Comfort Zone Read Free

below her bottom lip, partly spoiling what was otherwise a fresh, attractive face. He couldn’t quite come at female police officers, and one who looked like she was barely out of school was even harder to cope with.
    â€˜Jack van Duyn, spelt d-u-y-n, Flat 7, 25 Balmoral Avenue, Brunswick. My mobile’s 0419 375 048.’ Jack hovered over her right shoulder, checking that the spelling of his name was correct.
    â€˜As I said before, I’m Matthew Richards, Flat 227, 299 Queen Street. My main mobile is 0407 216 000.’ Christ , thought Jack, I wonder how many he’s got. He marvelled once again at the life of the other half.
    The policewoman turned to the woman in purple, who was still comforting her injured son.
    â€˜And your name is?’
    â€˜Farhia Mohammed. I live there’ — she pointed to the nearest high-rise tower — ‘in Flat 113, 20 Elgin Street.’ Her robe billowed in the wind like a cloak as she gestured.
    There was something formal about the way she spoke, a hint of an educated migrant who’d done plenty of English-language classes but didn’t use her new skills a lot in her daily life.
    Jack descended into a brief fit of coughing as she gave her phone number.
    â€˜And your boys?’
    â€˜This one is Omar, and that one is Yusuf.’ She gulped back a tiny sob as she turned to Yusuf, who was in a fair bit of pain but remaining stoic.
    â€˜Okay, let’s get him to hospital.’
    Jack took one last yearning look at Farhia, scarcely able to hide his admiration.
    â€˜Thank you for being brave. You have a good heart, I think.’
    Jack blushed, and mumbled a meaningless reply. The young banker came to his rescue.
    â€˜Still for hire, mate? Looks like the fun’s over.’
    â€˜Yeah, no worries.’
    They waved goodbye to Farhia and the two boys after another round of heartfelt thank-yous. Jack agreed to attend at the Carlton police station to make a statement some time in the next couple of days. Matthew made a similar commitment, but his airy, dismissive tone suggested a lack of sincerity. No doubt he had many more important things to do.
    â€˜Big one’ll get charged with assault probably, especially if the boy’s arm’s broken.’ Constable Haysman was very businesslike for someone who looked like she would have been playing with dolls only a few years ago. Jack noted the slightly masculine tone in her voice, and wondered if she was a lesbian. Most policewomen were, apparently. Perhaps she was playing with trucks.
    As he walked back towards the cab, he noticed a small book lying on the ground on the edge of the playground area. He bent down and picked it up. It had a pale-blue cover, and looked like a diary or address book. He flicked through it, and saw several pages filled with longhand in a foreign language with lots of long words in which the letters ‘x,’ ‘g,’ and ‘a’ figured prominently. Probably Somali , he thought. She must have dropped it in the scuffle.
    â€˜Better get this back to her, I suppose,’ he said to Matt.
    â€˜Yeah, guess so.’ He wasn’t interested, now that the action was over.
    â€˜I’ll drop it in when I go to the cop shop.’
    â€˜Yeah, good idea.’
    As Jack edged himself into the driver’s seat, already feeling pain surging through his lower back, he asked Matt for directions.
    â€˜101 Collins Street. There’s a rank outside.’
    â€˜Know it well. You see where the other guy went?’
    â€˜What other guy?’
    â€˜The one who went for me. Bastard had a knife.’
    â€˜Didn’t see him. Too busy trying to keep hold of the other one.’
    Jack was beginning to wonder if his knife-wielding attacker had even existed. The banker hadn’t seen him, the mother wasn’t interested, and the cops hadn’t noticed him. Was he some kind of stressed-out hallucination? All Jack could do was park these