Floored (3 page)

“Fuck off, Stud.”

Raucous laughter was followed by, “What do you need?”

He said, “Towie,” gave the address and hung up.

The dog guy and one of the other drivers helped him right the bike and drag it to the side of the road. Traffic started flowing around the other cars. He pulled his saddlebag off the bike and waited until the tow truck arrived. When they started to load it, he backed off. His knee was already stiffening up. He went down the street to a council bin, dropped his phone, crushed it under his heel, fished out the sim and pocketed it, and dumped the remains of the plastic.

He kept walking. He needed a taxi. Nothing doing. It was 3pm, driver changeover time. He found another bin and dumped the sim card. Two streets over his luck changed again.

4: Luck

He was a surgeon, famous for separating conjoined twins. Caitlyn would’ve been happy to drive him around for weeks. In a previous life: Before Justin—she’d have been happy to take him to lunch, dinner and breakfast the next morning. He was Indian, born in Madras, educated in London. He was handsome, with large dark eyes and milk coffee skin. He had a Daniel Craig accent and liked a good chat. It was his first trip to Australia. He was consulting on a case—another set of twins, joined at the spine. He was a cricket tragic and proud of it. And a practiced flirt, and it was hard not to give in to that.

She’d picked him up at the airport and driven him to Westmead Children’s Hospital. Someone else would get the gig to drive him anywhere else he needed to go. The job had been an extra, on top of providing transport for minor celebrities to and from a movie premier and a nightclub into the small hours of the morning. She’d had about four hours sleep and was feeling every missed moment in her gritty eyes and stiff neck. Parked in the hospital’s drive after the wonder surgeon disappeared inside, she dropped her head into the headrest and closed her eyes. Five minutes, if she could just sit here quietly for five minutes.

The back door went thunk, and she opened her eyes to see Grizzly Adams slide into the back seat. “I’m not a taxi.”

He leaned between the seats and slapped a fist full of cash on the console. “A thousand bucks says you are.”

He’d been in some kind of an accident, or more likely a fight; his cheek was grazed and bloody. She looked at the money. She saw a bathmat and new curtains, a rug for the bedroom floor. He was a passenger like anyone else, even if he looked like his job was to officially frighten small children. She could only really see his scratched up face in the rear-view mirror, tucked in between a lot of hair and sunglasses. God knows what the rest of him looked like.

“Where to?”

He wanted to go to three suburban addresses, two close by, and one further afield, and for her to wait at each. Then he wanted to be dropped off at home. Simple. She checked the addresses on her GPS and headed out.

Unlike Dr Wonderful, Grizzly wasn’t talkative. Unlike Dr Wonderful he didn’t inspire lust-filled musings. He sat slumped in the back seat, head turned to watch out the window. The first stop was a house in a quiet street. Front lawn needed a good mow and a coat of paint would’ve done wonders for it. She parked, and he got out and went to the front door. He carried a saddlebag over his shoulder, and he limped, favouring his left leg. When he disappeared inside she closed her eyes. There was no way to know how long he’d be. He hadn’t said a word after giving her the addresses. She could’ve asked, but there was something about him that made her want to limit contact. She pulled her hat down further over her eyes and smiled. This was a take the money and run situation if ever she’d seen one.

Caitlyn sighed audibly when the back door thunked again. He’d been gone less than a single Adele song on the radio. She switched it off and started the engine. He was settled back in the seat again, but now he had a bunch of tissues held against his cheek. She had tissues in the car; she should’ve thought to give him some. She had antiseptic too—a full first-aid kit. She’d been so worried about Grizzly being a bear and eating her, she’d completely ignored the fact he could do with some kindness.

“I have Dettol for that, if you’d like?”

His chin came up. She met his glasses in the rear-view. “Thanks. I’ll be right.”

She bit back the ‘are you sure’ that hovered in her throat. He didn’t look like a man who was unsure. Now she’d seen him full-length she realised he was a bikie. A fair dinkum Hell’s Angel, except the back of his leather jacket said Black Pariah. It was impossible to tell how old he was. The full wild man beard, the shoulder-length dark hair, the row of piercings up his ear, the dark sunnies. He was tall; filled out his dirty jeans with the promise of strength, and had a broad, square shoulder line and a deep resonant voice.

By the time they arrived at the third address, she’d decided he was up to no good. He wasn’t on a visiting spree because the stops were too short and no one appeared to greet him or wave him off. He was some kind of delivery boy, but there was no way to tell what he was delivering, other than it was relatively small and valuable. He never left the saddlebag in the car. He carried it to and from each ordinary looking house they went to. This really was a take the money and run job in more ways than one. The sooner she dropped him off at this last address the better.

“Driver, do you mind if we add another stop?”

She lifted her eyes to the mirror. He was sitting forward. “It’s on the way.”

He’d paid her a thousand dollars cash for three hours work that would ordinarily have earned her about two hundred and fifty, less if there’d been a booking fee on top. He looked fearsome, but he’d been no trouble and spoke politely. He was up to something, but it couldn’t be anything too terrible. Who was she to judge anyway? Yes—he could add a stop.

She drove him to a small shopping centre and parked in the adjoining car park to wait for him. He got out, then tapped on the driver’s side window. She’d already turned the engine off. She cracked the door and got out, standing in front of him, the door held between them.

“I’ll be a bit longer this time. You might want to go for a walk, stretch your legs. Can I bring you back anything?”

He smelled of old leather and petrol up close. His cheek had stopped bleeding, but it was savagely grazed.

“What happened?”

He looked surprised she’d asked, his eyebrows shooting up over the frame of his sunnies. But not as surprised as she was. What happened to limiting contact? “I mean to your face, and you’re limping.”

He smiled for the first time. Made him look younger. “I had a little run-in with some bitumen. Came off second best.”

“Oh, God. Are you okay? Should you see a doctor?”

He hooked a finger over the nosepiece of his sunnies and pulled them down. He looked at her with startlingly blue eyes, surrounded by thick black lashes no decent man deserved to own. But then he probably wasn’t a decent man. He was probably a drug courier. And she was consorting with a criminal. Wouldn’t be the first time. She’d been closer than consorting. She’d been virtually a conjoined twin.

“No, thank you. I’m good.”

He blinked at her, dropped his chin. “Sure?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He pushed the sunnies back up his nose and nodded. “I’ll try not to be too long. You look tired.”

“Me?” The way her voice squeaked was embarrassing, the blush that heated her cheeks was more so. He wasn’t supposed to notice anything about her. Under her hat and with her own sunnies on what could he possibly see to give him that impression?

He laughed. “Yeah, you. You’ve tried to have a catnap at least three times now. I keep interrupting.”

“Oh. I promise you I’m perfectly safe to drive.”

“Hey, I was kidding. I didn’t mean to suggest you weren’t safe.”

He was smiling, and trying to put her at ease, but she didn’t think he was kidding. He’d picked up on her weariness with deadly accuracy. In her new trousers she was covered neck to toe. She was almost as camouflaged by her work costume as he was, by his gang one, but he made her feel naked.

“How about I bring you back a coffee?”

“I have a thermos. I’m fine, thank you.”

“Now you’re kidding me. Thermos coffee!” He shook his head. “That wouldn’t keep a fly awake. How do you take it?”

A real brewed, hot coffee sounded wonderful. She turned to rummage in the compartment where she kept change for meters.

“My treat.”

She looked up. He’d backed off to stop her handing him the coins. “A flat white would be fantastic. Thank you.”

He gave her a salute, turned and walked towards the shopping centre doors, stepping to the side when he got there to let a woman with a stroller go through first. It made her smile. Mr Black Pariah looked like trouble but he spoke well, paid attention, and had pretensions to be a gentleman.

He wasn’t that long. But long enough for her world to feel blurry at the edges, for her body to feel like she’d pulled a dozen muscles. He didn’t forget the coffee. And now she really needed it, to help get a handle on her nerves. She watched him come across the car park, the limp still evident, his saddlebag slung over his shoulder, a phone company bag in one hand, and a coffee carry-out tray in the other. She had the window down and he held the tray out. She took it with a smile while he slung his gear in the back seat.

He came back to the window. “Can I drink in the car?”

She lifted the tray to him. “I think I can trust you.”
What a laugh
. He was the least likely candidate for trust. Well, maybe the second least likely.

He smiled. He’d taken his glasses off, and she was treated to the full force of his eye contact. It made her forget feeling tense. It made her toes curl inside her sensible shoes.

“Contrary to appearances, I am a tidy fellow at heart.” He took a cup, FW scrawled on the top, a flat white like hers, and moved into the back seat. He put his cup in the holder and started unpacking the phone. It was worth a chance. A bloke like him, leaning towards if not already doing illegal things, he might know.

“Excuse me. I was wondering if you happened to know if it’s possible to block a caller on a mobile phone?”

He looked up. “Block. Technically it’s possible, though the networks don’t like to do it, and ordinarily won’t. There are some dodgy apps out there that re-route calls. Is someone annoying you?”

It was a comprehensive answer. It went some way towards helping. But what she really wanted to ask him was a how question. She didn’t know what way to phrase it.

“I should change my number I guess.” The problem was she’d changed it once already. She had no idea how Justin got the new number. Not that she’d answered his call. She’d been driving Dr Wonderful and Mr Pariah, but there was no mistaking his voice on the message bank she’d just listened to. No mistaking his passive aggressive tone or the subtle way he tried to manipulate her. It shook her up big time. She should’ve bought a cheap, throwaway prepaid phone, but she’d wanted a decent smart phone in her business name. There were lots of things she should’ve done differently. Like change her name and move states. She was an idiot thinking she was safe.

“Driver, is someone annoying you?”

She turned her head and he was close, sitting forward in the gap between the two front seats. She looked into his eyes and found a way to ask.

“How does someone you don’t want to have your number get it?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Someone is annoying you.”

He looked like he was thinking bad boyfriend and like he’d sign up to go all mediaeval on him. “It’s a client I’d prefer not to drive for. I changed my number, but he managed to get the new one.”

He grunted. “Shouldn’t happen. Though someone could trace your name.”

“I changed the name too.”

“Okay, that’s serious, you need to report that.” He sounded like an authority figure. Like a cop. “It could be as simple as the dude in the phone shop doing something dodgy, but it could be bigger than that. Are you sure the new number isn’t registered somewhere it could be traced?”

She was dead sure. The only people who had the number were the real estate office, Neil Bartlett whose company she contracted for, and a very select group of regular clients. All business people. All people she trusted because she knew where they lived and they’d been vetted by Neil first.

She turned to look out the front windshield. “Yes, that must be what happened. It’ll be something simple like another client passing it on.” She put her hand on the ignition and his came down on her shoulder making her jump.

“Now you’ve got me worried, Driver. What do I do about that?”

She tried to laugh it off. “No need to worry about me. I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll be giving the guy a serve if he calls again.” She must’ve done okay because he sat back and was silent for the rest of the trip.

It only took fifteen minutes to get to his final stop at 32 MacIntosh Street. She pulled up outside a ranch style house with a kid’s trampoline in the side yard. If this was where he lived there was another surprise; he was a family man.

He gathered his things and got out, she opened the window and he leaned in on the edge of the door. “Feel like doing some more deliveries tomorrow? Same deal on the dosh.”

Did she? She hadn’t expected that. Through all the hair he was smiling and his big blue eyes were sparkle bright. The graze on his cheek looked angry. She wished she’d insisted he use the Dettol or the Betadine from the first-aid kit. She didn’t have a single job booked for tomorrow. She was hoping Neil would phone one through. She could spend the day with her gentleman biker and make some good money, or sweat on enough jobs to keep the tank filled. It was tempting to say yes, but he was a bikie gang member who knew about illegal things you could do with phones. He wasn’t the type of customer she needed.

“Look, if you’re not here at nine thirty tomorrow morning, I’ll know you got a better offer.” He straightened up and tapped the top of the car roof in farewell.

She pulled out, watching him in the rear-view mirror standing on the kerb watching her.

5: Fire

God, his knee was on fire
.