Mackenzie paused and reflected. “You know, going off to war, that sort of stuff. How do you feel about going off to Afghanistan?”

“Ah, Kenz, we’re all well trained. And besides we have chaplains that we can talk to if we were that way inclined.”

“But you are, Aaron, aren’t you?”

She was pressing a bit deeper now. “Sorry?”

“That way inclined.”

Aaron stared at his coffee for a moment, raised his head and smiled at Mackenzie. He really didn’t know where he stood.

Mackenzie continued. “I’m sorry, Aaron . . . I’m being too pushy. I just worry about you and I’m probably nervous about you going to war. Sorry.”

“That’s okay, Kenz. I know the Lord will be watching over me. He has got me this far.” Now he was being politically correct. The words sounded like they came from an empty drum.

Aaron was invited to an after-church get-together at a local café. He was told his mum was going so he should too.

On the way down the entrance stairs, Aaron noticed a white government car with dark tinted windows, parked not far from the church entrance. From the side, he could see two silhouetted figures sitting in the front seat.

Aaron noticed Mackenzie staring at the car. There was something about the way she stared. Did she know the people in the car?

<°)))><

They waited to be seated. It was a light and bright large café, with two walls of glass doors opening onto extra-large alfresco patios at the front and at the back of the cafe. A row of comfortable sofas sat on colourful patterned carpet, with a large number of potted palms giving the place a breezy feel. Mackenzie advised that the noise from the road was bad at the front, so they asked for seats at the back. Paul offered to buy the coffees and started wandering towards the counter.

“Paul, remember, it’s table service here,’ Mackenzie said.

Paul turned and sat down again.

Aaron looked over at his mother. It was good for her to be out and about. She looked young and vibrant with her group of church friends. He noticed a large sophisticated man talking to his mum. Aaron remembered him from the funeral. His mum nodded to the man and he joined the group. A few tables behind his mum sat two men, one with his back to Aaron. They were also large, but their bulk was muscle.

As the waiter took their order another waiter walked past carrying a tray load of food. The smell drifted down to Aaron and convinced him that he was hungry. He ordered a steak sandwich and chips. He started watching the café staff in anticipation of their order arriving—the order came not long after. Paul and Aaron chatted about Bible references on military rifles. Apparently they were inscribed on the telescopic sights attached to some rifles. Aaron wasn’t sure if they did it anymore. The arrival of the food interrupted their discussion.

As Aaron bit into his steak sandwich, he looked over at his mum. He hoped ‘big guy’ didn’t have his sights on her. A son wants only the best for his mother. The other large men had gone. He looked around and saw them outside, and one was smoking. Big healthy guys smoking didn’t look good. The one smoking turned and stared at Aaron, as if he knew he was being watched. It was that security guy.

“Aaron.”

He turned to Mackenzie.

“Do you know that man?” Mackenzie asked.

“No, Kenz. Do you?”

“He was hanging around my mum’s place earlier today. But I think he’s a chauffeur or something for that man sitting with your mum.”

This was getting too close for comfort.

<°)))><

Lucas was glad Tag was with him tonight. He’d given in to the voices in his head and had some green stuff earlier. It was the girl’s fault. He’d got all muddled in the head after seeing her this afternoon, so he sat down and smoked a joint or three. He couldn’t remember how many.

The minister had wanted to go to church straight from work. As Lucas hadn’t been in a fit state to drive, he asked Tag to do the driving. Lucas had wanted to catch up with Tag anyway and go out later. They tended to get into mischief together, which didn’t bother Lucas too much; it was all in fun. They enjoyed the occasional fight with the low-lifes that go out in packs looking for fights. Lucas and Tag enjoyed the adrenaline rush from fighting as long as the packs weren’t too big.

At the church there was a battle going on in Lucas’s head—a voice fighting its way through the fog. The church was familiar, it was the same church they were at the other day with the funeral. He wondered if the minister came here regularly. He saw some funny things jumping off the church building when they got there, skinny bony things with torn flowing robes.

And then he saw the girl again.

The fight in Lucas’s head was a fierce one. The voice in his head was putting up a good fight, like he wasn’t going anywhere. A door was trying to close in his head but the voice thing kept pushing it open, as if he had his foot in the door. Lucas shook his head, hoping the thing would drop out of his head, fall through his ears and tumble to the ground.

Things had got worse at the café. “No, go,” the voice told him. “That bloke’s up to no good with his girl. That bloke needs to be kept away from Mackenzie. Maybe you and Tag should let him know these things.”

<°)))><

Logan Road was quiet on Friday nights.

Aaron headed back in his rented car to his accommodation. He had another quick look in his rear-view mirror. The car was still there. The white limo had been behind him since they left the café, the two big dudes in the front. He couldn’t see into the back, but he hoped the other big boy sat in the back seat. Aaron flicked on the right indicator and paused in the turning lane. The limo drove past. The shadow silhouetted against the tinted back passenger window was big. Good, he’s not still with Mum. Aaron thought briefly that they might have been following him—he wasn’t sure why—but then Logan Road was a main road back to the inner city suburbs where the big man almost certainly lived.

He parked the car in the space allocated for unit seven.

He opened the door to his motel unit, threw his keys on the bedside table and sat on the bed. It was quiet except for the humming of the air-conditioning unit. He looked at the bedside table and wondered if there was a Bible in one of the drawers. He opened the top drawer . . . nothing. The next drawer . . . there it was. The Gideon Bible. Another memory from Sunday school and a Beatles song his dad would sing: something along the lines of a person named Rocky checking into a room and finding a Gideon Bible.

Aaron looked in the notes in the Bible to find the story of Gideon. The story involved a large number of clay jars with torches hidden inside, then the jars were smashed to reveal light in the darkness, sending a panic through the enemy camp.

He placed the Bible on the bedside table, lay on the bed and thought about Rocky with a raccoon wrapped around his head, about smashed jars, candles, Mackenzie, and Dad.

It was a warm night and he had pumped too much coffee into his bloodstream. He felt like a drink, so he opened the fridge door and grabbed a bottle of spring water. His mobile phone played its text message tune. Aaron viewed the message—he needed to be back at base on Thursday for deployment. Six more days. Anxiety crept in—there must be something going on to be recalled early. Christmas overseas, and Mum’s first Christmas without Dad. He had a big sip of the water and placed the plastic bottle on the bedside table next to the Bible. The Bible stared at him. He opened it, flicked through the pages and it came to rest at Psalm 91. Towards the bottom of the page he read:

For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your feet against a stone.

It would be good to have that inscribed on the rifle he would be carrying in Afghanistan. He decided to write it down anyway and started searching for a pen and some paper.

A loud banging on the door startled him.

He was about to open the door but that little voice inside his head told him to be careful. The curtains were drawn on the window facing outside. He walked over, drew the front curtain open a little and saw those two burly fellows from the cafe. One turned to see Aaron peeking, tapped his mate on the shoulder and pointed towards Aaron. They banged louder.

Aaron yelled out to them to give him a moment to put some clothes on. He wasn’t sure what these men wanted, but the last thing he was going to do was let them in the room. Aaron wasn’t afraid. His training had kicked in. He opened the door, came out on the balcony and quickly closed it behind him as the Mr Goatee tried to push him back in the room. His mate stood behind him.

Glazed eyes stared at Aaron. Spaced out.

“Take it easy,” Aaron told him.

With that came a hard punch to the stomach that bent Aaron over, but Aaron was able to take out Mr Goatee’s legs and deliver a solid elbow to his throat. That brought a grunt as Mr Goatee fell to the ground. Aaron saw a boot coming towards his face, but moved quickly and grabbed the foot, twisting the man’s leg as he forced it up.

“Hey, what’s going on?” someone yelled. Aaron turned briefly to see who yelled, and with that came darkness.

Aaron’s head started clearing. It was the motel manager, sitting with Aaron on the step outside the unit. He had given Aaron a frozen bag of peas for his face. Aaron rested the bag against his jaw. It was a bit sore.

“Are you okay?”