StarDestroyer.Net BBS

This is a bit of a writing experiment... Using a few literary techniques I've heard mentioned recently. The use of knowledge of the environs that Ludlum always used. The use of an idealised portrait of yourself as a character, a la Clive Cussler. This is likely going to be pulp trash, but hey, I'm hoping its as fun to read as it is to write...

COMMENCE FIC!

The world looks different at 4am. That sounds obvious, but its not until you spend any significant amount of time operating in these early early hours of the day that you realise just how different it is. You see, most people assume that it would be utterly quiet and desolate, like it is in their happy house in the suburbs – but it's not. There is always activity, always something happening. Trucks make deliveries, taxis move slowly through the streets, heading for a rank or towards a fare. And somewhere, you just know, something illegal is going on. The dank gloom of the city at night is quite something too – no bright neons, no shop displays lit up, just the dim glow of street lights and traffic lights. The pinging of the pedestrian crossings echoes more loudly than any daytime visitor would believe.

Sitting at traffic lights at 4am also seems to be a waste of time, but red-light cameras put paid to any hopes of just zipping across the desolate intersection. I was watching the lights, trying to see if willing them into changing would actually achieve anything and that was the moment it started...

The van pulled up outside an office building on the next block from where I was waiting, the side door slid open and five men got out, balaclavas, gloves, the lot. They were all business from the start, one stepped down from the van with a sledgehammer in hand and went to work straight away on the front door – it lasted about a second before collapsing inwards, the men rushed inside. I scrambled to get to my mobile and the lights changed. That's why it went so badly for me – I was sitting at a green light and I guess that made them a bit suspicious. As I dialled for the police another one got out of the drivers seat and began looking around. He looked straight at me, me and my phone.

“Emergency operator – what service do you require?” Sweat comes a lot faster than you'd expect – a whole hell of a lot faster.

“Police.”

“What is the situation?” And out came the gun. The guy came right for me with the pistol in his hand.

“Men – shit, guns – corner of – oh fuck it – Collins and Murray street – jesus shit fuck...” I tossed the phone onto the seat opposite as the guy with the gun gestured for me too.

“Out.” An accent, couldn't place it, maybe something Eastern European, but far to vague. And I was far too scared. I fumbled with the latch on the door, I always lock it from the inside, force of habit and a bit of a family tradition, the guy didn't seem happy that I was taking so long. From the sounds of things, the operator on the other end of my phone was going fair old fucking crazy too, not too often they'd get an armed suspects call down here.

“Hands on roof.” I did as he asked – hoping like hell that this is going to end soon. I think he was shocked by my size when I stepped out of the car, but a punch in my kidneys seemed to reassure him. “Walk.” Fuck – I was certain I was heading for execution and I guess that's where the stupid really kicked in. As I was just finishing crossing the street I heard the wail of sirens, I turned to look and noticed that the guy with the gun had done so too. I also noticed that he was being gun safe, with his finger off the trigger. I guess I was just playing the odds, thinking I stood a better chance if I fought now, than I did as a hostage later.

I slapped at his pistol hand forcing it to the outside of his body and stepping as quickly as I could in close to him. As I stepped inside I grabbed at his gun arm again and twisted, hard, trying to force him off balance. I watched him step to try and compensate and push my advantage, ducking quickly under his arm – spinning him and pushing him face down onto the pavement. Now in the movies this is usually enough to do the job, but reality, as always, is something completely different. I continued to twist his arm in addition to pushing down onto it as hard as I could. I felt something give way with a nice popping, grinding noise. His squeals convinced me that I'd done something right – I followed through on this by kicking as hard as I could into the side of his head with my boot. I watched the guy go limp and figured that now was a good time to make a break for it. I ran as fast as I fucking could towards the advancing police car. By now I could hear other sirens approaching, the police car braked hard as I approached, the passenger getting out with his gun pointed straight at me – he'd obviously seen what happened and wasn't quite sure what side I was on. “Look! I made the call – there's five more guys inside that building there!” I pointed frantically at the building where they'd entered.

“Calm down... Were the others armed?” The gun was still aimed directly at me.

“I don't know – I'd guess so though, that guy over there was.” The officer reached for his radio while signalling with his pistol for me to move to the rear of the car.

“Multiple armed suspects on location. Requesting Special Operations Group assistance. Arriving units should create a perimeter.” The officer turned to look at me, “Get in that doorway over there and stay down.” The other one was out of the car now too, his gun levelled at the building.

“All units – Armed suspects present at situation corner of Collins and Murray. SOG call-out underway. Form perimeter to contain situation and commence evacuation of residents. All units, ballistic vests are to be worn at this location. Ambulances and fire crews are on standby.” The radio was going non-stop, units being directed to intersections or alleyways. I hunkered down in the sandstone doorway with no line of sight to the building.

It was right about the time that I started to think that I was going to be OK that I realised that I wasn't going to be OK. The roar of gunfire disturbed my hopes. One of the officers went down – I watched a section of his skull detach and fly off in a direction away from that which he fell in. Vomit comes just as easily as sweat in this kind of situation too. The other officer started shooting and trying to retreat toward the back of his car when he went down as well. I could hear all sorts of shooting now – the police pistols and the obvious assault rifle fire from the masked men.

Some idiot part of me decided to check on the situation – I try to rationalise this by saying 'Oh I was wondering if I could run,' but I honestly don't know why I thought it was a good idea. It looked like the TV footage of the street fighting in Iraq – guys with AK's blasting away in all directions. One of them was already lying on the ground, obviously hit by the police, a duffel bag he'd been carrying was spilling paper onto the street. A few pieces fluttered my way, I grabbed them out of some strange sense of civil loyalty – thinking that they might be evidence or something else useful to the police; evidence, how right I was.

I began to sprint down the street as another police car approached. This was already a hell and all I was able to think about was making it around the next corner to Victoria street and some degree of safety. I heard a ricochet nearby – or at least I think it was nearby me, it was hard to tell. As I turned the corner at a dead sprint I saw something I didn't really expect at all. Three men standing in a line blocking my path, all in business suits, no ties though – strange what you notice. Then I noticed the middle one bringing his fist straight up into my jaw...

-=-=-=-=-

I woke up with an aching head, not entirely surprising considering that the guy had done his best effort to swap the positions of my mandible and skull. I couldn't see much at all, my eyes were slowly adjusting to the bright light in here. It was a cold light though, and a buzzing that may or may not of been in my head pushed me towards thinking it was coming from fluoros. “He's awake.” An Australian accent, from somewhere up north, maybe Queensland. “Yoo hoo. Wake up dickhead.” A quick slap across my face followed.

“Who the hell are you?” Somehow it seemed the appropriate thing to ask.

“Don't you worry about that son. We're more concerned about who the hell you are.”

“What?”

“You weren't carrying any ID – so, who are you?” Alarm bells. Big fuck-off alarm bells.

“No – fuck that. Who the FUCK are you?” There's that fist again... I go out for a moment, maybe a minute. This time when I came back around I kept my eyes closed and my head lolling like a drooling fool.

“Do we know whether or not he actually saw anything?” Another Australian accent, this one a bit more neutral, probably Sydney or Melbourne.

“What does that fucking matter? He was there, he's seen us and he had a pocketful of the documents.”

“So what, we're just going to kill him?” Whoa – what the fuck?

“It seems like the pertinent thing to do.” Third voice, another person from a major city. Goddamnit – who the fuck are these guys?

“I'll check in, see if there's an order from higher up on this one.” I heard the sound of a cell phone dialling, then the Queenslander leaves the room I tried moving my left foot a bit – it felt like it was tied, but not tightly, a little more probing and I discovered that my feet were bound to the chair I was in – a dentists or doctors chair or some sort. Not a good thing, especially when you're in a room with three weird suits who are debating killing you. I opened eyes again, wide this time, and took in my surroundings. A dingy dentists surgery of some sort. Obviously still in use from time to time, but unoccupied at the moment. Some sunlight crept in through the venetian blinds, so it had to be sometime after about 6am. But then, that didn't really narrow it down for me. The two guys were wandering over to the window. I took the opportunity to test my arms, tightly bound, but there was a bit of movement in the left arm. I looked down quickly and realised that I could slip the cable tie and my arm down the chairs arm and off the end... And I was confident that I could get my feet free - which would be a start. I rehearsed the moment in my head maybe twenty times before the two turned and walked back towards me.

I went with my feet first – no point being able to swing an arm around without being able to move the rest, well most of the rest, of a body too. Thankfully they didn't notice the move with my feet, but they sure as hell noticed my arm come free. I was hoping that they'd try and restrain me, not just shoot me where I lay – and I got lucky. Damn lucky. The smaller of the two came in to secure my left arm, I waited for what I felt was the right moment and then swivelled my whole body on the chair and kicked as hard as I could into the side of his knee. I watched it give way with a sort of detached shock, I seriously hadn't expected that to happen, but hey, I wasn't complaining. My right shoulder felt like I'd strained it pretty well, I'd expected that, so it wasn't too bad, but I worried about the consequences later. Seeing as how I was still outnumbered (even with this guy being pretty badly screwed) I finished up how I was planning too anyhow, by striking his throat with my fist flattened so I could get under his jaw. The impact sounded good and he started choking, so I decided that I should now focus on the other one. I spun my head to check on him – just in time to watch him shout for help. I wrenched my body back over to the right as he swung his fist at me, just grazing past my temple. I took advantage of his off being caught off balance and grabbed his arm, pulling his face down towards me. As it came into range I head-butted forward quickly, striking the bridge of his nose awkardly. I continued to pull down until his ear was level with me. I hesitated for a moment out of revulsion while he struggled before biting into his ear and tearing my head back.

Blood is hot. You never really think about until you have a mouthful of someone elses. But it is. And once again, I discovered a circumstance where nausea takes hold really fast. The ear came out along with what was left of the contents of my stomach. I kneed the guy straight in his screaming mouth as I maneuvred myself into a sitting position half off the chair so I could try and free my right hand.

“What the fuck is going on in there?” I heard the roar of the Queenslanders voice from outside the door. I pulled frantically at my arm, straining against the cable tie. I saw the plastic start to go a dotted white, then a slight stretch... I leant back and used my body weight until I had just enough of a gap to pull my hand through. I watched the doorknob begin to turn as I readied myself.

The door opened a crack and a pistol came through first – I should have expected that, but somehow my optimistic side had won out. I charged at the door and launched myself at it, hitting it with my best attempt at a hip and shoulder. It slammed hard on the guys wrist, I heard a snap, but wasn't sure if it was the wooden door or his bones. He roared angrily as the pistol slipped out of his hand, I reached out to my right and grabbed a medical text off a bookshelf. Steadying myself I paused for a moment before pulling open the door. The Queenslander's obviously damaged right arm flopped limply to his side, he looked seriously fucking angry and let out an animalistic roar as I charged through the doorway. He brought up his arm to try and stop the my swing, but 600 pages of medical text broke though his block without much of a problem, connecting with the side of his face. I dropped the book and dodged to my right, grabbing his left arm as I passed and twisting it so the elbow pointed outwards, towards me. With a speed that must have been brought on by the adrenaline, I snapped my body weight back, slamming my shoulder into his arm just above his locked elbow. I felt the elbow collapse and I stumbled inwards, tripping over him as he began to fall.

As we hit the ground together I punched his groin a few times to make sure he was truly down. My right shoulder felt even more punished by the blow and then the fall, but no worse than I'd had done in a rugby match. I scrambled across the polished linoleum floor towards his dropped pistol, desperate to get myself a weapon. I was taken aback by its weight when I picked it up, but it was reassuring to have something. As quickly as I could, I searched the writhing, groaning bodies – putting in a quick pistol whip on one of them to keep his spirits down, dropping their pistols onto the bookshelf by the door. As I grabbed the Queenslander by the ankle to drag him back into the surgery and I realised that his mobile phone, complete with someone shouting on the other end, was lying on the table above his body.

-=-=-=-=-

I picked up the phone, and to say that I was unhappy and lacking in tact would have been an immense understatement: “Who the fuck is this?”

“Who are you?” The voice on the other end was another fairly neutral big city accent.

“Your boys are fucked up and not going to be killing me any time soon – and I want to know who the fuck you are!” There was a pause, a very long pause, “Well, who the fuck are you?”

“Somebody you don't want to make angry.” They'd hung the phone up at their end. I looked down at the mobile and pocketed it for checking later. I turned my attention to the three groaning suits, I dragged two of them over to the wall underneath the window and searched them more thoroughly. A knife, more mobile phones, wallets and a collection of cable-ties. I bound them together in a very uncomfortable way – ankle to wrist bindings to each other with their backs together, when I was happy with how secure they were I moved on to the Queenslander. I pulled him up into the chair, dragging him through my vomit and his friends blood and set about binding him with multiple cable-ties and much more securely than I had been bound.

It was then that I decided to call the police and hopefully bring and end to this horrific day. I dialled 000 for the second time in a few hours (according to the phone it was only 6:50am) and filled in the operator on what had been happening, they seemed surprised, but given the details I was able to give about the original encounter and street battle, they quickly agreed to dispatched a car to bring me in. I took a moment to breath and looked around for information on where I might be. It took me no time at all once I looked out the window – I was at the Oral Health centre in Newtown, and told the operator as much. “A car will be there in 5 minutes.”

As I sat down in the receptionists chair to relax I heard some swearing coming from the dentists office. I looked in and saw that the Queenslander had woken up and was straining against the cable-ties. I walked in, “So, who are you?” I asked.

“Fuck off you little bastard, we'll fucking kill you!”

“Now that's no way to be talking to me, after all, you're the one with the broken arms, tied to chair.” I smirked, “Oh and how are your balls?”

“FUCK YOU!”

“Hey – you,” I pointed to the the one who's ear was missing, “How are you feeling?” All he could manage was a groan.

I found a plastic shopping bag in the receptionists desk and began piling in all of the guns, wallets and other bits and pieces, including the bits of paper that were apparently worth killing over. The papers seemed to be some sort of financial records for a company called “Vista Investments”. I heard a car pull up outside and looked out the window, the police markings were clear and the officers stepping out looked very concerned and were still wearing ballistic vests, obviously from the earlier events.

As they approached the door a second vehicle pulled up, a rental car, and from it stepped two men, one carrying a shotgun, the other a revolver. The police never knew what had hit them as the men opened fire. I could guess what was about to happen and so grabbed the plastic bag and started running towards the back of the building, away from this new threat. I knew that there had to be a back entrance somewhere and was running as fast as I could, I found it in a tea room of sorts. Of course, being a government building and one that contained quite a few controlled substances, the back entrance was, naturally, locked. I heard the killers coming into the building and decided that haste was better than stealth at this point. I grabbed a nearby chair and tossed it as hard as I could at the large window. The window smashed easily and I heard the men shouting and their pace quicken as they ran to where I was trying to make good my escape.

I leapt out the window, cutting myself on the glass as I passed. I knew that it was only a few blocks to my house and decided that if these men didn't know who I was I would at least be fairly safe there. I hit the grass outside running and quickly made my way towards Elizabeth street which would not only be well trafficked but was also the most direct route home.

I arrived at my house a little after seven in the morning and realised that I didn't have my keys, so I knocked on the door, hoping that my girlfriend would be up and able to answer it. She was, and when she saw me, covered in blood and vomit, she was shocked and hauled me inside. “What happened?” She asked, fear evident in her eyes. “Were you near that thing downtown? Its been all over the news...”

“Yeah.” It wasn't much, but it was all I could manage. I collapsed onto the couch and tried to collect my thoughts.

It took me a few minutes but gradually things came together. It was clear that somebody thought I knew something worth killing over. It was also evident that they were monitoring the police radio. And more worryingly – I didn't have any proof that it wasn't me that killed the police in either circumstance. Or perhaps more worrying, that someone in the police department might have been helping the killers.

“I have to go to the police.” I said.

“No shit...” Jess replied. She had the phone in her hand ready to call.

“No -” I knocked the phone down. “I – I have to go in person.”

“I'll drive you. Put those clothes in a bag – the police might want them.” I couldn't do much but agree, the shock was beginning to set in.

“Jess, its important – just drop me off outside the station – then go straight to Anglesea barracks and ask for Doug, he should be on duty today. I'll call you when its safe – but I just don't think it is right now, not even at the station and I reckon that the barracks will be the safest place for you right now.”

“Alex, what the hell is going on?” Jess looked terrified now.

“I wish I knew. But I know that its bad... We'd better get going.”

When we pulled up outside the station there was little to be said, “I love you – remember, to the barracks, talk to Doug, he'll look after you for the day.”

“I love you to – be safe.” I stepped out of the car after kissing her and strode into the lobby of the police station. It was an impressive arrangement, all ferns and marble and ramps. I made my way to the desk quickly.

-=-=-=-=-=-

“I need to speak to the person in charge of the investigation of the shoot-out this morning.” The constable on the desk looked up at me like he likely had a hundred times already this morning.

“Sorry, all enquiries regarding the incident on Murray street should be directed to the -” I pulled up the two bags from under the counter. Its amazing how quickly the police change their attitudes in response to a bag of guns and a bag of bloody clothes. He quickly grabbed the bags and ushered me back into the interview rooms of the station. “Wait here.” The room was like every other one of its type, bland walls, secure desk and chairs and a tape recorder on the table. It was a few minutes before someone arrived. They carried under their arm a big office document box full of evidence bags – containing everything that I had brought in. He was tall, lanky and looked like hell, not surprising given how the day must have started for him.

“Detective Sergeant Pierce – and you are?”

“Alex Ross.”

“OK, Detective Inspector Martin who is overseeing everything to do with this case, will be joining us in a moment, so I'll get the drab stuff out of the way. Can I have your full name, date of birth and your drivers license number.”

“Alex Ross, no middle name. Twentieth of May, nineteen eighty one. And the license number is F zero one one six eight.”

“OK. And just to confirm, you are the person who made the original emergency call this morning?”

“Yeah, I made it on my mobile at sometime after four.”

“Good – that fits with what we found at the scene.”

“Are the officers who were hit OK? I haven't heard anything more since, well – I'll explain when we get on the record.”

“There were two officers killed at that scene and five seriously injured. Then there were two more officers killed about an hour ago in Newtown – I'm assuming that you have something to do with that.” The DI chose that moment to enter. He was another one who looked unhappy, if his hair hadn't been grey before this morning it certainly was now, his face was strained and his suit unkempt. I felt sorry for him, he looked like shit and knew that everything that had and was going to happen rested on him.

“Morning Mr Ross. Now, this will be going on the record, this conversation will be recorded, you are not under arrest at this time and may request legal counsel if you feel you require it. Any objections?”

“No, and given the events thus far today, I feel that involving any more people would involve far more risk to them than I wish to be responsible for. I'm happy to go ahead.”

It took something like six hours for my story to be fleshed out. Most of what I said, they seemed to accept, but there were some occassional concerns.

“So, why did you not call the police when you arrived home?”

“Its my belief that the people who abducted me were monitoring police radio and used it to protect their location.”

“A reasonable assumption and a very concerning one. Now – there is one slight problem with your story,” The DI looked at me like a predator eyeing off a rival over a fresh kill, “And that the fact that the three men who were inside the Oral Health building had been executed by the time more units arrived.”

“It wasn't me – and I'm sure you can confirm that through forensics... At least, I bloody hope you can, because like I said – I didn't kill them! I ran when the other men arrived!”

“Calm down son,” the DS said casually, “We just needed to confirm that.” A knock on the door, the DS gets up to answer it. He exchanges some whispers with the constable on the other side before turning back to the DI. “The AFP are here, they've requested that we transfer Mr Ross to them.”

-=-=-=-=-

The Federal Police guys were helpful, at least, as far as they could have been under the circumstances. In no time whatsoever, before I'd even been able to make a phone call to Jess, I found myself being escorted by these two rather bleak looking men to a car in the police garage. “Its for your own protection. We're taking you to Canberra.” He didn't sound so reassuring to me. There were no names spoken in my presence, no small talk, these guys obviously were very serious in their business. As I was bundled into the back seat of the sedan I noted the very thick glass in the windows, which was also tinted, several shades beyond the legal limit for tinting. They drove out of the police station and towards the highway. We crossed the Tasman bridge and reached the highway proper. The car had wonderful acceleration despite all the armour, the AFP men taking full advantage of this to weave through the traffic at high speed.

I was sitting in the drivers side rear seat. That probably helped a lot, but I'm sure that I would have made it anyway given the armour in that car. The 4WD came up off a merging lane at speed and ploughed straight into the side. The officers reached the same conclusion as I did, but a bit more rapidly. This was no accident. The 4WD continuing to push us into the wide, overgrown median strip merely confirmed this. When the noise of the impact started to fade, I could hear one of the cops moaning, his body trapped in the tangle of metal that was had been the door and side panels next to him. The driving officer slid out his door and to the grass, covered by the car. He quickly took stock of the situation and stood up, pistol in hand, firing at the men debarking from the 4WD. I'm not sure what happened after that, I was too busy scurrying away through the long, long grass. But after a few seconds the shooting stopped. The cop was down. I couldn't see any of the men from the 4WD. So I decided that there was a new plan. Get back into the city. I knew the city. I figured that at the very least I had a better chance there. I crossed the highway that headed towards the city and began jogging back towards Hobart.

My path took me across a few small overgrown fields and into the industrial estates that made up most of this part of town. I couldn't see anyone following me, and from the sounds of things police and ambulances had just started arriving at the crash. I realised that I had no money. No wallet. Not even my keys or phone. It wasn't too warm or too cold, and the weather wasn't that bad, so the walk was bearable, if a little longer than I generally prefer.

-=-=-=-=-=-

I made it into town by 5pm after a bitch of a walk. I was worried that I might get spotted on one of the choke-points like the bridge, so I did my best to hurry across these with another person or two close by. I decided to avoid going home and made for the barracks. Straight up Davey Street – hopefully Jess would still be there. I cut through the city as I came down from the domain. Large sections were still sealed off by police tape from this mornings events. As I cleared the other side of the CBD I saw a familiar face. I could barely place it as he crossed the street half a block ahead of me and walked into a small office building. Then it struck me – it was the man who had the revolver. I was certain he hadn't seen me, so I turned and walked into the nearest doorway. It was a real estate agents office, I asked for a copy of their rental listings, thanked the pretty secretary and walked back out and headed back in towards the city.

It was right then, that I decided that I couldn't stay here. I couldn't risk going back to the police, there was clearly some serious leakage happening there. I didn't want to go home in case I was followed or seen there. And what the hell was I meant to do about Jess? She was still with Doug at the barracks I hoped. I needed to distance myself from any places that I reported to the police or that the people trying to kill me might have tracked down. But I also didn't want to leave anyone who I had dragged into this hanging out to dry. As I walked towards the State Government Building in Salamanca I thought of my options. I didn't like them. But there was one that had some merit. I broke into a run in order to catch Chris before his shift ended.

Chris worked at a butchers in Sandy Bay, he'd been a friend since my university days and I knew that I could count on him to have at least some change. He was just walking out of the door when he caught sight of me. “Jesus, you look like shit Alex. What have you done to yourself?”

“I'm in all kinds of deep shit, Chris. I've had a rough day – and I hate to put you on the spot like this, but do you have a few dollars spare. Some fucker stole my wallet and I need to make some phone calls.”

“Ha – someone stole your wallet? They must have been desperate to try that.”

“Yeah . . . some crazy fucking bogan.” He opened his wallet.

“I've got ten you can have. Do you need a lift home?”

“No, no . . . I'll be alright. Thanks for this. Your a life saver.” More than he knew.

“Sure I am.”

“Thank you!” I say as I jogged off towards the esplanade. I headed along to the supermarket and got the note changed to some coins. Then I headed the waterfront and up into Battery Point until I find a phone booth with a phone book still present. I called Jess' mobile and get diverted to messagebank. “Jess – its me. There's a lot of shit going down. You know what about. STAY AT THE BARRACKS WITH DOUG. If you've headed off already, get back there. Its not safe anywhere else. Please, please stay there. Doug should be able to stash you somewhere there. I love you. I'll be sending some help. I'm not sure when I can talk to you again. I love you. Bye.” I felt weak after that call. I wasn't even sure if I could follow through on the promise. I looked in the phone book again. I found the number I was after and with some trepidation, dialled it.

The operator didn't really take me seriously until I gave him the exact details of some events and told him to get a supervisor. The supervisor asked me a few more questions and also asked for some details. Then I was put on hold. Well, at least I seemed to be moving up the food chain. Another voice came on the line. “Hello, I'm Tom,” the voice announced, “It seems that you've had an eventful day.” It took about an hour of talking on the phone before we came to an agreement. He agreed that we needed to have Jess moved to a secure location to prevent her coming under any threat. I told “Tom” that I would be at the bandstand in St David's Park at 11:30 tomorrow in order to meet him or another contact. I didn't let him set the agenda, simply because I still didn't trust anyone. It was reaching dusk now. I had a plan for the night, but I wasn't going to enjoy it. And chances are, a few other people weren't going to either.

It started off nastily enough, I waited near the entrance to the Shipwright's Arms bar. It wasn't long before someone came along alone, after all, it was a Wednesday, always a busy night for the pubs down here. Even better, he was wearing a fairly boring suit with an even more boring tie, probably an accountant or minor bureaucrat heading to the bar after a hard day at the office. Shippie's still didn't have EFTPOS and there was no ATM nearby, so he'd have to be carrying some cash. I hit him from behind, springing out of someones front garden, bringing him down with a slightly modified rugby tackle. He sure as shit hadn't been expecting it, hitting his face on the ground pretty hard, not even managing a half-decent attempt at a breakfall. He begins to shout as I pat him down and find his wallet. I pull it out and grab the cash. “Sorry about this. I really am. Make a police report, I'll sort it out when I get the chance.” I stand up and sprint towards the centre of Battery Point. The cash turns out to be a few twenties. Just what I needed. I take a moment to compose myself and head down towards Salamanca where the evening should just be getting started at the many bars and clubs. Maybe I'll be lucky.

After several hours of fruitless searching, I find my mark. I see him sitting at a table outside Irish Murphy's. Big fellow, about my size, similar age, same hair colour. I get closer and note that he's even got blue eyes. Score. I go inside, move through the crowd and get a pint of Guinness, then head back out. “Mind if I take a seat?” He shakes his head and pulls his beer back to his side of the table. I take the offered seat. “Sorry, its just fucking mad in there.”

“Yeah . . .”

“I'm Andrew by the way.” I offer my hand over the table, he accepts.

“I'm Richard.” Richard, Richard, Richard I repeat to myself, trying to get it into my head.

“Waiting for anyone?”

“No, just having an after work drink.” Excellent.

“Yeah, one of those days wasn't it.”

Two hours later, I've spent most of the cash that the poor guy in the suit had, but Richard is well and truly smashed. I've also learnt that he has done some recent travel, over to London. Wonderful. I continue to keep pouring beer into him, but keep a bit of cash aside. At about midnight, Richard decided to call it a day. “I don't think you're right to drive Richard. Where do you live, we might be able to split a cab.”

“New Town.”

“Cool, I'm out in Moonah.”

“Poor bastard!” I laughed at his joke as we walked to the cab rank. As we get in, the cabbie notices our similarities.

“You guys brothers or something?”

“Noooo.” Richard slurs, “Cross Street, New Town, the Lenah Valley end.” The cabbie headed off with me continuing to try and keep Richard upright. A few uneventful minutes later we arrived at Richard's house. A small unit in a block of a dozen or so. Richard debarks the cab.

“I'll make sure he gets in alright, can you stay here for a few minutes.” The cabbie nodded in agreement, like he cared. More money on the meter. Richard looked at me oddly as I walked him to his front door. No lights are on in the other units and the cabbie is busy reading a book.

“I thought you were heading out to -” Richard never got to finish what he was saying. I hit him pretty hard on the jaw and he began to slump. I quickly ducked under him and grabbed his right arm, slinging it over my shoulder. The cabbie looked over, his eye probably caught by the movement. It must have looked like I was half dragging the sorry drunk to his door. I fumble in Richard's pockets for some keys and begin trial and error testing to open the door. After a few failed attempts I was able to haul Richard inside and dump him on the couch just inside the door. Shit, this place wasn't much more than a bedsit. I push the front door closed and grab Richards wallet. I flicked through it, finding the few things I really need – medicare card, credit cards and a bit of cash. I pocketed the leather billfold and quickly began tossing the place. It didn't take long to track down things like the passport and birth certificate – stuffed in a drawer in his computer desk. I didn't want Richard waking up in a hurry either. In the bathroom I found a small packet of panadeine forte. I broke four out of the foil and got a glass of water from the kitchen. I put them in his mouth, hold it open and began pouring the water. He sputtered a little but eventually the tablets disappear down his throat. As a precaution I take his phone and unplug his home phone as well as his alarm clock in the bedroom.

I walk back out to the cab, the driver notices the water down my front. “Bugger splashed me with some vomit.” I say as I step into the cab, “MacFarlane Street in South Hobart,” I say, “I'll point it out to you when we get there.” The cab pulled away from the kerb and began working its way back through the city to South Hobart. I sat in the passenger seat planning everything that I needed to have done by 11:00am tomorrow. It wasn't going to be easy, but I could do it. But as long as Richard just fucking stayed asleep, it would be okay.


-=-=-=-=-=-


It was a cold night in South Hobart, but its usually fairly cool there in the shadow of the mountain. Thankfully I wasn't planning on staying long. I paid the cabbie and walked down a path into a block of flats. Then once the cabbie was gone I came back onto the street and made for the city. There was still some police activity at the scene of the accountants office. Several streets blocked off with police still standing guard. I walked through, looking tired and a little dishevelled like anyone walking home from the bars and clubs of Salamanca would at this time of the morning. After a little searching, I found a nice sheltered spot in a private carpark behind a restaurant and sat down, planning for the morning. It would be about four hours until the newsagents opened nearby. That would be my first stop.

It was a fitful few hours of rest, but no real sleep. I felt like crap, can't imagine that I looked much better. I wandered out of the carpark as the sun began to peek above the horizon. The newsagent was opening up. I walked in and bought a few notebooks, envelopes, stamps, plastic sheet holders and some pens. The coach terminal around the corner would be getting started soon too - and the promise of a shower was a powerful incentive.

I sat down at a bench and began writing as fast as I could. Detailing everything that I knew thus far about what had happened. It only totalled about three pages. A depressingly short narrative considering the events. I also wrote letters to Jess and my parents. I made sure that once each letter was written and sealed in its envelope that I put it into a separate plastic sleeve. I bundled these all up and put them in a large manilla envelope which I then wrote "Tom" on the front of. I had tried to explain my situation, and I hoped that my motivations would be clear. But most of all I hoped that Richard stayed passed out. After all I'd just spent half an hour trying to perfect his signature on a dozen pages of the notebook.

The coach terminal was opening up when I arrived. "One way ticket to Devonport please, midday-ish departure if possible." The lady behind the counter was looking at me like she wished she'd never gotten out of bed.

"There's a bus at eleven thirty. Its a non-express to Launceston then going onwards to Devonport."

"Sounds fine."

"Returning?"

"Not sure yet - does the bus make any stops near the ferry terminal at Devonport?"

"No, but there is a shuttle bus to the terminal from where the coach stops. It'll get you there in time for the evening sailing." I paid with the credit card. She didn't even check the signature. She just wanted to go out the back and drink the coffee she hadn't had a chance to even make yet.

I made for the bathroom. They had the vending machines with little traveller packs of soap and so forth. A few dollars and fifteen minutes later and I emerged from the bathrooms looking human again. My next stop was an internet cafe - there were a few around, but the only one open was a Hudson's, just outside the seal of the police tape. As I walked into the cafe I could see my car still sitting at the lights, windscreen blown out from gunfire, lots of chalk marks on the pavement from the evidence recovery and investigations. The seats inside had been shredded lightly too. It was kind of depressing really. I liked that car.

I ordered a coffee and a half hour of use of the internet. I then started booking airfares and other travel. A one way ferry ticket from Devonport to Melbourne. A Jetstar flight from Launceston to Sydney. QANTAS from Hobart to Melbourne and onwards to Surfers Paradise. Virgin Blue from Hobart to Melbourne and a change before onwards to Adelaide. I then did web check-in for all of them. The first flight was the Virgin Blue at 1020. I didn't have long. And then fate intervened. A friend, recently unemployed after a dispute with their boss over how shit their job actually was walked in.

"Josh!" I called out.

"Hey - Alex, how are you." The pleasantries and small talk went on for a few minutes as I filed away all the printed check-in passes in the plastic bad with the remains of the stationery.

"Josh, can I ask a big favour of you? I've got a meeting set up to deliver some new manuscripts to a guy, but I've double-booked, got a dentist appointment. I'm meant to be meeting the guy while he's on break from Parliament House - about 11:30. But I'm going to be out at the dentists then. Can you drop this off to him? I'm meeting him in St David's Park, at the bandstand."

"This all seems a bit sus," Josh laughs, "You sure this is legit?"

"Of course it is you tool. Look, I'll even throw in a $20 sweetener. All you need to do is meet this guy and give him these, and apologise on my behalf for not making it in person. He has to have them for this afternoon and I don't have the flashdrive with them on it to e-mail to him. It's really important that this draft gets to him."

"Its OK. Not like I had much planned for today anyway."

"Awesome Josh - thank you. I'll catch you this weekend?" Well, I probably won't, but I can't let people get a hint of what's going on. Hell - even in a place as small as Hobart, Josh still doesn't know that it's me that's the mystery person all over the news.

I headed out from the cafe, stopping briefly at Target to pick up a variety of new clothes, toiletries and a backpack to stuff them all into. Then it was a cab to the airport and straight through into the waiting area. Security was tight, but not as bad as it could be. The web check-in saved me a lot of hassle. It meant I could by-pass the check-in counter and potential ID issues there. So instead I collected my boarding pass from the web check-in machine without having to deal with a single airline employee. I also picked up my pass from the QANTAS machine at the other end of the terminal. I didn't give anyone any issues at the security checkpoint, I had made sure that I bought roll-on deoderant and didn't have any metal or other things that may alarm them. And with alarming ease, I realised, I had walked straight through to what was meant to be a very secure area.

It wasn't long before I was on the flight - which would touchdown before "Tom" or whoever he had sent to the meeting realised I was a no-show.

The plane touched down in Melbourne and I walked off calmly. Richard would probably be waking up now, but it was too late. I'd flown the coop of Tasmania already and left hopefully a few dead-ends for them to chase, maybe enough to stall for an additional hour if that. I passed through the security checkpoint at Melbourne, again without incident. I had been terrified that they'd pick me up there. But it would seem I came away clean.

Straight outside the Virgin Terminal I could see a Skybus waiting to depart for the city. 10 minutes to departure it read. I walked into the nearby mensroom. One stall occupied. I head back out to the concourse, keeping an eye on the bathroom and on the time. The line of cabs outside had drivers conversing. The morning rush was over and it looked like it was time for them to relax. A backpacker type walks out of the bathroom. Zero occupants. A cabbie comes inside, heading to the toilet. Brilliant. I walk towards the bathroom, a few steps behind him. I pause at the door. No one following. He's at the urinal, his bum-bag holding the money from his cab. I walk up towards the urinal as well, at the last moment side stepping grabbing him from behind in a choke. Its only a few seconds and he's out. I hold it for a few moments more to ensure he's out a little longer. I quickly drag him to the first stall, sitting him on the seat. Checking his tongue and breathing to ensure that he's OK. All good. The bumbag contains a nice stack of notes which I pocket. I leave the cabbie with a quick apology note, telling him to call DS Pierce in Hobart.

I walk out of the bathroom, out the door of the airport and buy a Skybus ticket from their stall before mounting the bus a minute before it pulls away from the Terminal. No sign of the cabbie, police or anyone else. I may well be home free for the time being.


-=-=-=-=-=-


In a Personal Development class in school, we'd once debated the needs of a person. Shelter, company, food, all that. I was now in a city I wasn't that familiar with. It was going to take some getting used to. I couldn't sleep rough - too much risk of having a run in with the police that I just couldn't afford. So a back-packers it would probably have to be.

What was my plan here though? I'd just fled from protective custody, or not-so protective custody as it turned out to be. And then I'd stone-walled an intelligence service to give myself time to skip the state. It doesn't sound nearly as goddamn good when you say it like that. It isn't like I had a choice though. Hobart was too small for me to hide in for long. Hard for a single person to be off the map from a concerted search by police, federal agencies and whoever the fuck else was after me. Melbourne was the better option. I might be lacking in local knowledge, but damned if it wasn't a much bigger hole to hide in.

Turns out that the Melbourne CBD is a boon for me. It had been a few months since I last visited, and its not until you really look around that you realise just how many alleys, laneways and other thoroughfares there are. As I walked from the bus station through the city looking for potential accomodations it struck me that as long as I learnt the layout of the city fairly quickly I'd be able to survive here against all but the most concerted pursuit. I didn't notice a great many CCTV cameras either. Lots of red light, traffic and private security cameras, but not too many covering the footpaths.

A backpackers near Flinders St Station that I found was perfect. Relatively cheap, they accept cash and there's enough bolt-holes nearby that I am comfortable there. I chose to pay extra for a tiny room that I can have to myself. They have a deal with a small internet cafe nearby, I needed to find out more about what the hell is going on. Who were the gunmen? Why were they grabbing paperwork from an accountant? Where the hell did the goons fit into it all? Why did everyone seem to want to kill me?

Needless to say, it's not a very satisfying thought path. And its one that had me lying on my bed in the backpackers vacillating between rage, terror and despair. What had happened to Jess? Had Doug looked after her like he should have? Had "Tom" picked her up safely? Too many damn questions! And I have no answers! And I'm also running low on cash... I need to organise some form of reliable income. Random muggings are too risky. Scams might take to long. I can't use any of my own ID, because I don't have it. All I've got is a bunch of stolen ID in the name of Richard Upton.

ID was the most important thing for me to have right now. Something that at least appeared legitimate. With some ID, it would be easier for me to move around. It would give me some kind of fallback if I was ever stopped by the police. Most importantly it would give me a way to get more money. But to do that I'd need money. Well, as they say, you need to spend money to make money.

After buying a weeks worth of accomodation at the backpackers I was down to a few notes. ID - that was to be my priority for the first few days. For ID, I need an address. It took a little searching but eventually I found a mail sorting company that ran some private boxes with a cash in hand policy. That gave me my address - one with a fake apartment number and everything. Then I signed up for every subscription list I could find online. Now I just have to sit and wait for those to come in. And undertake the riskiest part of all this, the official part. Getting a new Birth Certificate. Forging one myself was risky, because you never knew if you might miss something important that the trained eye would spot. But I don't have connections to do that. And you are always reading of idiots getting caught in a sting by the police looking to obtain some dubious services.

In the meantime, it was a chance to do research. I found a nice, cheap gaming focused internet cafe and sat down to search for anything that could help. The accountants firm turned up nothing. No real details there, just the name of the firm and contact numbers in the White and Yellow Pages. News sites across the world carried details of the events. It was quite the story. But my name, and more importantly my face, were nowhere to be seen. There were mentions of a mystery person involved in the series of incidents, but someone at some level had decided that I should be kept anonymous. I felt like kissing that person. Anonymity was a boon all of its own. Only a few people knew who I am and what my link to this is. And hopefully none of them know where I am currently.

Then, amongst all the articles on the news sites I found one that gave me hope of finding out what was happening. It said that the bodies found at a second crime scene allegedly had been identified as men linked to organised crime. There was a lot of speculation about the guys who attacked the accountants - terrorists, other organised crime, random gangs. No one in the media seemed to have any answers.

Several things became clear in my mind as I went over the news articles again and again. The allegedly organised crime goons had been waiting nearby. That wasn't a coincidence. They couldn't have been waiting for me, I was a random occurence. Not part of their plan. So why had they been waiting there? It must have been them waiting for the guys who raided the accountants. Waiting for them in ambush? Or were they helping them? FUCK! More damn questions. This was becoming frustrating. And what about the ambush on the way to the airport? Who the hell had organised that?

But the organised crime angle gave me a thread to tug on. I started Googling like mad, looking for anything that I could find that could help me identify who was after me. It was nearly an hour before I found my first link. The photo was almost a decade old - but it was absolutely unmistakable. It was the Queenslander - walking out of the courtroom with a group of other men and their lawyers. The web page it was linked to was a mish-mash of a poorly written history and some sort of fan site for the various organised crime groups. But I had gotten the name - Jonathon "Jonny" Niston. I kept searching, printing pictures, old newspaper articles, sentencing summaries, press releases. It took me half an hour, but I've now got a fairly substantial file to read through. As I paid the attendant and left, it wass getting dark outside, but the constant light from street lamps and signage means that its still bright enough in the city. I move as one person amongst the crowd shifting towards Flinders St Station. Secure in my anonymity for a time.


-=-=-=-=-


I've been lying on the bed for hours now. Shouts and laughter come from the common room of the hostel just up the hall. I've been studying the details of Jonathon Niston. The man who I last saw lying on the floor of a public dental surgery in Hobart. A man, who is apparently now dead. Executed by the two men who had ambushed the police. And who the fuck were they? Were they covering the front? Guarding the dentists in case of a police response? In that case, why had they killed the men inside who I'd escaped from? And why kill the police? That would be bringing down way too much heat - better to just warn the team inside that the police were coming.

So they either were working with the guys inside and took the police out because I was important enough as a hostage to justify that. Or they had followed the police or heard the police radio call - and were not affiliated, at least in a good way, with the guys inside. I buried my head back down into the story of Jonathon Niston - born in Surfers Paradise. Ran with a few gangs there according to his profile on the "fansite". Eventually got involved in the drugs trade - importation of heroin according to one of his sentencing decisions from the Supreme court website. Moved to Victoria and was suspected of several murders by police in relation to a bloody feud between several bikie gangs and other underworld elements.

Fuck. Did I really want to get involved in all this? Nearly 10pm now. Richard would have woken up and gotten help. It wouldn't take long for them to put a few pieces together. They'd have tied the credit cards and ID to me boarding the plane. So they'd know where I'd flown. "Tom" or his local agent would have had time to look at some of the things that I'd written, giving them a lead probably. But he'd sure as hell be pissed when they finally caught up with me.

Then it struck me: "Who the fuck am I actually running from?" The organised crime guys to be sure, because they'd made at least one, maybe two attempts on my life. I was definitely wanting to run from anyone associated with the guys who'd attacked the accountants office. I didn't want to rely on the police, because the majority of police officers I'd encountered in the past few days had ended up dead - worst of all, perhaps because of a leak on their side. I hoped I could rely on "Tom", because it was him who was allegedly keeping Jess safe. I'd wait and see what the police press releases were saying before I chose my next move. They'd have to make some big announcements in the morning - Sunrise, Today and all the drive-time news bulletins would demand it. No doubt by now they'd also have some high profile talking heads on the ground in Hobart to try and grab some more ratings.

I was out soon after that thought. The biggest adrenaline crash I've ever experienced combined with minimal sleep for several days and finally being in an actual bed? It was one of the deepest sleeps I've ever had. Completely dead to the world. Problem was, when I woke up I was officially dead to the world.


-=-=-=-=-=-


I sat in the common room at the backpackers watching the TV. Completely astounded. Whereas the statements from the police yesterday had referred to a "person assisting with enquiries", today it was "a witness killed while in police protection". No name released yet. There was the Tasmanian Police Commissioner and the Federal Police Commissioner mourning the loss of so many officers in a short time. Politicians were on the TV playing for sympathy for the lives lost and encouraging the baying for the blood of those responsible. Then there were the analysts and talking heads, trying to figure it all out. Some were asking how the key witness in Federal Police protection could be killed. Others wanted to know if it was all connected as the media had been speculating. The Police were tight-lipped about most of it though.

Why had they decided that I was better off dead? To hide me perhaps? Limit my options? Well, I was now probably on as many watchlists within Australia as you could be without being Bin Laden himself. "Tom" would likely be well and truly pissed by now, but I hoped my letter to him would alleviate that a little. I didn't fancy getting worked over by the one group who were most likely to end up as my saviours in all this. And no doubt the Tasmanian and Federal Police would be pissed as well at their prize witness disappearing. It would have been clear by now that I'd skipped the state, and definitely having travelled as far as Melbourne.

Still no names of anyone on they news though. That meant that I might have a little time to pull my next stupid stunt. It was easy enough to track down where Niston's house in Melbourne was. On a nice leafy street in Toorak, big security gates, high fence, intercoms and all. The property wasn't that big - GoogleEarth had great images of this area, I could see the pool in the backyard, the garden shed and roughly where paths were. Various state Government websites gave me a lot of the other information, elevations, land boundaries. If I'd had a credit card I would have been able to get the title information too. But I didn't need anything like that yet. On the way out to here on a tram I'd paid close attention to how the area looked. A mix of very nice mansions and some grotty units. Given the kind of people which were walking around here at about four in the afternoon, I wouldn't stick out.

I could see the house up ahead. Right hand side of the street, its gabled roof visible above the fenceline from a distance. Hardly any cars parked on the street and none with people in them that I could see. I reached into my satchel and picked up the plastic sleeve holding an envelope. It slid cleanly into the mailbox from the plastic sleeve without my fingers touching it. I'd written it on a bit of watermarked paper from a pad I'd found in the common room of the backpackers, placed it in a courtesy envelope from the Commonwealth bank quick-deposit and written it with a pen in a post office. At no time, I was certain, had my fingerprints gotten on the envelope or paper. But DNA and other more complex issues I couldn't guarantee. But then again, given the content of the note, I wasn't relying on the recently widowed Mrs Niston to be calling the police.

As I rode a train back into the city I wondered how long it would be before the prepaid mobile in my pocket rang. And whether it would be the police or someone else on the other end.

-=-=-=-=-=-

excellent stuff; please do continue. Does our hero get progressively smarter and streetsavvy as this story goes on?

MKSheppard wrote:excellent stuff; please do continue. Does our hero get progressively smarter and streetsavvy as this story goes on?

One of the stops on his "journey" will be in Thailand - where he'll blow a couple of hundred dollars on a few days at a shooting range - gotta learn how to use a handgun somewhere.

As for street-savvy, yeah he'll get a bit of that, most of the time though I'll be using tricks I really know (pay attention if you ever want to learn how to by-pass airport security or check-in ID checks) in order to stay one step ahead.

weemadando wrote:One of the stops on his "journey" will be in Thailand - where he'll blow a couple of hundred dollars on a few days at a shooting range - gotta learn how to use a handgun somewhere.

Excellent. You gotta have a cameo in thailand though

As for street-savvy, yeah he'll get a bit of that, most of the time though I'll be using tricks I really know (pay attention if you ever want to learn how to by-pass airport security or check-in ID checks) in order to stay one step ahead.

Yay!

Mmmm, I've missed your writing.

New chapter! Complete with more gruesome HtH.

Excellent.

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

Far more realistic than in the Bourne Supremacy

MKSheppard wrote:Far more realistic than in the Bourne Supremacy

That's not particularly hard, you know.

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

And a new chapter - very little in the way of action, but it has to have plot development sometime!

darthdavid likey.

I am looking at reviving this piece - who would like to see some more?

ME MEMEMEMEMEMEMMEMEME!

Damn, you are fast Shep...

LOL!

I concur with the above statement.

I want more too.

Another new chapter - just what IS our protaganist up to?

I'm going to hazard a guess and say "sneaky shit". It has a bizarre narrative, and some grammatical errors, but nothing I can't deal with.

Well, like most of my work, it goes straight from OpenOffice to notepad (to pure text it) to posting with no proofreading in between. With enough good feedback and chapters done, I'll do a big over-haul and fix all the problems, then do a similar thing again at the end.

And Ford gets half a cookie for "sneaky shit". I'll be nice though and have it be a white choc and macadamia cookie.

weemadando wrote:Well, like most of my work, it goes straight from OpenOffice to notepad (to pure text it) to posting with no proofreading in between. With enough good feedback and chapters done, I'll do a big over-haul and fix all the problems, then do a similar thing again at the end.

Fair enough. Like I said, it isn't particularly difficult to read.

And Ford gets half a cookie for "sneaky shit". I'll be nice though and have it be a white choc and macadamia cookie.

Score!

A massive update.

Probably filled with masses of grammatical and spelling errors, but I've been writing in notepad during breaks at work and wanted to get it up ASAP to get reactions.

It was at about eleven pm that night when the phone finally rang. It was a private number, no shock there. I made sure that the phone was plugged into its charger so I wouldn't have issues with it dropping out. The notepad and pen were in my hands ready to take notes. I'd already noted the time of the call.

"Hello?"

"Who is this?" An angry voice, again not very specific in its accent, but maybe with an ethnic hint - perhaps Lebanese?

"If you don't know that, then you've called the wrong number."

"You're a smart arse, you know that? Its going to get you killed." Its not the same voice as the boss who was giving the orders to kill me. I can hear talking in the background, perhaps off-siders, advisors or bosses?

"I do hope that the widow Niston didn't get too much of a shock from the letter."

"Sadly she did." Well, couldn't be helped, I felt a bit bad, but she must have known her husband wasn't up to any legitimate business, "But I'm sure we can console her somehow. Maybe by having you killed. I mean, killing her husbands killer, its only right." What? They thought I'd killed the three men there? Not the two assassins? Was this a leak from the police to throw off any reporters tracking the real story? Something else? Jesus. Fucking hell - react - react - react - they're waiting for you, its dead air... Say something.

"Well, I am sorry to hear that, but you must know that your boss and Mr Niston and his other offsiders had been causing me a great deal of consternation."

"Consternation? Don't get fucking smart with me!" Good, he was starting to get worked up, just what I needed. "You don't have a fucking idea who you're dealing with!"

"Some functionary of Mr Wilson I'd assume." The name was a gamble - I'd narrowed it down to two possible bosses, and from the recent media reports on gangland activities (it was like reading the society pages really) Mr Charles Wilson seemed to be the most likely person.

"I don't like where this is going - Mr Wilson gets very edgy about people messing with his business." Paydirt. Wilson was at the very least this guy's boss, which meant I was barking up the right tree.

"Then don't mess with your boss' business. Put Mr Wilson on. I'm sure he's one of the chorus I can hear chattering in the background. After all, I'd like to speak to the man who ordered my murder personally, and our last conversation was truncated to the point of impoliteness." The line went silent, not dead or dropped out, but the kind of hollow silence of a mute button being pressed. As it came live again, I noted the time.

"This is Mr Wilson," that's the voice alright, "A pity Niston didn't put one in your fucking brain when he had the chance."

"Yes, but having dealt with a few of them now, I'd say that your henchmen recruiting practices really need to be overhauled. You're getting some terrible quality. I mean, your answering service was truly terrible." I don't know why, but when I get nervous, I get mouthy - some people just clam up. Not me though. Its probably why I've constantly been getting into trouble all these years. Though this trouble is a whole new level.

"Listen you cunt, I don't give a shit who the fuck you are or aren't. You're responsible for three of my friends being dead and adding new anguish to a widow's grief. I am going to fucking kill you if you don't disappear yourself, fucking pronto."

"Hey, calm down, I was calling because I wanted to arrange a meeting, to try and sort out all of these unfortunate occurences. I think that there have been some major misunderstandings. I also have some information I'd be willing to turn over, which might re-cast my role in this whole affair."

"And what might that be?"

"Lets just say that you have a total misunderstanding of the events that have occured. I'll give you one chance to meet before I take all the information I have to the police. Mens toilet block. The skate park in Alexandra Gardens 11am on Friday, right near the boat sheds. I'd prefer it if you came, but I can't see that happening so any of your men who you see fit to delegate some authority to should be fine. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes. Eleven in the morning. Friday. Toilet blocks near the boat sheds."

"Excellent." I end the call. It had been fairly productive. I'd managed to get a lot of information about the people who I was likely going to have to deal with. There was one more call to make in the meantime. But that could wait. It was only Wednesday night. And I had to find a place to make that call where I could safely make it without being backtracked by surveillance camera coverage.


-=-=-=-=-=-


It took about four hours of wandering random paths through the city before I found the right location. It was a pay phone near Chinatown, with lots of foot-traffic going past and from what I could tell, minimal CCTV coverage. I dialled the number again. "Tom" had given me a phrase to use if I had to contact again. I quoted it and after a few rather probing questions had "Tom" on the line once more.

"So, how are you liking Melbourne Richard?"

"Its quite nice, though the people aren't nearly as friendly as I would have hoped."

"I hope you haven't been antagonising them. After all, you are officially dead, and unofficially, you really should be in protective custody."

"I tried that, and as you may recall it ended with another goddamn gunfight and more dead police. Is Jess safe?"

"It was a good move putting her in the barracks, your friend there had pulled quite a few strings. I had to make a lot of calls to have my advance party released from the brig. I must credit him though, it made sure she was safe. Especially given that someone else had beaten us to your house."

"What?"

"Someone who wasn't the police them and us to your house. They'd obviously found out who you were and from what we found had left when they heard the police coming up the street. The place was ransacked and we've been taking your families and friends into protection as well."

"You think that they could be threatened?"

"We confirmed that your parents had received a contact from unknown parties who certainly weren't journalists. And Jess confirmed that your diaries and address books were missing."

"Fuck. Look, I called to apologise for skipping the state."

"Perfectly fine, good initiative shown." It was pretty clear that it wasn't fine, but the second comment seemed genuine.

"Is the real Richard Upton OK?"

"Aside from a horrific hangover that he should be over by now - yes. Your friend who you sent to meet me might be a little pissed with you though, he was treated a little roughly by my proxy who thought he might have been a threat."

"I'm sorry to hear that - but I'm sure he'll understand it was all for a good cause. The other reason I called was about Mr Niston and his employer."

"You figured that out did you? I'm impressed. You know who the employer is?"

"That would be Mr Wilson, who I've now spoken two twice. Which is why I'm calling you. He seems intent on causing me a good deal of harm. But I don't want to risk coming into police, or your protection. Something is just wrong. People seem to think that I killed Niston and his offsiders. Which I didn't do. The people who killed the cops coming to pick me up must have killed them. And why were Wilson's mob working with the crazy bastards who shot up the CBD? That's what I want answered."

"We've been working on that."

"I'd guessed Eastern European from the accents."

"Its a possibility."

"Look, I'm not going to stay here too long - I know that you no doubt have my position by now and have been working to get someone here to pick me up. I need to let you know about an address in Hobart. Next door to the cinemas there's an office building - I'm not sure what the exact address is, but I saw one of the shooters from the dental surgery going in there the next day. It looked like he was going to a meeting there - or even to work. I don't know what floor, but it might be a help."

"That will be a great help - thank you."

"The other thing is that its likely going to be the focus of some very unfortunate attentions. I'm going to shop those details to Wilson's men."

"You want to start a fucking gang war?" Tom's voice was incredulous.

"If I'm right, then its already been started and Wilson doesn't know it! He thinks I killed his men, when I think that it was another gang that did it. Anyway - my main concern is distracting him. I don't want you to think that I'm going bad here, I'm trying to survive a really shitty situation. And I want to ask your help with something else, but I'll need more information before I can do that. I'll talk to you later." I hung up the phone and made my way up through Chinatown to Parliament station. Then I hopped on and off trains and trams and buses for the next few hours before ending up back in the city. I had one more thing to do today. And then tomorrow I would get to have my meeting.

-=-=-=-=-=-

NEW BIT STARTS HERE:


It was early in the day when I headed down to the boat sheds by the Yarra river to keep an eye out for any likely suspects. I could only make out one or two who seemed intent on doing something else anytime people looked at them. But there's a lot of foot traffic there and it was hard to tell what anyone was doing. I'd already written my message to whoever the go-fer would be. Now I had to work on part two of the plan. I carried a manilla envelope over to one of the park benches. The best faced roughly westerly, towards Southbank and St Kilda Rd. I waited until there was a lull in the foot traffic moving past and quickly slipped the envelope into the garden behind the bench. I covered it roughly and after a few more minutes of relaxing enjoying the gentle hum of the city softened by distance and my surrounds, walked the short distance to the underpass towards Southbank.

The morning cafe trade was humming as office workers, shopkeeps, artists and commuters all crowded past on this busy pedestrian thoroughfare. It was coming up to 9:00am, and I was starting to get tense. I stopped at a cafe and relaxed with a hot chocolate. Taking my time, basking in the morning sun and examining the pages that I'd printed out. It was going to be a hard task to figure out what was going on, but thankfully, the staff where I was going should be a bit more knowledgable than I.

The lobby of Eureka tower was nicely airconditioned, and I made my way to the tourist desk to get my entry ticket to the viewing platform. At close to $20 I had been hesitant about the investment until I'd checked the angles and confirmed my suspicions online. The thing about this particular toilet block, is that its open topped. So when you stand at one of the urinal banks if someone was so inclined in one of the many tower blocks in Southbank they'd be able to have a right old perve. Which was pretty much my plan at the moment. Eureka Tower had a viewing platform that apparently gave great views of the city. And one of the views on their website had been exactly what I was looking for. And to top it all off, as with any good observation deck there were numerous mounted telescopes and binoculars to observe the city with.

I spent time on these immediately, scanning the gardens again for the suspicious figures I'd spotted before. While I didn't get perfect zoom, showing faces in total clarity, it was enough to recognise people. I moved around the scopes, looking at different points in the city. Finally, after much effort I asked one of the staff to identify a street or two for me and I was set. It didn't take long to find the building once that was done.

I'd spent more time at small internet booth in a 7/11 the previous night researching Mr Wilson. Searching for his name attached to Australian Business Numbers, prospectuses or anything else. A company with his name linked to it had its offices in a tower block at the Parliament end of Collins St. I had a view to it and hoped to be able to identify it through the scopes while I was waiting. Floor 15 apparently. I counted floors and kept spying, but it had always been a long shot. And at these distances, it was just shapes of people at desks. I would have to figure out another way of getting more details from that. In the meantime, I should be having every bit of info possible about the investment opportunities open to me with the organisation arriving by post in a day or so. Maybe I'd be able to figure out a better way in from there.

Time slowly ticked on. A school group came in and started flitting all over the place, before the teacher began to wrangle them in to look at another part of the skyline. I kept an eye on the park as 10:50 rolled around. I saw a car pull up near the toilets. Blue sedan, Holden Commodore. Late model. Two men in the front. One got out and walked toward the bathroom. I decided that it was the go-fer. I dialled triple-0, speaking in hissed tones so that the other people in the observation lounge didn't overhear me. "I need the police, I just saw a man with a gun." The guy walking towards the toilets has a sharply receding hairline, very light brown hair cut short, a moustache, probably in his forties and was wearing what looks like a striped polo shirt over jeans. The operator is asking for more details. "Its just near the boatsheds, by the gardens - Alexandra park! He's just gotten into a blue Holden Commodore. Looks like QST-something, I don't know! Oh, god I think he killed someone." I hang up the phone and examine the scene again. The companion in the car looked much younger, maybe mid twenties, longish dark hair, clean-shaven and sunglasses. He was hopefully about to get one hell of a shock.

The guy was looking around the toilets when a bit of grafitti clearly caught his eye. I suppose it wasn't subtle, but it got his attention. It was in bright yellow paint on the floor of the toilet block: "For Mr Wilson's special attentions" followed by a phone number. The guy pulled out a mobile and dialled the number. My phone began to vibrate, I answer and begin talking immediately

"Listen closely to my instructions. You have ten seconds to take off any weapons you're carrying and dump them."

"What?"

"You'll want to do it. And quickly." I could see the first police car screaming up Alexandra Ave now. It would be less than a minute before they'd have his offsider under arrest. "I'll be watching you every step of the way, so don't mess around." I see him pull a pistol from the small of his back. Not wearing gloves either - excellent. "Good, dump it behind the S-bend in the third cubicle." He looks around trying to figure out where I am. But eventually relents and from where I am it looks like he's placed the weapon there. "Now. Calmly walk out of the toilets and away from the car park. Go around the skate park and towards the station." The police car was close now and I could see a foot patrol sprinting towards the area too.

"What's with the police?"

"Its not for you. Keep walking towards the station." The police car screeches to a stop and the officers jump out, moving quickly towards the blue sedan with the other mobster in it. "Twenty metres. On your right. There's a park bench there. Take a seat. Behind you and to your left. Just behind the bin, there's an envelope under the plants. Once you take it, walk to Flinders St Station and catch a train from there. Don't bother coming back to your friend for a lift." I see the driver getting slammed onto the asphalt as one of the officers pulls a pistol from under the seat. I hang up the phone and watch as Mr Wilson's go-fer picks up the envelope and walks towards the station.

It took me a few minutes to descend the tower and get out onto Southbank again and another few before I reached the outer cordon of police surrounding the carpark area near the toilets. I approach one of the officers: "I was just doing some jogging around here and saw a guy run out of that car - he went into the toilets and then took off towards the station."

"You saw all that?"

"Yeah - I was running from the South Yarra end of the Gardens. The saw this guy get out of the car and go into the toilets - then he must have heard the sirens or something because he took off and I saw him head up and over the bridge."

"OK, thanks - can I get a name?" I gave him Richard Upton's details. Told him I was in town on business and was staying at the Novotel St Kilda.

That night as I sat in the common room at the backpackers I had several concerns. First, was that Mr wilson would choose to look a gift horse in the mouth and ignore the info I'd given him. Second, he'd be pissed that one of his guys had been arrested and another had his face on the news from station CCTV cameras and had his own hotline number - apparently the gun they'd found dumped in the toilets with his prints on it had fired a shot that killed a security guard during an armed robbery in the early 90s.

Third and really my most pressing issue, was that I was about to run out of cash. And I still didn't have a viable way to make more. But still, it was a good feeling to know that for a brief little while, I'd at least held the upper hand.


-=-=-=-=-=-


I was woken up by the phone ringing. It was still dark outside - at least, as dark as it got in the CBD with all the lights reflecting around the glass and steel and brick. The glowing screen was lighting the room as it vibrated on the shelf next to my bed.

"Private number," the display declared. "04:05." It said in a corner.

I pressed the button to answer the call. Immediately an insistent voice sounded in my ear. "Get up. You need to move - right now."

"What?" I was still bleary eyed and working on breaking out of my malaise.

"It's Tom. We've got a big problem. You need to get going right now. Get clothes on and dump anything non-essential. You need to get to the cab rank outside the Arts Centre, you know where that is?"

"Yeah, yeah - I know it." I put the phone on speaker as I scrambled into some long cargo shorts and t-shirt which I'd stolen from the laundry here.

"Get there, you've got ten minutes if you're lucky. There'll be a van waiting there - the passenger should call out: 'Do you know the way to the ferry?' If you are approached by anyone else, or the passenger doesn't use that EXACT phrase - run. I'll make contact again in an hour if you aren't picked up by my team."

"What the hell is going on?" I was madly scraping up the piles of paper which I'd accumulated and was busy putting them into a folder to carry in a pack.

"We intercepted a call - someone's got a hit on you and its coming in fast. They know your location - which means either they got it from someone here or they've got people who have been watching out for you and you got spotted and followed."

"OK - I'm heading out now. Arts Centre cab rank. Ten minutes." I turned off the phone and headed into the hallway. My watch was telling me it was 04:07. It wasn't that far to where I had to go, but damnit I wanted to get there as fast as I could. I walked out of the door and onto the street. About halfway along the block I saw a car parked with its windows foggy. It was facing away from me and full of people. I walked calmly to the end of the block and then turned and sprinted from the corner. Running along the wide footpath as fast as I could, dodging a few stumbling drunks here and there. I heard the car start and tyres screech. It was a pure sprint now - maybe a few hundred metres to the cab rank, but I was racing against a car. And these guys probably weren't the kind to obey traffic laws. I turned and ran towards Flinders St Station - there was an underpass there - hopefully it would be open. And from there I could cross and get to Southbank.

The car screeched around the corner as I reached the other side of the road. They drove straight on, coming across the multiple lanes and tram lines - driving straight towards me. The underpass was open, but the platforms were still sealed. I didn't care - I just needed to get to the other side of the station - to the footbridge over the Yarra. I could hear the car doors opening and slamming as I sprinted through the tunnel, occasionally hurdling one of the homeless who was yet to get his morning "kick out". The bright lights of the walkway and footbridge shone at the end of the tunnel as I hit the stairs.

The gunshot echoed through the tunnel - but the bullet hit the stairs and not me. The homeless were well and truly awake now - and no doubt the security cameras had picked up the people chasing, and now shooting at me. But help would still be too far away. I debated for a moment pausing to throw a bin or create an obstruction, but decided I was best to just keep running.

I was onto the footbridge now. Still running as fast as I could, a few delivery men and cleaners were working along the Southbank strip, along with dregs moving out from various clubs - looking over at the source of the noises they'd heard. When I saw them all duck and reach for phones I assumed that my pursuers had entered view.

Off the other side of the footbridge and sprinting still - adrenaline taking over from all reason. I veer to the right - towards the curving ramp that should emerge next to where the van should be waiting. Up the top of the ramp I see a the shape of a man waiting - pistol in hand. He raised his pistol.

Fuck. No. Not now. So close.

I never even heard the van coming. Just saw the nose of it take the man in the back and smash him into the wall of the tunnel. The passenger leapt out, keeping his eyes on me and any more pursuers, he quickly pulled a handgun from his beltline and fired two shots into the head of the screaming, crippled man. He takes a few steps down the ramp towards me, "Do you know the way to the ferry?"

Next update, I promise to have some more action. But in the meantime enjoy some plotting.

A new bit! This time with action!