He grabs hold of the balcony’s railing and pulls himself up. His feet slip on the grass but his arms take the weight and he peeks over the railing. He can see her hand, draped across the back of the sofa, the white-gold ring he gave her visible on her finger. He can’t see anything else. The back of the sofa is too high. Leather creaks. Something’s happening on the sofa.
Adrenaline takes over. Judd pulls himself up and over the railing, drops quietly to the balcony, crouches low, the back of the sofa providing cover, and edges forward. What is this feeling in the pit of his stomach? Fear, at the thought of losing the woman he loves. He stands, to reveal his presence and learn the truth.
Rhonda lies on the leather sofa, head and shoulders propped up by a pillow. She’s alone, reading a report. She shifts and the leather creaks. In front of her the coffee table is a mess of paperwork.
Will Thompkins is in the kitchen, his back to her and Judd. They’re in the middle of a conversation. ‘Think so?’
Rhonda doesn’t look up from the report. ‘Worth investigating.’
‘It just adds so much weight.’
‘— it might be the trade-off we need to make. There must be a lighter compound in the works that could do it. If it had the right elasticity it could be an option —’
Judd ducks down behind the sofa, unseen. Christ! There’s nothing untoward going on. From the tone of Rhonda’s voice she’s deep in work mode. That’s why she’s been distant. She’s been busy doing her job! But then why are they at Thompkins’ place?
As if on cue Rhonda speaks: ‘Thanks for doing this. I’m sorry about the conference room being double-booked this week.’
‘Not your fault.’
‘I’ll get going in fifteen. Judd’s cooking and I don’t want to be late. We’ll have to pick this up after the mission. I won’t have time before that.’
‘No problem.’
Judd again feels fear, but this time it’s about whether he can find a way out of this. He’s made a huge mistake, except it’s neither a mistake nor huge until somebody finds out about it.
He hears Will walk from the kitchen and sit on the sofa. Good. It means they’re both facing away from him. Judd backs up until his left heel touches the balcony’s railing. He stands and climbs over it in one swift, silent movement, lowers himself to the ground below, his arms taking the strain. His feet touch the ground and he holds the railing tight; doesn’t want to take an inadvertent trip down the hill. He waits a moment. No movement at the sofa. They didn’t hear him. He’s going to get out of this! He turns to go, then stops dead.
The tubby guy is now standing on the next balcony, still naked from the waist down. He sways from the effect of the Corona in his right hand as he looks out at the twinkling lights of Houston and takes a monster leak over his railing, making exuberant figure eights in the air with the stream.
Judd draws himself into the shadow of Thompkins’ balcony as the leak goes on. What’s the saying? You don’t buy beer, you just rent it for an hour. Tubby finally runs dry, puts the Corona down on top of the railing and makes to zip up his pants. Shocked to find he’s not wearing any, he turns and walks unsteadily into the apartment, presumably to find them.
Judd breathes out and edges his way past Tubby’s balcony. Halfway along and everything’s going swimmingly. In his mind he’s already navigated the balconies, vaulted back onto the walkway, hot-footed it to the DeLorean, high-tailed it home and plated dinner —
‘Who the hell are you?’
Tubby has pulled on a pair of Y-fronts, albeit back to front, and returned to the balcony to retrieve the half-full Corona from the railing. He glares at Judd. ‘What the hell you doing down there?’ The sentence is shouted in a toneless slur, like he’s speaking while listening to music on headphones.
Judd glances back at Will’s balcony, hopes they didn’t hear enough over the music to prompt a trip onto the balcony. No one emerges. Thank God for the Doobie Brothers. He gets moving.
Tubby doesn’t like it. ‘You’re trying to rob me!’ His voice is very loud.
‘I’m not robbing anyone.’ Judd keeps his low.
‘This man’s a-robbing me!’ Now the guy is shouting.
‘Shhh.’
‘Don’t shush me!’
Judd keeps moving. There’s no greater waste of time than arguing with a drunk. You’ll never change their mind, and even if you do they won’t remember it in the morning.
‘Nobody shushes me!’ Tubby lunges at Judd, grabs a handful of collar. Judd karate chops his wrist and the guy lets out a yelp that’d make a schoolgirl blush. ‘Don’t let him get away!’ He shouts it as if to a crowd.
Judd moves fast. He wants to put as much distance between himself and Tubby as quickly as possible. Unfortunately he can’t move too fast, the ground is slippery.
‘What going on?’ Christ, that’s Thompkins’ voice.
‘He’s robbing us!’
Judd ups his pace, reaches the last balcony.
‘Call the police.’ Oh, man. That’s Rhonda. Her voice cuts through him like a knife. He instinctively ducks his head.
‘I’m on it.’ That’s Thompkins.
‘Fast, h-he’s getting away.’
Judd shuffles along the last balcony. He’s ten steps from the camouflage of those big-leafed plants. Seven steps. Five. Almost there —
He feels a sharp pain in the fleshy area where his neck meets his skull, then darkness envelops his vision and his legs give out from underneath him.
‘Nobody shushes me!’ is the last thing he hears.
Rhonda’s impressed. The drunk guy is almost too loaded to stand yet he throws the half-empty Corona bottle with pinpoint accuracy. It connects with the back of the robber’s head and he crumples to the ground, then begins a slow slide down the incline, head first. He travels a good twenty metres in this position then comes to a halt as his head conks into the large tree at the bottom of the slope. Quite clearly he should never have shushed the drunk guy in the back-to-front Y-fronts.
Rhonda studies the man, then looks closer. Will walks onto the balcony, portable phone to his ear. ‘Cops. I’m on hold —’
She takes the phone from him and hangs up.
‘What are you doing?’
She doesn’t answer, just dials a number.
Da Da Da — Da Da — Da Da Da — Da Da.
The sound emanates from the man. It’s the theme from Terminator 2, Judd’s favourite movie. She remembers the day he bought the ring tone. She hangs up and the theme cuts off. She stares at the man who is, in fact, her man. But is he? It’s like she doesn’t know him.
‘What’s going on?’
Rhonda doesn’t look at Will. ‘It’s Judd.’
‘It’s — what?’
She’s not embarrassed. She’s not even angry. She’s flabbergasted. She’s never liked the word, always felt it fake, made up, a word that didn’t represent a genuine emotion she’d ever experienced, but damn if she didn’t feel it now.
The sun has almost set, throws a pale-orange sheen across the garden and the unconscious Judson Bell. Rhonda kneels beside him, lightly pats his face. ‘Judd.’ He doesn’t rouse. She pats him a little harder. ‘Judd!’ Nothing.
Flabbergast finally gives way to anger. ‘Wake up!’ She tees off and slaps him across the cheek. Judd’s eyes blink open. She won’t let herself be worried about his concussion, or the likely contusion on the back of his head from the Corona bottle, until she knows what’s going on. ‘What are you doing here?’