Page 25 of Betrayal

“Thanks.”The man’s ears were scratched raw.Age or experience had dug deep caverns around his mouth.He was missing a few teeth, which hampered clear speech.The guy could easily be an old bricklayer.Hunter had met a few in his time—one injury away from poverty.His Uncle Ben’s charity had a few on their books.“Take me to the Seven Eleven.”The man pointed about fifty metres down the street.“I need to get something.”

“Sure.”Men like this delivered the profits for people like Nick Richardson ...and for Hunter.With their bodies.Uncle Ben had made sure Hunter understood that.No one who’d worked their entire lives should have to accost a stranger for help.Hunter turned to Anna.“Is that okay?”

“Sure.”She had a twinkle in her eye.

“Flip the brakes off,” Hunter said.The old man obliged, and Hunter started the slow journey to the shop.“Brickie?”

“Thirty-five years.How’d you guess?”The guy grunted.

“I’ve met a few.”Entering the shop required careful navigation, but once indoors, Hunter stopped.“What do you want?”

“A cappuccino.”The man gestured at the automatic coffee maker on the side wall.“Small.”

Hunter was last in a queue of five.Ten minutes later, he set up the cup and pressed buttons.“Sugar?”

The man held up gnarled fingers.“Four.”

“Do you want a lid?”

“Yes.”The man dug in his wallet and extracted a dollar.“Mind you give that to the boy behind the counter.”

Anna choked on a laugh.Hunter guessed an old-timer might consider a man in a Brooks Brothers suit could only be a shyster.He offered the man the Styrofoam cup.

“No.You carry it ’til we get back.”

Hunter pushed the old wheelchair back to its original position, Anna ambling silently at his side, as if the loss of twenty minutes made no difference to her day.Hunter had just blown his chances of showing her his drawings today.“Don’t forget the brakes,” he said.

The man flipped the wheel brakes into place.

“All set, mate?”Hunter placed the coffee on the stone fence within easy reach and added a business card.“This might come in handy.”

The guy scanned it, then tucked it in his pyjama jacket pocket.“Thanks.”

“Have you still got time for lunch?”Anna asked when they were out of the man’s hearing.“Or would you like me to pick up a sandwich for you and deliver it to your next meeting?”

“I blew that date.”He checked the time.“Should have waited until I had more time.”

“Your definition of a date needs work.”She studied him, and he couldn’t read the expression in her eyes.“If you were so tight on time, why didn’t you wait?”

“I thought you’d like to see the drawings.”And he’d like to see her face when she first saw them.

“What was on the card?”She was a noticing kind of woman, but not in a bad way.Hunter had expected her to be pissed off or impatient or indifferent to a battered old man demanding attention.Instead, she seemed more relaxed.“And don’t embarrass us both by saying ‘what card?’”

“The name of a charity that supports injured building workers and their families.”

“No time for lunch, yet you should eat.”She beamed.Cross-examination temporarily over.“That’s a monumental dilemma for a man who needed help deciphering the instructions on an automatic coffee machine.”

“I’ve never used one before.”He shrugged.“What can I say?I’m a coffee snob.”

“You’re a sweetie.”She patted his lapel.“Does roast beef and salad work?”

“Go easy on the salad.”He rather liked the idea of being her “sweetie.”

“I insist on tomato and lettuce at the very least.”

“I can live with that.”He could live with having someone concerned about his well-being.And that’s a weakness you can’t afford.The only people who genuinely cared about whether he lived or died were his aunt and uncle, his maternal grandparents, Casildo’s family, some workmates and a few school friends.“I’m sorry about this.I wanted to show you those drawings.”

“Don’t be sorry.I learned a lot.I’ll walk you to your meeting, so I know where you are, collect a sandwich, and drop it off.I can also drop by your office later today?”She let the question hang.

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