Flight 19, Part II, page 12
Ross sat on the edge of his bed and stared out through the hotel-room window. Still a good view. Nothing had changed there. “You want to get out of here?” he said. Meaning not just Sydney, but Australia too.
Tony stood and dug his hands into his pockets. Without turning to Ross, he said, “More than you know.”
Ross studied his friend of more than twenty-five years. He looked agitated and out of sorts. He swayed slightly from foot to foot, and Ross could tell the guy had some heavy stuff on his mind.
“Have you heard from her?” Ross asked.
Tony stopped swaying instantly, as if Ross had put him in a trance. He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. He spent the next few seconds figuring out what time it would be in St. Louis. He wanted to call Tammy, though he didn’t want to wake her in the middle of the night. He’d have to wait a couple of hours.
“I’ll call her soon,” he said. “What’s happening in your neck of the woods?”
Ross sat further back on his bed, resting a hand on either side of himself.
“Not much. Melanie stayed at her mum’s house last night. I think she plans to stay there tonight, and then tomorrow, she’ll tell her husband she wants out.”
Tony raised his eyebrows at the news and said, “Alright, then. And where are you going to be when this happens?”
“I hope to be in a car very close by,” Ross said, though the look on his face did not share the confidence of his words.
The afternoon dragged on somewhat for the two pilots.
At 4.30, they binned their earlier thoughts of eating at the hotel for dinner. Ross told Tony he wouldn’t mind dropping into one of his old haunts, Otto, at Finger Wharf in Woolloomooloo.
He needed some air, he told Tony, and hadn’t been to Otto for what seemed like five years.
After ordering their dinner and accompanying wines, the two friends agreed that getting out of their hotel had been a great idea.
As they chinked their glasses, Ross’s pre-paid mobile phone let off the ubiquitous sound indicating he’d received a message. As only Melanie currently knew his number, he made the safe assumption the message was from her.
He checked his phone as Tony took a gulp of his wine. “I guess you don’t need to be Einstein to know who the message is from?” Tony said.
He put the phone down. “It seems she’s feeling like some fresh air too,” he said. He stared out over the water to the Sydney Tower as a number of thoughts passed through his mind. He really wanted to see her, but something made him wonder if it were a good idea to do so tonight. She’d only arrived in Sydney yesterday, and was yet to see her husband and tell him what she was thinking about their marriage.
For a moment, his head fought with his heart. The logical part of him told him to tell her it wasn’t a good idea, but his heart told him he really wanted to see her.
And as is often the case, the heart ruled out over the head.
But as is also often the case, the head was right.
Ross replied to her a minute later, telling her where they were, and asking if she wanted to meet him and Tony at one of his favorite bars, Finnegans at the Rocks. It was a Sydney institution, one of the oldest Irish bars in the city, and the rooftop deck gave you breathtaking nighttime views of the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House.
It didn’t take her long to reply.
One of my old haunts. See you there on the rooftop at nine?
She threw in a smiley face with a love heart on the side of its cheek. Nice. Ross sent her one back with, “It’s a date.”
Charles’s private detective worked hard for his money that night. Keeping up with Melanie’s sister’s Jeep was hard work. He wondered if she were a NASCAR driver or the like. She sped through the streets of Sydney as if her car would evaporate into thin air if she didn’t make it to her destination on time. Fortunately for him, many people drove like this in Sydney. Tailing her wouldn’t look or seem unusual to her or anyone else on the roads.
When he watched them wander in the front doors of the Irish pub, he was already calling Charles Lewinson.
“She’s just walked into Finnegans at the Rocks,” the guy said. He could hear Charles fuming before he barked, “Pilot?”
The PI shook his head and was about to say no when out of the corner of his eye he saw a taxi pull up directly outside. He waited a second to see who got out of the car. The answer would be much to the chagrin of his current customer.
“Well?” Charles barked.
The PI waited another second before seeing the two men get out of the rear doors. When Ross stood up straight, the guy immediately recognized him from the night before at the airport.
“He’s here, just got here,” he said.
“Get in there and wait for me. I want your eyes on them the whole time, right?” Charles shouted before ending the call.
Geez, the detective thought, Lewinson was one wound-up asshole.
He grabbed his phone and his jacket, and got out of his car.
Finnegans was busy, though not as packed as it got on the weekends. Ross and Tony didn’t mind; they weren’t ones for overcrowded bars where you’d line up at the bar for hours just to get a drink. Less than half an hour later, you’d be back in the throng lining up for another. No thanks.
Finnegans had been in the news a few years ago, Ross recalled, when they’d let too many people in one Friday night during a football World Cup semifinal match. England versus another European country or something like that; Ross couldn’t remember. The bar had been so packed that a poor sod who’d probably drunk way too much and was squeezed against the railing lost his balance and fell three stories to his premature death on the road below. Finnegans was fined heavily for breaching their maximum occupancy, and also criticized for the low height of the railing on the deck. But they were yet to raise the railing height.
Ross inhaled the beautiful view. The lights of the Harbour Bridge shimmered, as did the thousands more dotted over buildings, apartments, streetlights, city skyscrapers, and the Opera House.
He looked around the bar and then to the corner of the terrace, where he spotted Melanie and her sister standing at a table, chatting and sipping drinks.
“I’ve found them,” he said. Tony returned the nod and headed for the bar to get both men drinks, leaving Ross to go straight to his lady.
Melanie had told Ross the night before that she wouldn’t even tell her family members about him. So as Ross started to make his way to them, he stopped and went back to Tony at the bar.
“Just a reminder, Tone,” Ross said in his ear, “Melanie’s sister doesn’t know about us, okay.”
“Roger that,” Tony said.
As the two women continued to chat, Melanie caught sight of Ross in the corner of her eye. She swallowed her excitement along with a mouthful of her Aperol Spritz, and put her drink down a second later. She turned to her sister and said, “My God, what a small world!”
When he was close enough, Ross said with pure surprise, “Melanie?” and with a smile, “Wow, what are the odds?”
When he pecked her on the cheek, Melanie turned to her sister and introduced him. Susie offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ross,” she said.
Tony was only ten seconds behind, and as he arrived, Melanie did it all over again. “Well, what a coincidence, Tony. I guess wherever Ross is, you are.”
Tony laughed, and within five minutes the four of them were chatting like old friends.
Ross did his best not to stare at Melanie, though he found it difficult.
Melanie had the same problem, but found she could look around the bar and the view and then back at Ross, so it didn’t look so obvious.
Speaking of staring, it was something Melanie had long ago gotten used to. In bars, especially, she would often find a guy staring at her for extended periods. For a beautiful woman, it came with the territory, and most of the time she took no notice.
But tonight, a particular guy was going hardcore.
When she studied the view as an excuse to look at Ross on the way back, Melanie would also now swing her eyes back by this man and look straight at him, staring at her. When he got busted, he’d quickly avert his gaze.
She brushed it off as something she had lived with for a long time. Nothing new.
But when Melanie looked across to another part of the bar on another round trip, her heart froze.
Jesus, she thought. Of all the bars, in a city populated by millions of people, what would be the odds of this particular guy being at this very bar tonight. He was no more than twenty feet away.
He was part of a large group, all dressed in corporate attire, and was chatting with a woman, one on one.
Now it was Melanie’s turn to stare. She stared at him for so long, more out of shock than anything, that the woman he was talking to noticed and stared back at her.
She met Melanie’s eyes, much to her surprise, and then went to say something to the guy she was with. When he looked over to Melanie, the shock on his face was nearly as startling as hers.
At that moment, Melanie heard what she thought was the bark of a small dog, and wondered what sort of idiot would bring a pooch to a rooftop bar.
The guy now smiling at her, and the woman who he’d been chatting to, heard the strange sound as well.
When she saw where it had come from, Melanie’s hands began to shake. She stumbled and dropped her glass on the bar table.
The sound was no small dog.
It was her husband, Charles.
He was standing near the entrance to the bar.
He’d called out something to her, though she hadn’t heard what he said through all the noise.
Then he started to make his way toward her.
Charles’s detective kept his distance from his client, standing near the rear wall of the rooftop bar and wondering exactly what the guy was going to do in a crowded bar with dozens of witnesses.
Melanie’s short breaths and panicked demeanor had caught the attention of Ross, Tony, and her sister. They all realized why a moment later.
And the guy with the woman in the larger group, who’d smiled at Melanie, nearly peed his pants when he caught sight of Charles.
“Well, well, well,” Charles hissed, “what do we have here, then?”
Melanie held up her hand. “Charles, I arrived last night. I just needed a night alone before…”
“Shut up,” he screamed at the top of his lungs, not caring what sort of scene he was already making in front of many people, “you goddamned slut.”
Ross and Tony looked at each other. They knew whatever went down in the next few moments, they’d protect Melanie without question.
“Calm down, Charles.” Melanie spoke with a confident but not overbearing tone. She knew the best thing was to try and defuse the situation. She, more than anyone, knew Charles had a short fuse and under the wrong circumstances was capable of extreme violence. But she also knew that this time around, thank God, Ross was by her side.
He stepped closer. “So, this is the guy you’re fucking behind my back,” he snarled, nearly spitting in Ross’s direction.
Bloody hell, Ross thought, the guy’s pretty confronting, even though he’s not well built. Sometimes that could be misleading; they could still pull out a knife, or worse still, a gun.
Melanie turned to Ross, and by chance to the stranger who was only ten feet away. She felt almost sick the moment their eyes met, and wondered how long it would be before Charles realized who he actually was. She hoped, somehow, he would be so angry that he wouldn’t take any notice of him. That would be better. And if she could read this stranger’s mind, she’d know he wished he were in any other bar in Sydney right now.
“Well, are you going to answer my question, you slut of a woman?”
Even now, the PI was starting to feel a twitch of unease. His gut told him this didn’t feel right. He started to regret even working for the guy. He instantly made a wise decision, for no other reason than self-preservation.
He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out his mobile, and started to film the scene without anyone noticing.
Charles’s temper was about to explode. He stomped his feet, drawing whispers from around the terrace. Realizing he was acting like a deranged lunatic in front of all these people, he shot a dirty look at many of them and spat, “Why don’t you all mind your own fucking business?” As his eyes darted around to the strangers, his gaze stopped at the two people standing ten feet across from Melanie and the others.
Suddenly, his eyes started to bulge and his fists curled up into tight balls. He’d finally realized who the guy standing there with the woman was.
“You!” he thundered, shuffling his feet and looking about to explode.
He spun around, searching for anything within grabbing distance, and saw an empty pint glass not three feet away. In one swift motion, he stepped over to it, picked it up, and like a baseball pitcher throwing for the World Series, threw it with might and laser accuracy at the poor guy standing watching the madness unfold before him.
Instinctively, the guy ducked his head, a super-quick reaction that avoided the projectile hitting him in the noggin.
But what was lucky for him was very unlucky for the woman standing behind him.
The glass struck her so hard in her head, it smashed into several large pieces, with a sound like the millionaire had thrown it against a brick wall.
The thud was sickening. A second later, she was out cold on the floor.
Blood began pouring from a big gash on the side of her head.
And then it was on.
The guy she was with had never been in a fistfight before.
For the next few minutes, though, all he would breathe was rage. The guy almost jumped the ten or so feet between the two of them and started throwing punches he’d never thrown before. As the mayhem started to unfold in the next few moments, people, chairs, and tables were scattered in every direction. Charles screamed words Ross couldn’t understand, clawing and kicking at the guy.
The other guy got the upper hand a moment later, just as bouncers appeared from the entrance doorway. When the two big men saw the scene in front of them, one said to the other, “Cops and ambos now.”
The guy Charles had been punching on with broke free from him and pushed him back toward the railing of the terrace.
He looked down to his girlfriend and could see the pool of blood. He wondered if she were still alive. He spun back to Charles, and as he did, someone let out a high-pitched scream.
When the police questioned the poor guy two hours later at the hospital, where he would be at his girlfriend’s side, they would ask him many times over what had happened.
The guy could only remember the evening until the point when he’d heard a woman’s scream. The rest was a blank.
But it didn’t matter. The private detective was more than forthcoming in handing over the footage on his phone to the police.
After throwing the glass at the woman, Charles Lewinson had pulled a small handgun from his belt.
But before he had a chance to do anything with it, the guy whose girlfriend was on the floor in a pool of her own blood had charged at him with a level of anger he’d never felt before.
When they both hit the railing and were falling over the edge a second later, Ross sprang from where he stood and grabbed the guy’s belt from behind.
Ross’s quick thinking had saved the guy’s life.
But not that of Melanie’s husband.
He was now on the road below, his gun still in his right hand. When Ross peered over the edge, he could see Charles staring back up at him.
Ross wondered, if Charles’s mind was still working, what the moron would be thinking right now.
If Charles, who was now 100% dead, could have been thinking anything at that moment, it would have been this.
What are the odds?
Two men at the same bar who’d slept with his wife.
One he’d suspected of doing so was international pilot Ross Moore.
The other, he knew, most certainly had.
Kevin Brewster, lawyer at Johnston, Neville, and Tolls, Sydney.
Chapter Twenty
Tim watched the CD disappear into the slot of his car audio system. A moment or so later, Freddie Mercury started to remind Tim why he liked Queen so much. Tim loved the guy’s voice and the way he sang the many hits the band was famous for.
He drank in the sunny skies as he drove closer to his destination. Without a solitary cloud in the sky, the blue was as intoxicating as the day was bright. The air was cool and still, perfect for a drive out to this beautiful part of the world.
After passing through the small town of Lovelock, Tim knew the chances of seeing anyone else on 7 Troughs Road would be slim to nil. The road wound its way through the sparse landscape like a giant python, turning and twisting around hills and valleys. The land was devoid of tall trees now, a desert of billions of tons of sand, rock, and the odd shrub, with mountains dominating the horizon. It was tranquil—a nice place when you wanted to be alone.
Tim’s heart was starting to beat faster with every mile closer he got to Shirley. Part of it was anxiety that he might have been tricked into coming all the way out here by someone he didn’t know, someone who wanted to ask him about what he knew—not Ben. But as curiosity had long overtaken his reason, Tim knew he was now so close, turning around was not an option.
He drove on and tried to ignore the rising apprehension, now a constant companion in the front passenger seat of his car.
An hour or so after passing through the last small town, Tim came up the fork in the road that meant he was very close to his destination. He took a long drink from his bottle of water, and for a second felt as if he were being watched. He looked up into the distant mountains, and the feeling remained, only to depart when he shook it off with a shrug and a small, nervous laugh.
When the road became dirt, Tim drove on. He couldn’t take his eyes off the taller hills and mountains almost surrounding him. The sun was high in the sky, and he knew somewhere out there, someone was—possibly—waiting for him to arrive.
