Eva and Bishop went through hand in hand, waving their thanks. As Nash passed, the inspector leaned forward and in a smoky voice added, “I get off in an hour.”
Not sure how to respond, Nash gave her a stunned wave and walked through the barriers. Outside, Melbournians of all descriptions darted in countless directions on the wide streets. Lines snaked out from takeaway stalls beneath the awnings of the station’s exterior.
Striding towards the main intersection, Eva slapped Nash’s arm. She made an oh shape with her lips. “Duuuuude! You totally grey-foxed that chick!”
“Shut up.”
“We’ve been going about this all wrong! Why are we even fighting anyone when you could just seduce them and be done with it?”
Nash replied, “Did I mention shut up?”
Eva danced from one foot to the other. “Hell, maybe Cavendish will let this all slide if you just put out?”
Nash groaned. “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”
Bishop looked on, equally amused, right up until the second he wasn’t. In an instant his face grew gravely serious.
“Black-coats, nine o’clock.”
Without looking around, Eva responded in a low voice, “What the cinnamon toasted fuck did you just say?”
“Two,” Bishop grunted. “No, make that four black-coats converging on our position. We’ve been made.”
“How did they get here so quickly?”
“Let’s worry about that later.” Bishop thumbed behind them. “I suggest we make our way across the bridge to the other side of the Yarra.”
“What’s a Yarra?” Nash asked.
“The river.”
The three did an about-face and strode purposefully through the throng of pedestrians, away from the four black-coats. It had recently rained, and the coats blended in with the rest of the city’s inhabitants. In fact, nearly everyone was wearing black. Perhaps that was the Melbournian dress code, Nash thought. There was no time to ask. They reached the long bridge and walked across it as briskly as they could without raising suspicion.
The old Princes Bridge afforded a wonderful view of the city, showing off a fancy building with a tall spire. Restaurants and bars overlooked the waterway, and a few bars even floated on the river itself. Various boats casually meandered down the Yarra. The city looked sophisticated and inviting. It was a pity Nash had no time to enjoy the view. The three powered on.
“Why’s the water brown?” Bishop asked as they practically jogged along the footpath.
“It’s always like that,” Eva growled. “It’s an upside-down river.”
Reaching the other side of the bridge, the three raced down a set of steps. Behind him, Nash caught a glimpse of two of the black-coats glaring directly at him. He took the steps three at a time.
The paved walkway hosted restaurants on one side and the river on the other. An occasional tourist boat was moored with steps down to the vessels. Eva, Nash and Bishop broke into a run.
They didn’t get far.
In the distance, two more black-coats advanced towards them. Nash recognised one of them as the grey-haired man who’d been stationed opposite the wine bar.
They skidded to a halt and turned to see the four black-coats slow and advance. They were hemmed in.
Head pivoting from side to side, Eva grunted. “Haemorrhoids on a pogo stick. They’ve got us cornered.”
Bishop looked towards the river. “Are they barbecues? On a boat?”
He was right. Four small metal dinghies powered by outboard motors were tied to a little jetty. The seats around the edge of each boat faced a hotplate at its centre. Eva descended the stairs, followed by the others. She leaned down and began to untie a mooring line.
“You’re going to steal a boat?” Bishop asked incredulously.
Eva continued working on the rope, undaunted. “It’s either that or swim.”
Bishop leaned down and helped her. “Floating bars, upside down rivers, boats with barbecues. What sort of city is this?”
Before the line was untied the black coats blocked the top of the stairs and descended, each with one hand menacingly in their coat pocket. They’d run out of time. Shadows enveloped their huddled forms. Nash’s shoulders slumped.
One of the black-coats stepped forward. With the sun behind them, Nash couldn’t make out any features. “Good afternoon, Mason. It’s been a while.”
The woman’s accent was distinctly French and yet somehow oddly familiar to Nash’s ears.
He looked up and shielded his eyes. The first thing he saw was the Glock 17 Gen 5 FR pointed at his chest. The second was the face of the person who held it. It was a face Nash was well acquainted with.
Nash clenched his eyes shut. “Been a long time.” He opened them again and squinted. “You here to kill me?”
Sophia Ocon, Nash’s former lover, flicked the safety switch of her pistol. “I’ve been waiting to do this for a very long time.”
Chapter Five
Sophia lowered her gun and wrapped her arms around Nash, pulling him into a hug. She nuzzled her nose into the side of his face before giving him a kiss on the check. While holding him in this intimate embrace, she gently removed the Beretta from the back of his jeans and pocketed it before reeling back and slapping him hard across the cheek.
“Anyone else picking up mixed signals here?” Bishop asked.
