great,” she said. She’d ring her mother
from the National.
They were halfway down the street, discussing why Nulgarra hadn’t invested in a new community center since the decrepit old
one was home to three families of fruit bats as well as having half the rainforest growing across its roof, when a black Mercedes
cruised past and stopped fifty yards ahead of them in a cul-de-sac. Three Asian men climbed out.
Two of them leaned against the flank of their car, smoking. The third walked past them without looking their way. All wore
reflective sunglasses despite the fact that it was overcast. Georgia glanced up and down the street and saw it was empty.
No young kids or their dogs, nor a single car driving along. She felt the hairs at the back of her neck rise.
As they approached, the two men pushed themselves from the Merc and walked toward them. They were smiling. Daniel stopped
short. “Do you know these blokes?”
She thought the larger one might be the man she’d nearly collided with in the hospital, but wasn’t sure.
“No.”
“Me neither.” His hands hung loosely at his sides. “Start walking, Georgia. The other way.”
Georgia didn’t hesitate. She spun on her heel and set a brisk pace. Her heart was hammering. She glanced over her shoulder
and saw, to her horror, the two men lunge at Daniel. Daniel threw a punch at one and caught him on the chin, which made him
fly backwards, but before he could attack again, the second had drawn back his leg and kicked him hard in the groin. Daniel
staggered and fell to his knees.
“Daniel!” she yelled, and sprinted for him.
He was groaning, trying to get up, when the first man kicked him in the head. Daniel went down like a stone. She was yelling
his name when someone grabbed her and punched her just below her diaphragm.
She doubled up and collapsed on the pavement. Another blow landed deep in her ribs, another in her midriff. She groaned and
vomited. She tried to get her face out of the vomit but her head was pressed against cement. She was gasping, struggling for
air, sucking in vomit through her nose and mouth.
She thought she heard her name being yelled. Oddly, she thought it was Lee, but the next instant her ear exploded, erupted
into a single giant bloom of pain. It blossomed into crimson, then black.
TWELVE
G eorgia’s consciousness crawled awake. She was lying in the corner of a dimly lit room. Vaguely she registered dusty floorboards,
bare walls with cracked and peeling paint, a handful of chairs behind a big wooden table.
She saw a Chinese man sitting behind the table. Her eyes latched onto him. She wanted to speak to him, but as she lifted her
head, he rose and left the room. She could smell cooking, and hear a television blaring, along with the chatter of Thai or
Chinese, she couldn’t tell, and the clanging of a metal pot.
Cautiously, she struggled to her knees, holding her bandaged hand protectively across her waist. A stab of pain sliced through
her ribs and she bent double, retching drily. She wiped the trickle of spittle from her mouth with the back of her right hand.
She made it to her feet and started to shuffle for the door. She stopped when it opened.
Four men entered the room. One placed a small black backpack on the table and sat down. He wore a black leather jacket over
a white T-shirt. She recognized him as the man who had spat on the floor at the hospital. Another sat beside him, older, dressed
in a suit. The others, large, bulky men in jeans and shirts, stood side by side against the wall, their arms folded. With
the window behind them, she couldn’t make out any of their features, only their silhouettes.
In what she took to be Chinese, the Suit said something to the one in the leather jacket. His voice carried the deep tones
of a heavy smoker.
Leather Jacket finally looked at her. “Where is Lee Denham?”
Her breathing was jerky, her mind spinning.
“Where is he?”
“I
from the National.
They were halfway down the street, discussing why Nulgarra hadn’t invested in a new community center since the decrepit old
one was home to three families of fruit bats as well as having half the rainforest growing across its roof, when a black Mercedes
cruised past and stopped fifty yards ahead of them in a cul-de-sac. Three Asian men climbed out.
Two of them leaned against the flank of their car, smoking. The third walked past them without looking their way. All wore
reflective sunglasses despite the fact that it was overcast. Georgia glanced up and down the street and saw it was empty.
No young kids or their dogs, nor a single car driving along. She felt the hairs at the back of her neck rise.
As they approached, the two men pushed themselves from the Merc and walked toward them. They were smiling. Daniel stopped
short. “Do you know these blokes?”
She thought the larger one might be the man she’d nearly collided with in the hospital, but wasn’t sure.
“No.”
“Me neither.” His hands hung loosely at his sides. “Start walking, Georgia. The other way.”
Georgia didn’t hesitate. She spun on her heel and set a brisk pace. Her heart was hammering. She glanced over her shoulder
and saw, to her horror, the two men lunge at Daniel. Daniel threw a punch at one and caught him on the chin, which made him
fly backwards, but before he could attack again, the second had drawn back his leg and kicked him hard in the groin. Daniel
staggered and fell to his knees.
“Daniel!” she yelled, and sprinted for him.
He was groaning, trying to get up, when the first man kicked him in the head. Daniel went down like a stone. She was yelling
his name when someone grabbed her and punched her just below her diaphragm.
She doubled up and collapsed on the pavement. Another blow landed deep in her ribs, another in her midriff. She groaned and
vomited. She tried to get her face out of the vomit but her head was pressed against cement. She was gasping, struggling for
air, sucking in vomit through her nose and mouth.
She thought she heard her name being yelled. Oddly, she thought it was Lee, but the next instant her ear exploded, erupted
into a single giant bloom of pain. It blossomed into crimson, then black.
TWELVE
G eorgia’s consciousness crawled awake. She was lying in the corner of a dimly lit room. Vaguely she registered dusty floorboards,
bare walls with cracked and peeling paint, a handful of chairs behind a big wooden table.
She saw a Chinese man sitting behind the table. Her eyes latched onto him. She wanted to speak to him, but as she lifted her
head, he rose and left the room. She could smell cooking, and hear a television blaring, along with the chatter of Thai or
Chinese, she couldn’t tell, and the clanging of a metal pot.
Cautiously, she struggled to her knees, holding her bandaged hand protectively across her waist. A stab of pain sliced through
her ribs and she bent double, retching drily. She wiped the trickle of spittle from her mouth with the back of her right hand.
She made it to her feet and started to shuffle for the door. She stopped when it opened.
Four men entered the room. One placed a small black backpack on the table and sat down. He wore a black leather jacket over
a white T-shirt. She recognized him as the man who had spat on the floor at the hospital. Another sat beside him, older, dressed
in a suit. The others, large, bulky men in jeans and shirts, stood side by side against the wall, their arms folded. With
the window behind them, she couldn’t make out any of their features, only their silhouettes.
In what she took to be Chinese, the Suit said something to the one in the leather jacket. His voice carried the deep tones
of a heavy smoker.
Leather Jacket finally looked at her. “Where is Lee Denham?”
Her breathing was jerky, her mind spinning.
“Where is he?”
“I
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