Date: Fri, 31 Mar 2006 06:37:33 +1000
From: Iain Robertson <iainlthr@hotmail.com>
Subject: Changes Chapter 9

Copyright for this story belongs to and remains with the author. I don't
have any major objection to my work being re-distributed, but ASK
FIRST!!!

This is a gay adult story with the consequent language and images. If
homosexuality and/or sexually explicit themes offend you then do not
continue. If these are illegal in your area, then you have my sympathy,
but you proceed at your own risk.

This is a work of fiction, and as such the characters are not bound by
the usual dictates of modern society. Unsafe sexual practices can be
undertaken with impunity only in the world of fantasy. In reality, it is
your obligation and your right to play safely, sanely and healthily.

I hope you enjoy my work, and if you have any comments, or ideas that may
inspire new work, please feel free to contact me -- all emails will be
answered to the best of my ability. iainlthr@hotmail.com.


Changes

Chapter 9


Ian had thought long and hard about the advice he was getting from his
friends. Reluctantly, he came to the conclusion that they were right,
that he had to face Geoff in person and tell him how he felt, put an end
to the relationship on his own terms, once and for all. He had looked up
the number for the hotel Geoff had mentioned, and left his message with
Tony. He guessed that somewhere as public as Flinders Street Station
would make it difficult for Geoff to cause a scene when they finally had
their meeting. He booked a flight to Melbourne for the Friday evening,
and called Nick to let him know what was happening.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Nick asked again.

"No," Ian assured him. "This is something I have to do by myself. I'll be
okay, honestly!"

"Well, keep your phone with you anyway. And if you need anything, call
me! I can be there in a couple of hours if I have to!"

"Thanks, Nick," Ian said, and meant every word.

***

Ian was lucky enough to score an empty row on the flight south - he had
dreaded having to make small talk during the trip - but the plane was
almost empty. With shuttles between Sydney and Melbourne leaving every
hour, most of the business people had been cleared earlier, and the
tourists would be lining up first thing next morning. He was one of the
first off, and as he waited at the baggage carousel to collect his
luggage, he looked up at the sign over the doorway. 'Welcome to Victoria
- State of Excitement' he read. He laughed. That's the last thing I need,
he thought to himself. He had booked a room at the Crowne Towers, above
the casino, and the hotel supplied a shuttle bus from the airport, so he
settled into his seat for the journey along the Tullamarine Freeway into
the city and tried to imagine the meeting with Geoff he had arranged for
the next day.

From his room, Ian could look down and to the right, across the dark
expanse of the Yarra River which snaked it's way through the city, to the
ordered lines of the railway tracks where they converged on the mass that
was Flinders Street Station. It was an easy walk from the hotel, and he
wished that his meeting with Geoff outside that edifice were already
over. 'Something to worry about tomorrow' he told himself, drawing the
curtains and climbing into bed. But despite his resolve, sleep did not
come easily to him.

A few short kilometres to the east, Geoff too, had an uneasy night. He
had no idea whether Ian was flying down in the morning, or already in the
city, but he knew that he had to make Ian see how much he needed him,
knew that the most important thing in his life was to convince Ian
tomorrow morning that they were right for each other.

***

That Saturday was a typical Melbourne morning, overcast and grey. Ian
rugged up against the wind - he had forgotten just how much colder it was
when you journeyed almost a thousand kilometres south. As he stepped out
of the hotel complex and began to wander along the banks of the river, he
wondered at the sanity of the oarsmen in their tiny sculls shooting
across the muddy brown surface. He chuckled to himself at the running
joke that the Yarra was the only river in the world that flowed upside
down - a reference to its perennial colour. But his jovial moment didn't
last long as he steeled himself for the coming meeting, walking steadily
east along the boardwalk, past the Entertainment Centre with its phallic
spire and across the Princes Bridge toward the massive Victorian edifice
of Flinders Street Station.

There they were - the 'clocks' - for decades the agreed rendezvous point
for Melburnians. Above them the building arched skyward, below opened a
gaping hole, looking for all the world like a mouth, which swallowed up
and spat out the commuters rushing to or from the platforms. Ian took the
steps up from the street slowly, until he came to a stop and looked
around, standing directly below the round eyes of the time-pieces, and
looked searchingly out across the crowds and over to the gothic style
front of St Paul's Cathedral diagonally opposite. It was ten minutes to
eleven.

***

Geoff had come into the city by tram, lost in thought as the ancient car
clunked and rattled its way up St Kilda Road and across the Princes
Bridge past the front of the Station. It was only as he stepped out into
Swanston Street that he really took notice of the place where Ian had
said they would meet. The clocks above the entrance to the railway sat at
the top of a wide stairway, open on three sides, looking out over the
intersection of Flinders Street and Swanston Street. If Ian had betrayed
him, had told the police of their appointment, Geoff would be instantly
visible. It was hard to imagine a more public and easily observed
location.

What did he do? Would Ian have told the cops? Geoff agonised over his
next move. If he didn't show up he would lose any hope of being able to
be re-united with Ian, but if he did, he may be walking into a trap.
Fuck! He swore to himself, Well, if this is it, then so be it. I need Ian
more!  He nervously crossed the busy intersection and made his way toward
his destiny. He spotted Ian at exactly the same time that Ian saw him,
and he noticed that Ian did not look around or seem agitated, but simply
stared directly at him as the gap between them narrowed. That augured
well for there being no hidden police around, he thought.

"Ian!" he said cautiously as they came together.

"Hello, Geoff," was the cool reply. No hugs, no kisses, not even a
proffered handshake.

"You look good! It's so great so see you again," Geoff said
enthusiastically. Ian did not return the compliment. "Let's go get a
coffee and talk?"

"No," said the lawyer. "I'm here to tell you face to face that it's over.
You hurt me, you used me, and I don't want to have any contact with you,
ever again!"

"You came all this way to say one sentence in a crowded station? Come on,
please let me tell my side of the story, somewhere more private!" Geoff
pleaded, fidgeting as he looked around them.

"I don't want to go anywhere private with you," Ian said bitterly. "I
don't want to go anywhere with you. You have no idea just how much damage
you've done, do you?"

"Please Ian? You've come so far. Give me more than thirty seconds. Let me
explain...?" his eyes constantly darted to every blank face in the crowd
that milled around them.

"What's the matter?" Ian asked suspiciously. "Looking for your next
victim?"

Geoff began to get annoyed. "No, Ian. I'm taking a huge risk by standing
here. I'm a wanted man, remember? The longer I stay here in plain sight,
the more chance I'll be spotted and arrested."

"Oh, shit," Ian said quickly. "I didn't think of that." He too began to
look around, suddenly seeing imaginary detectives at every turn. Geoff's
eyes begged him to move.

"Please, Ian...?" he repeated.

The younger man relented, wanting to get not only Geoff, but also himself
quickly away from such a public place. "Okay," he said, "but only for a
few minutes."

Geoff smiled broadly, and led him away from the railway, across Flinders
Street and up Swanston Walk, then ushered him into a dark, quiet coffee
shop, into a booth at the back of the room and away from the handful of
other patrons. They quickly ordered cappuccinos, and as the waiter left
them alone, Geoff looked hard into Ian's eyes.

His voice was a low murmur that only Ian could hear. "I meant what I
said. I love you, and I miss you. I'm so, so sorry for everything."

"And I meant what I said!" spat back Ian in reply. "'Sorry' doesn't do
it. `Sorry' doesn't make me feel any less dirty, any less used.
`Sorry' doesn't make up for destroying my faith in humanity, for making
it impossible for me to ever trust anyone again."

Geoff heard the bitterness in Ian's voice, saw the anger in his eyes, and
he felt like a knife was thrust into his gut and turned. "You said you
loved me, once ... he whispered.

"I did!" said Ian, his eyes misting, his anger subsiding. "You made me
the happiest I have ever felt while we were together. I may have had sex
with other men before you, but you were my first 'lover'. You were the
first one I ever got to know, the first one I ever woke up next to, and
shared my life with ..." his voice hardened again, "... but I didn't get
to know you, did I? You lied to me! You kept everything from me! You took
all I had to give, and then crushed me!" The tears began to flow as he
tried vainly to wipe them away from his cheeks, and lowered his head in
embarrassment.

Geoff ached deep within. His heart broke as he watched Ian, and wished he
could do anything to turn back time and take away the pain he had caused.
"Ian," he murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I couldn't tell you about
myself, about my businesses. You're a lawyer, straight as an arrow! How
could I tell you about the drugs?"

"It wasn't just that," Ian hissed. "You broke my heart. You told me I was
just a diversion, just something to pass the time with. I was so naïve
and you knew it, then you just dumped me at the first sign of trouble. Do
you remember what you said? I do: 'what would you know of love? You don't
need me to go out and play anymore ...', that was it, wasn't it?" As he
spoke, Ian's heart pounded. He re-lived in a flash the times he and Geoff
had shared, the wonderful moments, the sense of belonging he had known
for the first time in his life. The briefest doubt flickered through his
mind, and then the hurt of Geoff's leaving re-surfaced and his eyes
filled with tears again.

"Shit, Ian, I was on the run from the police. I thought it was the best
thing to do. I wanted to cut all ties between us, to protect you!"

"Hah," Ian grimaced. "I may have been innocent then, but I'm not falling
for that crap again!"

Geoff gulped, fighting back his own tears. "But I was wrong. I know that
now. I didn't realise then just how special, how important to me you are.
I'll admit that in the past I treated people badly, that when I've left a
relationship I've walked away and never looked back - but not this time.
You made me see things differently, you let me see just how good a long
term commitment could be. I really wanted to make things work for us.
I've thought of you every day since I left. I've been miserable without
you. I love you, and I'll do anything, anything you ask, to have you
forgive me and take me back. Ian I..." he stopped suddenly as the waiter
approached with their drinks. Both men looked down at the table while the
cups were placed before them, and the man retreated.

Geoff looked into Ian's face, and saw sadness, tinged with something else
- was that doubt? "Ian, I can't go on without you!" he whispered in
desperation. "Isn't there anything, anything, I could do or say to get
you to forgive me, to give me a second chance?"

The younger man wrestled with the conflicting emotions fighting for space
in his heart, and slowly, almost sadly, seemed to reach a decision. With
a pained expression he began to speak, trying to find his words. "Geoff,
I loved you! But I don't anymore. I can't live the life you do, I can't
pretend to be the upstanding citizen while the man I'm in love with deals
drugs and lives the life of a criminal. I'm going back to Sydney, to try
to pick up the pieces of my life and get on without you."

Geoff's heart sank. Ian had sounded so certain with his final words.
"Would you ..." he began, then faltered. He tried again. "Would you ever
consider coming away with me? I mean, moving to another country - maybe
to Europe somewhere. I could support us both, I could make sure we lived
well..."

The look in Ian's eyes was more than enough to tell Geoff the answer.
"You have to be joking!" Ian burst out. "Live as a criminal, always
watching over my shoulder? Forget it! I told you, Geoff, it's over! I
came here to get it out of my system, to face you in person, and that's
what I've done. And you should know that once I get home, I'll be going
to the police, to tell them about this meeting. It's up to you whether
you want to stay in Melbourne or go somewhere else!"

Geoff was crushed. He sat there and stirred his coffee absently, lost for
words. Ian started to gather up his coat, making ready to leave.

"When are you going home?" Geoff asked quickly.

"I'm flying back this afternoon. My 'business' here is finished!" Ian
said coldly.

"What if I were to come back with you, give myself up?" Geoff asked in
desperation. "Would you wait for me, could you forgive me?"

Ian stopped his fidgeting and looked again at Geoff, a flicker of doubt
on his face.  "I--I just don't know." The turmoil he was in plainly
visible. "It would certainly be a start. Maybe, just maybe, if you turned
yourself in, if you faced your past and what you've done, I could begin
to believe that you really are the man I once thought you were. But I
just don't know if I could ever forgive you for the hurt you caused, if I
could ever love you again, the way I did once."

He looked again at the man before him, the man to whom he had given his
heart only to have it thrown back at him. "Geoff, I can't make any
promises for the future, but you need to give yourself up, for your own
sake, not for me," he said softly.

Geoff grimaced. "What for? To spend years in gaol without any hope? To be
paraded around by the cops as a drug baron? To lose everything? I could
do it if I had hope, but if you're not waiting for me, then there's no
hope, so there's no point!"

Ian thought hard, remembering what Michael had told him when they issued
the warrant for Geoff's arrest. "It may not be that bad," he said
cautiously.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you this ... but the police found
your computer, and all your stuff. They told me that although they had
more than enough to convict you, that they were hoping you would
co-operate with them, because they're after your suppliers. I'm not
saying this as a lawyer, especially not as your lawyer, but it sounds to
me like you may be able to do some kind of deal with them if you want."

Geoff thought long and hard about what Ian had said. The two of them sat
together in silence in the coffee shop while the world rolled on outside.
Finally, Geoff spoke again.

"If I did give myself up, would you help me? Would you tell them that I
contacted you, and that I want to go 'straight'?"

Ian looked doubtful. He was still wary of Geoff and his motives. "I don't
know if that will help much, but I suppose I could try. If you mean it,
then go to the authorities now - I'll come with you."

"No!" Geoff said with vehemence. "Not here! The Victoria Police won't
care about any of that, they'll just want to throw me in a cell and
complain about the paperwork involved in getting me back to Sydney. If
I'm going to do it, I want to go straight to the right person - the one
who told you about wanting to do a deal - in Sydney. Would you come with
me? Would you get me in to see the right cop?"

Ian mulled it over. He knew damn well that Geoff could be kept in
Melbourne for weeks while the NSW Police went through extradition
proceedings in order to get him transported north. "I guess I could do
that," he conceded at last. "Come back with me this afternoon, and we'll
go straight to the police."

"No," said Geoff again, thinking quickly. He still wanted as much time as
possible to try to convince Ian that he had changed, that they had some
chance together. "I can't fly - they'll pick me up at the airport. My
name will come up on the airline computers and they'll be waiting! Stay
here tonight, and I'll hire a car. We can drive up together tomorrow." He
knew quite well that he could easily get a ticket in one of the false
names he used, but Ian didn't know that. The road trip would give him at
least ten hours in the car with Ian to do some serious talking.

"Drive?" Ian said incredulously. "Do you know how long a trip it is?"

"Yeah, I know, but it's the only chance I have ..." He didn't add that it
was the only chance he had to bring Ian around.

Ian shook his head. "I can't ..." he began.

"Please, Ian. If you don't love me, then that's my problem, but at least
do this one last thing for me," Geoff pleaded.

Ian sat for a long while, trying to read Geoff's face, trying to
understand his motives. Against his better judgment, Ian nodded slowly.
"Okay," he said, "but we go straight to the police when we get back to
Sydney?"

"Yes, yes," said Geoff with a shrug. "So, what do we do for the rest of
the day?"

Ian looked at him, and his voice hardened again. "You organise a car!" he
said. "I'm going to go off and see some of the sights."

"But can't we have a drink tonight, catch up a bit more?" Geoff asked
eagerly.

"No." Ian was quite determined. "If we're driving all the way to Sydney
tomorrow then we both need as much sleep as possible."

"But ..." Geoff began to protest.

"Take it or leave it!" Ian said. "Pick me up outside the Crowne Casino
main entrance tomorrow morning at 6.00 am sharp. I'll be waiting for you,
but I won't wait long. If you don't show, I'll get a taxi to the airport
and fly home straight away, and go to the cops myself as soon as I get
back." With that he stood to walk out.

Geoff wanted to call him back, wanted to beg him to stay, but Ian was
gone. He sat, morose and alone for a few more minutes, then got up
himself. At least I've got the drive back to talk to him, he told
himself.

***

Once he regained the safety of his hotel room, Ian got busy. He still
didn't completely trust Geoff, although the man had seemed to be serious
and honest as they spoke. He arranged to extend his stay for another
night, and changed his booking for a noon flight on the Sunday, just in
case. He thought again, for a long time, about what he was doing, still
unconvinced as to Geoff's motives.

Needing some kind of confirmation, he phoned Nick at home. His friend
picked up and immediately sounded concerned when he heard Ian's voice.

"Are you okay? What happened, how did it go? Nick asked.

Ian spelled out what had happened, including the plan to drive back to
Sydney and for Geoff to give himself up. Nick repeated everything to Tina
who was standing next to her husband.

"Do you think you can trust him?" Tina called out.

"I don't know," Ian said honestly. "But he did seem to be serious."

"Just be careful Ian," Nick warned. "Remember that if you get stopped by
the police, and he's recognised, it's going to look like you're helping
him!"

"I know, I thought of that," said Ian. "I'm going to try to cover myself
by calling that detective. I don't know if it will help, but it can't
hurt."

"Okay, mate," said Nick. "Take care, and call us when you get in."

Ian promised he would, and hung up. He fished through his wallet, and
found the business card with Detective Sciutta's number on it, and picked
up the phone again.

"Detective Sciutta, it's Ian Sterling," he said into the mouthpiece.

"Mr Sterling, what can I do for you?" Michael said, surprised and pleased
to hear from Ian.

"I just wanted to let you know that I have been in contact with Geoff
Carruthers," Ian said calmly.

"What? Do you know where he is?" the cop asked quickly.

"Not exactly, not right now."

"I don't understand."

Ian drew a breath. "I met with him a couple of hours ago, and I think
I've convinced him to turn himself in to you ..."

"How? Where? I'll get over there immediately!" Michael shot out eagerly.

"No, I'm not in Sydney," Ian interrupted him. "But I will be back
tomorrow, either with or without him. If he's with me, we'll come
straight to your office. If he's not, I'll call you and give you as much
detail as I can."

"Mr Sterling," Michael spoke, urgently now. "Don't do this! Leave it to
the experts; let us bring him in. Just tell me where you are, and how to
find Carruthers and I'll do the rest."

"I can't," said Ian. "I've given my word. He wants to surrender, and to
co-operate with you. That's what you said you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes, but not with you in the middle. If this goes wrong, you could be
seriously hurt or worse, and you could be charged with obstructing police
investigations."

"That's a chance I'll have to take. I owe him that much at least."

"Owe him? You don't owe him a thing, Ian!" Michael almost yelled into the
phone, surprising Ian with the use of his first name, and the real
concern in his voice. "Think what he did to you. You are in real danger
here!"

"Maybe, but I don't think so," replied Ian. "I'll speak to you tomorrow,
one way or the other." He cut the connection before Michael could argue
further.

***

Geoff had a long and uneasy afternoon and evening. He hired a car easily
enough, and made his way back to his rented flat, but his mind was no
clearer than it had been before his meeting with Ian. He just couldn't
accept that Ian didn't feel the same way about him that he felt for Ian.
He faced the possibility that he would be imprisoned for some time,
although he also held tightly to Ian's comment about the police wanting
his co-operation to get at those further up the ladder. That made sense,
although it would also make him very 'expendable', but how was that any
worse than being without the man he loved for the rest of his life? And
surely Ian would change his mind when he saw how serious Geoff was, when
he knew Geoff was locked away, just waiting for Ian?

Geoff had never been the one hurt by a relationship gone wrong before. He
had always been the one in control, the one who did the hurting and the
ending, so he simply could not comprehend that he could lose this time.
He convinced himself that Ian would come around eventually.

He slept that night, but not well. He had already packed what little he
wanted to take with him. There was no point in taking many clothes or
much else. He suspected that within 24 hours, all his worldly needs would
be taken care of by the State.




*************************************************************************

Neale Simpson had been in a bad way for months. Everything had been going
so well for him up until recently. He had established himself as the
supplier of choice for many of the drug users in and around Green Valley,
since he was always able to get them whatever they wanted, and at a lower
price than the Vietnamese gangs were charging in the neighbouring hub of
Cabramatta, or 'Vietnamatta' as it had come to be called by most people
in the south western region of Sydney. All he had to do was get the
orders, and phone through the details to Geoff Carruthers, his old school
mate, who would then ring back with a pick up point. Neale collected the
money from his customers, travelled into a pre-arranged meeting place and
handed over the dollars, then back to Green Valley to finish the deal. He
could add a healthy margin to the price for his trouble, and still
undercut the Viets. He didn't question how Geoff got the stuff; he just
happily went along with the arrangements.

In truth, most of his profits went on the stuff he used himself, but he
was not too greedy, and so quite satisfied with his lot. And then he
started to grow concerned. He couldn't be sure, but he had the distinct
impression that someone had been following him, watching him. He passed
on his suspicions to his mate, Geoff, who had personally come out from
the city to see him and assure him all was okay. Neale had no idea
whereabouts in the city Geoff lived, but simply assumed it was somewhere
expensive - he had that 'rich' look about him.

And then had come that awful Friday when everything had gone wrong. One
of his contacts had asked him for a large stash of `Ecstasy' in a
hurry, for a party the following night. He had rung Geoff as usual, but
the phone had cut out while he was speaking. He had panicked until Geoff
rang back and explained his battery was dead, and he would ring him back
later. Neale had waited and waited, growing slowly concerned. He'd had
one quick call when someone asked for him, and then the phone went dead
again. He'd assumed it was Geoff and that his 'mate' was still having
phone problems. The customer had approached him again later that evening
in the local pub to confirm that the requested supply would be available
for the next day.

"No worries mate!" Neale had declared, slurring his words slightly after
having had a few drinks. "My mate will have the stuff for you. Geoff
Carruthers, that's him - him and me are best mates. He won't let me
down!"

When he got Geoff's call the following morning, he began to panic.

"Don't say anything, don't do anything, and above all, don't mention my
name. You never heard of me, okay? The cops are onto me somehow, and I'm
guessing they may be onto you, too. Lie low and watch yourself!" Geoff
had warned quickly before hanging up. Neale had spent most of that
weekend hiding in his room, expecting the door to come crashing in at any
second. He had no idea what had become of the buyer who wanted the E's,
and didn't care. When he finally surfaced, he went about his day warily.
Any requests for drugs were turned away with a hissed warning that he
didn't do that anymore; that his supply had been cut and that he was
being watched. More than one of his regulars threatened and begged before
finally being convinced and walking away mumbling.

Slowly the weeks went by, and the number of people approaching him for
supplies dwindled as word got around that he was no longer able to help.
He began to relax with each passing day as no police van screamed to a
stop outside his door, no heavy handed cops showed up to shake him down.
Whatever Geoff had done, he must have fixed the problem pretty quickly.
Neale admired him again.

Neale's own habit was starting to take its toll on his body, and he
needed dope for himself. In desperation, he began to make the short trip
over to Cabramatta, purchasing his stuff on the streets from the Viet
boys the way he used to. It was expensive, bloody expensive, but he had
to have it.

About three months after Geoff had cut off his supply, Neale was kicking
back at home one night. He'd just finished his second beer when the noise
he had been dreading all these weeks came crashing through the room - a
pounding on his door, followed quickly by a crunching sound as the door
flew open and several large bodies let themselves in. Before Neale could
react he was surrounded by four men. But there was something wrong here.

"You're not the police!" he said, unsure of himself in the extreme. The
guys in his room were all Asian.

"Right first time!" said the one directly in front of him. "You Neeele?"
he drew out the vowel sounds of Neale's name in an elongated accusation.

"Yeah?"

"My boss, Tan, want talk to you!"

"Tan? Who the fuck is Tan?" asked Neale quickly, panic rising in his
throat. His head spun around with the force of the slap across his cheek.

"You no say bad words on Tan! Nhi Tan, him boss man for round here dope.
You in deep shit, boy!" said the leader as his pudgy finger punched into
the bridge of Neale's nose. "We take you see Tan now!"

Neale started to struggle, but there was no escape from the four of them.
As one placed his hand over Neale's mouth, the others quickly picked him
up bodily and carried him outside, where they unceremoniously tossed him
into the back of a waiting van. In a cloud of blue smoke, the vehicle
screamed off into the night. No one saw a thing, but then around this
area, no one ever saw a thing.

***

As Ian tossed and turned in his hotel room a thousand kilometres south in
Melbourne, and Geoff lay wide awake on his bed, thinking hard about the
next day's drive back to Sydney with Ian, in a smoky room filled with a
thousand unidentified odours, above a seedy illegal gambling den reached
only by traversing a dark, dank alleyway between two fabric shops in the
back streets of Cabramatta, Nhi Tan was holding court. The surprisingly
well-spoken Tan was flanked by large, heavyset men who threatened anyone
who came near him simply by looking at them. At his signal, a heavy door
was pulled open in one side of the room, and Neale Simpson was half
carried, half dragged into the chamber, his mouth gagged and his eyes
wide with terror.

As the door thudded closed again, Tan nodded almost imperceptibly, and
the gag was removed from Neale's face.

"Call out if you want, Mr Simpson," he said genially, as if he were
offering a drink. "The room is sound-proofed. No one will hear you."

Neale collapsed instead, in a sobbing, trembling heap on the floor. "What
do you want with me?" he stuttered.

"It would appear that you have been 'trespassing' on my property," Tan
said evenly. "I am led to believe that for some time now you have been
providing a service to certain people who should rightfully have been my
customers."

"Huh?" Neale mumbled, his blank look indicating he had no idea what Tan
was talking about.

"Stupid to boot!" stated Tan dismissively, as he looked down at Neale
like some form of garbage. His voice took on a menacing tone, and he gave
up the pretense of politeness. "Nobody steals my turf, shit-head! You've
been dealing around Green Valley - that falls under my area, and I don't
like competition."

Neale began to stammer out a string of denials, but Tan cut him off with
a kick at his head. As he rolled around on the floor in pain, Tan
addressed him once more.

"You're too stupid to be running anything serious, yet you've been doing
a roaring trade up until a few months ago. Who is supplying you? Who is
in control?" he demanded.

"I don't know what you mean ..." whispered Neale, until his voice was
silenced by another kick, this time to the stomach and ribs, delivered by
one of Tan's henchmen.

"I want a name!" threatened Tan, "Or you won't walk out of here alive!"

"Geoff. Geoff Carruthers," Neale almost squealed out, grovelling on the
floor and begging for mercy.

Tan looked at his associates with raised eyebrows. All of them shook
their heads, the name wasn't known to them. "And where do I find this
Carruthers?"

"I don't know ... WAIT!" he screamed out, ducking another kick. "Honestly,
I don't know. He doesn't come here, and I don't know where he is. I ring
him and leave a message, and then meet someone at Homebush. I always go
on the train. If anyone is with me, there's no meeting," Neale blabbered.
"That's the truth! I swear it!"

Tan calmly picked up a phone and handed it to Neale. "Make a call!" he
said evenly.

The frightened man punched at the familiar numbers nervously. As the call
diverted to voice mail he groaned, and when the message was finished, he
said in a small voice. "Geoff, it's Neale Simpson. I need you to meet me
at the light towers outside the Olympic Stadium tomorrow. Nine o'clock,
okay? I'll be waiting. It's really urgent, really important!" he said as
he ended the call.

"Good," said Tan approvingly.

"He won't show if I'm not alone!" Neale warned, wondering if Geoff would
show anyway.

"That is not a problem. You will be alone after you leave the train! My
men will be with you on the train, and waiting around the stadium. I wish
to have a long talk with Mr Carruthers! Now, I suggest you get some
rest," he smiled, nodding his head. Neale was dragged through a different
door and thrown onto the floor of an empty storage room, the door closing
and locking behind him. He spent the next hours shivering, although not
from the cold, and got no sleep at all.

He jumped at the sound of the door being unlocked, and hardly had time to
get to his feet when two huge men picked him up and brushed him off,
almost carrying him out and through yet another exit to a rickety flight
of stairs. He was surprised to see it was daylight, but had no chance to
think about it for long as he was shoved into a van, which lurched into
motion as he rolled around in the back. When the van finally came to a
stop, he was pulled out roughly, and stood between the same two men who
had manhandled him earlier. He looked around and discovered they were
standing outside Granville Railway Station.

"You no do funny business," threatened the larger of the men. "We get on
train, you get off Olympic Park. Others waiting there for you."

Neale nodded his understanding, and mutely followed them onto the
platform, boarding the first suburban service to come along that went
around the Olympic loop. He sat in the vestibule of the car, each of the
Vietnamese men beside him, and stared straight ahead. As the train rolled
into Olympic Park Station, he stood, and the two stood with him,
sandwiching him until the doors slid open. They stepped out with him.

"I have to be alone!" Neale whined.

"Yes," agreed the spokesman. "But remember, we watching you, and we all
look same!" He laughed at his own joke, and he and his companion stepped
back onto the train again. As it pulled away, Neale looked around. There
were plenty of Asian features, but none seemed to be following him. He
had no idea who his pursuers might be.

Nervously, he made his way up the escalators and along the concourse of
the huge station, designed to accommodate thousands of spectators for the
various football games and other events often held in the area, but now
almost deserted. Through the barriers he passed, and out onto the paved
walkways, which led to the different venues. Ahead of him and slightly to
his right loomed the 100,000 seat stadium, around its borders the
distinctive light towers where he had said he would meet Geoff, each
bearing the name and year of one of the host cities for the Olympic
Games.

As Neale walked slowly toward the arena and the towers, his eyes
searching for any sign of Geoff Carruthers, he saw instead a flatbed
utility vehicle, its door open and motor running. The driver had just
alighted, and was walking toward a large rubbish bin in the adjoining
park, carrying a new bin liner. Seeing his chance, Neale ran to the car,
jumped inside and slammed the door, throwing it into gear and stepping on
the accelerator. The vehicle jumped forward, startling the tourists as
they meandered around the pedestrian precinct, and out onto the roadway
with a squeal of tyres. The surprised worker simply looked open mouthed
as his car was driven away, but three Vietnamese men sprang to life from
different directions, one quickly relaying a description of the car into
a phone.

Nhi Tan yelled with anger, and issued his orders. The vehicle would be
easy to spot, since it bore the distinctive logo of the Olympic Precinct
Management Authority emblazoned down both sides. With a network of spies
so efficient and widespread that it would have been the envy of any
enforcement agency, Tan confidently expected that Neale would be found
quickly. "Finish him!" were the instructions his men received.

********************

As Neale sped out of the Park and up onto Homebush Bay Drive, he was
almost mesmerised with panic. He swung right and headed south on MetRoad
3, having no idea where he was going, checking his mirrors constantly for
anyone in pursuit. For 15 minutes, he dodged and weaved through the
Sunday morning traffic, following his nose. A little voice inside his
head kept nagging at him, until finally he took some notice. 'I have to
get out of the city' he thought. But where? Ahead of him a large green
and white sign loomed up. 'M5 Motorway, Canberra exit 500m' it
proclaimed. Neale swerved to the right, and through the intersection,
racing down the on-ramp to the motorway. The national capital was two and
a half hours away, but he couldn't think of anywhere else to head for, so
he put his foot down and made his way west and south as fast as the
vehicle would take him.

By just after mid-day, he found himself crossing Lake Burley Griffin on
the Commonwealth Avenue Bridge, the towering stainless-steel legs of the
National Flagpole atop Parliament House directly in front of him. Neale
didn't know his way around Canberra, and had simply followed the road all
the way in from Sydney. As he swung around the base of Parliament and
through the road tunnels, which carried the traffic into the southern
half of the city, he knew he had to find somewhere to stop. Taking one
blind turn and then another, he eventually spotted a motel in the suburb
of Narrabundah. Relieved, he pulled into the parking lot and took a room,
collapsing on the bed and falling asleep.

He was so tired from the night before and the race out of Sydney that he
didn't hear a thing until half an hour later when he was prodded awake by
a knife being pressed against his windpipe. He looked up into the Asian
features of a tall, thin Vietnamese man, who said politely, "Good
affanoon, Missa Neele Simmson!"

Just at that moment, his phone began to ring.

*********************************************************

At precisely six o'clock that morning, Geoff had swung his rented Porsche
around into the main entrance of the Crowne Casino. Ian whistled as he
saw the car.

"Well, if we're gonna drive a thousand kilometres, we might as well do it
in style!" Geoff said with a grin. "It's a little cool now, but once the
sun comes up and we get further north, we can drop the top!"

Ian shook his head. Geoff was still a kid at heart, he decided. He threw
his bag into the tiny rear seat and hopped in. As Geoff raced away from
the hotel and through the nearly deserted streets on that Sunday morning,
Ian winced a little at the way he drove. They sped up onto the Westgate
Freeway and arched out high over the docklands before taking the exit
north and then following the motorway around to the right and through the
suburbs to the Ring-road, then right again onto that as Geoff ducked and
weaved through the sparse traffic until they made a left onto the Hume
Highway and quickly left the outer reaches of the metropolitan area in
their wake.

Ian sat in the passenger seat, staring vacantly out of the window as they
made their way across the gentle plains of central Victoria, skirting the
foothills of the Snowy Mountains, which loomed up to the east.
Occasionally Geoff tried to make small talk and Ian would answer as and
when he needed to, but always an uncomfortable silence resumed before too
long, broken only by the muted roar of the engine and the soft hum of the
wind. Their road took them through the towns of Seymour, Benalla and
Wangaratta, each of them slowly waking to the crisp morning as Ian and
Geoff passed through on their journey north. By around 9.00 a.m. they had
covered more than 250 kilometres from Melbourne, and were approaching the
state border, straddled by the twin towns of Wodonga on the Victorian
side, and Albury in New South Wales.

"We're making good time," Geoff observed as they rolled over the Murray
River, which also marked the state line, and into the streets of Albury.
"Do you want to stop for a quick breakfast?"

"Yeah, I think so," agreed Ian. "A coffee and roll would be good about
now."

"A roll in the hay?" Geoff asked quickly, and Ian looked across at him in
alarm. "Just kidding, just kidding!" Geoff declared with a mischievous
grin.

They stopped at one of the diners on the outskirts of town to re-fuel the
car and themselves, sitting outside in the sun, which was becoming warmer
by the minute. After 15 or 20 minutes, Geoff stood and stretched. "Time
to go!" he stated. "Your turn to drive, how about we put the top down?"
he asked as he tossed Ian the keys. Ian nodded, and Geoff quickly folded
back the soft roof, opening the convertible to the sky.

As they pulled back out onto the highway and Ian picked up speed, Geoff
threw his head back and sighed. "This is the life!" he said, almost to
himself. "The wind in your hair, the sun on your face, an open road ..."

Ian looked at him in disbelief. "Geoff, you do remember that you're going
back to Sydney to give yourself up to the police, don't you? Even if they
do a deal with you, there's a pretty high likelihood that you'll do time
in prison!"

"Yeah, I know," replied his ex-lover, a little more seriously, but with
his eyes still closed and face upward. "But I figure you live for the day
as you have it. And right now I have a beautiful day, and nice car and
open skies, and you beside me. It doesn't get much better!"

Ian shook his head, smiling just a little in spite of himself. "I hate to
burst your bubble," he said, "but at the risk of repeating myself, I
can't offer you any real hope. I don't know what will happen in the
future, but I do know that I have a lot of hurt and a lot of anger to
work through; you caused me more pain than you can imagine, and I have to
think of myself now. I'm not innocent, naive Ian Sterling anymore, thanks
to you, and it's going to take a lot more than a few 'sorries' to let me
forget what you've done."

"I realise that Ian," Geoff said, sitting up straighter and turning to
his companion. "But I guess I'm finally taking some responsibility as
well. You might not be around, but I'll know you're in the same city and
if I know you're happy, then maybe I can be too."

Ian looked sideways quickly, then back to the road. His thoughts were in
turmoil yet again. Was this the same man who had dumped him so cruelly a
few months ago? Was this the real Geoff, or more pretense as Geoff looked
out for number one? He stole another furtive glance at the reclining
figure beside him, the handsome, powerful man who had shown him that
being 'out' could be so wonderful, yet the man who had also broken his
heart. He sighed sadly and tried to concentrate on the road ahead.

Through the dry lands of the western slopes of the Great Dividing Range
they drove, climbing slowly, imperceptibly. They skipped through towns
and villages on their way, some no more than a whistle stop. From time to
time they chatted amiably enough, and once or twice Geoff made off-hand
remarks about how good it was to be with Ian again, and how he intended
to change his life. Ian did his best to appear non-committal and to
respond with a joke or an easy comment, but each time he found himself
re-living the confusion and the uncertainty Geoff engendered within him.

They stopped again for a brief refreshment break and to top up the fuel
at Gundagai, sipping cokes beside the statue of the 'Dog on the
Tuckerbox', made famous by legend and poem, then Geoff reclaimed the
driver's seat and on they went, turning slowly northeast to climb over
the ranges. As the speed crept up, Ian chuckled. "Maybe you want to take
it easy," he warned. "The last thing we want today is to be pulled over
for speeding!"

Geoff grinned at the irony, and slowed to the limit again as they
followed the highway toward Sydney. Just after 1.00 o'clock they reached
Yass, and Ian decided that it was time for a more substantial break, and
a meal.

"Let's see if we can find a restaurant in the town," he said to Geoff. As
an afterthought, he added, "I wonder if I shouldn't ring Nick and let him
know our progress?"

"Nick?" asked Geoff.

"Uh huh! I phoned him yesterday and told him what I was doing. It would
probably ease his mind if he knew we were on track."

Not for the first time, Geoff felt envious of the relationship that Ian
shared with his best friend. As Ian started to fish around in his pockets
for his phone, Geoff picked his own telephone up from between the seats.
"Use mine," he offered, looking at the screen. "Oh bugger - I've
forgotten to turn the bloody thing on!"

With a press of his thumb the handset came to life, and he passed it to
Ian, but before the other man could dial out, the phone beeped with a
message that Geoff had voice mail waiting. Ian handed the phone back to
its owner, and Geoff punched in the number for his service. He listened
in silence, his face frowning in confusion at the words.

"Geoff, it's Neale Simpson. I need you to meet me at the light towers
outside the Olympic Stadium tomorrow. Nine o'clock, okay? I'll be
waiting. It's really urgent, really important!"

The electronic message was time stamped for the previous night.

"That's strange!" he commented as he ended the call. Ian looked at him
questioningly. "That was the guy who I used to sell the drugs to," Geoff
explained. "He wanted to meet me at 9 this morning, said it was really
important."

"Another 'deal'?" Ian said angrily, his face flushing.

"No, not at all. I haven't had any contact with him since the day I left
Sydney! Honestly! And he never set up meetings with me. It was all done
through runners. I wonder if the cops have finally caught up with him?"

"Then let it go!" said Ian quickly.

"Not yet. I'll just call him and see what's going on!"

Before Ian could object further, Geoff was dialling the number for the
phone he had given Neale so long ago. He pulled the car over and they sat
by the roadside as the call clicked through and the tones began to ring
at the other end.

********************************************************

When the shrill electronic tones sounded out in the quiet motel room,
Neale twitched, and the goons standing around him suddenly looked to the
offending instrument where it sat on the bedside table. The tall thin
one, who pressed a knife to Neale's throat, hesitated for a second as his
accomplice, standing near the door and keeping guard, reached inside his
jacket.

"Forget it!" said the leader, returning his attention to Neale, who was
suddenly wide-awake again.

"WAIT!" screamed the shaking figure on the bed desperately. "That's him -
the one your boss wants. He's the only one who has this number!"

The Viets stopped again, uncertain now, as the phone continued to demand
attention. After several more rings, it went silent. Nguyen, the leader,
motioned quickly to his assistant who took his place with a knife pointed
at Neale, and reached for his own telephone in his pocket. He dialled a
number, and spoke quickly into the phone, several sentences in
Vietnamese, of which Neale did not understand a word. He listened,
obviously being given instructions, then said a few words back again, and
hung up.

"You call back!" he stated in an order. "Get him come here! No tell him
we waiting!" he said threateningly, sliding the cold steel of the blade
from one of Neale's ears to the other in an unmistakable message.

Neale nodded, so scared he could hardly speak. He took the phone as it
was handed to him, and nervously pushed the numbers, taking several long
breaths.

**********************************************************

Geoff had listened to the ringing for a while, then cut the connection
and casually tossed the phone onto the seat. "No answer!" he explained.
They were parked in the main street of Yass, and he looked around hoping
to spot somewhere for he and Ian to eat while his friend called Nick and
assured him they were only a few hours away, and that he would call again
after they had been to the police.

Suddenly, Geoff's phone rang again and he snatched it up, pressing the
accept button for the incoming call.

"Geoff, it's Neale. Sorry, I, uhh, missed your call. I ... was in the,
erm, bathroom," came the strangely nervous voice down the line.

"Yeah, whatever," Geoff replied off-handedly. "I only just got your
message from last night. What's so important that you called me? I told
you I was cutting all contact!"

"I've got major problems, mate," Neale's voice still sounded strange,
almost forced. "I need your help bad! I had to get out of town myself. I
think the Viets are on to me. They think I was trying to steal their
turf, and I'm really worried that they'll try to hurt me, or worse!"

'Odd,' thought Geoff. He had never heard Neale use anything other than
derogatory names for the Vietnamese before, yet now he sounded almost
respectful of them. He must be serious about his fears!

"I don't think I can help, Neale," he said firmly. "If you're out of
town, then I think all you can do is lie low!"

Neale sounded panicky now as he answered quickly. "You have to! I stole a
car and drove to Canberra, but I'm sure they'll catch up with me! I need
you to do something, anything! I need you to get me out of here,
somewhere safe!"

"Canberra? Well, maybe you're in luck after all. I'm not that far away."
Geoff stopped to think for a moment, glancing at Ian who was listening
curiously to one half of the conversation, a frown beginning on his face.
"Sit tight!" Geoff said. "I can be there in about an hour. Where are
you?"

Neale scrabbled around, ever cautious as the malevolent eyes of his
captors remained fixed on his movements. He found a pad with the name and
address of the motel and read them out to Geoff. "Room 208!" he said.
"Come quickly!"

"Okay," replied Geoff, as he cut the line again.

***

Ian burst out at him, his face almost purple with anger. "You're not
suggesting what I think you are?" he yelled.

"Why not? It's practically on our way!"

"Rubbish! It's an hour into Canberra and an hour back out. You can't be
serious. And what are you going to do when we get there? Ring him back,
tell him to go to the police!" Ian started to become animated.

"He wouldn't! He doesn't trust anyone except me, and he's in real
trouble!" Geoff snapped back. "And he could be murdered! I owe it to
him." He slammed the car into gear and spun the wheels as he shot out of
the town and back onto the highway again.

"Owe it to him?" Ian hissed. "And what about me? I thought you owed me
something too, like your word! You swore to me that you were going to
give up, that you were going to face the music and go straight. So much
for that. Was it all just an act to try to make me change my mind? Did
you think I'd swoon over you again, the poor little innocent Ian Sterling
who comes running when you snap?"

Geoff grimaced, but drove on. "I'm not breaking my promise," he said
icily. "I'll try to convince Neale to come back to Sydney with us, give
himself up as well. If he agrees we keep going. If not, we leave him
there and head back ourselves."

"Sure!" countered Ian. "And when we get to the city he's just going to
calmly walk into the police station?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Geoff said, "but I have to try, for his sake."

"So all of a sudden you're the saintly one?" Ian spat. "I should have
known better than to even try!"

"Look! I'll stop the car and you can get out right now if you want,"
Geoff said. "But I give you my word, I'm going back to Sydney and the
cops, with or without Neale."

Ian said nothing, turning away from the baleful stare of Geoff's eyes.
They rolled on down the highway, still heading for Sydney, until Ian
spotted the indicator sign - 'Barton Highway: Canberra - next exit'. As
Geoff slowed down to make the turn, Ian summoned up his strength, playing
his final card.

"Geoff, if there was ever any possibility that we might get back
together, you'll wipe it out if you do this!" he said.

Geoff looked at him, bringing the car to a skidding stop in the gravel on
the side of the road. He turned to face Ian directly, his eyes boring
into Ian's face.

"Do you really mean that? Would you want me to leave another human being
to die, maybe because of me?" he asked in a whisper.

There was silence for a good five minutes as Ian tried to control his
anger, to get his thoughts into perspective, and Geoff waited patiently
for an answer. Ian wrestled with his emotions, and with the possibility
of lying, but he couldn't do it. With a long heavy sigh he looked at
Geoff with sad resignation in his eyes.

"No," he said softly. "I don't want you to do that! I'm just so afraid ...
of everything. I don't know how I feel about you, I don't know what I
should be doing, and this is one more connection to the side of you that
scares me, that hurt me."

Geoff looked suddenly very sad and small as realisation hit him. "I can't
make that go away, Ian, but I can try to show you that I want to change.
This guy, Neale, might be part of my past, but I can't just abandon him
now, when he needs my help."

"The drugs, Geoff," Ian began. "I, uh, heard a name ... El Habibi ... is
that who I think it is? Are you really involved with people like that?"

Geoff winced, then sighed. "Yeah, it's who you think. If you come with me
to get Neale, I'll tell you the whole story, give you names and places
and details. Maybe you can put in a good word for me? Now, do you want
out?"

"No," said Ian, shivering a little although he wasn't cold. "I'll come
with you," he said in a small voice, "although I don't know that I'll be
able to help much!"

Geoff put his foot down again and the car leapt forward and onto the
bitumen, and Geoff pushed it as fast as he dared as they raced along the
narrow Barton Highway into the capital, only slowing when they joined the
traffic of the Federal Highway from Sydney where the two roads merged in
the northern suburbs of the city.

***************************************************************

"He's coming!" squeaked Neale as he put the phone back down. His captor
picked it up and listened carefully, ensuring the line was definitely
closed. Then he grinned evilly.

"Good! We have two gifts for Missa Tan, now!" he said with a laugh.

To be continued ...


This story is a fantasy, it is not real and only happened in my
imagination. YOU MUST REMEMBER that in the real world, you can DIE from
having unsafe sex. It is your right and your duty to make sure that
condoms are always used, whether you are giving or receiving. It doesn't
matter how good looking or how ugly he is, and it doesn't matter whether
you are top or bottom, USE A CONDOM!