‘Pop the boot.’ Spooky got out of the passenger’s side and moved to the rear of the vehicle. The lid released with a clunk and cracked open an inch.
Inside the car, Mei felt the lid slam shut again and looked up to see him standing at the driver’s door. After removing his jacket he strapped on a pistol shoulder holster and fed a Glock into its cradle.
With a cursory tap on the window, he opened the door. ‘I’ll drive.’ As she climbed across to the passenger’s side, he took a seat behind the wheel. ‘Are you guys packing?’ At their nods he said, ‘Good,’ and started the engine. ‘I’ll drop you both off at the IT tech’s place.’
Mark caught his eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘Where are you going?’
‘You heard the boss lady. I’m going to check out their pads, Knight’s and Lee’s, so I need you guys to keep tabs on Fatboy.’ As he spoke, Spooky held up his mobile.
‘Fatboy?’ Mei eyed the photo on screen. ‘That’s a bit unkind, isn’t it? And ... he doesn’t look that fat.’
Turning the phone for another quick glance at the IT specialist’s photo, Spooky shrugged. ‘It’s hard to tell from this mug shot, but years of sitting in front of a computer has taken its toll on Joel. That’s his name, by the way, and he’s a hell of a nice guy. Good at his job too. When you see him in person, though, you won’t be looking at his mug. He puts a whole new slant on the word obese.’
‘Still a bit harsh calling him Fatboy.’ She watched him drop the mobile in his lap. ‘What if a medical condition is the cause?’
Spooky gave a snort. ‘Yeah, a rare condition brought on by excessive consumption of sticky buns and cola, not to mention litres of coffee per day. Oh he’s a fat boy alright. Put the two of you together and you might amount to one of his butt cheeks.’
Mei continued frowning but said nothing more.
‘I’ll send you his address.’ Lifting the phone from off his lap, Spooky tapped on the screen. ‘His apartment’s an easy walk from the transit centre. I’ll drop you off at Subiaco Square.’ After dropping the phone back into his lap, he nosed the Aurion away from the kerb. Once on the highway, he motored across the causeway and north, through the city centre.
Eyeing the road and foot traffic as he drove, he murmured, ‘I thought Western Australia was in Covid lockdown.’
Mei nodded. ‘It is.’
‘Could’ve fooled me. There are heaps of people about, and I don’t see many masks or much social distancing going on.’
‘The state premier closed the borders to the rest of the country early in the piece, which limited the number of local outbreaks and reduced the need for tougher restrictions ... to date. Strictly speaking, the three of us should’ve self-isolated for two weeks before entering the state.’
Spooky nodded. ‘NatSec pulled some strings, though we’re still expected to do the right thing. On the flight back I got tested by one of the medics and was given the all-clear.’
‘We were tested on the flight from Queensland.’ In the rear seat Mark leaned forward. ‘How did you get on in Afghanistan, pandemic-wise?’
‘It’s just another issue they have to contend with,’ Spooky said flatly. ‘They’ve got bigger things to worry about.’ Pulling into the transit depot, he followed the bus lane to the other side of the square, where he stopped with the motor running. ‘Right. Call me if you run into any trouble.’ Once Mark and Mei were out and standing on the kerb, he accelerated away.
Shielding her eyes from the setting sun, Mei took in the bustling cafés and other eateries surrounding the square, and the commuters emerging like colonies of ants from the subterranean train station. Some hurried toward nearby high-density housing units, while others moved to the ground level bus terminals to wait for connecting rides to their suburban destinations.
She felt a bump on her arm and turned to see Mark holding out a comms unit.
As she took it from him, he tilted his head toward the nearest café. ‘You wait here, in case this Joel shows up for his fix. I’ll go check out his pad.’
She nodded and watched him stride away, before ambling to the café and taking a seat in a vacant booth.
Mark strode along the row of shopfronts adjoining ‘The Grange,’ a modern three-storey unit complex built in faux-federation style. Stopping at a gap in the solid brick facia where a short flight of steps led to the front entrance, he checked his phone and then the number on the pillar beside the stairs.
Correct address. Target apartment must be on the top level.
Minutes later Mei’s voice came over the comms. ‘Where are you?’
‘At the rear of the building’s foyer,’ he whispered back.
‘Why are you whispering?’
‘Because I’m picking the lock.’
‘Oh, right. You’d better hurry, it’ll be standing room only soon. Another trainload of people is emerging from the transit centre.’
‘Copy that.’ As he spoke, the lock gave and the door swished open. Quietly closing it behind him, he slipped through the central courtyard and eyed the entrances to the ground floor units. Brick stairways separated them and led to the upper levels. After once more verifying the number for Joel’s apartment, Mark bounded up the stairs, coming to a stop at the dwelling’s front door. ‘Arrived at address,’ he whispered into the comms as he started work on the lock.
‘Roger,’ came the quiet reply.
Moments later he was inside, ogling the expansive, stylishly appointed apartment.
Fatboy has good taste.
When his nose picked up a waft of woody scent lingering in the air, he frowned at its familiarity.
Armani Eau De Cedr? The aftershave my old boss used to douse himself in? That stuff costs a bomb. Fatboy must be VERY well paid.
Moving through the main living area, he passed a sizeable guest room on the entrance level and made his way upstairs. After a glance around the main bedroom he checked the ensuite, where something brought him to a standstill.
Something he saw.
Something he smelled.
He moved further into the small room, and the scent intensified, like every surface was soaked in the stuff.
Old Spice aftershave.
A large bottle of it stood in pride of place on the vanity as if proclaiming its preferred status.
Fatboy’s an Old Spice man. So who...?
Whipping out the custom Nighthawk Counsellor from his shoulder holster, Mark stiffened, alert for any hint of sound or movement. Silent moments later, a waft of breeze lifted the hairs on his arms sending him darting back downstairs, where he caught movement by the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony.
The sheer curtains billowed in the breeze through the open doorway.
Cautiously pushing through their clingy grasp, he stepped onto the balcony. In the near distance towering floodlights flickered on to dominate the skyline. They loomed over the famous Subiaco oval like giant sentries.
Moving swiftly to the balcony’s far side, Mark leaned over the railings and scanned the streets below.
Empty.
No, wait.
One tall, stationary figure, on the footpath near the building’s front entrance.
Rising to his tiptoes, Mark leaned out as far as he dared, trying to catch a glimpse of the figure’s face. When the man tilted his head for a brief upward glance, their eyes locked and Mark muttered through tight lips, ‘Aaron Knight.’
When Knight set off at a brisk walk toward the train terminal, Mark focused his gaze ahead and saw a staggeringly obese man, ‘metro’ briefcase slung over one meaty shoulder, lumber up the last few steps to stand, puffing, on the street level. Taking an inhaler out of his pocket, the obese man gave it a couple of shakes before putting it to his mouth and sucking in the atomised drug.
‘Fatboy.’ As Mark watched, the IT tech put away his inhaler, checked his watch, and trudged toward the nearest café. Announcing over the comms, ‘Joel has exited the transit station and is heading your way with Knight on his tail,’ Mark bunched and leapt over the railing. Twisting in mid-air, he dropped in Parkour fashion to the balcony below and then the one below that. Darting to the façade at the building’s entrance, he slid down its face to the front stairs, and took off after Knight.
Without breaking stride, Knight turned the corner and pressed a finger to his ear to activate his comms. ‘Target heading your way.’
From where she stood pretending to stare at a shoe emporium’s tempting window display, Imogen Lee scanned the images reflected in the glass. ‘Yes. I see him.’
‘Stay on him, babe. I need to deal with a tail I’ve picked up.’
Lee stiffened. ‘Need a hand?’
‘You just focus on securing the target. Once I’ve shaken the tail I’ll come and pick you up.’
‘Roger.’
The café chair groaned a loud, metallic protest as a heavy weight settled onto it. Spreading his legs to allow his stomach apron to sag between his knees, Joel leaned back and raised a hand to summon the waiter clearing another kerbside table.
Looking up, the waiter called, ‘The usual, big fella?’ At Joel’s smiling nod, the waiter walked to the table, arms loaded with dirty dishes and crumpled napkins. ‘You headin’ to The Grill for dinner again? Think it’s your favourite two-for-one, or in your case,’ and he grinned, ‘the one-for-two, deal tonight.’
‘Yeah, but don’t think I’ll get there this time.’ Joel dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. ‘It’s been a huge day. Think I’ll go home and get some kebabs delivered.’ Fishing out a twenty dollar bill, he made to pass it to the waiter, who indicated his full hands.
‘I’ll grab that when I bring your coffee and cinnamon bun.’
‘Right-oh.’ Joel waved the bill at him. ‘Can you make it quick, before a man dies of starvation and caffeine withdrawal?’
‘Extra butter on the cinnabun, right?’ At Joel’s eager nod, the waiter gave an amused snort and hurried away.
Seeing him duck past the long queue at the counter to whisper in the harried barista’s ear, Joel gave a satisfied grunt, and then gasped when a slender arm snaked around from behind, clamping him against his seat.
‘What the—’
‘Hush now.’ The warm breath accompanying the low voice tickled his ear, and a seductive scent slid into his nostrils as satiny skin pressed against his cheek. ‘Get up, Joel. You’re coming with me.’
‘Me? With you? Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
Feeling something hard pressing against his back, he thrust his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman. ‘Imogen?’
‘Clever boy.’
‘They’re onto y-you and ... and Aaron,’ Joel stuttered. ‘You won’t get far.’
‘Oh really?’ Lee smirked. ‘We’ll see about that.’ The smirk evaporated an instant later when cold metal pressed against her own neck.
Reaching around to relieve Lee of her Beretta, Mei said cheerily, ‘Yes, we will.’ She clicked on the Beretta’s safety and tucked the weapon into the front of her jeans, before murmuring in Lee’s ear, ‘Now, hands behind your back.’
A shriek from an adjacent table pierced the café chatter as an elderly lady’s wide eyes locked on Mei and her weapon. Seizing the moment, Lee rotated and twisted her shoulder to deflect Mei’s gun hand. In the lightning exchange of blocks and counter blows that followed, she managed to reef the Beretta from Mei’s waistband.
Intercepting the move, Mei knocked the gun to the ground and, spinning in, executed a Judo throw that sent Lee sailing over her shoulder.
Despite landing flat on her back on the concrete with a bone-crunching thump, Lee managed to curl and unleash a kick as Mei lunged at her again. The blow struck Mei in the head, and she staggered sideways into the stunned café crowd. Most were on their feet, chairs upended in their haste, while others were already running to safety.
Putting a hand to her head, Mei felt wetness and glanced at her fingers. They were slick with blood. Once more pressing them to the cut, she hastily retrieved the Beretta and her Subcompact Glock and leapt to her feet to scan for Lee.
Gone.
And Joel?
The flow of people from the underground transit terminal had come to an abrupt stop as the stampeding café patrons dispersed around and between them. And then she glimpsed a break in the milling throng. Something large was moving through the crowd, splitting it like an icebreaker slicing through Antarctic waters.
Joel’s bulky frame, making for his apartment.
She took off after him, calling over the comms, ‘Imogen Lee made a grab for Joel. She gave me the slip and is on the loose.’
As he slid across the bonnet of a sedan emerging from the underground carpark, Mark puffed, ‘Copy that. I’m closing in on Knight.’ Landing lightly on his feet, he raced down the ramp.
The bright overhead lights reflected off the hundreds of parked cars crammed between the thick yellow pillars. As Knight veered first right and then left, weaving between vehicles, his footfalls were drowned out by the echoes of rumbling engines, and the constant squelch of tyres as vehicles entered and exited the carpark.
Cutting across on an intercept course, Mark leapt onto the bonnet of a low-slung sedan, then to the roof of an adjacent vehicle.
And made a dive for Knight.