They walked past a man in a singlet and shorts who was asleep in the gutter. The cheek exposed to the sun was the colour of a cooked, wet lobster.
The drop-in centre was not what Jill had expected. A two-storey terrace house in a mostly residential street, there was no sign out the front indicating the function of the building. Honey walked up the two front steps and went straight in, Jill following close behind. The front room was dark compared to the white heat bouncing off the pavement outside. Jill blinked as her eyes adjusted.
Three Aboriginal children scribbled with textas on a large canvas. A rack containing pamphlets stood in the corner; the only other furniture a couple of lounge chairs and a desk. There were no adults in sight. The kids did no more than glance at them before going back to their colouring. Jill and Honey walked through to the next room. A kitchen. Large jars of coffee and sugar, a big refrigerator, a bowl of apples. No-one in there.
In a small courtyard off the kitchen, two teenage boys smoked cigarettes. They blew out insolence with their smoke. Jill thought she'd at least try to talk to them.
'You guys know Mr Sebastian?'
The oldest boy looked her up and down and whispered something to his mate. They both laughed.
'I asked you a question.' Jill felt hot and tired.
The boys sniggered again, and she had a sudden image of herself slapping the spotty face of the closest boy. She walked back into the kitchen. Honey had the fridge open and was poking around inside. Jill saw loaves of bread, margarine, a catering-sized jar of Vegemite.
'I'm going upstairs,' Jill said, walking from the kitchen.
The muted music of a computer game led her up the stairs. She walked into one of three rooms off the first-floor landing, following the sound. A dark-haired boy who looked about twelve sat on a dirty, pink fabric- covered couch. His eyes were locked on a TV screen, his hands on a game control panel. She sat next to him, watched the game.
'These guys are the worst.'
Jill was surprised to hear him speak.
'They come at you so fast.'
'Shit! Look out for that one,' she warned him.
The muscleman controlled by the boy blasted the flesh-eating zombie just in time. Green brains splattered from its skull; grey limbs flew into the air. Moments later, another zombie shot the muscleman in the head and the boy turned to face her.
'I'm Jill,' she told him.
'Jack.'
'Ha. Jack and Jill.'
A white smile split his brown face, and the sun came out in the small room.
'Jack, I'm a police officer.' She decided to be honest. These kids all knew anyway. They always said it was the shoes cops wore, but Jill felt street kids developed senses others didn't, survival skills, honed living in the urban jungle.
'Got a gun?' They always wanted to know.
She lifted the short jacket she wore over her T-shirt, showed him her revolver.
'Cool. Can I touch it?'
That was always the next question; either that or, 'Have you ever shot anyone?' His brown eyes were young and old.
'Not today.' The answer would do for both questions.
'You lookin' for Jamaal?'
The air was very still in the room; dust motes danced in a sunbeam near the window. A pulse beat in her neck.
'Why would you think that, Jack?'
''Cause you should be.' He put his chin on his chest, fiddled with the joystick.
'You know what? I am looking for Jamaal. Does he come around here much?'
Jack shrugged.
'How do you know him?'
'He told me about this place.'
'Has Jamaal ever hurt you, Jack?'
Eyes down. Nothing.
'Why should we be looking for him?'
'You should know why.'
'Could you come to where I work and tell me more about him?'
'You're crazy.'
She looked up when the light altered in the doorway.
'Hello. May I help you?' came a sharp female voice.
Jill stood. The woman looked about thirty-five maybe, hippie clothing, closed face, no smile.
'Sergeant Jillian Jackson.' Jill held out her hand.
'Do you have an appointment with someone here?' The woman ignored her hand, didn't offer her name.
'Do I need one?'
'Well, adults are not encouraged to drop by unannounced,' said the woman. 'Are you all right, Jack?'
The boy said nothing. Jill asked, 'What about Jamaal Mahmoud? Alejandro Sebastian? Do they drop by unannounced?'
The woman paused a few beats. Looked at a point over Jill's shoulder, then fixed her eyes back on her face.
'I'm afraid I'm the wrong person for you to speak to. If you'll come to the office next door I'll give you my supervisor's card.'
'Simple question, though, really – do those men drop by? What role do they have here at the centre?'
Jack stared at the woman, also waiting for her answer.
'Yes, as I said, Ms Jackson, my supervisor's best placed to answer any questions about the centre. If you'll just follow me?'
'It'sSergeant Jackson, actually, and yes I will take that name.'
The woman turned and lead the way out of the room. Jill lingered behind and slipped her work card into Jack's hand.
'Call me any time, about anything. If I'm not there, leave a message and I'll call you the next day. I promise. I'll be back here, Jack, but if you need help, call me.'
When the woman made an officious noise in the hallway outside the door, Jill left the room and followed the wide, bright-orange skirt in front of her.
34
Somehow, mercy seemed to have cut almost everything else from her life. She'd arrive home from the hospital and ignore the flashing light on her answerphone. The birds on her balcony would call for her attention, but now there were fewer than there used to be; she hadn't bothered to fill their water and feeder for weeks. They'd covered the deck with shit in protest. She'd go straight to the fridge and eat standing there, whatever was in front of her. Cold. Sometimes she'd make her way into the lounge room and take off her shoes, head for the bar, but, more often than not, she'd instead just grab her keys again and head out.
She knew it was a compulsion now. She couldn't rest at night unless she'd been to one of their houses. The feeling of impotence that had been growing like a parasite inside her for years was diminishing. She could reach out and hurt them any time she wanted. The hunters became the hunted.
When she'd left work she hadn't even bothered to go home. She'd brought everything she would need when she left the house that morning.
