressed.

"Thank you," she answered, not needing to lapse into false humility.

During the meal, we mostly talked about ourselves, and as the meal progressed, our conversation evolved into a more intimate level, not sexual, just closer. I noticed two things: one was that she was more beautiful than I had realized and two that the feeling of attraction was becoming mutual. As a cop, I rely a lot, on how people behave, their body language, little gestures, and I could tell... that she was beginning to like me. Small transitory touches of my arm and then exploratory touches of our feet seem to bloom out of nowhere into something meaningful and exciting. She, a cop and a woman to boot, knew all this well before me, but did not hold back.

At one point she stopped what she was saying and looked at me, her pupils dilated her big blue eyes serious, "this is happening too fast, Louie...it's never happened to me. I... I don't think we should... we have to work together...it would be ...un- unprofessional..." She stammered and then I kissed her.

Not long after we were in my flat and in bed. The lovemaking was wild and hungry. We assaulted each other with a force that only animal instinct can provide, we made lust twice without a break, breathing hard like two animals, then we made love and that took the rest of the day and most of the night.

I was first to re-surface, in the early morning, from the short nap we had succumbed into from sheer exhaustion. She was nestled in the crook of my arm, she was naked and small beads of perspiration still dotted her beautiful olive skin like so many small pearls. I took my time looking at her whole body. She was perfect, perfect for me. Her features were delicate from her shapely feet to her thin but strong hands. Her body reflected a healthy exercise regimen without undue muscle build-up. Her face had a lot more to say than just, mere beauty. It had character, sensitivity and intelligence.

Feeling my scrutiny, and my mounting arousal, she stirred awake, and then she moved quickly away.

"Keep that evil thing away from me," she joked, "it will take me a week to recover."

"A week?" I croaked, alarmed.

"Well, maybe not a week, but at least a night," she said, firmly. Then she got up and without false modesty made her way to my minute shower.

Being a sneaky older man, I joined her in there, and we did not get out till the water ran cold. I was glad that I had proven her wrong... she didn't need a night to recover.

While she was drying her hair I called Sergio's and ordered a breakfast for two, to his great delight as it did not happen often. When he brought it up, he had outdone himself, he added freshly squeezed orange juice, fresh fruit, some delicious pastries and a rose in a crystal vase – what romantics Italians are, and I should know.

He was even more delighted and excited when she came out from the bathroom looking like a million dollars in just one of my T-shirts and panties. By damn, he even blushed! She was very pleased with the breakfast he had so kindly put together just for her.We ate on my small balcony and admired the harbour coming alive for the new day.

When Sonia finally got us back to the office, the first person I ran into was my partner, Steve. He looked up and at first, he did not notice Sonia standing behind me, "Who is this bitch..." He started to say and then Sonia made herself visible and he stopped in his tracks and blushed in embarrassment.

He started to apologise, but then he took a closer look at her and then a closer look at me. Sometimes, Steve is too quick for his own good. He shook his head in mock desperation and muttered "Oh boy! My, my...you two idiots...if Pollard hears about this there will be hell on earth two seconds after." Then he smiled and extended his hand to Sonia, "Pleased to meet you, I am Steve, this loaf's partner. If he likes you...you must be Okay. Welcome to Pollard's kingdom."

"Hi, Steve, I am Sonia," she shook his hand and then added, "Louie has told me a lot about you, I am sorry to borrow him for a few days."

"I am sure he is not sorry, judging by that smirk on his face, the like I have not seen in years," he said smiling and nodding in my direction, "Keep him working hard and he might leave you alone at nights." He advised. We all laughed when out of the blue she said, "sit down Louie you need your rest, please."

The 'few days' turned into weeks and then into months – Mr. Sin proved himself to be a lot more slippery than we had first supposed. Under other circumstances, it would have been an onerous and taxing assignment, but with Sonia working beside me during the day and sleeping beside me at night, it was great. We soon regarded ourselves as a married couple in spirit – we agreed that the piece of paper would follow at the end of the case. My family loved her at once and it was a real effort extracting her from their clutches every time we visited. We worked hard and loved harder. She was an astute and determined investigator and we were slowly but surely building a rock hard case against Mr. Sin.

And then, then the threats started.

At first it was phone calls, then emails, we ignored them all and I should have known better. One day, one horrible day, she went out to get us lunch and she wasn't back in half an hour, she wasn't back in an hour, she never returned. The whole department was immobilized and we searched for her that very same day, all day. We found several witnesses that recognized her photo and described seeing her being escorted by a large man in a suit into a waiting limousine. Sometime later, we found the limousine, abandoned, it had been stolen...of Sonia no trace, except a very slight lingering of her perfume.

An email arrived one night addressed to me personally. It was simple and direct:

"Lose all the evidence or lose the bitch."

That's all. I went back to the office and after making copies of our working file, I put the all the originals through the paper shredder. All the evidence we had spent months assembling, was now gone, gone forever.

I rushed home with my copy of the file, and typed a reply to that email.

"It's all shredded, please release Sonia"

For three whole days, I did not hear anything.

I was suspended from duty for destroying evidence.

I did not care.

I was sent home, pending further investigation; charges would be brought against me.

I did not care.

I was advised to seek legal help.

I ignored them.

I waited at the computer monitor, waited for the email telling me that Sonia was released.

It never came.

I did not sleep for three days and nights and then Steve came to see me.He knocked at my door. I opened the door, hoping against all logic that it was Sonia.

It wasn't.

It only took one look at Steve's face and I knew.

I knew that the worst thing in my life had happened.

My knees just collapsed from under me and I hit the floor, my mind was blank; absolutely blank. To think of anything would have been too painful. Later, much later I understood how some people just become comatose when the news they get is just too much for them to handle.

But, Steve snapped me out of it. He forced straight Bourbon down my throat, it made me choke and then I vomited my thanks all over his shoes. He did not flinch one bit, but helped me up and took me to the couch and got me to drink the rest.

"I want to see her," I said, jumping up and almost falling down again from vertigo.

"No, you don't, mate. You really don't," he said softly. But he looked at me and he knew that there wasn't going to be a discussion – we were going to see her, and we were going now.

"Come on," was all he said, I followed him like a zombie.

Her body had been recovered just that morning; she had been shot three times in the head. The M.E. had worked out that her body must have been in Sydney Harbour for at least two if not three days.Mr. Sin, had never intended releasing her at all, he had her shoot almost as soon as he got his filthy hands on her. I stared at her body for a long time; I never wanted to forget what had been done to her. Never wanted to forget that they had turned a thing of beauty and intelligence, of humour and happiness, into a thing of horror.

I got Steve to drop me back at my place. He was going to stay with me, but I asked him to leave me...I needed to be alone. He nodded and understood that I needed to be alone to mourn my loss. I knew that I needed to be alone to plan what I was going to do.

From the bottom of my kitchen cupboard, I recovered the copies I had made of our working file. In it were the names and the addresses of the five men and one woman involved in that syndicate of corruption. I placed it on the kitchen table; I eyed the bottle of Bourbon and poured myself a long drink. I made a list – it had six names with six addresses on it. Then I cleaned an untraceable gun I had acquired during a previous case, loaded it and locked the safety. I put on black jeans, black T-shirt. I painted my sneakers black. I pocketed a pair of black gloves and a black balaclava. I was ready. I sat down and immobile. Like a switched off computer I sat and I waited for the night.

At 12.30 am, after Sergio had closed for the night, I eased myself down the stairs and melted into the night. I stole a car form a local car park and drove to the first address on my list. It was easy to enter his house, find his bedroom and grab him by the throat while his wife still slept. I dragged him all the way to the stolen car and put him in the boot. I then drove to an empty warehouse. I did not speak to him once. I did not answer his questions, but when I showed him a recent photo of Sonia he shut up and his colour changed from the red of anger to the waxy-white of fear. I shot him once in each knee and I watched his pain mix and melt with mine for ten minutes, then I shot him twice in the head.

I then repeated the same procedure another four times that night. One of them was a woman, a renowned madam who trafficked in women from Asia. It did not matter to me; her name was on my list. And then her name had a line through it.

Only Mr. Sin was left, the worst for last.

I knew that he would be the hardest to get to. He would have bodyguards and security systems all over the place. But it had to be done on the same night or he would catch on and disappear. The police, my colleagues, would also catch on very quickly and would no doubt lock me up. I needed Steve's help; I knew he would be there for me. I called him,

"It's me," I said.

"I know. How are you feeling?" He said concern in his voice.

"I need for you to call in an attempted break-in at this address and send a patrol car to it," I said, and gave him the address. He was quiet for a long time. I said nothing more.

Finally, he said, "when?"

"In half an hour," I said.

"You need company?" My faithful friend asked, ready to throw his career and possibly his freedom away for my sake.

"No, I'll be Okay, thanks Steve." I said in a monotone, I had no emotions of any kind left in me, not even hate. I felt nothing. I was nothing.

"Take care, Louie I could not stand to lose another friend," he said and hung up.

I waited outside Mr. Sin's house for the patrol car to arrive and be admitted to the estate. The security perimeter had to close down for the car to enter the estate. I took the opportunity to scale the wall. I ignored the cuts from the shards of glass embedded on top of the wall. All that mattered to me was that I was inside the estate. Not long after that, I was inside Mr. Sin's house. When the police left, I made my way to his bedroom. I found him on the john. Before he could cry out, I shoved my Glock into his mouth.

"Not one sound," I said and pulled him to his feet using a handful of his hair and then I motioned for him to pull up his trousers. We marched down to his garage. I put him in the back of one of his cars, a black Nissan 4WD. I taped his mouth and taped his legs and arms and covered him with a blanket I found in the car. The car windows were all tinted black, it was going to be very hard for the people at the gate to see inside the car and there was no reason for them to suspect that the driver was not Mr. Sin himself.

I drove toward the gate and did not even slow down, they rushed to open it for their "boss" in all haste. I drove around the corner and retrieved from the stolen car a few essential items, including a large can of petrol and a full canteen. Then I drove west all the rest of the night and the following day, nonstop. I stopped to fill up the tank from the extra jerry can I brought with me, which I then tossed into the bush, littering was the least of my worries.

By midday of the next day, we were right in the middle of desert country. I drove off-road making full use of the 4WD for a few miles until I found a good spot. I stopped and got out, and stretched. We had been driving in the desert for a couple of hours. By now, the temperature was getting to be pretty uncomfortable - it could have melted lead.

When I opened the back door, Mr. Sin struggled and moaned. I took a knife from my pocket and I saw his eyes panic. I did not react, but just cut away all the tape from his legs and arms and from his mouth. All the while, he gasped like a fish out of water, breathing hard.

"What the fuck do you want, pig?" He demanded once he had caught his breath, "you will get nothing from me, pig" he added, confident in his infallibility.

"There is nothing I want from you," I told him and shot him in one knee. He screamed from the surprise and then from the pain and went down on his arse.

"You can't do this...you are a cop," he said between groans of pain.

"Cop no more," I said, and shot his other knee. He screamed even louder.

"Please stop...please. We did not mean to kill her but she struggled and tried to escape..." He said as if this justified his actions. I shot one of his elbows. He collapsed into the red desert dust, screaming in pain.While he lay there squirming in the dust, I fetched the canteen I had prepared and walked about a hundred paces away from him.On the way back, about halfway, I wiped clean the gun I had used and placed on the ground.

He sensed my return and he lifted his face with red dust sticking to it like the makeup on a demented old lady. I looked down at him and pointed to where I had placed the canteen, "Over there is the only water for a thousand kilometres and soon, very soon, you are going to need a drink really badly. If you want to live, you will have to drag yourself to it. It will be very painful with your joints shot up like that. But if you can withstand the pain, like I have had to bear the pain of your actions, you might survive until night, and then, who knows? Tomorrow, someone on walkabout might even find you, maybe not. Half way there, you will find the gun; you may choose a quick, painless death. But you must consider this: can you really be sure that the canteen is not full of battery acid? Good bye Mr. Sin" I said and got into his car.

"Don't leave me, come back... please...come BAAACK!" His screams followed me all the way back to Sydney. I abandoned his car at the warehouse where I had left the bodies of his partners in crime. I then I walked to a train station and returned to the city, I did not bother to buy a ticket. Soon I was back in the emptiness that was my flat. I collapsed onto my bed I wanted so much to cry, to cry until I was empty of all fluids in me, but instead I passed out.

But I did not sleep long. Steve arrived and with his spare key, he got into my flat, dragged me in a semiconscious state to his car and drove straight to my parent's house.When he got there. My dad and Pip helped him to carry me to my old bedroom. Once in bed Steve told them that if anyone was to ask, especially anyone from the Police, they were to tell them that I had been there in that room for more than four days, and that one of them had been by my bedside at all times. They understood and did not ask the questions, which Steve could not have answered. I slept for the next three days straight, aided and abetted by my brother the GP, and his plethora of pharmaceuticals.

When I awoke I saw the worried face of my father first, and then Mum and my six brothers. All of them standing around my bed, concern painted on their faces as if with the one brush.

"How are you feeling, son?" Asked my father with his smooth and pleasant voice.

"I don't know Pops...I don't think I have felt worse in my life," I said my voice cracking with emotion.

"You will be fine in a while son, meanwhile we are here for you, you will be fine...time cures everything...you'll see," he reassured me, while combing my hair away from my eyes with his big hand, as he had done many times before. I guess that in his eyes I was still his youngest boy.

The 'little while' turned out to be a few months, but slowly I came back to be a sort of facsimile of a human being again. Steve visited me, almost on a daily basis, and that helped a lot. He kept me up to date with things in general, and his good humour was always infectious. My brothers made sure I was kept entertained at all times. Mum's cooking and her patience were the miracle drugs that Science will never emulate.

Steve told me that after weeks of fruitless investigation the killer or killers of Mr. Sin's syndicate were never identified and the whole thing was put down to example gang warfare. It was two months before the body of Mr. Sin himself was found. It had become mummified by the heat and dryness. He was found, by a wondering Aborigine, lying not far from the empty canteen. He had shot himself. Ballistic analysis proved that the same gun had been used to kill all his partners in crime, the police were puzzled. They now guessed that he had killed them all and then...then what? Did he suffer remorse and killed himself? But why in the desert? Why shoot himself in the knees and one elbow first? They finally put it down to insanity.

But I knew and Steve knew. I guessed that the pain, the sun, the scalding sand had proven too much for Mr. Sin, especially if he suspected that I had pulled a dirty trick and filled the canteen with battery acid or something similar. The canteen had contained pure water, but he judged me from his own standards, and took the 'easy' way out.

Months later, when I returned to my flat I found it spotlessly clean; Sergio and his girls had looked after it for me. They were there to welcome me home when Steve drove me back. We had a couple of beers and then he was due to go to work, but before he left he said, "Iceberg Pollard wants to see you first thing tomorrow," he then smiled and added, "will I tell him to get stuffed?"

"No, don't worry I'll come in and get it over and done with... it has to be done, might as well be sooner than later," I said, looking at the view from my balcony, remembering that the last time I had enjoyed it, it had been with Sonia beside me.

True to my word, I dragged myself into headquarters the next morning and was in Pollard's office by eight o'clock.

"How are you feeling, my boy," he said with more kindness and understanding that I would have ever believed possible for him.

"Fine Sir, thank you," I lied.

"You were always a poor liar, Louie, that's one of the things I liked about you. I will be very sorry to see you go, Louie," he said.

"Yes Sir," I said.

"The Crown has decided not to proceed with charges against you. But has asked for your immediate dismissal, I am very sorry, Louie," he said and he meant it.

"I am sorry too, Sir" I said, but I am not sure I meant it, probably not.

"All of us here know what went down Louie," he said, looking at me intently but not coldly.

"Yes Sir," I said, "thank you, Sir" I added as an afterthought.

"Don't thank me, son. I am just grateful that whoever committed those killings did not leave their flat footprints all over the place," he said a hint of a smile on his stern features.

"Yes sir," I said.

"No charges, Louie, means that if in the future you want to go into private work, the Crown will have no objection and I will personally endorse your application," he said.

"Thank you Sir, that's very kind of you Sir," I said.

"Don't thank me, son. You have earned my respect and the respect of all those that know you," he said

"Thank you very much, Sir," I said. He then stood up and for the first time since I had met him years ago, he leaned over his desk and offered his hand, I shook it firmly. I noticed that his eyes had suddenly become very shiny, I looked away quickly.

"Take care, son," he said and with my last "Thank you, Sir" I walked out of his office. I never saw him again, a few months later he ate his own bullet, after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. A tough, proud character - there was no way he would put himself or his family through the embarrassment of a prolonged, terminal illness.

Sonia is never far out of my mind, the vacuum she left in my life, even though she was part of it for just a short time, will never be filled. With Steve's help and the help of my beautiful family, I came back stronger each day. When I opened my small agency it was a relief to be doing some police type work again.

When Maria walked into my life, I began to feel that maybe, just maybe, life might be worth living after all.

# Chapter 5

Sydney – Wednesday: September 23

And now Maria was gone also, I was not about to make any promises to anyone about anything. "Let's see what happens, but no promises from me Steve." I said, becoming angry.

"I know, I know you too well," he said, resignedly.

"And me you," I said cooling down right away. On the very few occasions I got angry at Steve, I could never stay angry for very long.

"Yep," he said

"If anyone is going to need stopping it might be you, you like her as much as I do, maybe more" I said

"I know... But I am a cop, I can do it in line of duty," he said.

"There's that," I said.

"There is," he agreed.

"Are you going back to the office now?" I asked, changing the subject, before we went somewhere in the not forgotten past, neither one of us wanted to revisit.

"Yeah, see what's been happening, I guess they would like for me to show my face once in a while. What time are you picking me up?" He asked.

"About seven thirty," I said.

"So early? That heap of yours can't go any faster? The trip to Canberra is only three hours," he said, smiling.

"Be nice to Doris, she is sensitive. I want to make sure we are not followed and all that. That's going to require some driving around in the wrong direction for a while," I explained, even though I did not need to.

"I knew that," he said. "You want me drop you at your office?"

"Yeah, thanks," I said.

I found the office as depressing as when I'd left it. Maria's absence was like a solid wall. I thought I'd better make myself useful; Maria would hate to see me moping around like Eeyore, in the Hundred Acre Wood. So, I picked up the phone and called Lidia to give her the good news. Good news always cheers me up. Her mobile only rang once before she picked up.

"Hi Lidia, it's Louie," I said.

"What happened, Louie? Mho rang and said you never showed up?" she asked with genuine concern in her voice.

"Something came up, please apologise for me. Anyway, I have been told by Detective Lucas, who is in charge of Ian's case, that you are no longer a suspect. So I guess my job is over before it even got going," I said.

"That's great news, they found the killer?" She asked, brightening a lot.

"Not exactly," I edged.

"Not exactly? What does that mean?" She insisted.

"Well, another man was shot last night in the same way as Ian was and with the same gun," I explained.

"Why that's terrible!" She said, alarm in her voice, "who was he? Was he gay too?" she asked.

"His name was Tom Stevens, the police are not sure about the gay part, yet," I said.

"Oh no!" she said.

"What?" I asked.

"But I know him! We knew him," she said, becoming more than just alarmed, maybe even a little panicky.

"You did? How?" I asked. I was getting that funny feeling. You know the one, like when coincidences are not coincidences.

"He was one of Ian's biggest customers. He came to dinner a number of times. Oh shit, what is going on?" She was now definitely panicky.

"Was he gay too?" I asked.

"No, well, I 'm not sure. But he was continually making passes at me... if that means anything," she said.

"I see... It could have been a show," I said.

"Louie? Can you please stay on the case, I am a bit frightened. Two deaths so close together... and I knew them both. I need for you to stay on, I'll pay you double if necessary," she insisted.

"Calm down Lidia, I will stay on for a little longer and the pay is fine as it is. The Police are working hard on this and as I said, Detective Lucas is a good friend of mine. So, don't worry, Okay?" I reassured her.

"Thanks Louie, I feel better already," she said.

"By the way do you have Henry's mobile number?" I asked.

"I do, but... It's on my mobile, I don't remember it, I'll get him to call you, will that be all right?" she asked.

"That's fine Lidia, thanks and take care," I said

"You too Louie, bye," she said.

A minute or so later my mobile rang, I answered it.

"Yes?" I said.

"Hello Louie, it's Henry. You wanted to talk to me?" he asked.

"That's right Henry, thanks for calling... err... There has been another shooting, a Mr. Tom Stevens."

"But we know him!" said Henry, surprised.

"So I believe, which is the reason for the call. I am going to be a little busy the next couple of days on something very urgent. Could you please stick close to Lidia and postpone days off etcetera?" I asked.

"No worries, Louie, consider it done," he said

"Good, thanks Henry. Cheers," I said.

"Cheers," he said and we hung up.

I speed dialled Steve. "Yeah?" he said.

"Anything new?"I asked.

"Not yet," he said.

"I got something," I said.

"Yeah? What?" he asked.

"That Stevens guy, was one of Ian's best customers, he visited the Harrison's house frequently, for dinner," I said.

"Did I tell you this case is beginning to shit me?" he asked.

"You did," I said. "Anyway, Lidia did not take it too well, actually she freaked out, so she asked me to stay on..."

"Well, that's good news anyway," he said.

"Yeah, I asked Henry to keep a close watch on Lidia," I said.

"Good thinking... Hey! And you did it without Maria's help too," he said.

"That's not funny," I said.

"I know, don't worry, mate... I am sure she is all right, I feel it in my bones," he tried to reassure me.

"Easy to say, hard to do," I said.

"Yeah, I know that," he said.

"See you at seven or so," I said.

"See ya." And we hung up.

I took one last look around the office and then I locked it up. I left Doris in the underground parking area of the office block and walked to my flat. Sergio, the espresso cafe owner saw me walk by and signalled that he would be bringing up my usual as soon as possible. I shook my head at him, I wasn't hungry.

I was worried about Maria, her disappearance and AIA's involvement spelled witness protection to me and I did not trust anyone or any part of the Government to be tamper-proof. Someone, somewhere would talk for money, and that would be the end of it. I knew I had to get to Maria as soon as possible and extract her away from their hands.

I had a long hot shower, wondered around the apartment in a towel getting some clothes together. I got a stubby of Carlton D. from the fridge, sat down at my small desk and took apart and cleaned my two guns, worked their action to make sure all was working as it should. I reloaded them, making sure, the clips were full and that one cartridge was in the spout; and locked the safeties on: locked and loaded, is the often-used term.

Since leaving the Police Force, I don't normally carry a gun at all. Most of the cases I have worked on have been divorces and other type of surveillance, seldom is a gun required. In fact, the last time I had used a gun was on a job I had done for Robyn.

When I expect that I may need a gun, I always carry two – better sure than dead is my motto.

My main gun is a Glock 18. This is the select-fire version of the Glock, available only for Military and Law Enforcement personnel. The Glock 18 can fire a single shot or a burst of three-shots in quick succession. It will take clips with 10, 17, 19 or even 31 x 9 mm caliber Luger Parabellum rounds. A very handy gun and very versatile. The quick Bang-Bang-Bang all within about half a second, is likely to scare, whoever you are shooting at, shitless, and so it can be a good deterrent. They can't even count your shots, as they have no way of knowing which clip you are using.

Glock was founded by a German engineer Mr. Gaston Glock, who since the early 1960's owned and operated a firm for the manufacture of mostly Industrial machines. In the early 1980s, Glock was invited to bid on a new contract for a new age pistol for the Austrian military. This was a new challenge for the company, since pistols were not its normal product line.

With its polymer frame, the Glock pistol that they designed was light in weight had the highest magazine capacity of any other pistol in its class. The pistol did not have any external safety lever or any other controls, which must be deactivated prior to making the weapon ready to shoot. In this way, the pistol was faster, simpler and safer to use than any other pistol. By merely pulling the trigger to the rear, three independent safeties are automatically deactivated and re-activated when the trigger is released. It was a breakthrough in firearms technology.

Steve carries the police issue Glock 22.It has a capacity of 15 x .40 S&W calibre rounds – Steve reckons that if you haven't hit what you are aiming at after 15 shots, you might as well throw the gun at them. That way, you might have a better chance of causing some damage.

My second gun is quite unusual. I got it from a Russian KGB defector that I had the pleasure of working alongside when I did that job for Robyn. I managed to save his life on two occasions and in gratitude he gave me his own, a very rare PSS Silent Pistol. The PSS (Pistolet Sptsialnyj Samozaryadnyj, if you must know) is a special self-loading pistol, which was developed for special personnel of the KGB, as well as for some elite elements of the Soviet Army. Fortunately, he also gave me a box of cartridges for the PSS, as this gun only takes a special type of silent ammunition called the 7.62mm SP-4 silent cartridges. The great advantages of this gun are that it is light, only as thick as a matchbox. It still delivers a substantial punch, and does it almost silently. With a very short barrel, the PSS is not very accurate - it was obviously designed to be used for the KGB for their 'close work'.

I got dressed in jeans and in a very loose fitting T-shirt that declared to the world that Metallica Rocked. The Glock went into a waistband holster under the T-shirt and the PSS in a calf holster under the jeans. I then sat down on my minute balcony facing The Harbour and nursed my beer until it was time to fetch Doris from the Parking area and drive to Steve's place.

When I pulled up outside Steve's place. He was already waiting for me on the street, nursing a smoke and an almost empty bottle of Corona.

"You're late," he said, getting in the passenger seat and closing Doris's door carefully and with the respect she deserves.

"No I'm not. I'm 15 minutes early," I retorted.

"For you... that's late," he said.

"Yeah, I know that," I conceded.

"Where are we going?" he asked, but he knew.

"We'll head toward Lucas Heights, a few stretches on the Heathcoate Road should let us lose a tail, if we get one," I said.

"Sounds good to me," he said, lowering the sun visor. The mirror in the passenger's seat sun visor in my car is angled especially so that the passenger can easily spot cars following us. It's like a rear view mirror for the passenger. That way we both could keep an eye on our wake. After about three quarters of an hour, Steve grunted and said, "He is there and he is good at it."

"Yes, I think so too. When did you spot him?" I asked.

"A while back, but I wanted to make sure," he said.

"Yeah me too," I said.

"What are we going to do about it?" he asked.

"We will have to lose him for now; we need to get to Canberra." I said.

"Sounds good," he said.

Tailing someone at night is an art, and not many people can do it successfully. No one can do it at all, if the car you are tailing switches its lights off. At night, the only things you can follow are the taillights and the cones of the headlights. However, switching your lights off at night while driving where there are no streetlights is very dangerous. It is remarkable how pitch black everything is, you cannot see anything, unless... you have night vision gear.

This is exactly what Steve removed from my glove box and placed on my forehead, ready to lower over my eyes.

"Tell me when you are ready," he said. We had rehearsed this move a number of times when we were still partners. Putting on your night vision goggles before you switch off your headlights can blind you for a few minutes, which is even more dangerous. So, we had to time the process pretty carefully. And practice makes perfect. We had used this method many times before, mostly while tailing a perp.

At the appropriate moment, I would say, "Now," to Steve and simultaneously switch off my lights as he lowered the goggles over my eyes. After a momentary vision adjustment phase, I would then accelerate fast around a few more corners and then, if we were the ones being followed, chuck a quick u-turn and wait for the tail to go past. We would note the tail's car and registration number, if possible, then we would pull out and either tail them in turn or continue in the opposite direction without lights till the street lights were back.

As we rounded the next corner, I said, "Now."And switched the lights off as Steve lowered the goggles, it went down without a hitch.

"Good work," I said

"You bet," Steve said. "But I really hate the next bit, though," he added, as I accelerated reaching dangerous speeds quickly. I could see the road well, but Steve had to sit there in complete darkness while the car took off like a rocket. It must be the definition of trust. I am not sure I could do it without screaming my head off. Steve just sat there, his knuckles white, squeezing his knees tight. A good man, Steve is.

We were parked on the other side of the road, hidden by some trees, by the time our tail flashed past us, going very fast. I guess he was panicking that he had lost us, which he had, of course. We were just about to pull out when another car went past, going just as fast. I looked at Steve, he looked at me.

"Another tail?" I said.

"Or a tail on a tail?" he said.

"Buggered if I know, but if I had to guess..." I said pulling out quickly and accelerating away, in the opposite direction.

"... AIA." Steve finished for me, nodding.

"Yeah... well, I hope that they get booked for speeding," I said.

"No need to hope," he said.

"How's that?" I said

"Well, we always used this road and pull this trick around about here," he said.

"You know me too well," I said.

"I do," he said. "So, anyway, I got a couple of the highway boys to set up a radar trap a couple of K's on. They'll catch them both and we'll see what's what," he concluded, happily.

"You are a sneaky bastard," I said.

"That I am, but I had a great teacher," he said.

"You're heaps sneakier than me," I said.

"Yeah, right," he said.

Canberra, Australia's capital city is located at the northern end of the Australian Capital Territory, 280 km south-west of Sydney, and 660 km north-east of Melbourne. It's peculiar and completely useless location was a compromise between rival cities, Australia's two largest cities:Sydney and Melbourne, they both wanted to be the Capital of the new Federation. The city is a planned city and was designed by a husband and wife team from Chicago, USA, of all places, following an international contest for the city's design: Walter Burley Griffin and Marion Mahoney Griffin in 1913. The word 'Canberra' is said to have been derived from the word Kanbarra meaning 'meeting place' in the language of the local Ngabri people. However,it is firmly believed by some historians that the wily tribe pulled a funny trick on us Europeans, and that Kanbarra may actually mean 'lady's breasts' (possibly, referring to the two local peaks:Mount Ainslie and Black Mountain).Me, I prefer the second alternative... I mean, how many capital cities, in the world, are simply called 'Tits'?I rest my case.

We got to Canberra in just under three hours like Manx cats — with no tails. At a quarter to eleven, we parked Doris in a large hotel underground parking area. We took the lift to the lobby, exited the hotel and flagged down a taxi, which took us to a nondescript block of flats, not very far away. I paid the driver and entered the block of flats. As soon as he had driven off, I reversed our direction and walked to another block on the opposite side. As we took the lift to the fourth floor. I looked at Steve with some disbelief.

"I am surprised at you," I said. "I was sure that you would have made some wise arse comment about all the spook-moves."

"I figured that if you like to play 'I spy', why spoil it for you?" he said.

"Now, that's better," I said, satisfied.

"I try," he said.

"You're a trier, that's for sure," I said

"Is that a word?" he asked.

"Works for me," I said. "Now be a good boy, I don't want you to upset Robyn. She is not what we would regard as entirely sane, but she is our only contact, so be a good boy, right?" I warned him.

"Is that her name? Robyn?" he asked, avoiding promising.

"One of them," I said.

"I see," he said.

On the fourth floor, we walked to unit fourteen and I knocked.

"What? No special knock three times, pause and then knock twice or something like that?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"No need," I said.

"I see," he said. He thought about it for a few seconds. "So, where is the video camera?" he asked, looking around.

"You'll never find them," I said.

"Them? More than one?" he asked.

"You bet," I said, not really knowing the first thing about it. Then the door opened and there was Robyn. Robyn's sexy telephone voice belongs to lady that you would need to look at twice to even notice. Not only does she look very ordinary, but also, she looks like someone's grandmother. As she opened the door, she smiled and said, "Well, here they are, the terrible twins. Louie and Hughie. That was a nasty trick you pulled back in Sydney... Your doing Steve?" she asked.

"Trick?" asked Steve and he was suddenly nervous, I could not figure it.

"The Highway Patrol radar trap," she said.

"You know about that?" he asked.

"Sure I do, the second tail was ours, he escaped being booked only because I had warned him how tricky you two can be," she said.

"Why was he there at all?" I asked, faking a hurt tone in my voice. "Didn't trust me to lose a tail?" I added.

"Better sure than sorry, I always say," she smiled. "So, I guess you want to know about Maria?" she added. Robyn was not one to waste time beating around the bush.

"You bet we want to know. Where is she?" I said a bit too heatedly.

"Now, now Luigi... relax, she is perfectly all right, no need for you to worry. No need at all," she assured me with a placating touch of my shoulder. "Come and sit down and I'll tell you as much as I can," she added, gently pushing me towards a lounge room.

"Luigi?" Steve asked, smiling.

"Yes, Luigi is his actual name... Hugo," she smiled back at him.

"Hugo?" I asked, smiling in turn. His nervousness at been called Hughie was suddenly revealed and I just had to smile.

"No one knows my first name," Steve asserted. "And no wise arse comments from you either or I'll have to shoot you," he added looking at me.

"We do. We know everything about you Hugo," Robyn assured him.

"Hugo?" I repeated, smiling even wider. Steve warned me with an evil look, and made out that he was about to go for his gun.

"I took the liberty of making you boys some sandwiches and some coffee, I am sure you're hungry," Robyn said, on her way to the kitchen.

"N..." Steve was about to say he wanted none when I quickly kicked at his leg.

"She takes it really personally if you don't enjoy her food, so toughen up, because it's usually pretty different, I think it's a mild form of torture, she is not sane... remember? And you better look like you are enjoying it, if you don't want to piss her off, and you don't want to piss her off, trust me."

"What can she do? She is a lil' ol' lady," he said.

"Last time I pissed off this lil' ol' lady, my car got repossessed, my visa got cancelled and I got a delivery of a ton of cow manure on my door step," I said.

"Hey! I remember that! That was her doing? Wow!" he said, surprised. "I am really going to enjoy these sandwiches now, boy am I hungry!"

"Now you have the right idea, Hughie." I said, smiling, and he was about to have a go at me, but my kick stopped him. I could see that Robyn was on her way back to us. She returned, smiling carrying a tray with two blue-vein cheese and strawberry jam sandwiches for each of us and mugs of coffee. The mixture sounds pretty bad, but in fact, they were pretty nice, we did not have to act too hard. The coffee, on the other hand, was undrinkable — weak as piss, too much milk, enough sugar to bake a cake with and already forming slimy skin on its surface. Eeww!

"Good boys," she said as we finished our sandwiches and sipped our coffee. I kept my eyes on Steve as he sipped his. For a moment, I thought he was going to bring up all the sandwiches onto Robyn's nice coffee table. I smiled at him, knowingly.

"Thank you very much Ma'am, they were delicious... and this coffee, it's just as I like it" said Mr. Crawler himself. And a fraction of a second before I was about to.

When she returned from clearing the plates, she sat down and looked at me intensely.

"About Maria, I should tell you to keep out of it, Louie, but I know that's not going to happen, so I will tell you as much as I can and hope you see that you have to keep out of it," she said. The tone in her voice had a warning label written all over it. The preceding display of grandmotherly love was gone. I told you, the bitch was a sandwich short of a picnic.

"Right," I said.

"Right," Steve agreed.

"As you probably have already surmised, Maria is in a witness protection plan. I placed her into your office intentionally, because I knew that, with you two around, she would be pretty safe. Last week, very bad people found her and we had to get her out of there quickly. She is in a safe house right now. Waiting to be placed in another location with a new identity. Her name is not Maria off course," she said.

"Another identity? Is that going to work any better than the last one?" Steve asked, a little too aggressively. He hated all the spooky bullshit. Like me, he preferred to take care of the disease, not remedy just the symptoms.

"Who are these very bad people?" I asked, while placing my hand on Steve's arm to de-fuse the situation before it got more heated.

"You don't need to know that," she answered me.

"That is exactly what I need to know, Robyn. As Steve says, another identity sounds like a palliative, not a cure," I said. Her answer to my question had started to piss me off too.

"That is the best I can offer," she said, as if the matter did not bear further discussion.

"Well thanks for the sandwiches and the really lousy coffee. I guess we'll catch you later, Robyn. Come on Steve, we are finished here," I said, standing up. Steve looked at me puzzled, but he stood up too.

"Are you going to leave it alone?" she asked, remaining seated, sounding like a scolding aunt.

"The fuck I am not. We drove all the way up here because I thought you were going to help, you know? But I can see that the word 'gratitude' is meaningless to the likes of you. But, Robyn, here is a warning for you: no tricks and no getting in my way, I don't care if you look like a granny. I will ride right over you, and your band of keystone spooks, like a Victa mower through grass!" I said angrily and it wasn't an act. I had helped Robyn in the past pro-bono, and I had been almost killed. I felt entitled to her help, not to her obstruction.

"I believe you would, Louie, I believe you would. Well, one can't say that I didn't try. Come sit down Louie... see if we can work something out," she said, patting the seat next to her on the lounge.

I retraced my steps and sat down, feeling that we were being manipulated by an expert, which we were. Steve followed suit, but said nothing. Both of us continued to ignore the almost full mugs of that hideous coffee, which were now, fully skinned over and looked even worse. Steve's had a little moth on its surface, trapped and flapping its little wings, I wondered if it was crying out for our help.

We sat silently, waiting for her, it was her move. She seemed to be considering how much, or more likely, how little she was going to tell us, and how much of it was going to be lies. Then, she started. "Two years ago, one of my agents infiltrated an international criminal group operating in Melbourne. That agent was able to acquire a list of all the politicians, members of the police and judges, which are being paid off by this organization in this country. Unfortunately, her cover was blown and she did not get away, they killed her in a fake car accident. We could not prove anything against them, though. We have no idea whether that information still exists," she paused for a moment, and then continued. "That agent had a twin sister, you know her as Maria. Somehow, somewhere, Maria was seen by a member of that criminal organization and immediately a hit was put on her in the mistaken belief that she was actually her sister, and that somehow she had escaped from the accident. Ever since then we have had Maria in a witness protection plan, even though she cannot supply any information at all, to anyone."

Robyn paused again and I took the opportunity to comment. "And you have done all this through the goodness of your heart?"

"Yes, that's right," she smiled wryly at my sarcasm. "We have kept her under surveillance all the while, for her protection. Last Friday we got word that she had been found, soon after we moved her away."

"Surveillance, uh?" Steve said. "That's how they found her, they just followed one of your flat feet around and they led them right to her," he added, angrily.

"I'm sure that's not possible," she denied.

"Robyn, your story does not make any sense and sounds like a heap of bull to me," I said.

"It's exactly as it happened," she said, lying through her teeth.

"I think you have a cluster fuck on your hands, Robyn," I said, finally realising why she had agreed to see us at all.

"What do you mean?" she said, getting angry.

"I'll tell you what I mean. You, my dear Robyn, have no fucking idea where Maria is right?" Her expression told me I had hit a painful bull's-eye. "She figured out your little trap and decided she didn't want to be bait any longer. And now you have nothing," I finished with satisfaction.

"What makes you think that?" she said, trying to stay calm.

"Easy," said Steve. "First, it's the main reason you agreed, so easily, to see us at such short notice, you wanted to know if we knew anything. Second, you suspect that Maria does know something about that list, or you would have had no interest in her safety at all. And third, Maria is a lot smarter than you guys, she figured that you had arranged the whole thing to exert pressure on her, just in case she knew something. She made herself disappear and left you with your figurative dicks in your hands," he finished. I told you, Steve is no dummy.

"Exactly," I said. Robyn now looked decisively uncomfortable.

After a short pause, she said, "That's just not so." I could see that she was lying.

"Who is this organization that you are talking about, anyway?" I asked.

"They are an international..." She started with the bullshit again.

"Yeah you said that," I said, just ahead of Steve.

"They are controlled by one man, a Russian," she said.

"Russian mafia?" I said.

"Possibly," she said — which meant definitely.

"Who is this man?" I asked.

"His name is Vladimir Tarasoff, but he is known as the Redback. I guess because he is a red Russian and he is toxic like a venomous spider. He lives and operates in Melbourne. But they have offshoots all over the place," she said.

"Why don't you arrest him?" Steve asked.

"Been there done that, with all the people he has in his pocket he is out within the hour," she answered.

"Why don't you take him out?" I asked.

"First we need that list..." then, realising she had said too much, she added "... The AIA does not sanction assassinations, they are illegal."

"Yeah right. And the Tooth fairy is my grandmother," I retorted.

"Do you know where Maria is?" she asked directly.

"So, you have lost her. If I knew where she was, would I have driven all the way here? And more to the point, would I be so stupid as to tell you?" I asked.

"Yes, you might... If you wanted something in return," she said, judging me from her own motives.

"I don't think so, not a million years, especially where Maria involved," Steve said, and then he turned to me. "I thought you told me that Robyn was smart?"

I said nothing.

She looked at me and at Steve for a few minutes, she was deciding something, finally she stood up. "I guess we are finished here," she said.

"Right," I said.

"Right," Steve agreed.

And then we left.

"That was a big fucking waste of time," Steve exclaimed as we descended in the elevator.

"Maybe," I said.

"You don't think so?" he asked. I put my fingers to my lips and pointed to my ear. He nodded and we remained in silence until we returned to where Doris was parked.

"Let's search the car for bugs," I whispered in Steve's ear as we were walking toward Doris. He nodded. Half an hour later, we had two bugging devices in our hands. A search of the exterior revealed a tracking device. Spooks — predictable like night follows day. I placed the tracking device onto a car parked a few spaces away from ours, and after forcing open one of its doors I threw in the bugs under the passenger seat. That done we headed back to Sydney, feeling a lot happier.

We had both been in deep thought, for an hour or so. I knew what Steve was thinking, after about an hour of silent driving; Steve finally looked at me and asked, "So what did you do for that old bat?"

"Robyn?" I avoided.

"No my grandmother! Who do you reckon?" he answered.

"OK... You remember about six months after I opened my agency; I was involved in a case that ended up with my getting shot?" I said.

"Yeah. It was touch and go for a while. I almost went out and bought a black suit and all," he answered. "I figured you must have stuffed up somehow and were too embarrassed to explain how you happen to get shot on one your first cases as a private dick," he added, smiling, emphasizing the 'dick' word.

"Gee thanks! Well, it was on a case that I got roped in by Robyn. I had to sign the official secrets act and all that bullshit. I guess that still applies... Anyway, it ended up that I was put into a situation where I had to shoot this guy, and he shot back before he died and almost killed me, as you know," I said, my foot increasing the pressure on Doris's accelerator as my anger at the recollection grew inside me.

"Take it easy, Fanjo... I'd like to get to Sydney alive and not in a body bag," Steve said, checking his seat belt. "Who was the guy?" he added in a strained voice.

"Sorry," I apologised and eased Doris back to a safe, barely legal speed. "It doesn't matter now who he was. What matters is that I found out later that Robyn had planned for exactly what happened. She had used me as a killing tool."

"How can you still trust her?" he asked.

"I don't trust her at all," I said.

"Well, how come you agreed to take Maria on?" he asked.

"I was going to tell Robyn to go fuck herself, but she turned up with Maria... one look and how could I refuse?" I said.

"True," Steve agreed nodding. "She is something all right, our Maria is ..." he finished, a dreamy look in his eyes. I hated when that happened as I knew how much I liked her and how much he liked her.

"Why did you work for her in the first place?" he asked the obvious question.

I hesitated for a few moments. "She knew about Sonia and Mr. Sin and what I did, she said she had evidence..." I admitted.

"She fuckin' blackmailed you?" he exclaimed, angry.

"Yeah, that's right. And I fell for it like a moron," I grimaced. "But no more...I found out that she had nothing, whereas I have proof of what she arranged for me to do," I added.

"Fuckin' bitch, she had a hide, bringing Maria to you." he said.

"Robyn is 90% hide," I confirmed.

"And the remaining 10% is all bullshit," he agreed.

"So, now it's up to us," I said.

"Where do we start?" he asked.

"Not sure... What about the tail, you reckon the highway boys detained him?" I asked.

"Might have, let's see," he said, and removed his mobile phone from his belt and speed-dialled a number, then waited a few seconds for it to be answered.

"Hi Bob, it's Steve, how you doin'? Yeah me too... err... How did it go last night?" he asked, then paused while he listened. "Oh yeah? Good work, man! How long can you keep him there? Oh yeah? Shit! Why so soon?" he asked, and again paused while he listened. "Well... Do you reckon you can keep him overnight, at least?" He looked up at me enquiringly and I nodded. "Just, lose the paper work or somethin'... good thanks. See ya." He disconnected.

"They got him on a stolen vehicle charge, but there is pressure from above to let him go and he is all lawyered up already, none other than Mr. fucking- arsehole-himself-Gillespie," he said, with obvious disgust at even having to say the name.

"Wow! They must want him released real bad, to get Gillespie in," I said.

Gillespie was a top criminal solicitor, with the emphasis on the word 'criminal'. Other words like sleazy, slime, and turd would apply equally well. Gillespie was the antichrist to most police officers in Sydney.

"No point questioning him, now," Steve said.

"No point. We'll just follow the prick when he is released and see where that takes us, right?" I said.

"Right," Steve said.

We drove quietly for a few more kilometres. Steve was beginning to nap, when a sudden thought entered my head, from nowhere.

"Fuck me!" I said. Steve jumped up, suddenly alert, he looked around and then in the rear view mirror.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concern heavy in his voice, then he looked at me. "What are smiling about, you prick?"

"I think just figured out where Maria is," I said, smiling still.

"You did? Bull shit!" Steve exclaimed. "Where?"

"Yeah... I reckon she's at Mum's," I said.

"Your Mum's? How do you figure that?" Steve asked in a doubtful voice.

"Yep... listen to this; a few weeks ago Maria came with me to Sunday lunch at Mum's and..." I started to explain, but he interrupted me.

"You took her to lunch? At your mum's? To your parent's house?" he said, a worried look on his face.

"It was just lunch at Mum's, no need to get your knickers in a knot" I tried to reassure him.

"Yeah right," he said, dejectedly.

"Will you get your mind off your dick for a moment and focus?" I said at him

"Yeah, yeah... right... So, you took Maria to meet your parents... So what?"

"It wasn't like that..." I lied, as that had been my plan all the time. "... Anyway if you will let me finish?" I added, trying to ignore the fact that he had found me out so easily.

"Yeah, yeah... So, go on," he said, now knowing he had been right, his dejection level increasing.

"That reminds me... good friend of mine. Tell me this: how does Maria know about Roger?" I asked, looking at him in turn.

"What do you mean?" he asked, pure innocence oozing in his tone.

"You know what I mean... You prick," I insisted.

"Well, she happened to come by my flat one night, a few weeks ago..." he edged.

"Happened to come by?" I asked, sarcasm in my tone.

"OK, OK, so, I asked her over for dinner. Is that illegal? Nothing happened anyway, if you must know," he admitted.

"And you were going to tell me about it... when?" I asked.

"I wasn't," he admitted, now smiling. And I had to smile too.

It was a funny situation in a way. But it wasn't funny anymore, not without Maria. After a brief pause, I continued with my theory. "You know how my brothers are: Any excuse to kiss a pretty girl. On that Sunday, as I introduced her to all of them, each one kissed her twice on each cheek... Even the old man got into the act!" I said.

"The kisses on the note?" he said, joining the very faint and hopeful dots I had placed before him. He shook his head. "It's a bit slim, isn't it?"

"At the time, Maria said that she'd never been kissed by so many in such a little time," I explained. "It had made everyone laugh because she held up a V sign while imitating Winston Churchill's tone and voice. And there were seven crosses on the note!"

"Still... pretty slim," he said, doubtfully.

"I'll ring Pip and we'll see," I said, trying to sound confident. Steve's doubt had brought me down to earth, it was very slim. Pip is my eldest brother, Filippo, which in Italian is shortened to Pippo and hence in Aussie to Pip. I dialled his number. He answered immediately.

"What kept you?" Pip said, and I felt a whole lot better.

"I'm getting slow," I said, smiling and nodding to Steve. He was smiling too, happy to have been wrong.

"Yes, you are," Pip said.

"Mum OK?" I asked.

"She's good and wants you to come over on Sunday for dinner, bring Stefanino too, he's family," Pip said and hung up. Stefanino was the affectionate Italian version of Steve.

"She is there?" Steve confirmed, impatiently.

"Yep, she's there. But they feel that we ought to stay away until Sunday dinner time," I said.

"Why? Is she OK?" he asked.

"You know, you don't question Pip, unless you have a spare hour or so, and he hung up anyway. But hey, relax, she's got my six bro's looking after her as well as Mum and Dad, there is no way anyone is going to get near her unless they let 'em," I said.

"As usual, Maria does the smartest thing possible," Steve nodded in admiration.

"As usual," I agreed.

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful and we sat quietly. Neither one of us minded being quiet. I was thinking about Maria, my sneaky friend beside me was probably doing the same. I wondered if it was true that nothing had happened in his flat. I have seen Steve with the ladies before, he is smooth as silk and his eyes always get 'em in the end. "Nah," I told myself. "Maria would not fall for a cheap parlour trick." But I did not really believe it, because there was nothing cheap or tricky about Steve, he was just a natural. Ladies just went to him like bees to a flower. "Fuck it," I said to myself. I wasn't going to let jealousy of my best friend get to me. "No fuckin' way. If they did what they did, good luck to them. I should be happy for my best friend," I thought and I almost believed it, even.

We arrived outside the Police Station, where the guy that had tailed us was being detained, with plenty of time to spare. On the way we had stopped at an all-night Maccas, got some burghers and a couple of mugs of their espresso coffee. We ate and drank in silence. We had done this type of thing many times before and incessant talking drives you nuts after a while. So, we just sat and waited, watched the sunrise, the street come alive, and waited some more. We watched shops open, people rushing to catch a train or a bus, and waited some more. We watched school kids in their prim uniforms get on school buses, mums delivering the younger ones personally, and waited some more.

# Chapter 6

Sydney – Thursday: September 24

Finally, the man we'd been waiting for was released from custody. Steve's mate had given us his description so we had no trouble recognising him when he stepped out of the Station and headed east along the footpath. We were just discussing whether we should both go on foot or one of us keep to the car in case we needed it, when the decision was made for us. A black Holden Commodore pulled up next to the footpath near him, he got in and the car took off. I followed it at a safe distance, as Doris is a very noticeable lady.

After about 2K's of turns around Sydney's city streets, the Commodore entered the underground car park of a tall building. It was an obviously a private car park with entrance by swipe card only. I drove past and parked in the next street along. We walked back and entered the building through its front door. The legend behind the receptionist's desk read Tarasoff and Co. "Bingo!" I whispered to Steve and we walked to the front desk, where a pretty receptionist smiled a welcome at us as if we were the most important people on earth.

"Good morning, gentlemen... how can I help you?" She said, still smiling

"Hi there" I said, "Can you tell me if Mr. Tarasoff is in?" I asked.

"I am sorry sir. Mr. Tarasoff is based in Melbourne; this is just a local subsidiary of the Parent Company. Could someone else help you?" She said, smiling a little less.

"Maybe you can," I said.

"Oh, me?" She said- no smile now. Now she was unsure whether she should be talking to me at all. Steve stepped up and showed her his Detective's ID. Alarm took over from the lost smile.

"This is police business Miss," he said authoritatively.

"Oh?" She repeated, and she was no longer uncertain, she was sure she did not want to talk to us at all. "Maybe I should ask Mr. Vasiliev to see you gentlemen?" She added.

"And who would Mr. Vasiliev be?" I asked.

"He is the Head of Security for this branch... just let me call him down, for you," she said quickly, starting to dial the internal phone system.

"Hang on a minute, we would like to talk to you first," Steve said, sounding ominous, fixing her with his laser eyes.

"Me?" She said, her voice betraying a slight tremor, her body physically moving away.

"Yes, Miss, you," I said. Her eyes were shifting in her pretty head from me to Steve and back to me: as if, she was watching a tennis match.

"Yes, you," Steve agreed," Do you know this a man?" And he proceeded to show her a shot of our man he had taken with his mobile phone.

"Why, yes," relief thick in her voice, "that's him... Mr. Vasiliev, the person I was just about to call down for you... I'll get him for you right now," and before we could object, she was already talking to someone on the phone.

I looked at Steve and he nodded.

"He will be with you in a few minutes, please take a seat," and the smile was back. All was well again; the Earth had returned to its normal axis of rotation, we were no longer her problem. She nodded in the direction of some very expensive looking lounge room furniture. We walked over and sat down, our backs to the window looking out onto the busy city street outside, but we sat facing the banks of elevators in foyer. I noticed that one of them was on its way up from the basement level. When its doors opened, our man stepped out of the elevator and looked at the receptionist, who nodded in our direction. He looked over and for a few seconds froze on the spot, recognition painted on his face. He definitely would not get a job as an actor. Then, getting a hold of himself, he continued toward us forcing a smile on his lips. He extended his hand toward Steve first, showing that he knew that Steve was the cop.

"Hi, I am Alex Vasiliev, how can I help you?"

Steve ignored his hand.

"He is not very good is he?" I said to Steve.

"Yeah, I have seen a lot better," Steve replied.

"What do you want?" Vasiliev said in a strained voice, his lips tightening and losing the false smile, all politeness gone.

"Vasiliev, you can tell us why you were following us last night," Steve asked, as if we were all seated in a police interrogation room, turning his lasers on.

"I don't know what..." he started.

"Look Vasiliev, cut the bull shit, I got no time for it," I said, standing up.

Vasiliev seemed to consider his options for a few moments, then he nodded and said, "Okay, come with me... somewhere we can talk privately."

As Vasiliev turned around, I looked at Steve and mouthed, "See? That's how you do it, Grasshopper!"

"Right, Master," he mouthed back.

We followed Vasiliev into the lift. He used a special key to access a button marked with a B and the lift quickly descended to a floor below the car park. The doors opened and we stepped out directly into a short corridor with three or four doors leading from it. Vasiliev opened the first door on our left and we followed him into a large room.

The room was almost empty except for a desk and a few chairs set up right in front of it. The floor was covered in spotless blue-flecked Linoleum, which curved smoothly up the wall about six inches. There drains dotted at regular intervals; a bit like a large bathroom, but with not bath, sink, shower or toilet.

A strange thought came to me as we approached the desk, "this room would be easy to keep clean, and you just need to hose it down once in a while." I scanned the room and found the tap for just that purpose in a far corner. It gave me an uneasy feeling, and I wasn't quite sure why.

As Vasiliev walked behind the desk, he pointed to the chairs and said, "Please, sit down."

"We'll just remain standing, Vasiliev. Now listen here, we want..." I started on him, but he put his hand up and quickly interrupted me.

"I wasn't asking, I was telling you to sit the fuck down!" He said raising his voice. At the same time, six or seven other men came into the room. They were all holding big guns and they were aimed straight at us.

Steve looked at me and mouthed "So, is that how YOU do it... Master?" I just shrugged my shoulders and sat down. As soon as we were seated, the men with the guns came over. As one of them held a gun to each one of our temples, another quickly and expertly tied our arms to the sturdy chairs using electrical ties, nice and tight. Then they searched us expertly and removed our guns, phones and wallets. There were a few unintelligible comments in Russian when they found my KGB gun in my ankle holster. Vasiliev took the gun and looked at it speculatively, then smiled and pocketed it. He placed the rest of our stuff in the drawer of his desk. The others moved behind Vasiliev and kept their guns trained on both of us. Two of the goons remained beside Steve and me.

Vasiliev did not waste any time. "Where is she?" he asked, leaning on the desk, facing us with what I gathered was his version of a threatening expression. I looked at Steve and we both raised our shoulders in mock puzzlement.

"Where's who?" I asked.

Vasiliev raised his eyebrows at one of his men. He gun-butted me hard on the side of the head. The pain was numbing for a moment. I shook my head and managed to splatter some blood all around me, including on the goon's lower trousers and shoes, but I did manage a crooked smile and looked up at him.

"Hit me again and I will kill you," I promised.

He said nothing.

"Where is she?" Vasiliev shouted, again.

"Go fuck yourself," I said, and the goon hit me again, without needing to be told.

"You are now a dead man," Steve assured him.

He said nothing, and smirked. I must have lost consciousness for a brief period, because the next thing I remember is staring at my blood on the clean ceramic tiles and thinking, "That's why this room is so easy to clean; they can hose all the blood down the drain."

"Where is she?" Vasiliev shouted once more, I slowly looked up at him, but I noticed that this time his question was directed at Steve.

"What he said," Steve said nodding in my direction. The goon next to Steve hit him as mine had hit me. Steve turned around and spat some bloody saliva right onto the man's nice clean white shirt.

"You are fuckin' dead you prick," Steve gurgled, spraying more blood over him. The man looked at his shirt and then hit Steve again, this time a lot harder.

"Slowly...I'll do you... slowly." Steve added just before he passed out.

Vasiliev seemed to hesitate for an instant and then he opened one of the draws in his desk and handed a set of jumper cables to one of the goons behind him.

For a stupid moment, I wondered why he needed to jump-start his car right now, at this moment. Then I worked it out - it was one of us that was going to be jump-started.

As the goon with the jumper cables came over to our side of the desk, I could see a big smirk on his face, this prick liked his job. For the first time, I noticed that the desktop was not smooth, but had two big terminals sticking up from it, like those of a car's battery. This was looking worse by the minute. The goon connected one set of the jumper leads ends to these terminals and nodded at Vasiliev, who opened a compartment on top of the desk to reveal a set of dials, knobs and a switch, which he turned on. Immediately an ominous whirring sound started at low pitch and seemed to increase to a steady hum. The goon brought the two free ends of the jumper leads close together and a sizable spark jumped across with a vicious crack!

Yep, the next few minutes were going to suck. Vasiliev turned a dial and the goon touched the ends again – no spark, he smiled showing us that he thought gold teeth were an attractive adjunct to his ugly face. The goon next to me uttered something in a guttural language and they both laughed.

"Fuck you too," I said.

"Where is she?" Vasiliev repeated.

"I am going to enjoy killing you, Vasiliev" I spat the words out. Vasiliev nodded, and my goon, smiling broadly, ripped my t-shirt in one quick, brutal motion. The other goon attached the jumper leads to my nipples.

Fuck! It hurt like hell, I thought that my nipples were about to be sheared off by the weight of the clamps alone. The arsehole that had put them on me made a show of checking that he had a good connection but pulling on them a few times, increasing the pain tenfold. I spat in his face.

He reeled back with some version of "fuck" in Russian and was about to smack me a hard one, but a shout in Russian from Vasiliev stopped him short.

"I kill you soon, very slow very painful," the guard said, smiling. My nipples were throbbing in pain and I wondered how bad it was going to get once the juice was turned on.

I never found out, because just then Vasiliev's mobile phone rang. He answered it, stiffened as if he was about to salute a general and then nodded. He said into it something in Russian, probably something like "Right Sir, yes right away Sir. How high Sir?" He hung up, looked at us for a few seconds and then to his men.

"We have job that needs doing right now... we'll continue this later. Take that off for now." He said to my goon, who was very disappointed. But followed orders and removed the nipple clamps and placed the leads on the desk. Vasiliev switched off the machine and it wound down with a low lament. My nipples were now numb and would soon become even more painful as the throbbing and swelling was already making a comeback.

"You two stay here, the rest come with me" Vasiliev added and then left taking most of the men with him, the two goons that had hit us and had blood all over them, remained behind and started chattering in some foreign language, Russian, I guessed.

"Fine shit you landed us into." I heard Steve whisper from his apparently non-comatose stance. "Did you enjoy the nipple clamps?" He added with a crooked smirk.

"Yeah, they were just great. I'm definitely going to get a set. You should not have come," I said, spitting more blood on the floor.

"Who would have kept you safe then?" he said, grinning with a bloody smile.

"You call this... keeping me safe?" I scorned.

"You're still alive, aren't you?" he said.

"Well, there is that," I agreed.

"HEY! You two, shut the fucking UP!" My goon shouted at us in his thick accented voice.

"Why don't you make me? You mother fucking son of a syphilitic whore," I answered. I am not sure how much of it he understood, but he got the general gist of the insult. I could see his colour changing to red as he approached me, veins in his neck pulsating, his jaw clenched, murder and mayhem in his eyes.

"That'll do it." Steve said.

But the goon was just a goon after all. He came and stood right in front of me and just as he was about to swing his gun at my face, I straightened my leg very quickly and very hard, it hit him right in the balls. His expression changed from anger to incredulity and then just as fast to unbearable pain and he doubled up. As his face moved toward the floor, I took the opportunity to give his face the same treatment. He fell back and did not move.

"Fuck! I think you broke his neck." Steve exclaimed.

"Warned him, didn't I?" I said.

"That you did, I heard you," he nodded in total agreement.

All this had happened so fast that, for a few moments, the event did not fully penetrate the two-inch skull of the other goon. But he soon stood up from his position behind the boss's desk, at which he had been 'reading' a Playboy magazine.

"Vhat the fucking?" he said, in an even heavier accent.

"Your friend saw the size of my dick and fainted, but he did say that it was bigger than your brain. Come take a look, moron," I invited him.

He got up and quickly came around the desk and stood looking at his mate for about ten nanoseconds too long. Steve propelled himself, chair and all into the small of his back. Steve's head hit his kidney region with a mushy kind of sound. As the goon naturally fell downward, my foot was there waiting for his face. He did not get up either.

"I hope you did not kill him," Steve said from the floor.

"What do you care? He was a dickhead," I said.

"I promised I would kill him slowly, that was much too quick," Steve said in a hurt tone, and then continued. "What now, Master?"

"Grasshopper, see if you can find a knife on one of these idiots then cut us loose."

"I am a bit tied up myself, Master," he pointed out.

"Grasshopper, I have faith in you. You will find the way. But do it before the rest of the goon squad returns... there's a good boy," I preached.

"Gee thanks," he said. He then struggled, chair and all, with grunts and heavy breathing to get nearer to the two lying on the floor. It took him a while to inch his way there, turn the chair and slowly search a pocket at a time, with the limited mobility of his hands.

"Sometime today would be good," I commented.

"Fuck you, why don't you help?" he grunted.

"I don't need to, I'm not tied up... you are," I told him.

"What?" He looked up and saw that my hands were now free. My watch has a little spring action thingy that flicks out a tiny but very sharp blade. I had been issued it by Robyn's mob, during that ill-fated job, and had not bothered to return it.

"You prick!" he said.

"Hey, watch your mouth, I'm the Master, and you are just a lil' grasshopper!" I warned him in a stern voice.

"You are a master prick!" he added while I cut his bonds. Just then, his goon stirred. Bad timing, Steve, already somewhat unhappy with life in general, vented off his anger on the guy's head. With a moan, he went right back to sleep, maybe even permanently.

"OK, I guess we better go... but maybe, while we are here..." I said

"... We might as well take a look around," Steve finished.

The desk was pretty much empty, except for more instruments of unpleasantness and for our things, which we returned to our various holsters. I did take a quick peek at the Playboy... just to check out the articles that I would not be reading, of course. The goons had nothing of interest on them, except for a few hundred dollars in cash and a pair of .44 Remington Magnum revolvers, the arse holes must watch too much TV. I confiscated the lot; no doubt, I did not make their day.

"You are not going to rob them are you?" Steve said in disgusted tone, ever the policeman.

"Hey, I'm and entrepreneur! I see an opportunity, I grab it! Besides, they probably stole the money, it's my duty to reclaim stolen property," I answered.

"You are hopeless," he said shaking his head.

"You want some of it?" I asked.

"Well, yeah! Now that it's coming from you, I didn't steal it, did I? It's now a present, right?" he rationalized.

"Yeah right," I said, handing him one of the .44's and some of the cash.

"Well... let's get out of here." Steve said.

But of course the door was locked and the goons on the floor had no keys at all. So I shot one of those enormous .44 bullets at the lock on the door and it punched it right through into the corridor – lock and all. The door swung open all by itself.

Luckily, we were standing on each side of the door, because as it opened, a hail of bullets followed.

"I guess Vasiliev did not trust those two idiots," Steve said, nodding to the two on the floor, whose bodies twitched as the hail of bullets hit them.

"Would you?" I asked.

"Are you kidding?" he answered.

"How many are out here, do you reckon?" I asked.

"At least two," he answered.

"Yeah, that's what I figure." I said.

"How do we do it?" he asked.

"Only one way," I said.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," he said, after pumping a few shots through the doorway, aiming at nothing, just for the effect. The sound was deafening, and must have given the goons outside pause, as the big .44 bullets ricochet down the corridor. On the count of a silent three, we dove through the doorway, as if we were about to score a try, rolled, turned and shoot the two extra goons, who were waiting for us. Each had been standing exactly where we thought two goons would be: on either side of the doorway.

"I hate doing that. One day it's not going to work," Steve said, breathing heavily. His heart must have been going at least as fast as mine was, and mine was just about to fibrillate.

"Yeah, I know that. But when that day comes we won't worry, because we'll be dead, right?" I said, breathing hard too. We sat there on the floor for a few minutes more and then I searched the two new goons and found a set of car keys in one of their pockets and more cash.

"It's really true that you can't take it with you" I admonished one of the bodies.

We dropped the .44's next to them, after wiping them clean of prints. Using one of the keys on the key ring, we were able to take the elevator up to the car park. When Steve pressed the door lock/open gismo, a red Ford Falcon V8 obediently answered the call. I got into the passenger seat and Steve had the powerful motor going in no time. We headed toward the entrance, which was blocked by the card activated roller door. I looked in the car's glove box for a swipe-card to open it, but there was none. He stopped the car a few metres from it.

"What do you reckon?" he asked.

"Go for it, it's not my car, "I said.

"Hold on," he said

"I always hold on when you drive," I said.

He reversed the car as far as it would go, it was easy to tell when that happened - it hit the back wall with a loud crunch. He gunned the engine, dropped the clutch, the tires squealed and we approached the roller door at the speed of light. The heavy Ford powered right through the roller door like it was butter. The windscreen blew in; the hood popped open and flew off hitting the roof and denting it in. The bright red Falcon entered the main street roaring like a tank and enveloped in the roller door. It was steaming from its crushed radiator like an insane locomotive and its fan was making a noise like a machine gun on speed. It suddenly stopped and with a final BANG, it died right there in the middle of the busy city street.

"That went pretty well," Steve said.

"We better get out of here before we attract attention," I admonished.

"Very funny," Steve said, kicking his door open. Mine would not open so I followed him right out. Traffic was backed up on both side of the Falcon, we brushed our clothes clean from the fine glass that had showered all over us, and without looking back strolled toward the street, where we'd parked Doris. Apart from his bloody face, Steve looked pretty good, I must have been a sight: bloody faced, T-shirt torn to my waist and big bruises around my now puffy nipples. I guess about a hundred people stood still, staring at us as we walked calmly all the way around the corner and then, unseen, to my car.

"I should stay here... you know what the book says: 'never leave the site of an accident'," he quoted.

"That was no accident, you did it on purpose," I pointed out.

"True," he agreed.

"Think of the paperwork... especially with all the bodies we left behind," I added.

"Yeah! Fuck the paperwork, and fuck the book too, let's go," he agreed and I eased us out of the area as only a car like mine could do: with aplomb!

But it was our lucky day – just as we rounded the far corner of the street, the black Commodore with Vasiliev and the rest of his goon squad returned. They hesitated at the sight of the red Ford and then on seeing Doris they gunned their car right onto the footpath to get to us, not minding the near misses they had with startled pedestrian. They came straight after us, gun-full hands waving out their windows; these guys had nothing on the Keystone Cops. One of the idiots actually discharged his gun in the middle of the city... I heard a dull clung.

"Did someone shoot Doris?" I asked incredulously.

"Oh boy, now they are fucked!" Steve said ominously.

"You better believe it! The fucking assholes! No one shoots at Doris!" I said, my voice trembling with emotion. "Right! I am heading for the pit," I informed Steve.

"Oh no, not the pit," Steve grimaced.

"The pit, they fucking asked for it," I confirmed.

"Oh shit!" Steve murmured.

# Chapter 7

Sydney – Thursday: September 24

The pit was about eight kilometres from the main city centre in a suburb called Tempe, in the inner west of Sydney. Tempe was romantically named after the 'Vale of Tempe', a beautiful valley in ancient Greek legend set at the foot of Mount Olympus. When it was first settled, Tempe must have been truly beautiful: with Cook's River languidly flowing through a peaceful green valley. Unfortunately, the Industrial revolution came to Tempe like a cancer; it soon achieved the dubious honour of an industrial slum. This new status was aided by the infamous Tempe Tip, which accepted all kinds of waste and was forever burning it off, producing fetid clouds of noxious fumes 24-7. Believe it or not, it was one of the first things that visitors saw of Sydney: Tempe lies adjacent to the Sydney International Airport. City planners, you wonder if they ever stop smoking that funny weed.

These days, most of the eyesores have gone, the Tempe Tip has been converted into parkland and Cook's River is once again almost able to support some form mutated fish life.

Ah but, The Pit remained. Located at a closely guarded location (to avoid the embarrassment of passionate environmentalists committing suicide in protest to its existence) it continues to process Sydney's most toxic liquids.

The Pit was a concrete lined depression, about an acre in area. All manner of industrial and other liquid waste, ready for incineration, filled it to the brim. Trucks would back up down a ramp, much like a common public boat ramp, and either unload or pump their toxic cargoes into it. I don't think any radioactive waste went into the pit, but at night, it had an eerie blue-green glow, yet to be explained by modern science.

The 'beauty' of the pit was; that if you were not aware of its existence, and you made it through the closely guarded gatehouse, you were apt to drive straight into it. I figured these Russian bozos would not have made it their first point of call on a tourist trip around the city.

You know, I could have lost them if I had really wanted to, but I didn't even try, in fact, I allowed them to inch closer for a bit and then I would accelerate and leave them behind for a bit.

"Ah, ah...you are playing them like a big snapper," Steve observed with admiration in his voice

"I like fishing," I said.

"Are you really sure you want to do this?" He asked, doubt creeping into his voice once more.

"You bet I want to. Look on the positive side... We can go visit them in the Deacon ward and ask a few questions of our own, later on" I said.

"Mmm, there is that," he said, "but they could all drown in the shit you know."

"I don't think so...we'll call the Fire Department before they do, I swear," I said.

"Okay then, if you promise," he said.

"You bet," I said.

Finally, we were nearly there and I allowed them to catch up a bit. It was important that they should not realize what was going to happen until it was too late. We entered the open gates of the industrial dump, without stopping, but slowing down enough for Steve to wave his badge at the guard. He waved us through.

Vasiliev and his squad did not even slow down, but as the guard tried to stop them they let off a shot at him, which fortunately missed him but broke a window of his little guardhouse. A very good result: the guard was not going to be in a hurry to call for help, when they landed in the shit.

I headed down the ramp toward the bowl of toxic waste. Just before the ramp, there was a side lane that was not immediately obvious as it was hidden behind a small ridge and a tall stack of 44-gallon drums full of toxicity. I put Doris into a four-wheel drift around the sharp corner, barely missing the tall stack of drums that lined the other side of the lane, I followed the manoeuvre with a handbrake turn and, in zero time, we were facing the way we had come in: I wanted to watch the show. I noticed that the cast was on its way toward us.

"Nice," Steve said.

"Thanks," I said

The black commodore came pelting down the access road; I guess they were trying to catch up to us. They must have figured they had us trapped now and were moving in for the kill. It flew over the small ridge that had hidden our manoeuvre and on reaching the top, the car became airborne. It came down with a severe thump on the concrete ramp, only a few metres from the noxious lake. Their tires did not even screech when the driver tried to stop the car on the slimy surface at the end of the ramp. There was a big WOOFF and they went straight into the sea of poison.

The car's own momentum carried it further 'off shore'. We got out of my car and watched as the Commodore started to sink. Everyone in it tried to scramble onto the car's roof, one pulling on the other. A few were dragged into the poisonous soup by some of their 'mates' trying to reach the roof first – it's a dog eat dog world, I mused to myself, smiling.

They waved at us and shouted "Help, help".

We waved back, and shouted "Fuck you."

"I suppose we should call the rescue squad, now" Steve said.

"Already? Don't you want to see how long they last before they try to swim for it?" I asked

"Nah... I better call it in," he said and lit a smoke.

"I guess so, if you must, you must," I said, as I lit my own cigarette while leaning on Doris's hood and relaxing a bit.

"Yep... I better call it in," he said again, leaning next to me, inhaling deeply through his already swollen mouth.

"Maybe the guard has already done so, and has saved you the trouble," I suggested.

"I don't think so, not after they broke his little window. I think that might have pissed him off," he said.

"Yeah, there is that," I admitted, nodding.

"Well I'm going to make that call, then," he warned once more, taking another pull at his smoke.

"If you must," I said, nodding.

"Yep, I must," he said, crushing his smoke under his foot and patting his pockets for his mobile phone.

"OK then," I said.

Meanwhile the black commodore had sunk right to the roofline. All the goons and Vasiliev were covered in muck and still screaming for help. I finished my smoke and was about to flick it into the lake when Steve stopped me.

"Not a good idea, mate. Don't you see all the "Highly inflammable" signs all over the joint?" He asked.

"Inflammable is that the same as flammable? I thought it meant the opposite." I answered, innocently.

"Yeah, right," he said extracting the phone from his pocket.

"Really," I said, crushing the butt under my shoe.

"Yeah right," he repeated, dialling 000. He asked for the rescue squad, explained what was happening and hung up without giving his name. The car was completely submerged and they were standing ankle deep on its roof.

"I don't think it will sink much more," I said

"Maybe not," he said

"Then again..." I said, as the car sank another six inches, but already we could hear the sirens in the distance.

"Guess it's time to go," I said

"Good thinking," Steve said

"We can go and check up on our new friends in the decontamination unit in a few hours," I said

"Good thinking," Steve said.

"Let's go and have some lunch," I said.

"Good thinking, "Steve said.

The fire department decontamination unit passed us on our way out, as we got the thumbs up from the guard. I headed straight back to town.

"Did you notice how their skin went all that funny shade of red... well, it gave me and idea...do you feel like having lobster?" Steve asked pensively.

"Great idea, mate, " I said with enthusiasm, and changed course for Watson Bay, where the best fish restaurant in world serves the best lobster and oysters: Doyle's.

We had a two-hour lunch, but we did not end up having lobster after all, our mouths were much too sore. But oysters don't need to be chewed. We both had four servings of the oyster entrees each: natural. A few glasses of wine as an anaesthetic and that great view, cheered us up considerably, even though Doris's boot still had an ugly hole in it.

Calling a taxi by phone, Steve left a little earlier than I did. He figured that he'd better call in at work before they declared his desk as vacant. Me, I stayed where I was for a little longer, soaked in the view, had another couple of glasses of wine, finished off with two short black coffees and thought a lot – mostly about Maria.

I really wanted to go over to Mum's and see how Maria was doing, but Pip had said Sunday, and no one in our family, not even Dad or Mum ever failed to follow Pip's 'advice'. Early in his grown-up life, Pip had established himself as the thinker of the Breccia clan, the fact that he was a Physicist at Sydney University and that he is two metres tall and weighs over 120 kilos with not an ounce of fat considerably helps his image. So, before all my thinking about Maria got me nowhere except into a fit of depression, I decided to call Henry to see how the Lidia was doing.

"Yo!" he said.

"Hi, it's Louie." I said.

"I know that, I got you in my phone," he said.

"How is she doing?" I asked.

"Never better," he said.

"How so?" I asked.

"She seems to have been released from a huge weight on her shoulders. She is happy and smiling. She has a whole new wardrobe, she sees the Doc every day. I think it's the happiest she's been in years," he said.

"Wow! Maybe she did knock him off, after all," I said, jokingly.

"Shit, I would have," he said. "Hey, she figured out that you asked me to keep an eye on her. And she sends her thanks, but you have to stay on the case, anyway. She will not be entirely happy till all of this solved and is completely behind her."

"Don't worry, I'm right on it," I lied.

"Good," he said.

"Well, I'll call again soon," I said.

"Cheers," he said.

After hanging up, I called Steve.

"What's up?" Steve answered.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," I said

"Plenty on the Harrison case, there have been three more victims. Same MO, everyone is buzzing around looking busy, but there are no leads to follow up. By the way, I just found out that the goons show is on at the Prince Alfred Hospital Decon. Unit," Steve explained.

"You wanna take them some flowers and say Hi?" I asked.

"I should stay here and look busy on this serial killer case, but we got nothing so far. Mike has everything under control...I am sure he won't mind, so I might as well, but I don't think flowers will be allowed... They are going to be pretty sensitive to any kind of chemical stimulus for a while," he said and I could hear the smile in his voice. Mike was Steve's current partner in crime... solving.

"OK I promise: no flowers." I said. "Pick you up in about an hour and a half?"

"See you then," he said.

"See ya," I said.

When I got there, he was waiting for me on the footpath. "You are late," he said entering my car.

"Only a couple of minutes, I did not want to push Doris too hard, she was shot today, you know." I said.

"Fuck me... she... it is only a car, you know," he said, knowing that it would stir me right up.

"Whatever," I replied, not falling for his taunt. We drove on to the hospital in a sulky silence.

I parked Doris in a handicapped space and on the dashboard; I placed a fake 'handicapped' sticker.

"You have no conscience, at all. You know that?" Steve said.

"If I had one, you wouldn't be my best friend," I said

"True," he said.

"What floor?" I asked.

"It's in the basement," he said, "right next to the morgue," he added, as an afterthought.

"Does that mean that their Decon. Unit is pretty hopeless and most patients end up dead anyhow?" I asked, cheering up already.

"Maybe, on the other hand, it could be that it has been placed where it can do the least damage: if the contamination spreads; it can only spread to people already dead. They are not going mind, are they?" He argued.

"True," I agreed, depressing the 'down' button for the lift. As the doors opened, we saw that it was already occupied by two nurse's aides manning a hospital trolley. On the trolley was a motionless figure covered with a sheet from head to toe, on which was tied a small label.

I looked at Steve. He looked back. There was nothing much that could be said, so we stepped into the lift, the doors closed and it started to move down at the pace that would have kept up with a sick snail.

Then the motionless figure under the sheet, moved.

"Hey!" We both shouted in unison jumping back and hitting the elevators doors.

"Don't worry, just a nervous spasm," one of the orderlies said, confidently.

"Are you sure?" I asked trying to hug the door. Hitting the B button several times as if the elevator, understanding our situation, would now speed up.

"Absolutely," the orderly said, "look," he added and removed the sheet from the face of an old geezer, whose eyes sprung fully open just at that time.

"Fuck!" I said.

"Fuck me!" Steve said.

"Shit!" The orderly said.

Just then, the doors opened and we fell out in a heap.

"I hope you are not coming with us," I said to the orderly in a raspy voice.

"Guess not," he said "I guess we take this one back up."

The doors closed and the lift ascended toward higher wards, at a speed that would ensure the old geezer would be dead from old age, on arrival. I looked at Steve and he looked back at me, we were still on the floor on our arses.

"Shit, what kind of place is this?" I asked.

"Very creepy," he said.

"You can say that again," I said.

"Very creepy," he repeated, as I knew he would. "There it is," he added, before I could comment. He was pointing to a set of double doors in the far distance with more warning signs on them than the entire F3 expressway.

"Sure looks like it," I said, getting up and helping Steve up.

Steve showed his badge to the duty nurse, who subjected us to a long list of 'dos & don'ts', without taking a breath. I guessed the opportunity to talk to someone did not come down here very often. Grudgingly and with some sub-vocal murmurings, she waddled out from behind her desk and showed us the room where the goon squad was being treated. Man, they were a sight! Covered in bandages, IV drips going in, catheters coming out. Even I started to feel a few pangs of regret and remorse, really... I nearly did.

"Hey boys, how're ya doin'?" I asked brightly. They all turned in our direction. It was a bit hard to determine their emotional reaction to our visit as they were entirely bandaged up and their mouths only emitted guttural sounds. By nature, I am a positive thinker, so I took the many "mmmrrchhs!" to be greetings in Russian. I may have been wrong.

We walked straight up to Vasiliev, who, on the other hand, was showing no reaction whatsoever, his beady blue-white eyes followed us around the room as we walked toward him.

"Hey Vasy," I said happily to him. "We need to finish our conversation. If you remember, it was interrupted by your little surprise. I especially found the nipple clamps very entertaining."

He said nothing. He did not move. He may have flinched; his eyelids wavered at the mention of the nipple clamps.

"So, why were you following us?" Steve asked.

No reaction.

"What do you want with my friend, Maria?" I asked.

No reaction.

"You know, Steve, I thought Vasy here was a pretty smart guy, but I have been wrong before," I said.

"That you have," Steve nodded.

"For instance, Steve, I bet this lil' switch here on this gismo, controls the morphine that helps Vasy here with the pain from the acid burns, what do you think?" I asked, absentmindedly leaning on one of Vasiliev's heavily bandaged legs.

"Maybe, why don't you switch it off? We'll see if you are wrong again," Steve suggested. I nodded and followed his advice. We waited and he stared at us and we stared back. His reaction was slow in coming but when it finally came, it was quite vigorous and increasing in intensity.

"So, Vasy, why were you following us?" Steve asked again. I kept the switch in an 'off' position as encouragement.

"Orders, find girl." He mumbled, his voice gravely, weak and urgent.

"Why do you want her?" I asked switching it 'on', to his visible relief.

"Orders. She has something... belongs to us"

"Orders from whom?" Steve asked

He hesitated and my finger caressed the on/off switch, but I did not have to turn it off again.

"Big boss in Melbourne, Mr. Tarasoff," he added quickly.

"Well, Vasy, old man, we would like for you to pass on a message to your Big boss. Tell him that Maria, as of now, is off limits. Comprende?" I said.

He said nothing.

"We want it to stop, and we want it stopped now," Steve said to Vasiliev, "just pass that on to your boss." Steve added, fixing him with his laser eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments, then, like all those before him, Vasiliev turned away.

"I will tell him," he said, but his tone told us, that his boss was not going to listen.

"You do that," I said, and we turned around and left. I considered turning the switch off again, but I am not cruel man, so I just saluted a good bye and we walked out of the room, thanked the nurse at the desk and with some trepidation waited for the lift. I half expected to find the same orderlies with the same old man on the hospital gurney, all three trapped for ever in that ancient lift, as if in the Twilight Zone. Fortunately, the lift was empty.

Once back on the street Steve said, "You think that worked?"

"A total waste of time," I said.

"It wasn't a complete waste of time," he objected.

"How do you figure that?" I asked

"Well, we brought an old geezer back to life in the lift," he pointed out.

"You think that was us?" I asked surprised and starting to feel real good about it.

"Definitely, we step in the elevator and he is resurrected, no doubt about it," he asserted with complete confidence.

"Hey, I like that." I said, I then thought about it for a moment, "maybe we should come to the hospital more often?" I added.

"Don't want to push our luck," Steve said.

"Guess not," I agreed. Just then, Steve's mobile started singing and he answered it.

"Steve," he paused. "No SHIT?" he paused again. "On my way. Right. See you," he hung up and pocketed the mobile.

"That was Mike, there's been another one." he explained before I could ask.

"Killing?" I guessed.

"Yeah, another victim... Shot in the head just like Harrison and the rest," he nodded.

"No shit!" I said.

"Take me there?" he asked.

"You bet," I said.

# Chapter 8

Sydney – Thursday: September 24

When we arrived, the scene was already cordoned off with Police tape. We ducked under and entered the victim's house and were directed by an officer to his bedroom, the scene of the crime. The body was half-lying on his bed, still wearing the top half of his gaily-coloured pyjamas. He had his knees on the floor and the rest of his body on the bed, both hands stretched above him on the bed, his back was toward us, as we entered.

When we walked around, I noticed the two neat, almost invisible .22 entrance wounds just above his right ear. There had not been much bleeding as the bullets never exited. They had, no doubt, bounced around inside his skull, scrambling his brains in the process. Death would have been practically instantaneous.

The room was filled with crime scene experts, cops and paramedics. I stayed in the background having no official standing any longer. Even though some of the techies recognised me and signed hellos, it was hard not to feel left out. It felt like I was an intruder. I decided to shrug off the feeling by ignoring my lack of official sanction and spend the time really looking at the crime scene. Steve was busy discussing stuff with Mike and other cops, getting all the facts down in his little police journal, as he always did. After about an hour he came over and said, "Not much new in this one, basically the same as all the others," he finished, pocketing his little book after carefully inserting his pencil spiral binding. By then I had some ideas of my own.

"By the looks of the house and contents, he must have been well off, just like the rest," I said

"Yeah, his name was Vincent Boots, it would be interesting to know if he was known to your client as well," he commented.

"Yes it would," I said, "Did you notice the spider in his hand?"

Steve turned around and checked. "It's a small jumping spider," he confirmed. "It's dead."

"Did the other vics have anything like that, as well?" I asked.

"Spiders?" he asked.

"Yes, were there any spiders, anywhere near the other bodies," I repeated.

"Let me see," he said. He made a big production of extracting his little book and flicking through his notes, reading quickly.

"Mmm it does not say so here... well I'm not sure," he said, with a little embarrassment. Steve hated missing out in writing down every detail of a crime scene, "is it important?" He asked

"I don't know. It may be." I answered but my gut feeling was that if there were more spiders at the other crime scenes, it might be crucial, "Where are the crime scene photos from the others?" I asked.

"Back at the station on the murder wall, set up by the task force," he said.

"Let's go and take a look, mate,"

"What now?"

"Yeah right now"

"Okay then," Steve knew better than to argue with me regarding crime scenes. They had always been my specialty. "Just let me tell Mike and we'll go,"

"Right," I answered distractedly, but my mind was on the possible implications of the spiders, if indeed they were there.

As we drove toward Steve's office, he tried to get me to open up about the significance of the spider a number of times

"Let's just see if they are a common factor first, I don't want to end up with egg on my face," I said diverting any further probing from him. He drove the rest of the way in a sullen silence. When we finally got there, we sat down at his desk brought up the digital images of each of the crime scenes starting with the first murder — Harrison's.

The beauty of digital images is that they can be magnified easily and quickly. I saw the possible image of our quarry on the second crime photo that Steve loaded.

"Look there on his back, it looks like a mole. Zoom in a bit, will ya?" I said.

"I'll be fucked!" He exclaimed as the mole resolved itself into a small jumping spider, identical with the one we had found earlier, "man oh man, you are the Crime Scene Master," he added.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet, mate, let's look at the others first," I said, but I knew then that it was a given: they were an important message from the killer. And in each case we did find identical little spider which had gone unnoticed. Some were harder to find than others were, but they were there.

"So that confirms it, mate... so care to tell me your theory of why they are relevant?" He asked, pulling away from the desk and picking up the 8 x 10 prints of each spider he had sent to the printer.

"One more thing first...well actually two," I said

"Right and they are?"

"We need to find out whether any of them were bagged and tagged by the CS team and then get one of them to the entomologist. Who worked the Crime Scenes?"

"Raj Patel" Steve said, smiling. I knew why he was smiling too. Dr. Raj Patel was the best CS scientist in the force.

"Beauty! Raj never misses anything. I'll eat your hat if he doesn't have them bagged, tagged and identified already" I said, enthusiastically.

"I don't wear a hat," Steve said, as we made our way toward the CS labs.

"I was speaking metaphorically" I explained.

"Metawhat?" he said, playing the dumb country boy, which he wasn't.

"You know," I said.

"Yeah, I know," Steve said.

"Louie!" Raj shouted across his domain of microscopes and beakers. "It's so good to see you. It's been too long" he added shaking my hand with pleasure and clapping me on the shoulder with undisguised enthusiasm. Raj is normally a very serious scientist, at a crime scene he will hardly respond to questions, let alone act emotionally. His reaction upon seeing me after so many years was startling and made me feel good. Hey, I'm human; I like being liked just like you do.

Raj is a tall skinny man in his late fifties. His jet-black hair is now streaked with some grey and he stoops a little more than what I remembered. His absolute neatness and grooming is still the same. A handsome man, who could have chosen to be some sort of model, if his passion for forensic work had not been so embracing.

"How are you going, Raj? You look good, mate and it's really good to see you too," I responded with similar enthusiasm.

"You look good too, Louie," he said and then he stepped back a little and examined me thoughtfully. He seemed to ponder what he was about to say for a few moments and then he startled both Steve and I.

"I bet you two are here about the little spiders!" he said, and his serious expression slowly morphed into one of absolute pleasure and satisfaction as he saw the startled looks on our faces.

"But...how?" Steve started to say.

"Well I just got the report back from Bill a few minutes ago," he turned to me, "Bill is our resident entomologist, Louie" he explained.

"Still..." Steve started.

"It wasn't very difficult to guess, Steve," he explained smiling in my direction, "as soon as I saw Mr. Crime Scene here I knew that you were here about what I was just in the process of calling you about."

"So, what's the story, Raj?" I asked.

"Do you want to see the report?" he asked

"The report can wait. I know you have read it, so your summary will probably be better than the report itself," Steve said.

"Such confidence! I thank you, Steve. Okay it seems that all the spiders were killed intentionally and set in a proper entomological manner, much like you might set butterflies for a butterfly collection." Raj said. His voice now was completely professional in tone and delivery.

"Do you think they were left by the killer?" I asked.

"No doubt about it. They are all the same and our Bill reckons they were killed and set some time ago. If you look close enough, you can even see the tiny hole left by the pin that was pushed through their thorax," he said nodding.

"What kind of spiders were they," Steve asked.

"All of the ones found so far seem to belong to the Family Salticidae or "Jumping spiders". Salticidae derives from the Latin word salto meaning 'to dance with hand gestures'. They were different species, however."

"Are the found in particular areas?" I asked.

"There are over 5000 species of Salticidae in Australia. Jumping spiders can be found everywhere if the sun is shining, on trees, grass and rocks. At night or during rainfall the spiders hide in a dry spot. Some even mimic ants so they won't be attacked as they hunt. You see they do not have webs, but stalk their victims, much like tigers do. They are all predators." Raj said and amplified his description with hand movements mimicking a tiger pouncing.

"You said that they are predators and can be found on rocks? Right?" I asked. I was getting that funny, slightly nauseous, feeling I knew so well. "Now I am pretty sure where this is going" I said and my expression must have looked like I had a real bad taste in my mouth

"I have no idea where it's going or even where it's been," Steve admitted.

"When I first became a detective, I spent three memorable years, that I wish I could forget, with the Vice Squad," I reminded him.

"Yeah I knew that. But you never talk about it. I figured you did not enjoy it much," he said.

"I hated every second of it, mate. Every fucking second!" I said, unpleasant memories flooding back without invitation.

"What's that got to do with this case?" He asked.

"A spider, specifically a rock-spider is a term that refers to child molesters," I stated in a dull tone.

He looked at me with surprise and disgust in his face. Raj moved back as if he might become contaminated by the word alone.

"What's that got to do with this case? My case?" Steve repeated, his face strained, his words sharp like blades.

"Now you know why I hated that job. I am not sure, but I could guess," I said, looking at him, taking the full force of those laser eyes.

"Guess then," he said, coldly.

"Maybe all of these guys were somehow involved with children. Someone found out, probably a parent. Maybe he or she decided that the police were going to do sweet fuck all about it. Maybe he or she decided to administer their own brand of justice, maybe," I said.

"You get all that from a few little spiders?" He asked, not really surprised but hoping I was way off base.

"I did say I was guessing," I admitted.

"Yes you did," he said, his tone still dull.

"I guess we should start looking at all the known paedophiles," he said.

"You reckon?" I asked.

"What are you saying?" He asked

"Me? I'm not saying nothin'. But how worse can the world be with less child molesters in it?" I pondered.

"Are you saying that I should just sit back and wait for this killer to finish his revenge or whatever the fuck he is doing?" he asked, getting angry.

"Me, I would give the killer a medal, but that's me." I said.

"Well I don't fuckin' like it!" he said, angrily.

"Me neither," I agreed.

"I don't care for it much myself," Raj added, breaking into a fake Indian accent. Normally, he spoke English perfectly, better than either one of us.

"I need a drink" I said.

"Ditto," Steve agreed, now depressed.

"Ditto comes from the Latin word dictus, "having been said," the past participle of the verb dicere, "to say." In Italian dicere became dire and dictus became detto, or in the Tuscan dialect ditto," Raj informed us inconsequentially.

Steve left for his office, soon after. He was going to bring the task force and his partner Mike up to date. I thanked Raj, we promised to catch up more often, and then I made my way home. I parked Doris in her usual under-cover spot. I had a shower, ignored the two croissants and short blacks that were waiting for me when I came out. I got a cool beer and sat on my balcony watching the splendid harbour lights.

I thought about the killer. What would I do if my son or daughter had been molested? Would my reaction be any different? Would Steve's? I had shown in the past that I was not likely to take any attack on my family with easy tolerance and forgiveness. I had gone after Mr. Sin and his gang with exactly the same determination and ruthlessness as this killer. Was I any better? Was Steve? After all, he had helped me cover my tracks, without even being asked.

I have no tolerance for criminals and killers that do so because of greed, lust or outright meanness and worse, cruelty. But I cannot allow those I care for, to be hurt without my stepping up to their defence or to issue punishment. I guessed that I had never been really cut out to be a lawman. To follow the exact letter of the law, to allow the State to look after me and those I cared for.

Being a cop had taught me one thing – it's not how bad you are that counts but how good your lawyer is. The law is like anything that is manmade: faulty. Just like any man made lock can be broken open by another man, any law can be bypassed by anyone smart enough or rich enough.

All the victims in this case had been super rich, super powerful. Even with all the evidence in the world, most if not all would have skated right past the courts of the land and the next week it would have been business as usual. I guessed that the parent, probably a father had said. "No fucking way!" And had followed through... In all honesty I could not blame him.

All this thinking was giving me a headache, so I got myself another drink. We had pulled an all-nighter and I was feeling beat. On the stereo, Elton John was telling me that he was still standing.

"Good on ya, mate," I said to him and soon I was in bed and no longer standing.

# Chapter 9

Sydney – Friday: September 25.

I usually sleep like a log. Once I hit that bed, I'm out like a corpse. But that night, sleep eluded me, in spite of my tiredness. A lot of tossing and turning, blankets and sheets winding around my body in impossible ways, the pillows feeling like concrete, things bouncing around in my head, unpleasant things, memories of past cases all mixed up with the present – enough was enough.

"Fuck it! I've had enough." I shouted to no one and got up. I hit the shower and then drank the now cold coffee that Sergio had brought up earlier, lit up a smoke and returned to the harbour lights. As I sat, some of the twirling ideas in my head were coming down to roost. I might as well do something about them, I got up and I went online.

I used a number of search engines, some available to the public like Google and Yahoo, others that were strictly used by law enforcement personnel. Some hours later, I found what I had been looking for and many hazy veils lifted off. I was now pretty sure who the paedophile-killer was. I had no proof that would stand up in court, but that had never stopped me before, so I did not let that worry me now.

I signed off feeling good and bad at the same time. Life sucks in so many ways, and for some of us it sucks a lot more. So I went back to bed and was out like a light.

It only seemed a few minutes after my head had hit the pillow, the feather soft pillow, which my mobile barked at me. Bleary eyed, I picked it up, noticed that it said 5.14 am and that the caller I.D. said "Laserman", which meant that Steve was calling.

"Hey," I mumbled. "Don't you ever fuckin' sleep?"

"Hey, tell me about it," he said. "Listen... Err... where's your car?"

"You mean Doris?" I asked, snapping awake.

"Yeah, you have another? Where is it?" he asked.

"Downstairs, in her parking spot, as always," I said, getting edgy.

"You want to go and check?" he said.

"What's this about, Steve?" I asked.

"Just humour me. Go and check," he said impatiently.

I quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, barefoot and bare-chested I rushed down the stairs past the closed espresso café and found the small carport that I rented from a neighbour, who was now too old to drive. I had taken the mobile with me and when I got there, I said to Steve, "she's not here, Steve!" My tone was on the far side of desperate.

"Pick you up in five," He said and hung up. I tried calling him back but the bastard would not answer. Wearing the same jeans and now a T-shirt, moccasins with no socks I was waiting for him when he pulled up. Before I could say anything, he lifted up his hand, "no questions, just sit there, we don't have far to go," he said.

I was about to say something but decided to sulk in the corner instead, and looked at the scenery as it whizzed past us. We arrived at a park not far from where I live. The presence of two fire engines confirmed to me the extent of the bad news that I had coming. Steve showed his badge and we pulled up right next to the blackened skeleton of what had been the best-looking Eldorado in Australia.

I said nothing.

I did not get out of the car.

I stared straight ahead. I remembered how much Sonia had liked Doris. Her enthusiasm when she drove it for the first time. Now, finally, even this tenuous connection with her was gone.

Steve got out, talked to the fire chief on the scene, and then stepped back in the car.

"The chief says it was set alight using some type of Molotov cocktail, thrown in through the driver's window, which had been smashed... I guess to steal it in the first place. I am sorry mate," he said.

"It's not over, then" I said in a monotone.

"It don't look like it," he said.

"I guess I knew it wasn't going to be over," I said.

"Yeah, me too," he said.

"As Raj would say: Si vis Pacem, Para bellum," I mumbled.

"Which means?" he asked.

"If you want Peace, prepare for War." I said numbly.

"Yes. We'll have to take the fat-lady with us to Melbourne, I guess, and explain to Tarasoff what the word 'over' means in Australian," he said, nodding.

"Looks like it," I agreed.

"We are booked on the two pm flight," he informed me.

"Good," I said. "That gives me a few hours to tie up a couple of loose ends."

"Do you want to meet at the airport or will I pick you up?" he asked.

"I'll meet you there," I said.

"Sure thing," he said. Then, we drove off.

I did not look back.

That blackened skeleton was not Doris; it was just a pile of rusty metal, soot, nuts and bolts. It now meant nothing to me. So I told myself.

Steve dropped me back home; I went up and fell into bed again. I did not wake up until the alarm sounded at ten am.

I rang down to Sergio's and asked for two short blacks. I showered and dressed. When I came out, the breakfast was waiting for me. I phoned for a taxi and got the driver to drop me off at the Hertz dealership.

I had prepared myself to rent any old thing from the rental company. When I got there, I noticed that a nice black Mustang was available, so I said, "Why not? It's not my fuckin money!" Then I used the money I had taken from those two goons to pay for it.

It was a very comfortable car and the V8 had a nice muffled heartbeat, but it wasn't Doris. I took it for a slow drive to Lidia's house. It gave me time to think, to figure out how I was going to do what I must do.

When I arrived at Lidia's house, I slowed to a stop at the gate. Joe was slow in coming to greet me as he did not recognise the vehicle, but when he saw me, he did an exaggerated double take and opened the gate for me. "Nice ride, Louie, but I liked the other one better," he said, shaking his head imitating a fine wine connoisseur.

"Me too, Joe, but some arsehole torched my Doris this morning. Now I am stuck on rented wheels," I explained, still not believing it.

"Are you shittin' me? But... that's a fuckin' sin! I hope you find the prick that done it and break his fuckin' legs!" He exclaimed, outraged.

"You can take that one to the bank, Joe," I said.

"Good on ya, bury the cunt!" He agreed enthusiastically. With disappointment painted on his face, on my behalf he added, "Sorry to tell ya, Louie, but Mrs. Harrison is not here. She is spending a few days with a friend." He winked at me. "But, Henry is here," he finished, trying to be helpful

"Thanks Joe, I guess I'll go and have a chat with him. Where will I find him, do you know?" I asked.

"He has a little flat above the garages. I guess he'll be there, taking it easy with the boss away," and he winked at me again.

"Thanks," I said, winking back not really sure what we were winking about.

"Sure thing Louie and I'm real sorry about your loss, mate," he said, in a sincere mournful tone.

"Thanks Joe, I appreciate it," I answered, saluting him loosely as I drove past.

The bank of four garages was detached from the main house by a small garden in full bloom. On the other side of the garages, there was a small carport where Henry parked his own car. I parked the Mustang alongside his burgundy Toyota Camry. A short flight of stairs lead from the carport to the unit upstairs. I knocked once when I got to his front door.

He opened the door almost immediately, but was startled to find me there, visiting.

"... Hi," he said, a bit awkwardly. I was not sure if his initial hesitation was because he was very casually dressed in a white singlet, shorts, and bare feet, or because I had caught him at an inopportune moment.

"Hey, Henry," I said. "Sorry to border you, I thought we might have a chat."

"Sure, Louie, come in. What happened to your nice car? In for a tune-up?" He asked, looking below at the black Mustang, parked next to his own car.

"I wish, Henry... Nah, no tune-up is going to help her now. Some arsehole torched it this morning," I said.

"Shit! I am very sorry to hear that. Know who did it?" he asked.

"Not yet, but when I do, I will introduce him to his Maker," I said.

"Amen," he answered, nodding.

He led the way to a, sort of, family room with an attached kitchenette. It was not unlike my own flat, but bigger and without a view. I could see two doorways on the far wall. From the small portion of tile floor showing, one was obviously the bathroom. The door to the other room was closed, but I guessed it would have to be the bedroom. The family room was extremely neat; as expected from an ex-soldier, its décor was this side of Spartan. He directed me to one of the four leather armchairs and headed off toward the small kitchenette.

"Beer or coffee?' he asked.

"A beer would be nice, thanks," I said, sitting myself down.

I noticed that there was no television in the room, but there was an Apple computer with a huge screen. I recognised it as a Mac Pro. I had drooled over one not long ago. It was a serious computer.

He came back with a stubby of my favourite beer, a Carlton Draught. I signalled my thanks and took a long pull at the bottle. It was still early in the morning, but seeing Doris all burnt to rust had left me with a very dry throat.

"Very nice," I said to him, nodding toward the Apple Mac.

"The best," he agreed, smiling.

"You're into computers then?" I asked.

"Yep, I was with a branch of the military that focuses on protecting us from digital attacks. That was before I volunteered for some fieldwork disarming the millions of land mines overseas. I guess I had to be better than most hackers," he explained. "So, how is the investigation coming along?" He asked, diverting the conversation away from himself. He sat down on the armchair opposite mine, leaving his own beer untouched.

"Well, I think it's coming along fine," I answered. "Matter of fact, I'd like to use you as a sounding board... if you have the time." I added, taking another drink.

"Sure, Lidia is away for a couple of days and I have nothing to do," he said. I paused for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts.

"It starts with a young guy, who volunteers to defend his Country by joining the Army. He trains hard and becomes very proficient at his job. He quickly advances to sergeant and eventually he goes overseas to help clear minefields. It is a dangerous job, but he is brave and capable. And he knows that his work will save lives. He leaves behind a young wife and his young son." I paused for another drink. I noticed that I have his full attention.

I moved forward in my chair, elbows on my knees. He continued to appear relaxed, but I see his hands gripping the sides of his chair with considerable force, knuckles white from the tension.

"While this brave young man is overseas, his young wife has an affair with another man. This man is rich and can give her many things. One of these things is a brand new sports car. Of course, our young and brave soldier knows nothing of this. The letters from home are becoming less frequent, but he blames himself for leaving his young wife behind." I stopped to catch my breath. I spied an ashtray on the coffee table, took out a smoke and lit it. Henry was a statue, body as tense as a string on a violin.

"And then," I continued. "Three very bad things happen almost simultaneously. Very, very bad things; our brave soldier has an accident with one of the mines. He is taken to hospital, and ends up spending the best part of six months recovering from his injuries and the many operations that followed them." I could see that Henry was ready to jump up and do something stupid. Surely he knew where I was going and he didn't like it one bit. As if to reach for another smoke, I took out my gun and placed it carefully on the table, within easy reach. I picked up my drink and have another long pull at it, not taking my eyes off him for a second.

"Relax, Henry... Hear me out," I said to him in an even tone, with no threat or warning in it. I figured that the gun was doing that for me.

He forced himself to relax and finally picked up his own drink and took a long, long suck at it. It worked. The tension in his body visibly diminished.

"The second very bad thing that happens is that his young wife has a fatal accident in her nice, new sports car. This leaves his young son in the hands of her boyfriend. And now the really worse thing happens... the boyfriend turns out to be part of a paedophile ring." I could see that the tension was back in his body and he looked ready to jump at any moment. I held out my hand. "Relax, Henry and listen!" I said to him in a tone that was no longer friendly. It was an order. He understood orders.

"What would I have done, had I been in our brave young man's shoes?" I paused, staring straight into his eyes. "... Exactly what he set out to do."

His face was as pale as a sheet. For a moment, I was certain that he was going to attack me and run for it. Just in that instant, a funny thing happened: he studied me a little longer and nods. He did not bother with denials, I liked that about him.

"What are you going to do about it?" He was neither apologetic, nor arrogant, just flat. Emotionless. His eyes were cold, blue slits.

"Me? I am not going to do anything. But you are going to stop, Henry," I said.

"I haven't finished yet," he stated with a fierce force in his voice, his eyes suddenly wild, and his lips bloodless. Was there a touch of madness?

"I think six lives or is it seven by now? In exchange for one is pretty close to being even, Henry. I cannot begin to understand how bad it has been for you. Your only son, your young wife, the pain of your injuries... those... animals. But you need to stop," I paused to check that he was still listening, and that he hasn't dropped out into fairyland. But his eyes were fixed on me, absorbing every word.

"Look Henry, I found out and so will the police. I guarantee it. I am surprised that Steve Lucas is not here already. You need to stop. Steve is a good cop, and he is more interested in justice than the actual letter of the law," I said.

He did not say anything. But his internal turmoil must have been staggering. Slowly, tears formed in his eyes, he did not wipe them away. "I don't think I can stop, it hurts too much, Louie. It's eating me up like a cancer. It's like having a knife in your chest and someone keeps twisting it," he paused for breath. "I found him you know, my little man, my beautiful boy... after they had... finished with him. He is still in a mental clinic. Seven years old Louie, seven fucking years old... and he is locked up in a fucking mental institution." His words were like knives, and I could see them cutting him up as he spoke. "I don't think I can stop. I don't think I want to stop," he finished, convinced.

I looked at him; I looked straight into his eyes. Then, I stood up and walked towards him. I sat on my haunches directly in front of him and put my face real close to his. I kept my tone even, but intense.

"You can, Henry. You can and you MUST stop, Henry. Think about it, man! For fuck sake THINK! You are that little boy's father; he needs you now more than ever. You go on and you will be arrested; you will be abandoning him again. Are you going to do that to him, AGAIN?" I accused. I can see my words hit him, like bullets to the heart. He reeled back, as if I'd actually, physically hit him. But I grabbed hold of him by the shoulders; he was not going to move away, he was not going to shrink from my words. I allowed them sink for a few seconds, and then I pressed on the attack. "You need to stop being a selfish prick, Henry. Stop satisfying your own needs for revenge, your own need to ease your guilt. It's all about YOU, don't you see?" I paused, but I did not let him answer my question. "Now, you need to think of HIM and only him. You understand me? What the fuck is going to happen to him if you go in jail? Tell me that? Who is going to look after your little boy? A bunch of doctors? Nurses? Who is going to give him what he needs most? Love and patience. You go to jail, Henry, and he is in there for life, and he will be fucked for life and YOU, Henry, will have done it to him, you only, Henry, YOU! " I shouted the last words at him as if he were deaf.

I was sure he was going to hit me, but I did not flinch. The moment stretched for a hundred years. He jumped up, away from me as if I was scalding hot. I saw his tightly bunched fists come up. But I pressed on, standing up with him, chasing after him, invading his space once more.

"Think of Frankie, Henry" I said, looking at him. "Think of your little boy, all alone, no mother, no father... Think of Frankie," I stopped, I was done.

Suddenly, it was as if all the tension escaped his body like air out of a balloon, his tendons and muscles turned to jelly. He collapsed back on his chair, his face was in his hands, and his head was shaking.

"Oh Jesus! What have I done?" he asked himself in a disbelieving tone, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare. It was worse than a nightmare, because it had all been real, too real. He stared down at his scarred feet. Big, fat tear drops splashed onto his toes, exploding in hundreds of tiny droplets. His whole body shook, as if he was suffering from a bout of malaria. A low moan came from him, a moan of despair, born of guilt, born of remorse, but mostly, born of love.

Nothing was said by either one of us for a long time, I just listened to his moan as it slowly fades. Finally, he looked up, his bloodless lips, trembling. His face was streaked by tears, but somehow he looked better, as though the terrible pain that had been crushing him was removed, amputated.

"Frankie is the most important thing in the world to me, Louie," he said, his voice a croaky whisper. "Oh fuck, fuck... FUCK! What an idiot I have been! What a fucking fuck up for a father. Shit, I haven't been thinking straight for so long, that it got to be a habit, I couldn't tell the difference. Selfish, useless cunt!" he said, shaking his head from side to side.

"Go pack, Henry and go to your little boy right now," I said to him.

He looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "But the police... you said..." He stammered.

"Go pack, Henry. Leave the police to me. Do it now." I said. He got up and looked at me, hesitated, but the gratitude, the hope in his eyes was my reward.

"Louie, thanks for this chance. Thanks, thanks so much. I think you have saved my life, no, both our lives. I really mean it, thank you, Mate. Listen, the list with the rest of the men on it is on my computer in a file called 'spiders'... and..." He extended his hand. We shook and stared into each other's eyes; the energy flowing through that simple contact was like plugging into a power point. Had we been chicks, right about then, we might've hugged each other, and had a good, consoling, cry. Real men are not that smart.

He disappeared into the small bedroom adjacent to the living area and started throwing stuff into army style sacks. I put my gun back into its holster and followed him as far as the doorway. I watched him pack, and wondered what was taking Steve so long. Right then, the phone rang.

"Speak of the devil," I murmured to myself.

"Could you please get that for me, Louie?" Henry asked, still throwing stuff in the sacks, not even looking up, completely focused on getting to Frankie, his young, sick son. I walked back to the living room, feeling pretty good with myself. I picked up the cordless receiver.

"Henry?" Joe's voice asked from the earpiece.

"It's Louie, Joe. Henry can't come to the phone right now. Send Detective Lucas right up, will you, Joe?" I said.

"How the fuck did you know he was here?" he asked, amazed at my extra sensory deception.

"Magic, Joe, just plain magic," I said and hung up.

A few minutes later, I opened the door for Steve, just as he was about to knock, his clenched fist suspended in the air.

"You're late," I said, barring his entrance.

"I should've known you'd be here before me, shit I hate that!" Steve said with mock disappointment.

"Just a few minutes," I reassured him.

"Where is he?" Steve asked.

"He is gone," I lied. We could both hear Henry still busily packing. "You are definitely too late... He has a sick little boy to look after."

"I know he has... That's how I got here... Medical records," he said. "I am not sure I can just let him walk out, Louie."

I gave Steve a playful pat on the shoulder. "Sure you can, Steve. In fact, you must. You punish him and you will punish the boy even more, he needs his father now. You know that, or you wouldn't have stalled twiddling your thumbs waiting for me to get here before you."

"I can't leave the case open, Louie, you know that. Mike or someone else on the task force will work on it. Eventually, if not sooner, they will come looking for him, just like we did," he stated the obvious.

"Not if we close the case, first," I said, playing the part he wanted me to play.

"What do you mean?" he asked, knowing full well what I mean, but wanting me to spell it out, because he had been waiting for it.

"We are going to get a list of some very bad men, Steve... I am one hundred percent sure that one of them is the real killer," I said, a wry smile on my face.

"I am not sure I can..." he started.

"I know you can't," I interrupted him. "But I can, and I will... You just go away and wait for an anonymous phone call." I suggested.

He thought about it for a minute, as if he was really debating it. I knew that his mind had already been made up, even before he had left his crappy desk, back in Parramatta.

"Well, I guess... Since he is not here... I'm off. I'll see you at the airport, right?" he asked.

"You bet, mate," I said, smiling and patting his shoulder as I gently closed the door behind him. Henry came back to the lounge room, just as I turned around from the door.

"Who was that?" Henry asked, puzzled.

"Mormons," I said.

"Am I going to be arrested?" he asked, catching on.

"You just need to focus on Frankie, and leave the rest to me," I said and his relief was visible. "But, Henry... I need that gun." He hesitated. "I need that gun, or this can't go away. And I need it now. I know that I am asking you to trust me completely... but the gun is essential."

"Trust you? Shit, Louie with what you are doing for my boy and me, I trust you with my life, Mate... I only hesitate because it's Lidia's gun, I don't want to get her into any trouble. She does not deserve it," he said.

"Don't worry, she will be OK, you have my word on it," I assured him. He nodded and without further hesitation, he reached inside his coat pocket, brought the gun out and handed it to me, butt end first.

It was a nice little gun, a Berretta 21 Bobcat, accurate up to about three metres. I knew a lot of cops that used them as back up pistols, because they only weigh about three hundred grams and will take both .22 and the slightly more punchier .25 cartridges. It was spotlessly clean, as I would have expected it to be, coming from an experienced soldier. I nodded and put it in my jean's back pocket.

"Go, I'll explain it all to Lidia," I said.

"Tell her the truth, I think she deserves that much," he said.

"Sure thing, Henry." I lied. "Now go and take care of Frankie... take good care of both of you."

"Thank you, Louie... If there is anything I can ever do to repay you or Steve, please don't hesitate. All the information you need to contact me is on that computer. Keep it, and the computer, it's yours. So long, Mate." Then he was gone, gone, gone. And me? I still felt pretty good with myself. I picked up the Mac Pro and took it to the car, feeling that I have not earned it yet. I had a few things to do before catching that plane. Driving back toward my flat, I didn't even think of Maria, well, not more than a couple of times anyway.

# Chapter 10

Sydney – Friday: September 25.

As our plane climbed rapidly into Sydney's blue sky, and then banked in a southerly direction for Melbourne, Steve looked at me.

"Henry got away OK?" he asked.

"No worries." I reassured him. "Did Mike tell you about the anonymous phone call he got a couple of hours ago?" I asked.

"He sure did. He was very excited. He is organizing a full SWAT team and all that. You didn't let the grass grow under your feet," he remarked.

"No, I didn't. I wanted it resolved quickly, so that we can focus on this Tarasoff arsehole," I said.

"What's your plan?" he asked.

"I don't have a plan, except for causing lots of pain and destruction. I am going to squash him like a spider. I think it'll be a fitting end for a Redback," I said, smiling at Steve.

"Great plan, Master!" He congratulated me with mock sarcasm. "I thought that might be your MO... So, I came up with my own plan," he said proudly.

"Yeah? You did grasshopper?" I acted surprised. He smiled and took a typed sheet of paper out of his inside coat pocket and with a flourish passed it to me.

"What is this?" I asked, turning it over in my hands.

"Take a look," he said, smiling.

"An extradition order! And it's signed by an actual judge. You are genius... The Grasshopper finally betters the Master!" I exclaimed and clapped him on the back, laughing with delight. Then I clapped him on his thigh, which he quickly moved away, which made me laugh even more. "You are a sneak, you know that, Steve? I guess that explains the one-way tickets. We are going to be driving him back right?"

"You bet," he said.

"Lots can happen on the long drive back, right?" I said.

"You bet," he said.

"If a few of his goons follow us... Well, interfering with the transport of a prisoner is not only illegal, but can also be very dangerous, right?" I said.

"Ironic isn't it?" I commented.

"What is?" he asked.

"A grasshopper is going to get a red-back spider." I said wryly.

"You bet," he murmured and then he passed out, asleep. He had got even less sleep than I had.

Melbourne Airport, also known as Tullamarine, is situated Twenty-three kilometres from the CBD. It was opened in 1970 to replace the nearby Essendon Airport and has become the second busiest in Australia with more than Twenty-four million passengers in and out per year. The Melbourne to Sydney air route is the third most-travelled passenger air route in the world. Friday afternoons are probably its busiest time and I was fully expecting to stuff around for a considerable time getting a car rental.

I should have known better — Steve being Steve. He had arranged it all in advance and when I hit the Hertz counter, the pretty girl there only wanted a signature and then handed me the keys to a nice new Ford XR6, fitted with a sat nav. We found that a car in the Hertz parking area easily and I drove us down the Tullamarine freeway while Steve slept all the way into the city. The pleasant female voice of the on-board GPS brought us right to the front door of Tarasoff's building in the CBD. It had an underground parking area manned by a guard, who let us through once Steve, still half-asleep, showed him his badge.

Tarasoff's receptionist told us that, she was real sorry, but that we were too late, and that 'Elvis' had left the building. As soon as Steve flashed his Badge and in a very annoyed tone proceeded to threaten her with 'obstruction of justice' or some similar bit of TV bull, she paled and called Tarasoff on the intercom.

We could hear his high-pitched voice shout at her through the phone from where we were standing, on the other side of the reception desk. He did not sound happy, he kept shouting at her for about a minute or so. All she could say was, "Yes, sir," a number of times. When she disconnected and started packing-up all her things with tears in her eyes, I figured she must have got fired. I felt a little bad, but not too much, her job was always going to be temporary now that her boss was running toward his own dire straits.

Between sobs and throwing stuff in her ample bag, she pointed us in the right direction. We caught the lift to the top floor and then we proceeded right past Tarasoff's secretary, toward a large door. The young lady followed us all the way there warning that Mr. Tarasoff saw no one without an appointment. We ignored her and entered without knocking.

Tarasoff was sitting behind an enormous desk. He was about sixty, short and fat like a big soccer ball. A few strategically placed grey hairs on his scalp were contrasted by bushy dark eyebrows and enough hair coming out of his shirt collar to knit two pairs of socks.

He was flanked on either side by four goons. I wondered if they had a mould somewhere in the basement where they punched out a Standard T-model Goon, because they all looked the same to me. I brightened at the thought that the Sydney goons were looking quite different now.

"Come in gentlemen, come in," Tarasoff welcomed us, as if we were here by his express invitation. He ignored the fact that Steve was already halfway to his desk. I hung back and a little to the side, keeping an eye on all of them and making sure Steve would not become the meat in the sandwich.

"What can I do for you?" he added with smile as false as a pair of silicone tits.

"Please stand up Mr. Tarasoff and turn around, I have an order for your arrest and extradition to New South Wales," Steve said in a tone that was colder than dry ice.

"What is this? You must be joking," Tarasoff said, all his bon-ami gone.

"I have an extradition order, to take you back to NSW and face these charges, Mr. Tarasoff," Steve repeated, presenting him with a copy of the order.

Tarasoff snatched it from Steve's hand, gave it a quick once over. He then extended his short little arm and used a pudgy finger to press an intercom button. I noticed that on his desk he had a paperweight of cast plastic with a large Redback spider embedded in it. I figured that he must like, and promote, his nickname.

"Get in here! Now!" he shouted into the intercom. Three milliseconds after that, a smooth looking guy in a business suit appeared as if by magic — enter the shyster.

"What's this crap?" Tarasoff asked the shyster in a manner that would be used on a slave. Tarasoff threw the extradition order at him. It went into a complex trajectory and ended up at Steve's feet.

For a moment it looked like the lawyer was going to tell Tarasoff to shove it up his arse, but then he saw reason... more likely, he saw the magic dollar sign. He bent at the waist right in front of Steve, picked up the order and quickly read it. He looked up at Tarasoff and said, "It's an extradition order, with your name on it."

"Fuck me! Is that why I pay you fucking fortune every year? To give me fucking reading lessons? I know it's a fucking extradition order, what the fuck are you gonna do about it?" Tarasoff shouted at him, banging his pudgy fist on the desk, the paperweight bouncing along to fall off the desk — it must have been an omen, I figured. I now knew who he reminded me of: Nikita Krushev banging his shoe at the United Nations.

"I'll have you out in 30 minutes, Mr. Tarasoff, but right now there is little I can do. It's a legal order and you need to go along with it," said the lawyer, keeping his tone in check. "Unless, of course, these officers would like to be reasonable and accept my assurances that I will deliver you in Sydney, personally." He smiled a snake's smile. I was sure I could see his forked tongue tasting the air.

"Reasonable my arse!" Tarasoff said to him, he then turned to Steve. "How much to make all this go away? Ten thousand do it for you guys? Each?"

Steve hesitated for just a moment, as if he was actually considering the offer. What an actor that boy is! If he wasn't such a good cop, I would have to say that he missed his true calling. He then turned to me. "You heard the accused offer me a bribe? Did you not?" he asked, very seriously.

"I did," I confirmed.

"Was it, in anyway, solicited by my behaviour?" he asked, still speaking to me.

"It wasn't," I confirmed, once more.

Steve turned back to Tarasoff and looked at him with a slight smile on his lips. "Attempting to bribe an officer is a felony and will be added to the list of charges that are waiting for you in Sydney. Now, unless you would like me to add 'resisting arrest' to that list, Mr. Tarasoff, you will turn around and place your hands behind your back. I am going to have to handcuff you," he said, extracting a set of cuffs from his belt holder. While everyone's attention was focused on Steve's little speech, I took the opportunity to slip my gun out and hold it next to my leg.

"Surely that's not necessary, officer, Mr. Tarasoff is a respected member of the community..." The lawyer started with his lawyer's sweet-speak.

"I am a detective, not an officer. And I know exactly what Mr. Tarasoff is," Steve corrected the lawyer in a way that you might use in describing a cockroach. Turning to Tarasoff once more, he added, "Now, turn around and place your hands behind your back. You fellows move away and let me through." He said to the goon quartet.

"Do something!" Tarasoff said to them in desperation. And as one, like Pavlov's dogs, they reacted to his stimulus and started to going for their guns.

I interrupted them from where I stood. " Ah, ah, aahh," I said, shaking my head and showing them my Glock, safety off, ready to go, and pointed straight at Tarasoff's sweating moon-face. "One more move and your boss gets it... Who wants to be second and third? I can let off three shots in half a second." I warned and paused for a moment, eying them so that they would know that I would not hesitate to do as I promised. "OK you lot, very slowly, put your guns on the desk and move away to that corner over there." I pointed with my chin. "Sit down on the floor, hands under your asses. Do it now!"

Meanwhile, Steve did his job and handcuffed Tarasoff by first lifting him up, clear out of his chair by his collar, and spinning him around like a basketball.

"All of you remain very still, I get nervous real easily. You don't want me nervous. The slightest touch and bang, bang, bang," I warned them, saying the last three words very rapidly for effect.

"Let's go," Steve said to Tarasoff and helped him along with a shove to his back, toward the door.

"You'll never get to Sydney," Tarasoff shouted in a tone that left no doubt what he wanted his goons to do, once we'd left.

"Move it!" Steve said, ignoring the threat and shoving him along once more. I backed toward the door in their wake.

"Don't follow us; the first head out of that door gets one right in the eye." I warned them. They must have believed me, as not one of them followed us out. As we were passing through the reception area, the receptionist was still getting her stuff together. She looked up startled. "See?" I told her, "It wasn't a job worth crying over. He is leaving even before you." Then I smiled, and she smiled too.

We made it, unmolested, to the elevator and down to the basement where our rented car was parked. We placed Tarasoff in the back, I drove while Steve watched him, gun in hand.

We left Melbourne, right away, heading up the Hume Highway toward the twin cities known as Albury-Wodonga, which are separated by a bridge over the 'mighty' Murray River — Australia's largest river.

The Murray is not a big river by world standards, after all Australia is an arid continent. It is, however very important to Indigenous Australians. They believed that the Murray was created by the tracks of the Great Ancestor, Ngurunderi, as he pursued Pondi, the delicious Murray Cod fish. The indigenous Wiradjuri people occupied the area for many thousands of years and little has been documented about their relationship with the European settlers. Judging from the fact that there are very few Wiradjuri left, they did not seem to benefit from them.

"We have company," I said to Steve about half way to Wodonga. "Two cars full of men and driving erratically, behind us."

"Thought we might," Steve said.

"Yeah, what a bunch of morons, they are likely to be stopped by the highway patrol if they keep driving like that... I better slow down," I said smiling. "You employ some real inept idiots, you know that, Tarasoff?" I said looking at him through the rear view mirror.

"You know, you are not going to make anything stick, I won't spend one night in your lousy jail" Tarasoff said from the back of the car. "If you even make it to Sydney," he added with snide attitude.

"Jail? Who said anything about jail? Did you mention jail, Louie?" Steve asked me, in mock surprise.

"Not me, mate. I think lard ball at the back is under a false impression," I said smiling and turning around to wink at Tarasoff.

"You must be right," Steve said to me. Turning to Tarasoff, he added, "We are going to Sydney... You, well, you may not make it."

"What do you mean? That's what the extradition order says, I have to be in a Sydney Court by 9 am tomorrow," Tarasoff exclaimed, not wanting to understand our words.

"Tarasoff, old mate, didn't Vasiliev pass on our message?" I asked him.

"Message? Vasiliev? " Tarasoff said, becoming less confident.

"Well, we told him that we wanted all the crap with Maria to stop. But either he did not pass that message to you or you chose to ignore it... Either way, it's now your very serious problem," Steve said.

"So! It's you two," he said, surprised.

"None other," I confirmed. "Wrecking my car, that was stupid and a waste of a beautiful machine. A sin in my mind, but I could have forgiven that. But continuing to threaten Maria, that's worse than a sin, Old Man... It's your ticket to hell."

"But you must take me... You are the police..." he pleaded.

"The law has never been important to you before, Tarasoff, why start now?" I said.

"But... but you can't... you, you are..." he mumbled, comprehension of his predicament finally reaching his subconscious where all his fears and worries were ready for it, to embellish, augment and magnify the effect of our words and tone.

"I am not a policeman," I informed him. "Does that makes you feel any better?" I added, but I don't think it helped.

"You don't understand... that girl has something that belongs to me... I just want it back ... then everything will be OK," he said, reassuringly.

"What you don't seem to understand, Old Man, is that we don't give a rat's arse about what you want," Steve said.

"I killed her sister, and soon my men will kill you too. Then I will get this Maria cunt and I will give her to my men for some fun times, then I will kill her too." He suddenly changed tacks, hoping to frighten us into compliance. I guess that sort of thing worked with his goons. It did nothing for me and it resulted in Steve smashing his head with the butt of his gun. Tarasoff passed out cold.

"Mate, we need to fix the goons behind us pretty soon," I said to Steve as he turned toward to face the front, and then I added, "Feel better?"

"A lot better, thanks. As soon as you find a good place, stop and I'll fix the road. Make sure no other car is in the vicinity, OK?" Steve said.

We were looking for a spot on the road where Steve could place our police-issue tire-slasher that he had carried in his luggage. We would make sure we could take out both cars following us, without taking out some poor innocent fellow traveller. Half an hour later, I had a good spot with an extended 'S' bend in the road. I stopped soon after the first part of the 'S' and Steve quickly jumped out and deployed the slasher. He jumped back in and I continued driving as if nothing had happened. It was important that our tails see us turn the second corner, as they reached the first, this would keep their attention focused on us and not on the road, or so we hoped.

As I watched in the rear view mirror, I saw the first car hit the slasher and its front tires blow. It lost its grip on the road and crashed straight into the fence. On its rebound, it was hit hard by the second car, which had been following at high speed, much too close behind it. They waltzed together for a few feet and stopped. Soon after the impact, a thin line of smoke arose from the first car and then there was a huge woommf that shook the windows in our car, and all we could see was a huge ball of flame enveloping both vehicles.

"Oopss... Well, that wasn't supposed to happen," I said, grimacing. I u-turned the car and drove back to see if anyone needed help. But no one had got out in time.

Through the flames, we could just see that both cars had been carrying large containers of petrol, probably with the intention of using it to dispose of our car, with our bodies in it, once they caught up with us.

We both watched the huge fire in a sort of macabre fascination. "Stupid is as stupid does," I quoted.

"Sure is," Steve said. "I better retrieve the slasher."

I called emergency services and told them where to come. I got out of the car as Steve returned and we looked at each other.

"You know what this means, now, don't you?" I said.

"We are going to have to give him up, and there is going to be hell to pay," he said.

I nodded, in acceptance. We returned to our car to wait for the authorities to arrive and found that Tarasoff was still out of it. He did not look good, matter of fact, he had that glassy and waxy look that spells bad news. I felt for his pulse, but there was none.

"He is fucking dead, "I said. "Shit! Remind me not to piss you off."

"Must have had a thin skull, I didn't hit him that hard," he said, surprised.

"Well, he might as well join his buddies... a lot less paperwork that way," I suggested.

"Good thinking, paper work sucks," Steve said.

We quickly carried his body to the pyre and threw it in through one of the exploded windows, soon there would be nothing left of him but ashes. He would burn very well judging from his fat content.

While we waited for the emergency crew of firemen, ambulances and police to arrive, Steve went south to warn approaching traffic of the accident and I went a little ways north to warn traffic from the other direction.

Finally, the fire department trucks and the ambulance arrived just after the first of the highway patrol cars. Traffic was being diverted from the area as this was a scene of multiple road fatalities. We watched as they put out the flames and then eventually removed the two wrecks. We had explained to numerous officials how it had all gone down.

Well not exactly how it had gone down, but close enough: Tarasoff had needed to relieve himself and we had stopped by the way side. In a moment of inattention on our part, Tarasoff had started to run toward the first of the two vehicles, which had stopped a little ways back for him. We described that we had seen him dive in through the open door, still handcuffed, and dragged in by his men. Soon after, the second vehicle had impacted on it with a tremendous crash and an explosion had resulted. See? Close to the truth, right?

The fire chief on location commented that an explosion had been inevitable considering the amount of gasoline in both vehicles, all stored in unsafe containers. The police took our names and all the details and finally we were free to continue to Sydney.

We left them to clean up our mess. It had taken a very long time; none of it was very pleasant. We were beat and we did not drive for much longer. I stopped at the next little town. We got two rooms in a roadside motel and went right to sleep. It was well into the night when Steve knocked on my door and came in as I was coming out of the shower. We were back on the road soon after.

Half an hour into our journey back to Sydney I got a call on my mobile.

"It's me," Robyn's voice said.

"I know, I was expecting you," I said.

"Good job," she said, with sick admiration in her tone. "Remind me not to piss you guys off."

"Right," I said. I saw no point in explaining that it had been entirely unplanned. She would not have believed me.

"Don't worry about the rest of them, we'll clean up the rest now that you have removed the main obstacle," she said

"Is Maria safe now?" I asked.

"Should be," she said.

"What do you mean: 'should be'?" I asked.

"Well, my boy, I have learned that in life nothing is ever certain," and with that she hung up.

"Robyn?" Steve asked.

"Yep," I said.

"Is she pissed off?" he asked, as if he cared.

"Nope, she congratulated us on a job well done," I said, grimacing

"Spooks! I don't like them," Steve said.

"Me neither," I said.

"Maria, she's going to be OK?" he asked.

"Should be... Robyn said," I said

"What the fuck does that mean?" he asked.

"Fucked if I know," I said.

We drove on in silence.

"That Vasiliev guy is not going to give up; you know that, don't you? It's personal for him now," Steve said after a couple of hours.

"Yeah, I know that," I said.

"What are we going to do about it?" he asked.

"Nothing much we can do at the moment, another trip in the country might look a lil' suspicious," I said, attempting at a little humour that went up like a lead balloon.

"I guess," he said, unhappily.

"It's up to him now. If chooses to go on with it, we will have to accommodate him. Till then we'll have to wait and see," I said.

"I guess," he said.

"Maybe he will become a Born Again Christian, and our worries will be over?" I suggested.

"Maybe," he said.

"Maybe... my arse," I said.

"Maybe... your arse," he said.

# Chapter 11

Sydney – Saturday: September 26

Saturday afternoon, Steve found me brooding in my flat, taking in the view and in a somewhat drunken state. I had made a considerable dent into a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Hi," I said "How're you doing?"

"Okay, I guess," he said. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all.

"Yeah, what a trip... It was a bit way out there, even for us," I nodded.

"I keep telling myself that I did not hit him that hard, but maybe I did," he said.

"Look mate, it's better this way. Tarasoff was vermin. His kind understands nothing but violence and death, you know that. Plus, had he lived, we could not have held him for long. Once out, he would have made it his vocation to hurt Maria. No, it's better this way, way better," I argued.

"I guess you're right," he said.

"Too right I am," I said.

A long pause in the conversation followed. I got up patted my friend on the shoulder and went to get him a drink, a chair and another drink for me. In silence, we sat and stared at that beautiful Harbour, with its play of sails, colourful spinnakers and aggressive ferries.

"That Vasiliev guy and his friends were released from hospital this morning... That's what I came over to tell ya," he said, morosely, after a while.

"I guess we'll have to keep an eye out for them," I said.

"Guess so," he said.

"Maybe we'd better forget about seeing Maria tomorrow and wait until this is over one way or another," I suggested.

"Guess so," he said.

"I'll give Pip a call right now," I said.

"Guess so," he said.

I dialled the number and Pip answered right away.

"How you doin'?" Pip asked.

"Good, thanks and you?" I said.

"Good," he said.

"How is she?" I asked.

"Who?" he asked. A funny feeling started to climb up the back of my neck.

"What do you mean who? Maria, how is she?" I said with strain to control my voice, I felt like screaming into the phone.

"Isn't she with you?" he asked, now alarmed.

"No, she isn't fucking with me. For fuck sake Pip you said Sunday!" I barked.

"I know I did, but this little old lady from the AIA, said that it was OK and that you had sent her... She knew all about you and Stefano. So, we had a family meeting and it was decided that it was OK," he said.

"OK what?" I screamed into the line.

"OK that she could go with her, what the fuck else?" he screamed back.

"What about Maria, didn't she have a say in it?" I asked, controlling the exasperation in my voice.

"She said it was okay too... That she'd been too much trouble already... and that this was probably the best way," he answered, uncertainty creeping into his tone.

"Probably? Probably? What the fuck does that mean? When was this, anyway?" I asked.

"Why, yesterday, Louie... If we fucked up... I am sorry Louie, truly sorry," he said, all aggression gone from his voice.

"You didn't fuck up, Pip. I fucked up. I should have told you about Robyn, the tricky bitch! Don't worry, Pip, I'll fix it from here... You did the best you could," I said, my mind in overdrive.

"Are you still coming for dinner tomorrow, Louie?" he asked.

"Probably not Pip... I'll let you know. Kisses to Ma... see ya," I hung up, and then bashed the phone repeatedly against its cradle screaming out, "Fuck... fuck... fuck... FUCK! Fucking bitch. Fucking cunt!"

"Robyn's got her?" Steve concluded quietly. "That explains why she rang you on our way back from Melbourne. She was checking up that we were still on the road. Bitch."

"Bitch!" I agreed.

"This is turning out to be a real cluster fuck-up," he commented.

"It is a cluster-fuck-up already, and it can only get worse," I corrected him.

"Hard to believe," he said.

"Believe it," I said.

"What the fuck do we do now?" he asked, after a while.

"Fucked if I know, I need to think," I said.

"What I don't understand is what that spy-bitch wants with Maria now? I thought the whole idea was to remove Tarasoff, and then she would be free and clear," Steve said.

"Yeah... Maybe that list is not what she told us it was?" I said.

"You mean AIA would lie to us?" he asked with mock surprise.

"Of course not, they are here to protect and serve," I said.

"Protect and serve... my arse," Steve said.

"Protect and serve... your arse," I agreed.

I was about to add some other useless comment about AIA when our attention was diverted by shouts and noise coming from downstairs, these were followed by at least two shots.

"Fuck me. Talk about bad timing. It must be that Vasiliev prick; you have your gun with you?" I asked.

"It's at home... I'm off duty," he said, lamely.

"Fuck! Mine is still in my car. We sure are a pair of idiots; I told you it was going to get worse. This week, really sucks, you know that?" I said, taking another suck at my JD and coke.

"It sure does," Steve agreed, then standing up and looking down to the footpath below. "How far is it to the ground from this balcony?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" I asked. "We have no other option."

"Might as well go over then," he said.

"OK, you go first and then catch me," I suggested.

"Fuck you," he said.

"Might as well, we're pretty close to being fucked as is," I agreed.

"Can we rig up somethin' to delay the pricks? We don't want them to be shootin' at us while we lie down there with broken legs and all," he asked.

"If I'm down there with broken legs, I might want to be shot dead," I said. I thought for a moment. "Yes, I can delay them, but you'll have to clean up the mess!" I added.

"Uh?" he said.

"Get ready to jump. As soon as they get to the door, jump... and don't forget to catch me..." I instructed on my way to my small fridge removing a dozen eggs and two glass bottles of coke and popping the lot in the microwave. I turned the setting on high and waited to press 'cook' for the right moment.

The right time came along two nanoseconds later. Five or six bullets went through my front door lock; I pressed 'cook', shouted "GO!" and ran for the balcony. I was over without even looking; as I was sailing down, I heard two things: my door splintering and the exploding microwave.

The bright ones among you would have just said, "hang on a minute Louie, you told us that you had nothing in your flat but a bed and a stereo system, where did the microwave come from?" Too right you are ... I did exaggerate a little. The truth is that the flat did come with a small kitchenette and this had a little fridge and a microwave in it, happy now?

You know, heights piss me off. If I would have taken just one look down, I know I would not have jumped, not in a million years. So, jumping without thinking about it, without looking, was the only way. There was no decision to make – I literally dove from my lounge room through the balcony and sailed way past where Steve had just landed. I hit the grass strip on the footpath with a bone-crunching blow; I rolled as I had been taught to do in boot camp when landing from a parachute jump. It was a lot worse than a parachute jump, but after rolling a couple of times I landed sitting down, dazed. I shook my head to clear it, but that just made the pain worse. I noticed that I was sitting off the pavement and in the gutter.

I alsonoticed that my bum was wet; I hoped it was from the gutter and not something that had leaked out of me. That would really be too embarrassing and Steve would remind me till the end of the universe.

I moved my legs and my arms around a bit and took a few deep breaths. Everything was sore, but it did not seem that anything major had broken, fractured, split or exploded.

"Are you going to sit there on your arse all day?" Steve asked, pulling me up by my collar, and pushing me toward the corner. "No way I'm cleaning up the mess in your flat! Those eggs sounded like they went all the way to the North Pole!" We hobbled with sore legs away from the scene, toward where my car was parked.

"I hope they did lots of damage" I said, trying to breathe at the same time.

"Did you wet yourself?" Steve asked, as I could have bet my last dollar he would.

"No way, it's the crappy water from the gutter," I answered, but remembering that awful empty-stomach feeling and the instantaneous stop that had followed it, I wondered.

"Yeah right. You wet yourself, Scary Baby."

"I did not wet myself. If I'd wet myself the front of my shorts would be wet not my bum, you moron." I answered, exasperated.

"You shat yourself?"

"I hope Vasiliev shoots you in the arse. Now stop dicking around and run!"

As we were running toward the corner, I turned around and saw an image of Vasiliev taking aim at us with his gun from my balcony. But all his shots missed us completely, even Steve's bum, worse luck. I guessed that all the white and yellow muck that covered him from head to breakfast time and the flying shards of glass must have thrown his aim off.

"I hope he likes his eggs 'over-easy'," I commented.

"You are a funny prick, you know that?" Steve said.

"I know that," I said.

When we got to my rented Mustang, I got my gun and hunted around for spare for Steve. All I had was an old police .38 revolvers, like the ones you see on TV.

"What am I supposed to do with this piece of shit?" Steve grunted.

"Look dangerous. You never hit anything anyway."

"True," he agreed. He then got his mobile out and started dialling.

"Calling dial-a-gun?" I asked.

"Better, calling the cavalry," he smiled back. "I said the magic words: there will be a SWAT team in a few minutes."

"We don't have SWAT teams in NSW," I reminded him.

"You know what I mean," he answered, waving his arms.

"What were the magic words?" I wondered out loud.

"Home Invasion."

"Good thinking."

When we got around the building, we saw Vasiliev and his dildos come running out of the building. They all paused, confused. They had not expected to see us calmly strolling back in their direction with guns raised. Their goon-instruction booklet probably stated clearly that the prey always runs in panic — it does not come back at you with guns.

"Police! Put your guns down and lie flat on the ground," Steve whispered, barely audibly. "You heard me warning them right?"

"You bet," I said and we both opened fire.

It definitely wasn't Vasiliev's best week. Three of his pals went down with leg wounds, the fourth one just dropped to the ground and threw his gun away and put his hands behind his head.

But not Vasiliev, this guy was resolute. He stood there for a few moments, looked around and saw that all his support had evaporated. With a scream of frustration, he lifted his gun toward us and started running and shooting. His scream died in his throat and so did he, as bullets from our guns brought him down (actually it was probably my bullets, Steve' s no doubt hit the tree two metres to the side – at least he tries). On the positive side for Vasiliev, he no longer had to worry about all the extra injuries from the exploding eggs and flying glass.

See? I always look for the silver lining.

Three squad cars arrived not long after and a truck full of excited men in black and sporting assault rifles poured out of the back like water from a glass. In no time, everything in sight was surrounded. They were a bit disappointed when they found out all the action was over, but Sergio's lovely waitresses and free coffee and cake for all, visibly raised their spirits.

We gave our statements to the pair of Ds that turned up. My apartment was declared a crime scene, along with most of the building.

"I need a drink," Steve said after a while.

"Me too," I said.

"Pub or my place?" he asked.

"What's to drink at your place?" I asked.

"JD and coke," he said.

"Sounds good," I said. "hang on a minute... What did you feed Roger 'the-farting-road-kill' last night?"

"Refried beans and burritos, just like me," he announced proudly.

"Let's go to the pub," I said firmly.

We went to a small pub within walking distance from my block, found a couple of seats and Steve went to the bar to order our drinks. While he was at the bar, I got my mobile out and dialled.

"Where's Maria?" I barked into the phone before she could even say hello.

"Louie, you're pushing your luck. I don't have to answer any of your questions... As a matter of fact, I don't even have to talk to you at all," the bitch answered in an icy tone.

"Where is she? I want to talk to her... see her," I screamed.

"That's impossible," and she hung up.

"Bitch! Fucking Bitch!" It was all I could say into a dead line. Shaking my head, I looked up and Steve was back.

He looked at me. "Robyn?" he asked.

I nodded. We remained there with little to say for a while and sipped our drinks. Soon, as an idea took shape in my head. I started nodding my head with my eyes focused on a distant horizon, my mouth set, my jaw clenched. A plan was opening before my mind's eye. As it came into focus, I felt my lips curl into a smile.

"Oh no, you don't! I know that fucking smile! NO fucking way, Louie! Are you fucking insane?" Steve said, alarm mounting in his voice with every word.

"No worries, Steve." My voice was icy calm. I had reached inner peace now that my mind was made up. "I'll understand if you want to bail out. After all, you have a job, a wife, kids, a mortgage, a boat, and a very hungry dog to look after," I said, with serenity in my voice.

"You are a prick, you know that?" he said.

"I know that," I said.

"So what's the plan?" he said.

"I thought you were out of it," I said.

"And who is going to make sure you don't fuck up and get yourself killed?" he replied. I smiled back at him; I knew he could not keep out of it.

"Welcome aboard, mate."

"Please tell me. How in fuck's name are we, and that's just the two of us, going to take on the whole of AIA?" he asked, after a long pull at his drink.

I hesitated, had a drink myself and then smiled at him.

"We are not, that could be a Mission Impossible!" I reassured him.

"Uh?"

"We are going to take on just Robyn. The bitch works for AIA, but she is not AIA. She is just a human being, like you or me," I explained.

"Bull shit, she is not human — she is an insane bitch. How are you going to handle that?" he asked.

"True, but a simple question, deserves a simple answer: next time I talk to the old cunt, I am going to be talking from a position of strength. Strength and power are the only things she understands," I said.

"Uh?"

"You are not going to say 'uh' all the time now. Are you?" I asked.

"Uh-uh," he said, nodding.

"This, Grasshopper, is what we are going to do," I said to him and I explained my plan. As I talked, his eyebrows slowly got higher and higher and his smile got broader and broader.

When I was finished, he nodded and said, "Not bad, Master, not bad at all. We need to work on some of the details, but it should work. It's highly illegal, but who's counting. The part I really like is that we get to fuck Robyn without even touching her"

"Uh-uh," I said.

That night I had to sleep at Steve's place. Initially, it was Steve's plan that I share the lounge with Roger.

"Sure," I agreed easily. "But, one fart and he gets a bullet in the head."

"Come with me, Roger." Steve motioned to the dog, and then pointing in my direction. "That is one very bad man." They both left and closed the bedroom door in a huff. I smiled and was asleep before I hit the lounge.

Half way through the night, I realized that I had been conned: Roger was now on the lounge with me and he was trying his level best to push me off it. But I was too tired to do anything about it and so I just moved onto the floor and faded back into a deep sleep, probably aided by the toxic nature of Roger's emissions.

# Chapter 12

Sydney – Sunday: September 26

We needed a weekday for the plan to work. So, on Sunday we just relaxed. Anyway, we needed a bit of R&R before going against Robyn. We had to outsmart her, and that was not going to be easy. Worse still, we would have to bluff – like going against two aces when you are holding seven/deuce, the worst hand in Texas Hold'em.

We went to have breakfast, which over a few hours morphed into a liquid lunch at the Coogee Bay Hotel. This pub has a great beer-garden facing Coogee Beach: the beer, the sun, the view, the bikinis... Could there be anything more relaxing?

The name 'Coogee' comes from the local Aboriginal word, Koojah, which means "smelly place". No doubt, this is a reference to the smell of decaying kelp, which washed seasonally up onto the beach. These days, it is removed before it starts to smell and converted to liquid fertilizer for plants. The beach is a beautiful, little cove, full of sunning bodies that ignore the damaging sun's rays, as Aussies have done for two hundred years.

Coogee Beach used to sport an old Aquarium, which opened in 1887 and closed a hundred years later: The Coogee Palace Aquarium. It became famous for featuring the shark-arm murder case. In 1935, a captured tiger shark was placed into the aquarium. Within a week of its captivity, the hapless shark became ill and vomited a human arm. It did this in full view of a small crowd, consisting of family groups out for stroll.

Some people get all the excitement! The kids would have loved it. The arm was identified by a tattoo and fingerprints as formerly belonging to James Smith a boxer and small time criminal. Smith had been missing for over two weeks. It was also found that the arm had not been bitten off by the innocent shark, but had been cut off with a sharp knife. This led to the murder investigation, known as the shark-arm murder case, and a subsequent arrest. The shark? It did not even get a medal.

Perhaps just as interesting was the apparition dubbed as "Our lady of the fence Post" or just simply, if not a lot more irreverently, as "Rail Mary" .In 2003, it was noticed that one of the fence rails north of Coogee Beach, when viewed from a particular angle and distance, resembled a veiled woman. This was interpreted by some as being the image of the Virgin Mary. Others were not of the same opinion: the section of fence that created the image was destroyed by vandals within a few days, and that was that. The vandals? They did not receive a medal either; perhaps their reward is coming a little later. Amen!

We spent a couple of hours in the afternoon snorkelling off the rocks and confirmed the widely held view that most of the coastline off Sydney has been largely fished out. I did manage to see a couple of small Cuttle fish, which are very inquisitive and are fun to play with. As a general rule, tentacled molluscs, like the Cuttle fish, the squid and the octopus are a lot smarter than they should be when the ratio of their body to brain size is calculated. They also have very short lives of a year or two. Maybe all that thinking burns them out. It's something to think about next time you are enjoying a nice plate of crumbed calamari or barbequed octopus.

Later on in the day, we did end up at Mum and Dad's for dinner. First, we made sure to stop at one of Leichardt's best patisseries to buy a range of Italian cakes. My parents and bros love them, but they seldom get to eat them as they live a fair way out: before any of us were born, Mum and Dad bought a three bedroom fibro home on a five acre lot in a suburb of Sydney called Dural.

Dural is located approximately thirty five kilometres northwest of the CBD. For many years, the area supplied much of Sydney's veggies. The original inhabitants of the Dural area were the Darug people (these guys sure got around). The name Dural was derived from a Darug word "Dooral Dooral", which means 'a smoking tree'. A word believed to have been used to describe the actions of the early European settlers: burning up the countryside in the process of running Darug people out of the area and clearing it for farming.

My dad was and is the local vet for a community of mostly market gardeners and horse studs. In the 1990's Dural was discovered by the rich and famous. As a result, my parent's five acres increased in value from about $70,000 to over $600,000 in just over a year. This unplanned-for increase in value allowed them to demolish their small three bedder, in which they had struggled to raise seven boys, and build a much larger and stately country home, complete with an attached Veterinary hospital. Three of my six brothers worked with my dad in the practice, one was certified accountant somewhere in Parramatta, another was a local GP and Pip, the oldest, was a physicist/lecturer at Sydney Uni.

I guess I was my parent's disappointment by not using my degree in law and criminology and by just becoming a cop, then a detective and then just a PI. Every family needs a black sheep, and I guess I was it. But I did end up publishing my PhD thesis as a book. It was about crime scene investigations. I called the book "Crime Scene Investigation", which was pretty creative of me. My having a book published on criminology and having a PhD was the reason that Steve started calling me, in his half-sarcastic manner, 'Master'. Unfortunately, it stuck.

It was Pip who opened the door for us; a worried look was painted on his face.

"Have you found Maria?" He asked as soon as he saw us.

"Not yet, bro...but we are working on it. Don't worry, there was nothing else you could have done," I reassured him.

"Hey, Pip," Steve said, extending his hand.

"Steve! It's great to see you, mate. You need to come over more often, man. Mum really misses you. You know that she thinks of you as one of us," Pip said smiling broadly to Steve and ignoring the extended hand gave him a hearty hug. See? Some men do hug, but you have to be Italian to get away with it.

When we walked into the kitchen, we were greeted by screams of delight from Mum and properly hugged and kissed and told that we both looked undernourished.

The other males of the family were soon outside practicing... their soccer skills, what else?It must be the one Italian gene that completely bi-passed me, but is doubly dominant in the rest of the boys including dad. It jumped over me and somehow landed on Steve. He was just as mad as the rest of them about that game. My Dad often wandered, in a semi-joking way, if they had picked up the wrong baby at the hospital. Unfortunately, for his theory, you only had look at us two side by side: we were like two brothers; the rest of the boys looked more like Mum's side of the family.

Dudring a lull in the game, Dad came over for a chat. I gave Dad a hug, and he asked me about Maria. From a very early age, I have kept nothing from my Dad, and not once have I had reason to regret it. I could always talk to him, he was a good listener, and he never judged and never criticized. He always had a helping suggestion or two. It was largely through his help and understanding that I had been able to snap out of my loss of Sonia. It was his understanding now that enabled him to know how I really felt about Maria.

He listened to the story and what we had done and what we proposed to do, nodding and looking at me with his kind brown eyes. When I finished, he nodded a final time and said, "Louie, you know that me and the boys are behind you 100%, if you need our help you just need to call," he smiled in his own special way. Then added with a twinkle in his eyes, "but don't tell your mother, she drives me crazy with her worrying about you,"

"No worries, Pop...mum is the word," I answered him smiling back.

"Always the little jokes, my Louie," he said, sort of proudly.

Then it was dinnertime: antipasto, homemade gnocchi in ragout sauce and fresh parmesan from Italy, veal cooked in Marsala, mashed potatoes veggies galore, homemade cassata ice cream and short blacks for everyone.

I would have left shortly after the meal, but there was a big soccer game from Italy being broadcast on Foxtel, so while the soccer fanatics watched the game, I helped Mum clean up and then we had along chat, mostly about Maria, whom she had liked almost more than I did. After the soccer game, there was the obligatory game of cards. Once upon a time, we always played the Italian 'Scopa". Now everyone in the universe plays Texas Hold' em, and my family has succumbed to it as well.

As usual, Steve won everyone's money. Those laser eyes of his can promote and detect a 'tell' in almost any player. I often try to drag him to the casino, but he refuses to go. He feels that it would give him an unfair advantage. Man, he so straight sometimes it scares me!

It was a late night, and we hankered down in my old room to sleep and get an early start in the morning.

# Chapter 13

Canberra – Monday: September 27

We left Sydney so that we could be in Canberra before seven. Before driving to my parent's house, we had rented yet another car, one that would attract little attention: a white Toyota Camry. They are now ubiquitous on any Aussie road.

Once in Canberra everything went down according to our carefully thought out plan, it was like an episode of Mission Impossible.

I was soon ready to ring Robyn once more. I knew she would not answer my mobile number so I had bought and activated a new sim card for my mobile. It came with a new number.

"Yes?" she said in an annoyed tone.

"I wouldn't hang up if I were you," I warned her.

"Calling me from a new mobile number, how clever of you Louie. Good b..." And she started to hang up, but I interrupted her good-bye speech.

"Called home lately, Robyn?" I asked.

Silence on the phone. She waited without hanging up, I waited longer.

"What do you mean?" She asked after a while.

"Have you called home? You know your nice, four bedroom, double-brick colonial home in Deakin? That's what I meant," I explained slowly.

"How do you know where I live?" She said with surprise and concern mixed in her voice.

"I am a detective Robyn, and what I do is: 'detect'!What a fucking surprise! So I know where you live. You, and your accountant husband and your lovely daughter.... What's her name... mmm... let me see... oh yes, Michelle... I think you call her Miccie, right?" I finished.

Long, long pause. I could almost hear that sharp mind working overdrive... I could almost smell the smoke that must be pouring out of her ears.

"Are you threatening my family? My daughter, Louie? Because if you are... you are a dead man. You are fucking dead!" She finally shouted into the phone.

"My, my you are in a serious need of anger management sessions, Robyn old girl. What terrible language coming from a nice lil' ol' lady like yourself... what would Miccie say? Hang on a minute, why don't we ask her? Would like to speak with her? No, I guess not, that would not be a good idea, but you do see my point, don't you Robyn? I never threaten, you old bitch, I fuckin do," I told her coldly.

"You have gone overboard this time Louie, I am going to..." She started, wanting, no, needing to regain control of the conversation. I stomped on that move by hanging up. Since I had caller ID hidden on the phone I was using, she could not ring back. I let her stew for a while, to let her confirm that her daughter was not at home, getting ready for school.

I called her about five minutes later, I did not give her a chance to vent her frustration but started on her right off the bat, "I need you to shut the fuck now, and listen really carefully. I want Maria today or something bad is going down. I don't fuck n' care what happens after that... but for you it will be too late and you are going to be so sorry, so fuckin sorry you will have to eat a bullet by the time I am finished with you. Do you understand me?" I said, in a monotone, the monotone of a committed, determined killer, the only tone that she understood.

Silence.

"Do you understand me?" I repeated.

"Today is impossible." She finally said, hoping to buy time, time to find us.

"Oh shit! Did I say today? My mistake, I meant to say within this hour. You have ONE fucking hour, one minute over and you're fucked." I said, and I hung up I removed the sim card and burned it with my lighter. I then joined Steve in the small café' where Steve and I were entertaining Miccie with a chocolate milk shake and made up stories about her Mum and what a hero to her country she was. She was such a lovely kid. I found it impossible to believe that she was actually related to Robyn. She must be adopted, I concluded.

It had been easy to convince her that her mum had sent us to pick her up, especially after I had shown her my fake AIA badge. We told her that her mum had arranged for her to have a special treat before school of pancakes and milkshakes. She did not hesitate and jumped into our car enthusiastically. Now she was enjoying hearing about the mother, who she probably did not see very often. Of course, we had not intentions of hurting her in any way. In an hour, we would put her in a taxi to be taken school where she was meant to be... whatever happened.

In an hour, we would know whether my bluff had worked or not. Would my 7-2 beat Robyn's AA?

I was reasonably confident that it would work, for two reasons: first, human beings tend to judge other people using their own standards of behaviour. For example, the people with the best security on their houses are usually the crims. Robyn would decide that I was serious because she would have had no trouble doing what I was only threatening to do. Second, our adventure on the way from Melbourne had raised our status in her sick-spook top-forty. She must now believe that we were capable of anything.She may have had doubts before the 'accident' on the way back from Melbourne, now she had no doubts at all.

With these thoughts in mind, I organised for us to head over to the place we had chosen for the exchange. Fifty-five minutes after my first call to Robyn, I called her on my mobile phone again, using my original sim card. She was sure to answer a call from me now, and there was no point avoiding her tracing my location, I was about to tell her exactly where we were.

"We will do the exchange in Albert Street, just under the Commonwealth Avenue Bridge," she said without any preamble, a location that would favour her and pretty much ensure our capture or outright demise. I laughed in true delight.

"You are such a funny girl, Robyn. You do make me laugh, you know that?" I said with laughter in my voice. Robyn was as funny as cancer. "I might be slow, but I don't' think I am a downright cretin. I will tell you and your team of spooky sharp shooting shitheads, how and where it's going to go down. Understand?" I added firmly, proud of my alliteration.

"Right...speak," she did not argue, I guess she hoped I'd fall for her plan, but was prepared in any case.

"It's very easy, Robyn dear. We meet in the National Gallery entrance: just you and just Maria. Once we get Maria, I will tell you personally where Miccie is. This is going to go down in ten minutes, and by the way, we are already here, so don't try to insert your spooks before us. I can smell a spook better than a dog smells a turd, come to think of it, they ain't real different, are they, sweetie? See you in ten." And I hung up on her. I was beginning to like this reversal in our relationship.

We put Miccie in a taxi driven by a smart lady taxi driver, that we had 'prepared earlier' for just that purpose with strict instructions to deliver her to her school with no delays or stoppages. The trip would take about twelve to fifteen minutes depending on the traffic, just in time for school.

Ten minutes on the dot after my call, Robyn walked into the National Art gallery, followed by Maria. Steve rushed to Maria's side and quickly whisked her away into another taxi that was waiting outside, which we had also prepared earlier- Martha, eat your heart out. We weren't taking any chances. We were in spooks-ville, after all.

"Where is my daughter?" Robyn asked bluntly.

I raised my hand and signaled for her to wait as I watched Steve's taxi leave the curb. Not long after, a black 4WD followed in their wake. I looked at Robyn in mock disappointment.

"You could not resist the double cross, could you? Call them back now or say good bye to Miccie," I instructed.

She did not argue, and spoke into her lapel, which made me smile: she was 100% spook, no doubt about it.

"They are turning back," she said.

"Yeah? I guess we'll have to wait till they park right in front. It's not that I don't trust you dear, but... I definitely don't trust you."

She spoke into the lapel once more and a few moments later the black 4WD with the same Commonwealth Government plates pulled up outside.

"Where is my daughter?" She repeated in a strained voice that she was trying hard to control. Maybe, she did love one thing in this world.

"She is at school where she is meant to be, where else?" I said and smiled happily. It was so good to put one over her. She looked at me intensely for a moment, then she speed dialed Michelle's school, spoke a few words and hung up.

"So, you were bluffing after all, Louie. I had feeling that you were just too weak for that sort of threat," she smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile at all.

"Well, I guess that you will never really know for sure, will you Robyn? But I am willing to bet that you considered calling the bluff , even though your own daughter's life was at stake... you must be getting soft in your old age, old girl," I said,"maybe it's time to retire?" I added helpfully, she was still staring at me intensely.

"Well, nice talking to you, Robyn dear. I hope we never see you again," I said turning around.

"Hope all you want, Breccia, but this does not end here," she promised.

"Is that a threat?" I said turning around and approaching her, a lot closer than she obviously liked, as she stepped back a step or two.

"You can bank on it," she answered.

"I don't understand you, Robyn... what the fuck do you want? Uh?" I said moving closer still. She stepped back. I could see that my proximity was unnerving her.

"I want that list," she said.

"But you said Maria's twin had it," I reminded her.

"She did, but before the accident she mailed it to Maria... and now Maria won't tell us where it is. I need it and I need now. If you can convince her to let us have it... this will all go away, I promise," she said in an attempt at reconciliation. She was now offering a metaphorical olive branch. It was no doubt made of plastic and artificial like her lies. The only things that would go away would be us, permanently.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, for old time's sakes. I'll talk to her and let you know her decision, very soon. You reckon you can wait a while?" I lied.

"Twenty four hours, Louie... and then we are coming after all of you... and that's not a threat, it's a gilt edged promise," she said and turned around and was gone through the doors of the Art Gallery. She climbed into the back seat of the 4WD. It spun it's wheels taking off in a cloud of nonexistent Canberra dust.

I immediately called Steve.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"Cruising around," he said.

"Are you being followed?" I asked.

"Well, as we had expected, there was a black 4WD on my tail from the Gallery, but now it's gone.Also, as expected, that was just a decoy. Now we have another tail, and this time he is good, very good. Follow plan B?" He asked.

"Yep, come back here and get the taxi driver to stop at the main entrance. You know... as we planned, as if you have indeed returned to pick me up. I'll wait for your tail to show up and disable him. Then, on my signal, you two run to our car in the car park and I'll meet you there," I reminded him, although I probably did not need to do so. "By the way, what's your tail look like?" I asked.

"Older model Ford falcon AU, white, with WA plates," he said

"Nice work," I said

"I know," he said.

I was hiding behind a small clump of bushes when I saw Steve's taxi arrive and park in front of the gallery. Not long after that, a vehicle fitting Steve's description appeared and parked in the street. The driver was focused on keeping a watch on Steve's taxi. I had banked on the driver's attention to be on Steve as I walked calmly to the car'sback door opened it and I placed the muzzle of my Glock onto the back of his head.

"Having a good day, spook? Ehm...sorry to spoil it for you," I said, sitting in the back. He froze and did not even bother to turn around. His hands started to ease to his lap.

"Keep your paws on the steering wheel, sunshine. Now start the car and drive into the car park. I'll show you where. And listen, sunshine, if you speed gets higher than 10 K's you are going to piss me off... you don't want to do that. Nod if you understand," I said.

"You are making a big mistake... I am just waiting here to pick up my wife," he tried... what a dick! I rapped him on the head with my gun.

"Nod yor noggin if you understand," I repeated. This time he nodded.

"Now drive!" I instructed somewhat harshly.

He started the car and drove into the parking lot. I directed him to a point as far away as was possible from where our rented car was parked. I did not want him to see it and describe it to Robyn.

"Stop here; leave your hands on the wheel." I said. I speed dialed Steve, "Now mate," I said into the mobile. The spook must have figured that I might have been distracted making my call. His right hand started to slip toward his lap again. So I wrapped him on the head with my gun. This one was hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

"What's with you? You stupid or something? Which part of 'leave your hands on the wheel' didn't you understand?" I asked.

I could see that he was now momentarily disorientedfrom my gun-smack, so I took the opportunity to place my gun on the seat next to me, reach over and handcuff one of his hands, then I pushed the other hand through the steering wheel and handcuffed it also. His hands were now handcuffed to each other and to the steering wheel.

Reclaiming my gun, I exited through the back door and looked through the driver's side window.

"Trust me... I'm a doctor," I said to him as I reached inside his coat and frisked him.

I found a wallet, which I threw on the floor of the car. A gun, standard issue Berretta, I kept it. Spooks guns are always clean with no record of who purchased them and who owned them. It was a good thing to have, just in case. I crunched his mobile phone on the ground beside me with the heel of my shoe.

"Well, agent Unlucky, I know it has turned out to be a bad day for you. But it will get worse when Robyn gets here, I reckon. Have a nice life." I said, patting his face. He stared at me, his expression left no doubt about the feelings he had for me: so much hate inside these spooks, it must give them ulcers.

I left him pondering on his imminent demotion to the back of Siberia and jogged to our hire car. Steve was in the driver's seat, engine going. Maria was in the back seat. As I got into the car, she smiled, and it was like someone had just turned on a light.

"How' are you going, Maria? Sorry it has taken us so long to get to you," I said.

"I knew you would, "she said, "but I am so, so tired... I need to sleep...do you guys mind if I just close my eyes for a few minutes... just a few minutes. That bitch would not leave me alone for a second, I have not slept for two days," she did not wait for our answer, but curled up in a foetal position across the back seat and was out like a light.

"Where to Bwana?" Steve asked.

"You go quick, quick to big village near sea," I answered in a very bad imitation of an African tribe's man accent.

"I am on it," Steve said.

"You are always on it," I said

"I know that," he said

"Me too," I said.

We did not know it then, but the shit was going to miss the fan all together and land smack into our faces.

# Chapter 14

Canberra to Sydney – Monday: September 27

I was happily snoozing in the front seat as Steve drove down the Federal Highway when, out of the blue, he elbowed me in the side and said, "you... are not going to believe this."

"What?" I said rubbing my eyes and straightening in the seat.

"You are definitely not going to believe it," he repeated.

"What? For fuck sake, what's up?" I said becoming impatient.

"Some dude's following us," he said.

"No way," I said

"Yes way... take a look," he said. I moved the rear view mirror and studied the cars behind us, but it all looked normal to me.

"I don't see anything apart from some fellow travelers, nothing that stands out," I remarked, turning to face him. He moved the rear view mirror again so that he could see for himself, then he nodded,"yeah, there he is... do you see that brown V8 Commodore about five cars back... that's him... or them, actually. I can see a driver and a passenger," he said with 100% confidence in his tone. I took another look and spotted the car he was referring to.

"Yeah... I see it... what makes you think they are following us? They could be just going to Sydney like us," I said, but I knew that when Steve said someone was following us, someone was following us. He has some sort of freakish sixth sense.

"They could be... but they aren't," he said, "I can feel it. They are following us, and you can take that to the bank."

"Well, who the fuck are they? I don't think it could be any of Robyn's men. There was no mention of a third party being involved," I said.

"Many people want that information, Louie," Maria's voice piped quietly from the back seat.

"So you do have it," I said turning around.

"Yes, of course I have it. Brenda sent it to me the night before she died... she was afraid that she had been betrayed and that they were going to kill her, Steve.She was right - her accident was no accident at all," she said, with emotion. Tears forming in her eyes as she mentioned her dead twin sister's name.

"I am so sorry, Maria, I didn't even know you had a sister, let alone a twin. I guess as twins you were pretty close, I am very, very sorry," I said, turning around to face her, and stretching a hand to hold hers.

"Louie, we were as close as two people could be while in two different bodies. When we were little girls we were never apart, if one got hurt, both of us felt the pain, it was uncanny, magical," she said, remembering. And then a dark cloud passed her face as she remembered more, "the night Brenda died I had to be taken to hospital with this incredible pain in the chest. It was unbearable. And then, all of a sudden, I felt nothing... a vacuum. It was like the light on my life had gone out, like I'd suddenly gone deaf or blind. I knew then... that she was dead. At that instant, I thought I would go insane," her eyes had lost focus and her expression had gone from one of terrible sadness to absolute blankness

"When her letter arrived," she continued, after catching her breath as if she had just surfaced from a deep dive, "I could feel her aura on the letter and it made me feel a bit better, but it was the information it contained that snapped me out of it, completely. I knew that it was dynamite. Before I could take it anywhere, Robyn found me and then it was just a matter of a hide-and-seek game, which I now believe was mostly orchestrated by Robyn herself," she finished, once more exhausted. The emotional journey through her worst memories having taken a heavy toll on her already exhausted body and mind.

"Rest now Maria, we can talk about all this when you are more up to it.Just lie down for a little longer and rest," I said noticing the drawn look on her pale face. She smiled, even her smile had lost some of its power, and then she lay down and was once again completely out of it.

"Well, this is a fine mess you got us into this time," Steve said.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"Well," he hesitated, "is she asleep?"

"Out like a light," I confirmed.

"I didn't want to mention it while she was awake... but," once again, he hesitated.

"But what?" I said.

"You see that helicopter, way back there?" He said pointing out of his window to a black object in the sky, about a kilometre away.

"No fuckin way! We are not being tailed by a helicopter too?" I said with disbelief.

"Call me paranoid, but a helicopter going to Sydney would fly as-the-crow-flies and not hug the highway. Secondly, it's bloody big and black and are those gun turrets I see?" He said.

"Fuck!" I said

"Ditto!" He said

"Hard to lose a helicopter," I said.

"No not hard: impossible; especially on the highway," he said

"Fuck!" I said

"Ditto!" He said

"You are not back to saying 'ditto' all the fucking time, now, are you? Last year was bad enough. If you start it again, I am going to have to shoot you," I warned.

"What's wrong with ditto?" He asked

"I don't like it," I said

"You don't like ditto? It's just a word," he pointed out.

"Yeah, I hate it," I said

"I happen to like it. It's brief, clean, sharp and sounds like a gun shot through a silencer: ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto... see?" He demonstrated. I decided to either shoot him or ignore him. When Steve is worried about something, he becomes so annoying that you want to stab him several times. The more he notices that he is succeeding in annoying you the more he will persist. I think it takes his mind off the problem. So I shut up and closed my eyes feigning sleep.

"Ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto..." he went on slowly decreasing in volume until I could just hear the 'tt' sound'. In this way, we raced toward Sydney. Maria asleep in the back, Steve being obsessive compulsive in the driver's seat and me... me just sitting like a vegetable, mind empty, my eyes closed and wondering why we were being tailed by a Seahawk helicopter.

We found out pretty soon.

"Oh, Oh," Steve said.

"What now?' I said, carefully opening just one eye, as if that helped in getting only half of the bad news I knew was coming.

"Something is about to go down. The pricks behind us are overtaking every car separating us from them. And coincidentally almost exactly at the same time, the helicopter has changed direction and is coming this way. I don't fuckin believe in coincidences," he said.

"You can't say 'almost exactly' and coincidentally is really enough," I commented.

"Yeah I can, if I want to," he insisted.

"Maybe it's nothing, and you're just paranoid," I said with no conviction at all.

"Something is definitely going down, and I am pretty sure it's us. Shit! Here they come!" Steve said, alarmed. He did not have to be told to speed up. But the little, four cylinder that we had rented was no match for the awesome V8 of the Commodore.

Suddenly, it was alongside us. Before we could do anything about it, it hit us broadside with all of its two tons, there was a loud 'crunch' and then, we were literally sailing off the highway, down a steep grassy embankment toward what seemed to be a little creek, a 100 or 200 meters below us.

Steve tried his best to slow us down, but the Commodore was right there behind us, pushing us down the slope. Steve was too much of a good driver to be tempted to turn the car - if he had, we would have rolled all the way down and into the creek. Meanwhile the helicopter was making a real racket as it was coming in for a landing right beside where our direct trajectory was taking us. Twenty metres from the creek the Commodore stopped pushing us and as the incline had flattened out, Steve was able to stop the car.

We were greeted by four men in uniform, armed with submachine guns, they had obviously arrived in the helicopter, and they meant business.

"Robyn?" Steve asked.

"Not her style, besides she would not use a Seahawk helicopter with an American flag on it. And these guys are Marines or Seals," I said now well beyond being surprised.

"What the fuck? First, it was the Russians, then our own Aussies and now the Yanks. We are international fuck-ups, it's official," he said, almost pleased with our promotion.

"Don't know what they want, but they look like they are serious. I get the feeling that..." I hesitated.

"What?" He asked, as we watched a man of about seventy exit from the helicopter and walk toward us, using an ornate walking stick and a limp, as if from an old war injury.

"That everyone has been lying to us...including Maria," I said grimacing.

"Great! That is just great! What a fucking week," was all he could say.

# Chapter 15

Pacific Ocean – Monday: September 27

The old man with the walking stick came right to my window, his unsmiling face looked at me, then he looked at Steve and finally he looked at Maria, who remarkably was still asleep. He hesitated for a moment and a strange expression washed over his face for an instant, then his grim expression was back and he turned to his men and in a clipped and commanding American accent he ordered,

"Bring all three, lose the cars." He did not wait to ensure that his orders would be followed but turned around and laboriously headed back to the helicopter, ascended the ramp and was gone.

"Fuck!" said Steve.

"Ditto!" I said.

Steve and I were escorted up the ramp and then seated next to each other in the big Seahawk.The old man was seated behind us. Maria was escorted inside and shown to the seat next to the old man. The armed detail moved to the seats to the back of us. The two from the Commodore that had chased us, stayed behind to do something inventive with the cars.

When the old man tapped loudly on the metal floor of the helicopter with his walking stick, the bird lifted into the air with an ear splitting noise. It was now impossible to have any type of conversation. Steve looked at me, unvoiced questions in his eyes. All I could do was to shrug my shoulders in ignorance - I had no fucking idea either!

On reflection, one thing was becoming clear to me, and probably to Steve: the information from Maria's sister must contain something a lot more important than just a list of people on the take from some bunch of crooks operating from Melbourne. The Yanks would not go to this level of effort just for that reason. I was getting a real bad feeling about all of this; we were definitely into something that was way over our heads. I was having visions of Steve and me sharing a cell with some Al-Qaida terrorists in the basement of a Guantanamo Bay cellblock.

The noise of the helicopter was relentless and had a sort of hypnotic effect and I am not sure for how long I was in a semi-doped state. When, once again, Steve's elbow was sharp into my side. I opened my eyes and looked at him puzzled. He nodded toward the window of the helicopter on the other side of the small passageway. I looked, and all I could see was the wide blue of the Pacific Ocean. Oh boy! We were no longer in Australia. Great! Cuba here we come!

Not long after that, the timbre of the helicopter's engines seemed to change and I felt the empty feeling in the stomach that comes from a rapid descent. From what I could see from the window it was now obvious we were landing on an American air craft carrier, which must have been parked somewhere off shore, probably waiting for us. This reinforced the notion in my mind that we were into something big – aircraft carriers cost a mint to run on an hourly basis. This much investment of money and resources was a very bad omen.

As soon as we landed we were escorted down a flight of stairs, along a number of corridors and finally into a small cell and without a word our captors left and locked the door behind them. Maria must have been taken elsewhere in the ship, a situation that had me very worried. Once again, we had managed to lose Maria. It was getting to be a bad habit.

"This is an interesting development," Steve said.

"Is that what you call it?" I asked in disbelief, "I would call it a fucking disaster."

"Yeah that too," he agreed.

"What do you reckon is going on?" I asked.

"Well, for one thing, I think that sour-tits Robyn lied to us about the content of the famous letter," he said.

"You think?" I said.

"Yes sir I do, Sir," he answered, imitating the way marines are normally depicted in war movies.

"At ease, soldier." I commanded, "I think you're right on the fucking money...marine" I finished.

"What happens now?" He asked, resorting to normal behaviour, well, for Steve anyway.

"No idea, guess we'll just have to wait. I don't think escape is an option right now... I guess we sit here, and wait," I said. I moved to one of the jail-style cots and laid down, hands behind my head in a bad imitation of someone who is relaxing worry-free.

"Well, at least it's an improvement on that noisy whirly bird," Steve said, taking my queue and relaxing in the other cot.

"So long as we don't get sea sick, or are shot or thrown overboard, or tortured, or end up in Cuba...I guess we'll be okay. Hey, they are meant to be our allies after all..." I said

"As an optimist you suck, you know that?" He said.

"Yeah I know that," I nodded

"I wonder how long they are going to keep us here. And if they are going to feed us. I don't remember the last time we ate," Steve said rubbing his stomach. But, he had not quite finished speaking, when we heard a rattling noise outside the door as if someone was unlocking the door to our little prison.

A sailor in a smart white uniform opened the door and in clipped American accent he said, "Please follow me."

He turned around and walked quickly down a long narrow corridor. Steve and I looked at each other, saluted and then shrugged. There were no armed guards, no one to make sure that we were indeed following him. So,... we followed, what else? The way was long and involved many turns, side corridors and stairs, it was a real labyrinth. The sailor kept up a smart clip to his step and it was a bit of a struggle to keep him in sight. Finally, he stopped at a door. We caught up with him just as he finished knocking on the door.

"Come in, sailor," a familiar, authoritative voice called in response and the sailor opened the door and entered holding the door open for us.

The sight waiting for us could not have surprised me more than, if we'd just stepped into Fantasyland. We faced a large room, with an elegantly set dining table: complete with spotless tablecloth, coned napkins, crystal glasses, shiny silver cutlery and crested plates, but no candles.

At the table were seated the old man from the helicopter.He now sported a white navy uniform weighed down by an awful lot of medals and ribbons. The second person, already seated at the table was Maria, who was also in a spotlessly white, US navy uniform!

# Chapter 16

Pacific Ocean – Monday: September 27

Steve and I just stood there, stupid expressions on our faces, mouths agape.

"Come in, join us gentlemen, you must be hungry... please won't you sit down?" The old man said pointing at two vacant chairs, in a pleasant and friendly tone. I looked at Steve and he looked back at me. Nothing was said for a few moments. Then, we both shrugged and sat down. We returned to stare at Maria. She was smiling, and her smile had never looked better, but this time, somehow, its effect was a little lost on me.

"Louie, Steve, please relax... let's eat and then I will explain it all to you. Just be assured that you have been of great help to us and to both our countries. You have helped in saving the lives of millions of people," Maria said, matter of fact, as if thanking us for successfully doing the weekly shopping.

"But, unfortunately there is still a lot to be done," she added, grimly."First, may I present to you Commander Hoyt of the US Navy Intelligence Service," she continued nonplussed, "Commander please meet Louie Breccia, my recent employer, andDetective Steve Lucas of the Sydney Police," she wasn't finished. She wasn't finished by far. Next came the real bombshell, "Louie, Steve, I am Captain Maria Wolf, also with the US NIS."

We said nothing and just stared at her.

"Nice to meet you gentlemen... and now if you don't mind, we will eat," the Commander said and nodded to our sailor-guide, who snapped to attention and whispered into a microphone. The food must have been waiting right outside. Almost immediately, the door opened and food trolleys were pushed inside. We were served by smartly uniformed young sailors in all whites, including white gloves.

The meal was absolutely excellent, and considering our hunger, we were pretty restrained in not devouring it like two pigs at a through. The conversation during the meal was bland and of no significance to me: stuff about the weather, news from the States for Maria and the general. Steve and I just listened and ate. Both of us sending uncertain looks Maria's way. It was like being stuck in the Twilight zone, but neither one of us was willing to miss out on the delicious meal and wine by exclaiming something like, "Whoa there! What the fuck is going on here?" We just listened and ate.

After the meal, we were shown into an adjoining room, which was like a cozy lounge room, with couches and lounge chairs. Here we were served some coffee, unfortunately not short black, and a brandy.

The Commander told us that this was the only room on the whole ship where smoking was allowed and we could light up if we needed to.

Boy! I needed to, badly, really badly.

After the first few deep puffs, I could not wait any longer:

"Thank you for the excellent meal, Commander and... Captain...er... Maria... but we would really like to know what is going on," I said, stabbing my cigarette out in an attractive crystal ashtray with more force than was necessary, wasting most of it, out of pure frustration.

The two navy officers looked at each other, then the Commander nodded and Maria started, "First I would like to apologise to you both for misleading you and for dragging you into something that is a lot more involved and dangerous than you bargained for," she said, looking at both of us, sincerity and some contrition in her face.

"No one dragged us into anything, Maria. We did what we thought had to be done... probably more information and fewer... er... lies, would have been more helpful," I said coldly. I was not ready to forgive and forget. We had done many things in an attempt to rescue her that neither Steve nor I were terribly proud of, and a simple apology wasn't going to cut it for me, yet.

"I understand why you are not particularly happy with me Louie. But I had no choice in what I did and how I did it. You see... there was, there is, too much at stake. But I am, we are, truly grateful for your help, without it, I would not be here and the situation could have been irretrievably lost," she said intently and with considerable passion.

"Well, okay Maria, why don't you tell us about the... situation?" I said trying to relax in my chair, and lighting up another smoke to hide my failure. I was still burning up inside.

Again, she looked over to the Commander and waited for his nod to proceed.

"Basically you know most of it. I did have a twin sister: Brenda. Brenda was also an officer in the NIS like me. She was seconded, on loan to AIA for a special assignment as she was fluent in Russian. We were following up on a piece of intelligence that had been passed on to us by the Israelis. They were sure something big was going to go down soon, something a lot worse that the 9/11 disaster. The Mossad were sure that, the Russian mafia was involved and in particular an Australian branch of that organization, the Tarasoff mob, was the main pivot of the operation," she stopped to have a sip and light up a cigarette, after a deep puff, she continued.

"Brenda did her job well. She penetrated the Tarasoff mob and eventually she was able to discover what was being planned. Unfortunately, she was betrayed... we think by a mole in AIA. That's why it became extremely important that I avoid at all cost giving AIA my sister's information, we just did not know who to trust. You two saved the day for us, by neutralizing the Tarasoff Mob in a police action and by rescuing me, we are very grateful to you both," she finished, blessing us with one of her best smiles.

"It seems to me that we stumbled here and there, more or less blindly and accidentally did the right thing. I am not sure how much credit we are due," Steve commented, always generous.

"Yes, more luck than talent," I agreed, "are we going to be told what the information from your sister was really about... or is that top secret?" I asked.

"Well, that was what the Captain and I were discussing before dinner." The Commander finally spoke up, "frankly, I was of the opinion that you had been involved enough and that we should return you to Sydney... let you get on with your normal lives. But the Captain here seems to think a lot of your abilities. After she explained to me what you did to help her, I tend to agree with her. So, we are not only going to tell you what is going on, but we are, in fact, going to ask you for more of your help," he concluded, relaxed back into his chair, took a sip of his brandy and nodded to Maria.

"The information in my sister's letter is not definitive but it has enough fact in it to have us scared "shitless" as you Aussies would say." Maria said, "if I may digress a bit into a little history... in 2005, an official from the former Soviet Union, a certain Sergey Sinchenko, stated in a report to his Government that since perestroika in the late 1980's about 250 nuclear weapons could no longer be accounted for. A pretty frightening statement," Maria paused, taking a moment to collect her thoughts and control her mounting emotions. This was beginning to sound real bad and both Steve and I visibly tensed, we moved forward in our seats, concentrating on each and every word from Maria: this was very scary stuff indeed.

"It now seems clear that some of these," She continued. "We don't know how many, have found their way, through the Russian mafia, and into al Qaeda's hands. The plan discovered by my sister is that from different locations around the world, some of these weapons will be fired over Europe, the US, South America and Australasia. They will be fired and detonated very soon."

She paused, took a long swallow at her drink and for a moment seemed to have lost track of where she was going. She was as white and pale as a cadaver, and almost as stiff in her movements. The Commander took the opportunity to give her time to compose herself by asking us a question, which at first seemed to have no bearing on Maria's story.

"Either one of you knows what an E-bomb is or, has heard the term EMP?"

"EMP stands for Electromagnetic Pulse, doesn't it?" Smart-ass-Steve answered, "isn't it a burst of electromagnetic radiation that results from a nuclear explosion?" He added. I looked at him in surprise, I was impressed.

He turned to look at me, making sure that I was indeed impressed.

"Well put, Steve," the Commander agreed, "do you know what it's effect is?" He asked.

"I remember reading a recent SF novel based on the consequences of an EMP attack. An EMP burst affects all electronic equipment... apparently the suddenly fluctuating magnetic field of an EMP causeselectronic systems to produce a damaging current surge, which basically means that anything electronic is toast in an instant," Steve answered, "but I thought it was all speculative, Science fiction... you know?" He concluded.

"Unfortunately no, it's not fiction at all. It is a real effect and we have known for some time that just one nuclear weapon that has been maximised for its EMP outburst exploded at the optimum altitude could potentially wipe out all electronic equipment in the USA," the Commander stated in a dismal tone.

For some time no one spoke. I sat there thinking to myself: "So what? A few nerds' computers will stop working... who cares?" But the word 'computer' was like a seed of evil: in my mind, the true potential for disaster of such a weapon exploded like bomb. Everything today is computer chip controlled: from the family car to air traffic control, from vital life saving equipment to food storage and refrigeration, from essential food and drug manufacturing to its delivery.

The terrifying prospect of this weapon grew in my mind like a cancer. I opened my mouth to speak, but for a moment, I could not find the words to express the cold dread growing inside me. From Steve's face, I could see that his thoughts were running exactly parallel to mine.

"But... but that... that would mean the end of civilization as we now know it... in a few weeks we would be back to the dark ages..." I managed to stammer.

Both Maria and Commander Hoyt nodded in unison. "That's exactly right, Louie. It would send us back 500 years and cause untold millions to die of starvation, disease, cold. Not to mention, the millions that would perish or be injured in literally thousands of accidents that would follow immediately after a strong EMP: planes crashing into the ground, vehicle accidents, trains... the listis too long," Maria said, a blunt coldness in her voice, "we have to stop it happening... and we need your help," she added.

"Our help?!" I almost shouted in surprise, "I don't see what we can do, in fact what anyone can do..." I added, calming down. Steve nodded in total agreement; I could see his lips saying sub-vocally "Ditto."

"We will explain how we need your help in a moment. The why, is illustrated by your recent actions with the Russian mafia, your actions toward Henry, and how you resolved the Mr. Sin situation a few years ago, Louie" Maria said, her eyes were blank of all emotion. I was struck speechless.

"Not sure I understand..." Steve said, uncertainly looking from me to Maria to the Commander.

"Okay, I will be blunt," Hoyt said, "we need someone who is not afraid to step out of what is lawful for the right reasons, and do what must be done with a minimum of fuss and with all finality. This situation needs finality. It needs it badly."

"Let me explain, please," Maria said, "I will be brief: the terrorist cell concerned, is operating from a location in Sydney. Brenda's information leads us to believe that this cell has the co-ordinates from where the nuclear rockets will be fired. We need those locations so that our smart bombs can take them out. We are on a very tight time limit, we hope we have 2-4 days, but we cannot be sure. We need you to find this cell and get us that information. Yesterday would not be too soon," she finished her drink and waited for our response.

Steve was the first to speak up. "Maria, I understand the need for urgency, but I don't understand why you need us? You must have at your disposal the whole of the secret services of a number of countries including yours and ours... so why us?"

"I'll answer that," Commander Hoyt, quickly put in, "what you say is absolutely true. We could deploy an incredible number of agents. None of them, however would be as acquainted with Sydney as you are, none of them would cause less commotion than you two.None of them would easily step outside the normal path. If the terrorist get a whiff of even one agent, we'll tip them off too soon and the game will be lost. Once they postpone and disperse, any cell in the world can take over and we will have no chance of stopping them at all," he had stood up and had been pacing up and down the small cabin, his walking stick keeping tempo with his speech. When he was finished speaking he stopped in front of us. Maintained eye contact with us both, in turn, and then he added, "we need you gentlemen... if money is a problem you can ask for anything you want."

It was my turn to speak up, "do you two mind if Steve and I have a chat about it in private for a minute or two?" I said, with Steve nodding in agreement with my suggestion.

"No problem at all gentlemen," the Commander said, signaling with a movement of his head for Maria to follow him. They returned to the dining room and closed the door behind them. I looked at Steve.

"What do you reckon?" I asked.

"I reckon so," he said

"What about your job?" I asked.

"I'll take some long service, I am due," he said, as if we were not talking about the end of civilization.

"We'll probably get killed," I said.

"I know that," he said.

"What the fuck, no one lives forever," I said.

"No one," he confirmed.

"I would not like to be around if everything turns to shit," I said.

"Me neither," he said.

"I couldn't disappoint Maria," I said.

"Me neither," he said.

"I didn't pick her for a Yank," I said.

"Me neither."He said

"But, I don't mind... she's still Maria." I said

"Me neither, she sure is" he said.

"Go for it then?" I asked.

"You bet," he said

We knocked on the door and entered the dining room. Hoyt looked at us uncertainly. Maria's look told us that there was no doubt in her mind what we had decided.

"We'll do it," I announced.

"Ditto," Steve confirmed.

"Maria told me you would say that and convinced me to start the ball rolling. I... we are very grateful... you helicopter ride back to Sydney is waiting for you. Maria will fill you in on the little we know about this terrorist cell... er... good luck and God speed, gentlemen, for all our sakes," then he did a very strange thing. He jumped up to attention and saluted us, his eyes sparkling with emotion, turned around and left the room. Yanks, you gotta love them!

# Chapter 17

Sydney – Monday: September 27

The trip to Sydney took a little over an hour. This time we were given very good earphones, which not only cut out the horrible noise of the helicopter, but also allowed Maria to fill us in on the scant information they had.

We landed on another US war ship and then we were sneaked out into a taxi, and finally we were back in Steve's small apartment. Maria had remained on board the war ship and would be our contact.

Our return was an occasion of such happiness for Roger that he barked and farted all around the apartment. He was so happy in seeing us both that we ignored his noxious emissions. After all, we can't all be pretty and smell sweet, can we? I took him for a long walk as a reward for his exuberance. Steve went to call in at work, while I walked Roger.

Sitting on Steve's lounge after walking Roger, who was panting away like a steam train, at my feet from the unexpected exercise, my thoughts kept going around and around, thinking of this approach or that, but could not come up with anything useful.

It was not a good sign.

Fortunately, the earlier storm in Roger's digestive system had subsided and at least the atmosphere was not toxic, but it was depressing nonetheless. My mobile barking was a welcomed diversion.

"I have been ordered to fully cooperate with you and to assist you in any way I can," Robyn's familiar voice sounded very unhappy on the other end of the line.

"I am not sure I want your help, Robyn. I have been told you have severe rodent problems," I told her bluntly.

"That particular pest has been controlled... permanently," she said. The lack of inflection in her voice sent a chill down my back.

"Did you find anything out anything of value, before you... er... controlled it?"

"Not much, he was working for the group you took care of earlier in the week. He knew little about the group you are looking for now," she said.

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Quite sure," she said. I did not want to imagine what they had done to him in order that Robyn could be 'quite sure'. But, it would not have been pretty. I did not ask for details.

"He did give us a bit of information; however, apparently his contact was a man of middle-eastern appearance. The mole seemed to think that his contact's cover was that of a high school teacher probably under an assumed name in a public school, somewhere in the eastern suburbs." She added, she had been keeping that information back, but must have decided to do the unthinkable for her, and share.

"Well that's a lot more than we had a few minutes ago... how reliable is the information," I asked.

"I am sure it's pretty reliable, he...ehm...resisted quite a bit before he gave it up," she admitted. I could just imagine. Still, death and/or torture are a mole's ultimate destiny.

"Ok thanks Robyn, I'll be in touch," I said

"Right," she said and hung up.

What next? A few hours ago, Robyn was ready to have us shot on sight, now she was being very helpful. I guess Uncle Sam's fist had come down on someone higher up than her, and that someone had brought Robyn up to speed very quickly. It was a good thing to see. Steve would be pleased and amused.

To cheer myself up I called Lidia.

"Hi, it's Louie," I said.

"Oh, hi there," she answered brightly.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Fantastic! I have just come back from the most wonderful weekend ever!"She said, happiness boiling out of her like liquid nitrogen hitting a hot plate.

"I am very glad, Lidia. I have some good news too. The police are close to making an arrest, it will soon be over. I am not sure of the details, but I will let you know," I lied.

"That is very good news, thank you very much Louie." She said.

"Ehm...Lidia, I saw Henry on Friday, he asked me to tell you that he had a family problem crop up... he had to leave immediately. He may not be back, Lidia." I told her.

"Oh! I am so sorry; I hope he is all right. I am very sorry to lose him, he was great," she said, saddened by the news.

"If you are short of a driver, I think that Joe would love the job," I suggested.

'Why, that's a wonderful idea, Louie. Thank you so much. I can't wait to ask him, I'll ask him up to the house right now," she said excitement building in her voice. Definitely a little girl in a woman's body. No doubt about it.

"Take care, Lidia," I said, ready to sign off.

"Wait a minute, Louie, how much do I owe you?" She asked concern in her voice.

"Why, nothing Lidia. We are square." I told her.

"Oh Louie, it can't be, I must owe you more, let me send you another cheque," she almost pleaded.

"Absolutely not, Lidia. Really, we are square. Take care," I said.

"Okay, Louie, you take care too," she said, reassured and then we hung up.

Steve did not get back from work until the early hours of the morning, by that time I was sound asleep on the couch with Roger cuddling up to me. It had been a fight to retain ownership of the lounge, but in the end, I had won a compromise.

"You lazy ass, while civilization crumbles to dust, you are taking a nap? And were you cuddling my dog? Roger you are a slut!" He said, as if scandalized...

"You are just jealous... on both counts" I said, stirring awake. He winked and headed for the shower.

"I'll make us a cuppa... do you still have that dandy espresso machine?" I asked, rising from the lounge and wondering whether I was imagining fleas crawling all over me. Had Roger actually shared some of his friends with me? Great!

"Can't go wrong with a cuppa," he agreed. "The machine is under the sink. While you make us both a cuppa, I am going to have a shower. I have been working all night and I need one. You also need one because you smell like Roger," he smirked.

"Blah, blah, blah" I answered, but I doubt if he heard me as the shower was already running.

As we sipped our short blacks, after we had both showered and dressed, I filled him in on Robyn's call. He loved hearing about it.We went through a number of plans, but they were all pretty useless. It seemed like an impossible task.We were at it all night and into the early hours of the morning. The result? Nothing.

# Chapter 18

Sydney – Tuesday: September 28

"What we need, is some sort of computer genius, that can figure this all out for us," Steve said at one point. I think it was between the fourth and the fifth cup of coffee and a number of smokes that would send most tobacconists in ecstasy.

"How would that help us?" I answered my voice hoarse from too much smoking Discouragement and depression were starting to grip my mind with steel claws.

"Well," Steve said, "we would tell him or her all we know about this character, and presto the name would pop out on a little card," he said hopefully.

"Nice plan, Steve, except for two things: one- we know sweet-fuck-all about this character and two - modern computers don't spit out little cards," I answered.

"Shit man it's nearly eight o'clock and we got nothing," he said.

"Maybe even less than that," I agreed, "it cannot be done... let's get drunk instead. We can meet the end of the world suitably fortified," I suggested.

We both started pacing around the small flat, needing to do something but not coming up with anything useful. Roger confused, could not make up his mind which one of us he should follow, so he fluctuated from one to the other in a bizarre figure eight path.

At one point in my mindless perambulations I stopped at the window and saw a father get out of his car, walk around to the curb-side rear passenger seat and help his young daughter get out of the car and walk her to school, hand in hand. Scenes like that had a depressing effect on me - my marriage had finished before we had even started. We had talked about having kids. Lots of kids. The kids we both wanted so badly.

Oh well, what doesn't kill you... makes you wish it had.

I was definitely going down the dark spiral of depression, that black cloud was coming over me, all sufferers of chronic depression recognise immediately.If you let it in it can stay with you for months... even years. By then we would all be dead. I banged my head on the wall to clear it.

"What the fuck? What are you doing?" Steve said gazing over at me in alarm.

"Banging my head on the wall," I answered.

"Why? Are you frigging nuts? I have a bond on this place you know? You damage the wall you pay for it," he warned.

"I'll put my fist through it in a minute," I warned back.

"Go right ahead...it's a double brick wall," he laughed.

"Idiot," I said.

"You are the one banging his head on a brick wall... so, who's the idiot in here, uh? What do you reckon Roger?" he answered, turning to his stinky dog. Roger had collapsed on the floor and was panting; his tongue lay out on the cool tiled floor like a pink, wet carpet. Tired and dizzy from his efforts.

"That dog is very unfit," I said.

"Leave Roger alone and go back to your wall," Steve said crouching down to pet his creature.

I decided to call Henry. Maybe some good news about him and his little boy would cheer me up. I got my mobile out and started to look for the number in my list of contacts.

"What now? Who are you calling?"Asked Steve, looking up, hope in his face. Hope that I must have had some sort of brain wave that would solve our problems.

"Henry," I said.

"What the fuck for?" He exclaimed, angry at his hopes being dashed.

"Because I want to," I said and pressed 'connect' on my phone. I could see Steve in my peripheral vision, shaking his head, probably thinking that I had finally lost it. The sad part of it was that –he was probably right.

"Hi Louie, how are you?" Henry sounded pleased to hear from me.

"I am good, Henry," I lied, "And, how are you? How is Frankie?" I asked.

"Oh man! He is a lot better already. He is at home with me and is getting better and stronger every day. Thanks for all you did for us Louie. I am in your debt for life, mate," he said, emotion cracking his voice.

"Don't worry about it mate. You have just made my day with your good news, believe you me," I assured him, meaning it, feeling some relief from the oppression. There was some good in the world...but for how long?

"So, are you working on something interesting," he asked, after clearing his voice and trying to show a keen interest. Once more diverting my mind from depressing thoughts.

"Well...actually it's all going to the crapper... this new case. We stumped and don't know where to turn," I admitted.

"Can I be of some help?" He offered.

"I don't know, Henry. Shit, I don't even know what help we need. Steve reckons that we need some sort of computer genius... I don't know of any though, or any good enough..." I said.Henry did not say anything, I waited for a while, and then I said,

"Are you still there?"

"Yes I am. I was just startled by what you said. I was not sure whether you were joking or just having me on, Louie," he answered.

"I don't understand, Henry... what do you mean?" I said, now totally confused.

"Well, I did tell you that... I am what you might call a computer nerd, although hacker is a more romantic term. That was my main job in the armed forces, and I was the best they had. How else would I have identified the group of pigs that hurt my son?" He said bitterness in his voice.

"But of course!" I exclaimed a glimmer of hope flooding my brain, "now why didn't I think of that... you are just the person we might need. Listen; are you at home right now? We are running out of time," I urged.

"I will be, in a little while. I am just about to take Frankie to school," he said.

"No problem at all, see you about ten thirty to eleven then?" I suggested.

"Sounds good, Louie, see you then."

Once off the phone, I was feeling that I had finally accomplished something concrete. I smiled at Steve. He looked at me as if he now knew for a fact that I was insane.

"We are going to visit Henry," I said

"Henry... the chauffeur?" He asked.

"The very same," I said

"What the fuck for? We haven't got the time to socialize." He said, ready to argue the point.

"He is the computer whiz that you wished for...just a few minutes ago," I said

"He is? Why didn't you say so?" He exclaimed, enthusiasm returned.

"Just did." I said,

"Let's go!" He said jumping up.

"We are not here," I said, grabbing the car keys and heading for the door.

We rang Henry's doorbell at about ten thirty five.

He lived in a nice bungalow located in a quiet street in a suburb called Castle Hill, which one of the better and leafier suburbs of Sydney. He welcomed us with a smile and hesitated a bit when he shook Steve's hand. But Steve's brilliant smile and attitude reassured him and he showed us into a practical and very cozy looking lounge room.

In one corner were stacked neatly a great number of toys. The television was still set on the Disney channel. His son must have been watching it as he breakfasted.

Without any pre-amble, Henry said, "tell me exactly what you need to know and what you already know."

We told him. We spoke in turn and he watched each one of us as if he were a tennis spectator. He made notes on a small note pad in some sort of short hand. He asked many questions, leaving no detail unturned, examined and re-examined every point. He was a thorough worker.

When we'd finished he thought for a moment, then he said, "when I was looking for that group of arseholes. I had a similar problem. I knew very little, just a few details.I had to develop my own search engine. A very special type, a hacker's search engine. It does not operate like normal engines. You know like yahoo and Google. Those rely on information, which is not only, easy to obtain, but more often than not is placed there by the different site administrators because they want their sites to be to found. My engine, on the other hand, hacks its way into sites and links and computers that don't want their information found, or have password-only access, or that are encrypted" he explained, "how quickly do you need this?" He finished.

"We need it before lunch," I said.

"What?" He exclaimed, "but that's not possible."

"Henry," Steve said looking at him intently, "this is very serious stuff, millions of lives are at stake here, probably including ours and yours and Frankie's. Please believe us. I know it all sounds crazy... but unfortunately it isn't."

We then told him the rest of the story. All of it.

"Fuck!" He said, "I know all about the effects of EMP. One of my projects was to assess the possible consequences of exactly that type of attack on our country. It would be bad, real bad. Fuck, what a mess!" He said, shaking his head, but that steel nerve that had served him in the Army was not gone for long, "before lunch, uh?" "well... it's insane... fortunately, I like insane!" He said, and he was serious, serious as a heart attack, "we better get started then... you never know, we might get lucky." He added and stood up. He motioned for us to follow him. We went down a short corridor and entered a small room.

Being a detective, I deduced that it was his study: the room was air-conditioned; there were four Mac Pro computers; the computers were set-up on a crescent shaped desk; In front of the desk, there was a chair that you might find on a space ship.

The four computers were obviously networked. Their respective screens were turned on and the screen saver was a slide show of his son. The pictures would build up on one screen and then shift across the other three; to fade away in the last...it was mesmerizing.

He sat himself down and using one main keyboard, he rapidly entered information. His fingers were a blur of movement. Immediately the computer on the far left started scrolling through a database of some type. He moved onto the next computer and repeated the procedure, and then the next, the last he left untouched. The scrolling was very fast, whenever a possible 'hit' was picked up by one computer it was entered into an initially empty database in the fourth computer, which immediately started running computer stuff.

The whole thing was amazing, those Mac Pro's are lightening fast. Steve and I watched the four machines working away, almost outdone by the human dynamo still entering parameters for the search. Finally, Henry stopped and turned around to face us.

"This may take ten minutes or it could go on for days. The more specific you can make the search the shorter and more reliable it will be," he explained, "unfortunately your search has just a few parameters, so it may take longer, a lot longer" he finished.

"A few parameters?" Steve asked." I thought we only had two."

"We know and or can surmise a few more than that. For example, your man is a male, a teacher and probably not a Christian. He has a fake name and has probably entered the country within the last five years. He probably lives and teaches within a 10 km radius of the Eastern suburbs. He is probably not married, has a mobile phone, prefers middle-eastern food, and a few other parameters," he explained.

"Impressive." I said, I was impressed, "but how do you search, for example, food preferences?" I asked, puzzled.

"Well, he would not go to a middle-eastern food supplier, it might be too obvious. He probably shops at Woolies or Coles. If he has paid with a credit card we can track what he has bought," he explained. "Look, simply put, it works like this: say for instance you want to find one individual at a concert or at a football match where there are thousands in the audience.It is a difficult problem. Unless you use a mathematical concept called sets. The population at the concert can be divided into two sets: males and females. Now you have reduced the number of possibilities by about 50%. Say you are only interested in those females wearing shorts, your set has now reduced further, and say that you are only interested in those wearing red t-shirts, this results in another reduction and so on eventually you can arrive at only one possible individual that belongs to all of your defined sets. It's a bit like the classification of living things using a dichotomous key. This is what computer number four is doing, simplified...er...a lot," he concluded. I smiled understanding the basic concept.

"I remember using dichotomous keys at school; we had to devise a key to classify each teacher in the school... that was a lot of fun. Some of our teachers were pretty weird people," I said.

"Exactly," Henry said.

"Ditto," Steve said.

The alarm woke us at about two thirty in the afternoon, we all looked up from our armchairs, where we had been hypnotized into a mindless slumber by the mind bending boredom of watching strings of numbers and words stream down computer screens at the speed of light. Henry, unlike Steve and I, was either instantly awake, or he had been awake all the time.

He was looking at computer number four with an air of satisfaction and pride.

On the screen, there was a name and an address, followed by the number: 58%.

Another four names and addresses were also displayed but all of them had much smaller percentages, the largest being 18%.

"Well, well... here we are, look at that: there is a 58% chance that this guy," he said pointing at the screen with satisfaction. "Is the man you want?"

He then looked at us, stretching his arms out and yawning.

Steve was busily writing it all down.

"No need to write the information down, Steve, I am going to print it all for you." Henry said.

"Don't worry, Henry, he just writes everything in his little book," I said.

"Yeah, I do that... Henry...er... 58% does not seem a very high probability to me," Steve commented.

"True enough Steve, it isn't very high. It's the best we are going to get with so few known facts about this man, and in such a short time," Henry nodded agreement, "on the other hand, you can look at it another way; this guy is three times more likely to be your suspect than all the other three," he added.

"And it's a million times more information than we had a few hours ago," I said.

"I suppose so," Steve said, but I could hear in his tone that he wasn't convinced.

"Take my word for it, Steve, no other computer could have come up with this information," Henry assured him.

"Come on, mate. Henry has done his job, now it's our turn," I said slapping him on the back, "anyways...what else can we do?"

"Right you are. Our other options are: none and nil," he agreed.

We thanked Henry and promised to let him know how things would turn out.On the way back I called Maria. I gave her the names from Henry's list and their address and suggested we get AIA to set up 24/7 complete surveillance on all of them.

She agreed readily. It was a confirmation, in my mind, that the AIA mole had indeed been discovered.

I phoned Robyn.

"Right," she said after listening without asking one question, "full surveillance will be in place within the hour."

"Robyn, please make sure that none are spotted," I said.

"Don't try to teach grandma to suck eggs," she said tersely and hung up.

# Chapter 19

Sydney – Wednesday: September 28

Roger's barking at the ring tone of my mobile, which sounded like a dog barking, woke me up.

I answered it. It was Robyn's unpleasant voice.

Once, a long while ago, it had sounded sexy, now it was as far removed from sexy as a dose of herpes. We had not heard from her for almost twenty-four hours, and considering the tight time schedule we were all working under, it had been a miracle that both Steve and I had resisted the temptation of interfering with AIA' s surveillance. They had the numbers, the expertise, the equipment and the big budget. We let them get on with it. We on the other hand, had run out of nails to bite and we were now considering starting on Roger's claws.

Once again, she started right away, without any sort of greeting.

"The first name on the list... a Mr. Allan Jones, is acting strangely. We suggest further investigation," she said.

"Strangely how?" I asked, wishing I had a coffee and a smoke in my hand to clear up the tendrils of sleep still trying to drag me down.

"Nothing really obvious, but he has just returned home from a quick shopping expedition. He bought almost identical food items of a middle eastern classification from four different outlets. Enough food for at least six people," she said.

"You think he has guests?" I asked.

"Almost certainly, but we did not see anyone arrive or leave his house... they must have been there already," she confirmed.

"I thought this guy was a teacher, why isn't he at school?" I asked.

"That's the other thing I was about to mention," she said.

"Mmm, I don't like the sound of that. They might be getting ready to activate the plan," I said.

"I agree and I strongly suggest that you let us handle it, from now on," she said in her commanding voice that expected no objections.

"No. That's fine. Leave it to us, thanks for the great work," I said. She huffed and hung up.

"Fuck you to!" I exclaimed into the dead phone and slammed it down.

"Fuck who?" Asked Steve coming out of his room rubbing his eyes.

"Fuck Robyn," I said.

"Not if she was the last woman in the universe," Steve said with conviction.

"Ditto," I said.

"So? What did Ms. Sour Pus want?" He asked.

"Looks like that the first guy on the list... er...Alan Jones, has a bunch of friends staying with him. Strangely, they all like Tabbouleh, for breakfast," I said.

"Interesting," Steve said, putting together two cups of Nestlé's Instant espresso coffee, which is as close to the real thing as is scientifically possible and has the added advantage of being is ready in just under 1 minute.

"Thanks, I really need this," I said when he offered me a cup. I lit up the first cigarette of the day and inhaled deeply. "How do you reckon we should handle this?" I asked, exhaling enough smoke to cure a large ham.

"In our usual half-arsed way," he said.

"You mean shoot first and ask questions later?" I asked with a smile.

"No, that's YOUR half-arsed way," he said.

"Oh, so sorry. What is OUR way?" I asked again.

"We knock first," he said, smiling.

"You are a funny prick, you know that?" I said.

"I know that," he said, "but maybe in this case we need to be a little more subtle, if we shoot everyone up, we may not find the information we need."

"There is that," I agreed. "so, what do you suggest? Hang on...what about this: we go there, knock on the door and then Taser everyone, tie them up and see what we can get them to tell us." I added, pleased with my plan.

"Fantastic!" Steve said, but his lack of real enthusiasm told me he was resorting to his lowest form of wit: sarcasm.

"Okay... so what's wrong with it?" I asked. My feelings bruised.

"We don't have any Tasers," he pointed out.

"You can't get them from work?" I asked, surprised.

"You really want me to go in there and complete and submit for approval six forms in triplicate explaining why I need six or more Tasers?" He asked.

"Well, that's a shame: a perfect plan ruined," I said.

"What's plan number two?" he asked.

"Okay... while you hold them at gun point I tie them up," I suggested.

"Works for me," he said.

"Okay, this is what I suggest we do." And I told him.

"I hope we don't go to hell for this," he commented.

"No worries, mate. If there is a hell I'm pretty sure we have a reservation booked," I assured him.

"No virgins for us?"

"Hope not I prefer my girls hot and wanton,"

"Yeah me too."

We arrived at the address in Bondi that Henry had found for us about 2 hours later. We cruised-by a couple of times.

It was a very quiet neighbourhood with not much passing traffic. Most houses were pretty old and most were probably occupied by even older people, who were content in spending their days watching mind numbing reality shows, when all the reality they needed was just one-step away.

Nothing was stirring in the house we were there to look at.

All windows were heavily curtained. We drove around and parked the car a few streets away and then, we started walking toward Jones's house, keeping the walk easy and leisurely.

My plan had been that we were disguised as members of that religious group that go door-to-door selling Watchtower magazines.

In retrospect, I suppose we could have handled it differently. We could have called in a swat team of AIA agents. But we had discarded that plan because it could have caused a major commotion and it might have given enough time for at least one of the occupants of the house to contact some other cell and transfer control of their operation there. This would have been the worst result possible.

We had discussed a number of plans with Maria and the Commander over a conferencing connection. Finally, we had been able to convince them to let us act as decoys, while they got a bunch of their Navy seals to quietly come in and trap every one of the terrorists with their dicks in their hands, figuratively speaking, I hoped. We were not trying to be heroes, but not one of us could come up with a better alternative, and time was running out quickly. Assuming we still had time.

On the way to Jones's house, we knocked on a few doors for practice and in case that someone from that house was watching the street and noticed our approach. We even carried Bibles and tried to look friendly and naïve. Most people were nevertheless pretty rude; I guessed that 5 seconds away from their TV show was just too much for them.

"I would like to do this again sometime," I said between houses.

"Why? This sucks," Steve asked.

"I'd like to come back and teach some of these people some manners. Convert them to politeness if not religion," I said.

"Yeah, I see your point. Okay next weekend, mate. If we are still alive, if the world, as we now know it, has not ceased to exist and if we are not busy, we'll come back and educate a few of these assholes," he agreed.

"Done deal," I said and we continued with our mission.

We worked both sides of the street and worked slowly. We actually convinced a couple of people to buy a magazine or two. I don't think our message was illuminating – they were just trying to get rid of us and not feel too guilty about it.

Finally, we were nearing our target house.

"Ready?" I whispered to Steve.

"No," he said without hesitation, "but let's do it anyway."

"Good luck, mate," I said to him.

"You too."

With no visible hesitation, I preceded Steve through the front gate and to the front door. We listened for a minute, but there were no sounds coming from the house at all. I looked at Steve, who was just standing behind me and slightly to the right (he is right handed, and so his gun hand would not end up pointing at my back).

I knocked.

Nothing happened

I knocked, again.

Nothing happened.

After a few moments the door opened and a pleasant looking man looked out and said

"Yes?"

I was just about to go into my spiel about eternal salvation and his absolute need for one of our magazines. When I felt a gun barrel shoved into by back.

For a moment, I thought that Steve had stuffed up and had actually been standing on my left, but the rough accented voice behind me told me it wasn't Steve's gun.

"Shut up, pig! Walk inside," the voice said. The man who had opened the door smiled, and now he did not look pleasant at all; his smile was enough to give most people nightmares. The gun was again shoved into my back, this time with enough force to cause some damage to a couple of vertebrae. I walked, or more accurately, stumbled painfully inside.

We were pushed and prodded to a lounge room, which had another five men sitting on the floor; they looked up: one was uglier than the next; but none looked even slightly middle-eastern. The remains of some sort of feast were still on the floor, spread out on a nice Persian rug. There were all kinds of middle-eastern foods, some of the packages and wrappings the food had come in, still littered the floor. The men were sitting on the floor, cross-legged, with a number of pillows all around them. It was like we had stepped into some tent belonging to some strange nomadic tribe or maybe, onto the set of a movie.

They did not invite us to share their bounty - where was the renown hospitality of desert dwellers?

"This does not feel right," I said to Steve, and got another hard prod in the back with the barrel of the gun for my trouble. I had time enough to see Steve look around and then look at me, his expression was questioning, puzzled.

We were pushed past this room and into a kitchen. The kitchen table had been moved to one side and two kitchen chairs were placed in the middle of the room.We were quickly pushed onto them and then expertly tied to them, hands behind our backs and feet to the legs of the chairs:there would be no kicking our way out, this time. Steve turned to me and murmured, "what is it? What's not right? Apart from the fact that we are all tied up, instead of them."

"I can't put my finger on it, but..." but I never finished. Some guy behind me smashed his gun across the back of my scalp.

I was momentarily dazed.

Through the pain and the mist, I heard Steve say, "the food."

"Food? You're hungry? " I whispered as I surfaced slowly back to reality and more intense pain. I could feel blood trickle down the back of my neck.

"Shut up pig. Just answer my questions, if you don't want more of the same," the man behind me shouted in my ear.

"Fuck you, Ali," I said, which got me pistol whipped again, but on the side of the face this time. He was good at it and it hurt like hell. Teeth cut into my cheeks deeply and blood poured out of my mouth, mixed with saliva and a lot of swearing.

"I told you to shut up! You only answer my questions, you understand?" He shouted in my face, garlic still very strong on his breath. I saw then that it had been Jones.

"The food wrappings..." Steve said

"Will you stop going on about fucking food? I couldn't eat a thing, at the moment," I barked at Steve turning my face away from bad-breath-Jones to catch a bit of fresh air into my sore mouth. It didn't feel any better.

I coughed, bringing up mucous, blood and probably bits of my cheek. I turned back to bad-breath-Jones and gurgled at him, "hit me again and I will kill you," and then I spat all of it onto his face. He reeled back. Shit, you should have heard him scream!

"Listen, Louie... the food wrappings, did not have Halal markings on it," Steve said to me.Finally, I understood what Steve had been trying to tell me: according to Islamic law, any food item that is okay for a Muslim to eat must have a Halal marking on it.

Just then another thought crystallized in my sluggish brain. I now knew what had struck me as not been 'right' when I had first entered the house. I had smelled the scent of bacon and eggs. No way, any Muslim would ever go near a piece of bacon. These guys were definitely not members of Al Qaeda.

We had really fucked up this time! We were in the wrong house and about to be killed for it!

Way to go!

# Chapter 20

Sydney – Wednesday: September 28

Jones was back at me, and this time he really hit me hard and I did pass out. When I came back, after one of them, threw a bucketof freezing cold water on me I heard him work on Steve, it did not sound good, I could hear every soul-crunching hit as he punished my friend

"Not right," Steve gurgled in turn before passing out.

"Who are you and why are you here?" Jones said returning to me, gun poised, ready for another strike.

"More to the point who the fuck are you?"I asked in turn, "You pricks are not Muslims" I added and it earned me another hit with his gun.

"So what are you? Jews? Neo-Nazis? Russian mafia? What?" I asked, still semi-conscious.

At this point one of the other men started to talk to our interrogator in fucking southern-fried-finger-lickin' Mississippi English. What the Fuck?

"What do you reckon?" Steve gurgled at me as he resurfaced

"I have no fucking idea... did we get the wrong house? Are we such fuck-ups?" I asked, really worried and in excruciating pain.

"Probably," he said.

Meanwhile, the argument between two of our captors, seemed to have turned ugly. Both were shouting heatedly and gesticulating. It looked like there was going to be a bit of a blue right there and now.

Suddenly Jones nodded and the other man approached me, satisfaction and anticipation colouring his face.

He removed an evil looking knife from his belt. It was very pointed and very dirty, probably still carrying the blood from his last fun time.

"You are going to fucking talk to me or I'll rip both your eyes out," he said.His breath smelled even worse than Jones's. I guessed that the opportunity to brush his teeth had not come up in the last thirty or so years. The knife's point was touching my eye.

"Gees!" I said, moving my head back, "I'll talk, I'll talk... just stop breathing on me," I shouted.

"What are you doing here?" He screamed at me.

"Selling toothpaste, and boy, you need a ton of it," I said, and then I spat into his eyes, for good measure.

"Good one, Louie!" Steve approved.

"Thanks," I said.

But the guy with the knife was not amused.He wiped his face and smiled.

"You fucking Jew cunt lover!" He said and slowly, very painfully pushed his filthy knife into my thigh all the way to the hilt.

My scream was unstoppable. It started somewhere deep inside me and erupted out of me like a flood of hot lava, but he wasn't finished with me.

He held onto the knife and twisted it from side to side... I think I was able to scream even louder that time. I was now ready to pass-out for keeps, when he gave it another twist and said.

"I think you will sing now, pig," and then he smiled, "next it will be you balls. And when I am done, I'll feed them to your bum-mate over there," His face was so close to mine that I could see the green-yellow of his putrid teeth. I could even count the number of blackheads on his nose, but I didn't.

Instead, I head-butted his nose with all the strength I had left.

Even the chair moved forward with me and it would have tipped all the way to the floor if his face had not stopped both of us.

I felt the, oh so very pleasing, 'crunch'. His nasal bones and perhaps even his cheeks had splintered and crushed. Blood sprayed out of him like out of a fireman's hose.

He reeled backward as if he had just been hit by a truck and fell on his back, screaming and howling.

This guy was a real screamer!

"Good one, Louie!" Steve approved again.

"Thanks," I mumbled, "what a baby, that was just a tap," I commented as I looked at the knife's hilt on my leg. It was standing up like a strangely misplaced erection.

I wondered where the cavalry was. I was pretty sure I could not take much more of this crap.

All of the terrorists were staring at their companion screaming on the floor. One of them raised his gun and pointed at me, anger in his eyes, maybe I'd just ruined his boyfriend's good looks.

One of us was definitely blind.

It now looked like I did not have to worry about any more pain. This guy was going to put one right between my eyes.

I knew I was about to die.

Time seemed to stretch out like everything was moving in slow motion. I watched his arm with the gun point at may face and his trigger finger stiffen. I noticed a tattoo on his forearm...what was that? A spider? Shit! I had had enough of fucking spiders! "Fucking spiders, they always get you in the end," I thought nonsensically.

"Take care of Maria," I said to Steve.

"Noooo!" he screamed at the gunman and tried to make his chair jump to stop the bullet. But, he was all tied up just like me and had little strength left any way. His face was so strained, veins in his neck popping up - as if he was trying to pull a Mac truck. But those plastic ties are unbreakable. They must have cut into his flesh.

The gunman smiled and took careful aim.

"Fuck you, mother fucker!" I screamed

The man pointing the gun at me squeezed a shot. It hit me in the shoulder. I felt the impact- it was as if I had been hit with a brick, but I did not feel any pain at all.

"Missed me, you stupid cunt," I mumbled at him, trying to smile.

He took aim again and smiled, I guessed that he had been playing with me.

Behind me, I heard a sound that I could not immediately recognise.

"Pfft."

His smile remained frozen in his face as he toppled backward. As he fell, I noticed a neat hole in his forehead, closely followed by another.

"...and washed Incy Wincy out..." I shouted at him incongruously the singsong nursery rhyme. I think I tried to laugh.

"...Out came the sun..." Steve continued for me, a crooked smile on his face.

Slowly and very painfully, I turned around: the room was now full of men all dressed in black, black balaclavas, black nasty looking guns, fitted with black silencers.They must have come in, making no noise, unnoticed by anyone - every one's attention had been riveted on me, my friend with the knife still screaming on the floor and on the gunman...

"I think it's the Sun...definitely," Steve whispered with his broken mouth.

One of the new comers was not shaped like a man at all. As she approached my chair, one of the terrorist made a sudden move, maybe he was reaching for his gun or maybe he suddenly had an itchy butt, it did not matter, she shot him.

Two quick shots: bang, bang in the head, and he was down - DOA.

The screaming guy on the floor raised his head, I guess to see what was going on.

Two quick shots: bang, bang in the head, and he was down, as well - DOA.

All this happened in no time at all, Maria did not miss a step, did not flinch or hesitate.

"Thank God for that," I said to Steve through the pain which seemed to have spread to every cell in my body, "all that screamin' was sending me 'round the bend."

"Ditto," Steve agreed. I think he nodded, but things were getting a bit hazy.

Maria continued to make her way to our side. She bent down to look at me, and then at Steve, and smiled.

"The room is definitely brighter... the Sun is here..." I informed Steve.

"Best of all...Wincy is finally fucked..." Steve added.

"Oh shit!" She said, concern heavy in her voice, "I need a medic. Right now!" she shouted behind her.

"All good," I said and, thankfully, passed out. On my way under, I may have heard Steve say 'ditto' or maybe, I just expected it and dreamed it.

# Chapter 21

Sydney – Wednesday: October 5

The rest of the story I learned from Steve and Maria.

I awoke in a sterile hospital room aboard the US carrier. They had taken me there so that there would be no paperwork, questions and delays. I was very happy with the choice - what better place to get 'fixed-up' from injuries received in the 'line of duty'?

Apparently, our good mate: Jonesy boy; only needed a little convincing to give up his information in total. I think he even confessed to having sex with his dog. But, I may be wrong.

Within a few hours there were seven mysterious explosions around the globe – all of them involved unregistered cargo boats anchored in unconfirmed locations. They carried their undeclared and radioactive cargo, on a last journey: right to the bottom of the crystal blue ocean.

Good old Jonesy also gave up the rest of his mates. The group had nothing to do with any Muslims; it was some splinter group of a Neo-Nazi cult. They were trying to resurrect the third Reich – what better way to do that than by destroying civilization first?

They had posed as Arab terrorists in case their plot was discovered. That way, blame would be affixed on another of the many races they hated. Like all racists, they had not bothered to learn about their enemies and could not leave the bacon at home. I guess that when you are a racist ignorance works a lot better for you than knowledge.

"I think we have the lot rounded up now. The cult was quite extensive and worldwide. But it wasn't very hard to track down; each one we captured gave up his partners-in-hate, easily and quickly. As you would expect, their main common trait was cowardliness." Maria said. She was sitting on the side of my bed; Steve was sitting on the other side. He did not look good; his face was a mess of bandages, eyes black and swollen. He at least could still walk around.

"Funny thing," she continued. "They all resisted arrest and were fatally wounded," And then she smiled. Steve and I tried to smile back, it must have looked like a sick horror show.

Sometime later in one of my few moments of consciousness I asked Steve, what had happened to Jones once he had spilled his guts. He said that I should not worry about it; apparently, he had resisted arrest too.

Our promise fulfilled; I rested more peacefully then.

The knife in my leg eventually left a nasty, nasty scar. It was an even nastier and painful wound. The initial thrust and the twisting had cut a few tendons and messed up quite a bit of muscle tissue, but fortunately it had just nicked the femoral artery, any more damage and I would not be writing this.

I was told that I would be in bed for a few weeks and that I would be limping for the rest of my life. I wasn't unhappy though, everyone agreed that it had been a sheer miracle that I hadn't died from the infection and septicaemia the dirt on that knife had caused.

A considerable portion of the muscle tissue in my thigh had to be removed before the infection spread to other parts of the body. I was lucky to live through it. I was lucky to have two legs. I would have been luckier with no injuries at all... but you can't have everything, huh?

The thoughtful navy surgeon had cleaned the knife for me and left it next to my bed as a souvenir. My shoulder wound was fairly clean, and had missed everything major on its way through me. Although painful, it did not prove to be too troublesome.

For a while, Maria and Steve were my only visitors. They spent quite a bit of time trying to get me to talk or laugh, knowing full well that it was painful to do so. But, what are friends for?

Once I was out of danger, my family was helicoptered-in to visit me. Mum brought us some of her home cooking. She loved being able to spoon-feed her 'little boy' once more. Federico, more commonly known as Rico, my GP brother checked me out from head to toe and declared me well looked after. Mum hugged every nurse and naval doctor that entered my room, and ensured they did not leave my room with empty stomachs.

Pip described their utter surprise when a huge UH-60 Black Seahawk helicopter had actually landed in my parent's back paddock. That surprise was only surpassed when Maria in a US navy uniform had stepped out from it. She had explained a little of what had happened and then she had herded all of them aboard to be flown to the aircraft carrier. Dad said that he could not be any prouder of his youngest son. Maybe, I wasn't the black sheep after all.

Later into the second week, even Commander Hoyt dropped in for a visit. He did not bring flowers or chocolates, but brought a handsome walking stick, very much like his own.

"I am told that you will be needing one of these. This one has been in my family since the Civil war and is a twin of my own. I would like you to have it, son," he said to me with a serious expression. I was rendered speechless for a few moments.

"Thank you, Sir... thank you very much... it will be an honour, Sir." I said gruffly, words seemed to get caught in my throat.

"No, son, thank you... and thank you Steve, without your help, well... we would not be here. I am sure of it," he answered firmly.

On the point of leaving, Hoyt turned to me and asked, "I believe that during this investigation you lost some one near and dear to your heart, Louie?"

"Yes... Doris," I remembered sadly.

"Well son, the Smithsonian in Washington had an Eldorado in new and in immaculate condition, just as it came off the assembly line. It is been flown here as we speak, it took a few days because the steering had to be changed to right-hand drive. Doris II will be there waiting for you at your flat," he said, and smiling turned and walked out, his stick tap-tapping along.

I was surprised and elated, the smile spreading my sore mouth, pain forgotten. Just then a thought clouded my brow, and as usual, Steve read my mind. "Don't worry mate, I am being well looked after too," he assured me, and we all laughed once more.

Later, near the end of my convalescence, Maria's and I found ourselves alone. I felt a heavy weight on my chest; finally, I had to broach the subject that was worrying me.

"I guess you won't be coming back to work?" I asked Maria.

"No I guess not," she said.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"I am not sure, I guess there will be another assignment, another emergency, another panic button to push," she said. But, there was no enthusiasm in her voice.

"I don't suppose you would consider staying here?" I asked with my heart racing.

"Here? In Australia? Why would I do that, Louie?" she asked, surprised.

"You could stay here... with... err... me, as partners," I choked.

"Mmm... I'll think about it. " She said non-committedly.

"Err... you could also... err... marry me?" I blurted out.

She looked at me for what seemed a very long time. I was convinced I had made a complete fool of myself. Why would she want me? She had much better, more intelligent choices; maybe she even had someone back in the US. What an idiot I had been.

But suddenly she smiled that killer smile, and the room filled with light, "Mmm... I might do that... and then again... I might marry Steve... or maybe both?" And she laughed her throaty laughter.

"Maria! That's not funny!" I said seriously. But, her laughter was infectious and I finally joined her, ignoring the pain.

Just then, Steve entered the room. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Maria is going to marry both of us," I answered, between spasms of laughter.

"That's not funny!" he said seriously.

"Ditto," I said, and we all collapsed in another fit of mindless laughter.
Epilogue

Press release – Sydney Friday October 5

Two for the price of one: Paedophile ring uncovered & Serial killer stopped.

In an extraordinary police statement, the Commissioner informed the press that a vicious paedophile ring had been uncovered when a man was arrested for the murder of seven of his companions in crime.

His name remains undisclosed at present, but evidence was found in his home of his involvement in killing seven of the members of the paedophile ring, because of fears that one of them would confess to the police and hence expose his involvement.

As expected, the man denies killing anyone, but police Detectives Steve Lucas and Mike Chen confirmed today that the evidence against the man was substantial, and that it included the murder weapon as confirmed by ballistic examination and finger print evidence.

Detective Lucas said that the murderer must have stolen the murder weapon from the house of his first victim, the renown Industrialist Ian Harrison, who is also believed to have been part of the paedophile ring. The accused is to be remanded in Parramatta court on Tuesday. The rest of the men involved in the paedophile ring have also been arrested. All will be charged later in the week. Fear for their safety while in jail has resulted in their isolation until a trial date can be set.

The killer put down the paper and looked at his small son playing in the park. Finally, a measure of peace was his and he smiled at Frankie, who by some magical coincidence, looked up just then. Looked up to check that his dad was still there and would always be there to love him and protect him.

THE END
