Comfort Zone by Lindsay Tanner

Author:Lindsay Tanner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC000000, FIC050000, FIC022000, FIC031010
Publisher: Scribe Publications
Published: 2016-01-27T05:00:00+00:00

9

Confusion

Jack’s mobile phone continued to weigh him down. It was a nasty fat slug, lying heavily in his right trouser pocket. He was even starting to wonder whether Farhia was worth all this effort. Handing the phone over to Jeffrey would solve a very big problem, and he could always refuse to assist ASIO any further. The La Trobe stuff was trivial, surely. What could they possibly do to him after all these years? Imagine the fun Neil Mitchell would have on 3AW if Jack got banned after years of taxidriving because he hadn’t mentioned a minor conviction of over thirty-five years ago on his licence application. And he was sick of driving cabs anyway: they might be doing him a favour if he got thrown out.

He was still struggling to understand what Matt was up to. Their mad dash through Melbourne’s inner north seemed like a bad dream. If it wasn’t for the fact that both his quadriceps hurt — especially when he stood up — he might even have doubted whether it had happened. He now had a new layer of aches and pains added to his earlier injuries. Hanging around Matt was bad for his health.

At least he had a small distraction this morning. He was long overdue to get a haircut, and if he was to continue his pursuit of Farhia it would be good to smarten up his appearance. As always, his regular barber was a reliable source of solace and advice.

‘Long time this time, hey, my friend?’

Jack snapped out of his reverie in the barber’s chair and looked at Louie in the mirror.

‘Yeah, had a bit on.’

‘You should make more effort. For the ladies. You’re a good-looking man …’

Jack smiled as he listened to the snip-snip of the scissors and the soothing patter.

‘Yeah, yeah, Louie. Watch out Brad Pitt, Jack’s coming!’ He laughed at this absurd notion.

‘Louie make you look good, my friend.’

‘Yeah, good stuff.’

Jack didn’t feel much like talking. He only bothered to get his hair cut now and then. Like most hairdressers, Louie talked a lot. He was a part-time psychologist and counsellor, supplementing his considerable skills with the scissors. Jack’s hair was a bit curly, and thinning on top, so he could go for quite a long time without getting it cut. To make the best of a bad job, a visit to his old mate Louie was just the trick.

Louie’s shop was on the south side of Elgin Street, a tiny place with two chairs, a mirror, and some other bits and pieces. A quick trim cost fifteen dollars. It was the only old-style barbershop left in Carlton. There weren’t any Man magazines lying around any more, but otherwise little else had changed since the 1960s.

Louie had been plying his trade there for over forty years. He was now in his late sixties, and he only kept at it because he didn’t have much else to do. His wife had died, the kids had grown up and moved away, and he didn’t have many other interests.

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