Chapter 33
It wasn’t spending the night on the couch that stopped Max from sleeping but rather the picture in his mind of Tahlia’s tear stained face as she asked him why he didn’t love her. He’ll be haunted by that for the rest of his life. It was six in the morning, when he was half asleep, that he heard the bedroom door open, then footsteps move past him and out the front door. Finally asleep after a restless night, he couldn’t pull himself from his slumber in time to attempt to speak with his wife before she walked out with a bag of her clothes. When he finally woke to her movement he jumped to his feet and was halfway into the hall before realising the self-closing door was about to lock him out without his keys. He ran back inside to find them so he could chase her but the lift had taken her away before he made it back.
After that, he spent an hour sitting on their bed staring at the half empty wardrobe. It’s too much. His brother mocking him. His colleagues abandoning him. His wife leaving him.
He deserves it all.
He grabbed the phone Heath sent him and threw it against the wall in anger but quickly jumped up and put the pieces back together not wanting to lose that connection. Lucky for him it still worked. It did leave a hole in the wall though.
Sitting on the edge of his bed is where Max realises he’s in over his head and doesn’t think he can get through the mess he’s made for himself. He could chase his brother, of course. That’s what he knows how to do and he did promise his dad he would catch him. He could fight for his job. He knows how to talk to investigators to introduce doubt in their minds which may cause them to think maybe he’s not incompetent after all. He could do it with the Police Conduct Unit as well. But now he’s alone and the one constant in his life just walked out because his obsession with his brother was more important than her. Alan’s advice was right; ‘Don’t forgot your wife for an arrest’. He did exactly that though. She was only going to be ignored for so long. He knew it but didn’t think that time had come. Forgetting their anniversary was a big one, of course. After everything, he couldn’t blame her for going. He couldn’t blame her for thinking he didn’t love her. That’s the worst part - it’s all his fault.
He’s now all but unemployed and alone. He doesn’t know what to do or how to fix it so he does the thing he spent all of last night avoiding.
He cries.
Not the brave tear of a hero but the desperate and helpless blubbering of a crushed spirit at the end of his strength.
A few minutes of his face in his hands and both now soaked in tears he receives a text from Heath. A cryptic message that is timely yet somewhat esoteric. ‘Even the bravest men have their limits.’
That’s it. He doesn’t reply but is now resolved to do something stupid. He’s ruined his life already so what else can he lose? He’s going to protect himself and his loved ones. Heath threatening Alan and showing his face at the school gives Max cause to think his brother is getting braver - clumsier. Max must act.
Max pulls his car to a stop on the side of a busy road. Tram tracks line the centre in both directions with shop fronts lining the outside as far as the eye can see. Max checks his mirror to make sure a car isn’t going to rip the door off when he opens it and hops out. A baseball cap sits low over his head and large sunglasses disguise his face.
While he stands next to his car a steady stream of vehicles flows past him delaying his attempt to cross. Thirty metres or so down the road a tram slows to a stop and lets passengers on and off causing cars to back up behind it, giving Max a gap in which to cross one half of the road. Midway across he looks in the other direction then puts in a short sprint to cross the rest of the road before he gets wiped out by a car.
He walks a short distance along the foot path, passing stores of such varying character it’s almost distasteful. Between one particular store selling second-hand knick-knacks and a coffee shop, sits a spare car parts business. Without delay Max pushes the heavy wooden framed glass door open and is met by a shopfront empty of staff. The store holds the smell of both fresh and stale grease which is soaked into every surface. A solid wooden bench covers one side of the entire store and separates the customer area from the endless rows of mechanical bits and pieces which stretch back beyond where Max can see.
He hits a small bell on the bench and an older man appears from a door off to the side. The old man sees Max and wears an expression that lets him know he’s not welcome. The old man is covered in grease with dry smudges of it on his face; just to confirm what business he’s in. Max knows the image the old man projects is standard for him and he looks this way at home as well. That’s why he lives alone.
“Detective,” the old man says. “How’s your brother?”
Max doesn’t satisfy the old man’s desire to offend him but only places a pile of money on the bench.
The grease covered pre-retiree stares at the pile as though just told he has an unknown love-child; unsure if Max is setting him up. “Detective, I’m not in that business anymore. You know that.”
“I’m not playing games, George. I know you’re still in it. I know that you know that I know you’re still in it. I just want one. If you’ve been reading the papers, you know why.”
George Katsaros scratches his large nose with a grease covered thumb and wipes another smudge across his face as he considers his options. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the odd position you find yourself in but…”
In a blink Max reaches across the counter and grabs the old man behind his head and slams his face onto the solid bench making sure his nose takes the brunt of the force. With a sound like gravel crunching underfoot George’s nose breaks and blood splashes across the bench.
Max’s voice almost quivers as he says quietly into George’s ear, “The odd position I find myself in is one of desperation. I’ve very little left to lose and you’re standing between me and my goal. Best if you don’t.” Max grabs the pile of notes and pushes them into George’s blood filled mouth. “Now, please, let’s do business.”
He lets go of the old man and offers more encouragement, “It’s just you and me, mate. I’d get into as much trouble as you, but no-one will ever know.”
Spitting the notes out of his mouth, George pushes himself back up and holds his broken nose with a grease covered handkerchief retrieved from his pocket.
“Not until you use it,” is George’s grumpy reply as he tries to clean the blood off his face. “Come with me.”
Max grabs his money and walks through a small gap at the end of the bench allowing access to the ‘staff only’ area. Not even on his official police visits has Max gone back here. George is one of his paid informants who gets away with a lot of illegal activities purely because of how helpful he is. Anything gang related, he’s heard people talk of it and knows who’s involved. George limps his way past the rows of car parts, still mopping up the blood with his handkerchief, with Max close behind. “Oi!” George yells. Max is about to query whether he’s talking to him until he hears a distant voice, equally gruff and equally as old as George’s, “What!?”
“I’m out the back for a bit! Mind the shop!”
“Right!”
And now the conversation is over. Max didn’t know where the voice came from and had never seen another staff member with George on past visits. He didn’t this time either.
In a corner of the shop, not far from a rear roller shutter, George opens an old rusted toolbox. Something no one would notice, sitting off to the side like it was. Inside are at least six guns. They lie in the steel box unceremoniously piled on top of each other as though they had been tossed there and forgotten about.
George turns to the detective he’s known for only a few months, “Which one? They all work.”
“Just a small one. Nothing fancy.”
George reaches in and pulls out a Taurus .359 Magnum 605 revolver. “Smallest I got.” He hands it to Max who weighs it in his hand before inspecting every inch of it, including the firing pin.
“Y
ou need bullets?” he asks.
Max nods. The old man opens another container and pulls out a handful of bullets which he dumps in Max’s free hand. “Don’t load it till you’re outside or I’ll shoot you.”
Max believes him and nods, “That’s fine.”
“I should shoot you anyway for breaking my nose.”