Read Online Faces in the Rain by Roland Perry - Free Book Online Page A

was plagued by the fear that the police, Maniguet, or even the night prowler could he following me. Any sudden movement in the traffic or the street put me on edge. Too much so. Twice I reached under the seat to touch the butt of the Heckler & Koch, which was taped under the driver’s seat. Its cold steel and plastic was minimal comfort.
    I slipped up the driveway of my home and stopped as usual beside the tennis court. I fumbled round for my briefcase and by fluke glanced in the rear vision mirror. Did I see movement in the bushes by the court? I kept staring.
    Somebody was out there.
    It wasn’t Fui or Tomi; they would have greeted me. I bent forward and groped for the gun. In that split seconda bullet exploded the driver’s window. Two, three, four more shattered the front window and the noise sounded like I was being attacked from everywhere.
    I crouched under the steering wheel, pushed open the driver’s door and fired blindly at a shape that was moving towards me. I fired again. The shadow dived into the bushes. I fired a third time, started the car and reversed recklessly down the driveway. I could hear the Tashesitas shouting from the front door, but I didn’t stop backing until I was in the street and had done a reverse one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn.
    I sped up to Toorak Road, but was forced to brake hard behind a tram and manoeuvre to the right. The Fiat was in pursuit. I passed the tram the wrong way just as it started moving and caused oncoming traffic to swerve to avoid me.
    The Fiat followed in a move more maniacal than mine. In the chaos I thought I saw two shapes in the front of the pursuing vehicle.
    I wanted to dial emergency, but needed all my hand skills to negotiate traffic. I was still gripping the gun. The Fiat gained on me. A rifle was being angled out a window. I turned left along Orrong Road as a shot was fired.
    It missed and the Fiat had careered on up Toorak Road. I gunned the Rolls until I hit Malvern Road but didn’t wait for lights and ran a red, much to the anger of cars all round me. I placed the gun on the passenger seat and tried to dial emergency. My fingers wouldn’t behave. They were good for gripping a wheel or a gun and little else. I wriggled the Rolls along several streets until I was near a railway station. It was Hawksburn and a street from the garage where the Rolls was serviced.
    I held the gun in my lap and dialled emergency. After an agonising delay, a woman took details. I couldn’t wait more than a minute so I crawled the Rolls down to my mechanic’s yard and got out. There was a light on in the workshop. I banged on the tiny door. A man stopped whistling and dropped a tool on the concrete floor.
    â€˜Yeah, yeah, I com’n!’
    He played with the door. A grease-smeared face appeared. It was Bobby, a mechanic I had known for years. He went white when he saw the Heckler.
    â€˜Mr Hamilton!’
    I jumped in.
    â€˜What’s wrong!?’
    â€˜Someone’s been taking potshots at me. The Rolls is full of holes.’
    He laughed nervously at my unintentional rhyme.
    â€˜You want it repaired?’
    â€˜Well yes . . .’ I said, stunned by his devotion to duty. His hand went out for the keys, which I gave him. A car sped down the street.
    â€˜How do I get out?’ I said, already running into the heart of the workshop. Bobby ran after me. Car doors slammed. Feet ran down the pavement. A fist hammered on the door.
    Bobby led me to a side door.
    â€˜What am I gunna do?’ he said, terror-stricken.
    â€˜Don’t let them in,’ I said, slipping away. A voice called ‘Police’, but I wasn’t in a mood to believe anyone. I raced down a narrow lane which took me up to the train station. A train was coming in. I jumped on. It shunted out and I had a view of the garage entrance, where I had left poor Bobby to deal with the visitors. They had been police after all. He was scratching his head and