Choices. Jeff Edwards

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      Seconds later the door opened again, slightly wider this time, and a hand holding a cocked spear pistol emerged.

      The slight movement caught Arny’s attention. Alarmed, he turned his head in its direction at the same instant that the compressed air weapon discharged. The stainless steel barb caught the shocked drug dealer in his right eye and continued out the back of his skull, pinning the dead man’s head to the wall behind.

      Noisy cartoon characters on TV as well as all the shouts and movement outside meant Arny’s bodyguard saw and heard nothing, remaining ever alert to a possible attack from outside.

      Inside the bathroom, Arny’s assassin climbed onto the hand-basin and hoisted himself through the false ceiling and replaced the panel he had previously removed to enter the unit. From there he crawled a few feet to the space above the bathroom of the room next door and dropped inside.

      Dusting himself off, the assassin took the time to replace the panel through which he had just climbed. Satisfying himself that he had left nothing behind, he left the room and wandered casually past the office of the motel, dropping the room key into the return slot before leaving the building and mingling for a short time with the crowd watching the burning cars.

      The motel room he had left had been rented by a woman dressed like one of the many local prostitutes, ostensibly for a meeting with an afternoon client, and police officials would have an impossible task of locating that particular woman amongst the many who plied their trade in the area. She had never physically entered the room in question and therefore had left behind no evidence which police could have used to begin their investigations.

      I didn’t get a chance to let him know why he was about to die, the assassin thought wryly as he casually made his way up the street. Still, I don’t suppose it matters all that much. It’s the results that count, and the surf is waiting.

      CHAPTER 9

       Dan

      We landed at Sydney airport, and I was not surprised when the customs officers insisted on making a complete examination of my backpack as well as my board bag. I dragged all my personal possessions out and spread them over the counter while yet another officer ran a scanner over me to see if I had been in the proximity of any suspicious chemicals.

      The three of us had been through customs a number of times and had learned that it was easiest to travel light. Temporary necessities like soap and toothpaste were purchased when we landed in Bali and abandoned before leaving. Why carry something when there was no need to?

      So after sifting through my gear and finding only an assortment of dirty t-shirts and board shorts, the officials passed me through.

      Outside customs, Sandy and the kids were waiting for me, and, after seeing Rick and Sam off to their connecting flight to Taree, we made our way home.

      ‘How was it out at Quambone?’ I asked.

      ‘About as expected,’ Sandy replied. ‘My sister-in-law is still the self-centred bitch she always was, and Dad’s as strong-minded as ever. He and Bruce are still arguing about the cost of running Bruce’s chopper and were at one another’s throats most of the time. I came home a couple of days ago. I couldn’t stand it any longer.’

      ‘Mum’s got a job,’ piped up Brook from the back seat.

      ‘I don’t!’ Sandy protested, ‘Well … I might. He’s going to let me know in the next few days.’

      ‘Who is?’

      ‘Ronny, down at the vets.’

      ‘Mum’s going to hold the dogs down when they get their needles,’ Brook yelled enthusiastically.

      ‘I’m going to be his assistant,’ corrected Sandy.

      ‘You don’t have to,’ I said. ‘I’ll get another job, and we’ll be fine.’

      ‘It’s something that I’ve always wanted to do, and now I’ll have a chance. Maybe I can do a veterinary science course and become a real vet. The kids don’t need to be looked after as they did when they were babies, so I’ll have the time.’

      ‘Well, if you really want to,’ I conceded. Deep down I was grateful that Sandy had taken the initiative in attempting to solve our looming financial crisis. I knew that there would be jobs out there for me, but I was not sure that anything I found would be able to compare financially with the one I had so recently lost.

      * * *

      Over the next few days I commenced the soul-destroying effort of trying to find a job. I walked miles and left my resume with all manner of companies, but did not receive a glimmer of encouragement from the human resources departments of any of them, and I had yet to receive a single response.

      Brook and Josh were in the lounge room with the television blaring while doing their homework, and Sandy was in the kitchen preparing our dinner when the phone rang.

      ‘Dan, it’s Liam, do you have a couple of coldies in the fridge?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘I’m in the neighbourhood and I thought I’d drop in.’

      I was about to tell him to go away and to stay away from me, but had second thoughts. If someone was watching me, then speaking to Liam might add weight to the story of our involvement with government security organisations.

      ‘How far away are you?’

      ‘I can be there in five minutes.’

      ‘I’ll meet you in the yard.’

      ‘Where are you going with those?’ asked Sandy as I took a pair of bottles from the fridge.

      ‘Liam’s coming around. He’ll be here in a minute. I’ll talk to him outside.’

      Sandy’s face looked like she’d just sucked on a lemon. Her opinion of Liam had dropped immeasurably since I had lost my job.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ I reassured her, ‘he won’t be here long. I’ll make sure of that.’

      ‘Don’t let that silver-tongued bastard invite himself to supper. I refuse to feed the mongrel.’

      * * *

      I was seated on the back verandah when Liam climbed from his car. I noted that his shoulders were squared confidently and he had a jaunty spring to his step. If the ICAC had sought to cower him, then they had failed miserably.

      He took my hand in a vise-like grip and threatened to shake my arm off at the shoulder. ‘Good to see you again boy. That suntan suits you. Have you been on holidays?’ ‘Enforced holiday,’ I corrected him.

      He took my offered beer and swallowed deeply before continuing. ‘I’ve got something for you. I thought you might need it,’ he said, taking an envelope from his pocket.

      As I counted the money, he explained. ‘That’s for the last few jobs you did for me before they closed you down. I won’t have it said that I short-changed my workers.’

      ‘Thanks, but it won’t last long if I don’t get a job.’

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