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?”
Aaron took the cold bag off his face. “I’m okay, just a bit puzzled about what that was all about. Probably mistaken identity.”
“Did you want me to call the police?”
“No . . . not worth the hassle.”
“Okay. I didn’t get the number plate. But it was a blue car with a big star on its door.”
“Sounds like a security car. You know, the star representing a sheriff-law-order type thing . . . definitely mistaken identity. Thanks for helping me.” He put the bag of peas against his face again.
“That’s okay. You don’t look the troublesome type.”
“Thanks, I’m not. I’m a soldier, off to Afghanistan in a few days, so if I see those fellows before then I will shoot them.” Aaron tried to smile. “I’m sure they won’t be paying us another visit. They would expect us to call the police.”
The manager helped him up. “Just make sure you don’t shoot them here. The publicity wouldn’t be good, but then again, it could attract customers.”
Aaron smiled. It hurt. He thanked the manager again and went back into the room. It was past midnight. He placed his head on the pillow. Wondered what that was all about while his body recovered from the adrenaline rush. His body compensated by putting him to sleep. He dreamed of a man with a goatee and a moustache, and of two large beings standing next to him as he stood before Mr Goatee.
Mackenzie and Paul had gone away with some friends for the weekend. Mackenzie was quite apologetic about it, which surprised Aaron. But as it turned out, Aaron’s body needed healing, so he did nothing the whole weekend, just rested.
Chapter 12
THE PATROLLING SECURITY GUARD, who had raised the alarm regarding the fire near where Aaron’s dad died, had a goatee and moustache. He kept popping up in Aaron’s life at the moment, including that rather nasty visit the other night. It was obvious that this man didn’t consider how memorable his flamboyant facial hair would be. Aaron doubted that the man would even remember his most recent visit. He’d clearly been stoned.
It was the start of a working week and Aaron decided he would take a punt and try and make contact with Mr Goatee. He found the number of the security firm that he had copied down from the sign on the fence and telephoned it.
“Sheriff Security, can I help?”
“Oh, hi. I’m looking for a security guard that may be able to assist me with an issue at the Department of Urban Movement research building. I have had dealings with the security officer before, if it helps. He had a goatee and moustache.”
“Oh yes, that would be Lucas. I could get him to contact you if you like.”
“Is he on shift today?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t disclose that sort of information. Can you give me your number?”
“My phone is dead. I dropped it recently, so at the moment I can only give you my home number and that’s out of town. I’m just a visitor. Look, I just want to show him a hole in the perimeter fence. Could you give me an indication of a possible time to meet him at the site?”
“Hold for a moment please.” There was a delay of a few minutes. “Hello, you there?”
