Max Arena (21 page)

‘He’s just
being polite, Mum,’ she said. ‘You said you had some roast lamb
left over. Toss some of it on some bread and that’ll keep him
happy.’

Max simply
shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

‘Good,’ Kris’
mother said. ‘I don’t allow hungry men in my house. If you’re
hungry, you eat.’

Shuffling out
of the room, Kris’ mother kept up the monologue, fast becoming
inaudible as she moved out of earshot.

‘You’re going
to eat and you’re going to like it,’ Kris said, pointing a finger
at Max. ‘Pete, you better sit yourself down too before she comes
back or she’ll make you sit. Men don’t stand in mum’s house
either.’

Peter cast a
sideways glance out to the kitchen where Kris’ mother had
disappeared to and for a moment, actually looked a little uncertain
as well.

‘So, Max,’
Kris’ father started, ‘my little girl tells me you’re going to save
the world. How do you feel about that?’

Max turned back
to Kris’ father and found an old man’s and a father’s careful face
looking back. Despite his advanced years and almost bald and sun
splotched scalp, the man was clearly his daughter’s father. Sitting
side by side, Kris and her father’s resemblance was obvious. Even
the old man’s witty and often cheeky personality proved he and Kris
were cut from the same cloth.

‘I’ll do my
best, sir,’ Max said straight back. ‘That’s a promise.’

Kris’ father
held Max’s gaze for a moment and then slowly nodded. ‘Can’t ask
more than that of a man and from what Kris tells me, your best is a
show worth watching.’

This time Max
nodded. Elsa reached across and rubbed her husband’s thigh,
allowing Max to grab her hand and squeeze it.

‘I told you,
Dad,’ Kris followed up. ‘Max is the real deal. It’s a pity we can’t
get you out to watch him train, but maybe I can get some of it on
film and email it through.’

‘You can try,’
Kris’ father replied, frowning and shifting in his seat. The
internet’s gotten all squirly. Some days it doesn’t get out of bed
at all.’

Kris smiled and
slapped her father on the arm. ‘You and the internet,’ she said
chuckling. ‘Who would have thought you’d even be on speaking terms
with it? An old bloke like you.’

Just then, Max
twitched his head slightly to the side. Peter instantly registered
the movement and tuned his own senses. Releasing Elsa’s hand, Max
smoothly rose and turned to the doorway leading out to the hall.
The conversation between Kris, her father and Elsa meandered on,
while Peter swiftly stepped away from the wall to follow Max out of
the room.

Out in the
hallway, Max paused and looked both ways. The floor plan of the
house was simple with a central hall running the length of the
dwelling and all the rooms coming off either side. Max looked to
the right and found one of Abdullah’s security guards standing at
the rear door of the house, keenly peering through a gap in the
curtains over the glass pane in the rear door, marking any activity
in the backyard. Max then looked left and found another of
Abdullah’s security guards in a similar pose, looking out the glass
pane of the front door.

Peter flicked a
glance to Max and froze. Max suddenly had that look about him. All
purpose and while he wasn’t tense, Max was ready. Lifting his wrist
microphone to his mouth, Peter spoke to his team who were waiting
outside on the street in the armoured Land Cruisers.

‘Any action out
there?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ came
the reply from one of his men. ‘All clear. You coming out?’

‘No. We’re good
in here. Out,’ Peter said, closing the link and returning to Max.
‘What’s up, mate? You look spooked.’

Max didn’t
respond and instead started walking down the hall towards the front
door. Peter quickly stepped off after him, trying to look past his
bulk to the guard ahead. Hearing the approaching footsteps, the
guard glanced over his shoulder to see Max flick his head,
indicating he wanted the door open.

As the man
pulled the portal ajar, Peter called out, ‘Hold up, mate!’

Peter’s effort
failed as Max crossed the threshold and stepped out onto the steps
leading down to the front yard. Peter raised his wrist microphone
as he quickly followed behind.

‘Sword is
coming out the front,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Cover the street.’

As Peter exited
the door, he found Max halfway down the stairs, while in his
peripheral vision, he saw his team tumbling out of two of the three
black Land Cruisers on the opposing kerb. Max reached the bottom of
the stairs and walked out the front gate and onto the footpath
where he stopped. This allowed Peter to catch him up a few moments
later and stand next to him.

Peter then
looked both ways along the street, firstly to confirm his team had
taken up full covering positions up and down from him, but also to
see if there was any other activity in view. The street was
empty.

‘What’s on your
mind, big fellah?’ Peter asked quietly as he continued to scan the
surrounds.

‘Something’s
not right,’ Max evenly replied as he too looked around, slowly and
methodically.

‘How do you
know?’ Peter carefully asked, checking the Land Cruisers to make
sure the three vehicles had their drivers all on seat and
ready.

‘Heard
something outside and it was wrong.’

Peter paused
and instinctively visualised drawing his own gun in rehearsal for a
threat he could not sense. ‘You heard something outside?’ Peter
pushed. ‘That’s it?’

‘That’s how it
works for me,’ Max answered, his gaze fixed down the length of the
street to the right. ‘Don’t ask me why, but when it happens, I know
I need to be ready.’

Peter didn’t
say anything in return and then he saw Max’s jaw line firm up.
Immediately he flicked his attention round to align with Max’s gaze
down the street.

‘There,’ was
all Max said, his tone quiet, but deliberate.

Then Peter saw
the car. A maroon, dual cab ute had turned onto the empty street
about two hundred metres down and was driving towards them. Peter
squinted and then noted the first hint of trouble.

‘Draw and
hold,’ Peter said into his microphone. ‘The ute’s packing.’

Immediately,
all four of Peter’s men reached into their jackets to draw their
handguns, letting them rest in front with double-handed grips,
ready for use. Strategically positioned at four corners, they now
had Max’s position covered from all directions.

‘Watch your
cross fire,’ Peter continued. ‘Let’s hope we discourage them from
visiting.’

The ute came
closer and now Peter clearly saw what he had suspected. He did not
know how many occupants were inside the vehicle, but two men stood
on the rear tray, holding onto the chrome roll bar at the back of
the cabin, which indicated they were not out for a friendly jaunt.
Then one of the men banged his fist on the roof and that was enough
to convince Peter to draw his own gun and let it hang by his
side.

Peter snuck a
look at Max and saw that his expression had set like granite, his
eyes boring into the incoming vehicle. Glancing down, Peter found
Max’s fists clenched, his forearms like roped steel.

Turning back to
the house, Peter called out to the guard at the top of the stairs,
‘Keep everyone inside! We got this!’

As Peter turned
back to face the ute, he heard the front door of the house close
and the locks snap into place. Then the ute slowed and crawled into
the firing zone set up by Peter’s men. None of his team flinched.
Neither did Max, but Peter could literally feel the man’s leashed
aggression burning off him. Every shred of Peter’s military
experience screamed at him that this was very soon going to get out
of hand. Then the ute stopped in the centre of the road right in
front of Max and Peter.

‘Oooooooweeee!’
one of the men on the back tray called out, his long, straggly hair
flaying about as he looked wildly around at each of Peter’s team.
‘Look at all these boys and their guns!’

Even from where
he stood on the kerb, Peter could see the wide dilation of the
pupils of both men as they leered at everyone. His whole body
tensed.

‘They’re
wired,’ Peter said into his wrist microphone and loud enough for
Max to hear. ‘Might even be a suicide run.’

Then the front
and back passenger doors of the dual cab flew open and three
equally as frantic men climbed out, all of them armed with
makeshift clubs filled ranging from baseball bats to tyre crowbars.
Up on the tray back, the two men bent down and lifted up their own
timber off-cut clubs. They then jumped to the ground and lined up
in front of Max and Peter with their comrades.

‘What’s on your
mind, boys?’ Peter asked, his tone flat.

The loud one
from the back tray spoke up in answer. ‘We’re back to finish the
job.’

Peter read the
faces of all five men as he replied. ‘There’s nothing here for you.
Best you leave
now
.’

The leer on the
man’s face broadened and he turned both ways to look at his own
crew. They all sneered back and shook their heads. Peter slowly
moved his gun round from his side to rest in both hands at the
front.

‘Ooooh, look?’
the thug cooed as he pointed at Peter. ‘He’s got a gun too.’

‘And I don’t
want to have to use it. Now
go
.’

The thug’s
sneer turned into a snarl. ‘Why don’t you put your gun down and see
how you go with just your hands?’

‘Not today.
Last warning,’ Peter said, affixing his gaze on the lead thug. ‘Get
back in your car and leave.
Now
.’

The thug raised
his wooden club and opened his mouth to respond, but a voice from
up in the house cut him off.

‘That’s them!’
shouted Kris’ mother. ‘They’re the ones who robbed us!’

Peter snapped
around to see Kris and her parents at the window of the front
living room. Kris had her arms around her mother, whose face had
drained to pale white. Next to Kris, her father’s eyes raged.

‘Hey, boys,
there they are!’ the thug called out. ‘Say hello!’

All five men
raised their hands and clubs and started waving up at the window,
their collective actions more demented than friendly.

‘We’re done
here,’ Peter said, raising his gun and levelling it at the lead
thug. ‘Back in the car! Now!’

All four of
Peter’s team mirrored his actions, raising their own weapons. In a
heartbeat, the street strained with tension. Then everything
changed.

Max stepped off
the kerb and in front of Peter’s gun, blocking his aim. All five
thugs instantly removed their attention from the house and adjusted
their gazes onto Max. The wild looks in their eyes suddenly
sharpened to the new threat. Max had made them hesitate.

‘Out of the
way, Max,’ Peter said through clenched teeth.

‘No,’ Max
returned. ‘They’re mine.’

The leer
returned to the lead thug’s face as he hefted his length of timber.
‘So, you want a piece of this do you, big man?’

Max said
nothing, his feet planted on the bitumen, his stance shoulder width
and his clenched fists by his sides. Peter side stepped to the
right to regain his aim on the lead thug.

‘Step away,
Max,’ Peter pushed. ‘We’ve got this.’

‘No.
I’ve
got this,’ Max replied. ‘They’re all going to die.’

Max’s spoken
words again made the thugs pause. Glancing at each other, they
started to lower their clubs. Even the leader shuffled his feet as
he looked from Max to Peter and back again. The tension
tightened.

‘Max!’ called
out another voice from the house. This time Peter didn’t have to
turn to recognise the source. It was Elsa. ‘No one dies today!’

The scene
remained frozen. Peter scanned all the faces of the intruders,
searching for any sign of their breaking ranks. At the four
corners, Peter’s team members held their aims on the nearest thug,
their fingers pressed against the triggers of their guns. Max held
murderously firm.

‘Max!’ sounded
Elsa’s voice again, but louder this time as more of a command than
a warning. ‘No one dies! I mean it!’

A subtle
movement forced Peter to look down at Max’s fists as they
unclenched, a fleshy pink colour replacing the white in his
knuckles. The thugs all looked at Max again and then at their
leader as he spoke again.

‘Well, you
heard the lady,’ he said, his hesitation seeping away while
rehefting his club. ‘Let’s see what you got. Come on, boys!’

As a group, the
thugs started to spread out in a half circle around Max, leaving
the leader in the centre. Max stepped forward three careful paces,
his movements like liquid ice and his lancing gaze driving into the
man across from him. Peter cast a quick glance into the cab of the
ute and spotted the driver still in place, ready for a quick
getaway if needed. Simultaneously, Peter’s team adjusted their
positions to keep their aims on the crew of thugs.

He couldn’t
afford the milliseconds to look, but Peter knew they had steadily
attracted attention from other residents up and down the street.
Heads and eyes peered out over window ledges and from behind
curtains. Some brave souls had even ventured out into their front
yards and Peter knew at least one smart phone was out and recording
the entire event. This would be all over the internet in minutes,
but first it had to end.

The lead thug
glared back at Max, his wild eyes crazily looking him up and down.
In return, Max’s chiselled face held eyes of spitfire and then, it
was on.

With eyes
bugging out and a mad cry, the lead thug suddenly lunged forward,
his club raised high. Max did not budge. As the thug closed, he
swung his club down towards Max’s skull, his cries pitching
higher.

Instead of
moving to avoid the strike, Max whipped his left hand up and simply
caught the block of timber as it came down, stopping the strike
dead in the air. Then, without pausing, he pulled the club inwards
to himself, bringing the thug stumbling in closer and without
releasing the weapon, Max snapped his open right hand into the face
of the thug, sending him flying backwards off his feet. The man was
instantly unconscious, releasing his hold on the club as he sailed
away.