Mike Dixon

They ordered a couple of beers and Tim yarned with the
barman about brawls with the nightclub‟s bouncers. If Tim
was to be believed, highly trained soldiers fought against
amateurs. After a near riot the brigadier declared the venue
out of bounds to the troops and the nightclub went bust for
lack of patronage. Tim found the whole thing amusing. David
didn‟t share his mirth. The owners had put in a lot of
effort to make the place work and they‟d spent a heap of
money only to see the whole thing wrecked by a bunch of
hooligans. He lost interest in the conversation and his attention
strayed.
Two men had arrived and were waiting to order drinks.
There was something familiar about them. David felt certain
he‟d seen them before but couldn‟t remember where. They
had the well-scrubbed look of office workers and were
dressed in badly fitting leisure gear. One wore a baseball
cap and the other had a toweling floppy hat.
Then he remembered. It was in Rockhampton the night
before. They‟d stopped at a railway crossing. The gate was
down and he was sitting at the wheel, waiting for the train
to come, when a vehicle screeched to a halt behind him. He
saw it in his rear mirror.
Despite the late hour, the
driver wore a baseball cap
and the man beside him
wore a floppy hat. He‟d not
taken much notice of them
but he‟d remembered the
headgear. The pair averted
their eyes when they saw
him looking at them and
David felt uneasy.
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