Underground

Closer Than You Think Extract

                                                                           Prologue

My head hit the window, smashing the glass. The car came to an abrupt halt. I sat slumped over my seat belt, groggily trying to process what had just happened. As I opened my eyes and moved, I cried out as an intense pain shot up my neck. Shattered glass and blood covered the dashboard. Holding my screaming neck, I gingerly turned to face the driver's side. Kimba's body was slumped across the steering wheel. I could not see her face. Movement from the front seat of the car that t-boned us caught my eye. A dark-haired boy stared at me. His terrified eyes were wide, but clear. He had a tight grip on the steering wheel and his knuckles were as white as his face. Panicked voices yelled from the street. I realised wailing sirens were heading our way. The boy broke our staring match and rested his head on his steering wheel. Then sublime darkness offered me peace.

                                                                            Chapter 1

The guards watched me out of the corner of their eyes. Jake would not be happy. No doubt, he had told them to keep an eye on me, but patron safety should have been higher on their list of priorities. I caught the eye of Terry, the head of security, planted my hands on my hips and glared at him. He turned away to scan the crowd, not suppressing a smile. I hated being spied on.

I work for my uncle Jake's security and surveillance company as a surveillance officer. I certainly was not hired for my fitness level. Jake trained me in self-defence for his own peace of mind. During the day, I am usually assigned the office spy jobs. This involves me being hired as a pretend office temp and weeding out petty cash thieves and information leakers. If I have really annoyed my uncle, I am assigned shopping centre surveillance jobs. (I am constantly amazed how many grocery items can be squashed into a pram.) As enthralling as these jobs are, I beg Jake for night shifts. My night-time role is to mingle with the crowds, in hotels and clubs around Brisbane, to detect any disharmony. Jake is convinced I attract disharmony rather than detect it, but that's another story. My natural talent enables the security guards to diffuse trouble before fights start. These shifts can be far more intense and occasionally amusing.

This had been my first shift back since the accident. I wore my uniform of sparkly, sleeveless top, bootleg jeans and comfortable black ankle boots that made it easier for me to run if necessary. My long, wavy, dark auburn hair was pulled back, so as not to obstruct my view.

I had my eye on a young girl, who looked as if she had barely hit legal age. She tried to hide her nerves beneath a mask of attitude. I sipped my fancy mocktail and watched the tiny girl approach a group of twenty-somethings with more piercings in their faces than I could count. One of the girls glanced around the club and slipped her hand under the table. I watched the exchange of money for a small plastic bag. The young drug dealer moved on to the next table. I sat my glass on the bar and eased passed three super-cool young guys, all dressed the same in silver pants, tight black tee shirts and silver cowboy hats. They slammed back Sambuca shots, shook their heads and cheered. One guy had spilled most of his shot down his pants.

I caught the eye of a security guard on the other side of the dance floor, pretended to wave at a person near him and snaked my way back to the bar. He walked up beside me and leaned in close.

"Red shirt; tiny; about eighteen; heels that she can't walk in. She's going table to table. She had a win with the spiky-haired girl in all black at the third table from the bar," I told him.

He nodded.

"I think she's selling pills." I turned back to the bar and he moved away. I checked my watch. It was three a.m. I stifled a yawn. My shift was over. The beat of the music pounded along with my niggling headache, a regular occurrence since the accident. I headed for the door. The guards were breaking the bad news to a line of agitated drunk people who had missed lockout.