Comfort Zone Read Free Page A

disturbing thoughts and return to the task at hand.
    After all that carry-on, it wasn’t much of a fare. He kept talking in the hope of shaming Matt into providing a tip. Always a good idea to talk when you’ve got a rich guy in the cab , he often said to other drivers.
    â€˜So where you work, Matt?’
    â€˜Holman Frank. Probably heard of them …’
    â€˜Yeah, sure. One of them millionaire factory joints. You a millionaire?’ Jack looked over at his passenger as he spoke, noting the smooth, even features, wavy brown hair, and dark-blue eyes. A pretty face, he concluded, but something was not quite right. Insincere, shifty — maybe?
    â€˜Sadly, no. I do okay, but I’ve only been in the game for a few years.’
    â€˜What stuff do you do?’
    â€˜Work on big deals, that sort of thing.’
    â€˜Like takeovers?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    Jack knew very little about investment banking, but he loathed investment bankers on principle. Having exhausted his conversation options about Matt’s occupation, he changed tack.
    â€˜She was pretty awesome, wasn’t she?’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜The Somali chick. Farhia.’
    â€˜Fa Hia?’ Incomprehension spread across Matt’s face.
    Suddenly Jack was distracted by a wayward pedestrian crossing Russell Street against the traffic.
    â€˜Fucking idiot!’
    Matt’s focus returned. ‘Oh, yeah, sure, very cute. Maybe you should give her a call.’
    â€˜Haven’t got her number.’
    â€˜Ah-ha. 9347 1982. Problem solved.’
    â€˜How the …’ At first Jack didn’t believe him.
    â€˜You should listen if you’re chasing a woman, mate. Number’s easy to remember — I was born in 1982.’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    Jack turned left into Collins Street, and then quickly executed an illegal U-turn and stopped at the rank. Matt sniffed a couple of times, then unbuckled his seat-belt.
    â€˜Thanks, mate,’ he said, handing Jack a large note. ‘Hey, hang onto it. You deserve it.’
    Jack fingered the twenty gratefully. It had been worth it, after all.
    â€˜Thanks. Might see you at the cop shop. Good luck with all the deals and stuff.’
    Matt started to lift himself up from the seat, and then slumped back into it.
    â€˜Hey, got a card? I use cabs a lot for work. Be good to grab you now and then. You probably know where you’re going, unlike half the cabbies these days.’
    â€˜Sure.’ Jack was liking this guy more and more, even though he was an investment banker. He handed over a dog-eared card that looked like it had been produced by a backyard printer. ‘Number’s there. Give us a call.’
    As he drove away, Jack realised he was going to be very late for his changeover. His partner, Ajit, wouldn’t be pleased. Still, an extra twelve bucks in the kick was worth it — an exciting afternoon, and a happy ending.
    He glanced at the small blue book sitting on the central console. It’d be good to talk to Farhia again some time, without kids running around. Maybe he would give her a call the next day. He memorised her number easily: the Carlton 9347 prefix was very familiar, and 1982 was the year that Helen D’Amico had streaked at the Grand Final. All too easy.

2
    Return
    As he eased his way through the front door of his flat, Jack did his best to ignore the stale, musty, single-man smell that wafted over him. Jack’s flat was one of eight in a crumbling inner-city block that had been built in the 1960s, as part of a process of urban renewal that was called ‘progress’ at the time. Run-down houses had been demolished, and replaced with smart cream-brick flats. Unfortunately, they didn’t stay smart for long.
    Brunswick had become very fashionable in recent years, full of musicians, Greens, and caffé latte professionals. But Balmoral Avenue wasn’t in a fashionable part of the suburb. It was close to the