Smoke Screen: Jack Hamma Action Adventures, #2

1: Blackout

I woke up in darkness. The room was completely and utterly black, the legendary Black Hole of Calcutta had nothing on this. I couldn't move. I was held in place by some sort of frame, it felt like a set of old fashioned stocks, not that I'd ever been in any, but I'd seen them. Villains used to be locked into them in market squares in medieval villages and then have undesirable things done to them. Was that to be my fate?

My frame was a big wooden device. One part had my head and arms locked in place and then it seemed to be connected to a second frame that held my legs. It certainly wasn't ergonomically designed. My back ached, my legs ached, my arms ached. I was cramped and hunched over.

The air was humid, damp and smelt of old books that had been hiding in a waterlogged cellar for half a century.

I tugged at my frame, I shouted at the top of my voice, I tried to kick out, nothing happened. I sat and waited, I yelled and listened, a second nothing happened even slower than the first.

It was so dark it hurt my eyes and so quiet it hurt my ears. I yelled again, the sound reverberated around the room. I learnt something from that sound. I learnt that the yell bounced off the walls with such force that I must be in an empty room, my dungeon was devoid of furniture, it was hard surfaces and nothing else.

I had only the sound of my heart beating to keep me company. I counted slowly up to sixty and at the same time kept track of my heartbeat, my heart was beating fifty beats a minute. For now I was relaxed, which was a good thing, but I don't like small, enclosed spaces. Dark, small, enclosed spaces are even worse. I like the great outdoors, small indoors has the knack of making me claustrophobic. The claustrophobia hadn't hit me yet but, if I didn't start doing something fairly soon, I knew I would go downhill fast. My head would explode, there would be no rhyme or reason to anything, I had to stay calm and develop an action plan.

I gave the problem some thought and came up with a plan. It was easy to do, my options were so limited. I would get out of the frame, it was definitely cramping my style, I would then break out of the cellar, I was sure I was incarcerated in a cellar, and then I would make a run for it. It sounded simplistic but I had to start somewhere. I find that if you hit your head against a brick wall you get nowhere fast but hit your head against a simple plan and often you're cooking with gas. I turned the gas up and started to think faster. When I have to think fast the right ideas seem to come straight out of the air, pop into my head and hey presto, I'm a man of action once again.

How the hell did I get here?

I remember the doorbell rang, so naturally I opened the door. It was the day of the rehearsal for my upcoming wedding to Kashmere. Kashmere is, of course, my fiancée, that's why I'm marrying her. She's the most beautiful woman in all the world, Helen of Troy has nothing on her and Cleopatra was a mere bundle of rags compared to Kashmere. Kashmere is stunning, half Sicilian half Russian, sort of, her skin is a delicious tan, she's tall with lovely locks of auburn hair and beautiful blue eyes.

We met on a commando raid, beats trying to pick up a girl at a disco, especially as I'm not the world's best dancer. In addition to being beautiful, Kashmere is also very smart. She writes essays on Shakespeare's plays and she has been an SAS Special Forces Commando, so all in all quite a woman. A handful yes, but I can't think of anything better than having my hands full of Kashmere.

Back to my front door.

I had opened it, in the euphoric mood of a lover who is about to marry his one and only true love, Romeo and Juliet eat your heart out. Anyway, I was in no mood for confrontation, so it came as a bit of a shock when a great monster of a bikie, in leathers, with a torn denim waistcoat over his leather jacket, great boots, a beard and an ugly leer, hit me full in the stomach with his fist. Euphoric I may have been but I had also been an SAS Special Forces Commando, I returned the compliment, hit him and he went down.

I heard a noise behind me in the corridor, someone was approaching from the back of the house. I turned to see another great fat bikie, he had a sawn off shotgun in his hand and that sawn off shotgun was pointed at me. Tricky situation.

'Freeze,' he barked, 'or you're dead.'

In the army my nickname was bullet because it had been known for me to do a flying leap and knock people out who were trying to shoot me. It was claimed that I was faster than a speeding bullet. Time to find out if I was still the same old Jack Hamma. I ran, I leapt, I took out the great fat bikie before he could pull the trigger. Two down.

Yet another bikie was considering coming in the front door, this one was toting an AK47, the favourite gun of terrorist organisations. What a weapon, investigators have done experiments where the AK47 has been run over by cars and other AK47's have been dunked into barrels of mud and they have still been able to fire. I did another running flying leap and took him out. Three down.

I stood up and listened, all was quiet. I poked my head out of the front door to see if the coast was clear and something that felt remarkably like an iron bar crashed down on my skull. I fell to the ground, rolled over and tried to get up. A black leather boot unceremoniously landed on my chest and stopped me from moving. I forced my eyes open and focused on an ugly face grinning down at me. The ugly face had a scar, presumably from an old knife wound, travelling from the corner of the left eye to the jaw. Then the ugly faced laughed and I blacked out.

2: Cool Operator

There was clanking and clattering, it sounded as if someone was making their way down a staircase. The door into my cellar was thrown open, but no light came through the doorway. A quick deduction told me that I must have been here for at least six hours. Someone walked over to me, shone a torch at me and laughed. I knew that laugh, it had hit me with an iron bar.

'I've brought you some water,' he said.

I was fairly happy about that as my thirst was beginning to bother me. He laughed again and then threw a container of water in my face. It was not hard to surmise that he wasn't too concerned about my wellbeing. The door closed and I was alone once more.

So now I could remember how I got here, and I knew it wasn't my fan club that had brought me, but I couldn't for the life of me think what had happened before that. Why had those bikies ambushed me? What the hell had I done?

It was time to put my escape plan into action but after what seemed like hours of twisting, pushing and pulling without any success, unless you call having arms and legs that feel like they are being ripped out of their sockets successful, I decided to have a rest. Could anything have happened at the engagement party? I was sure that had gone off okay but maybe not:

On the sound system 'Cool Operator' had been blaring out and I had danced with Kashmere. You know the tune: 'Coast to coast LA to Chicago, he's a smooth operator'. We abandoned the dancing after that, walked over to the drinks table and took delivery of two glasses of champagne, then we walked over to see Stan the Man, Kashmere's Grandpa.

'Mind if we join you?'

'Sit down, sit, we need talk Jack.'

'Talk away Stan the Man,' I said.

'Salami,' said Stan passing me a plate of antipasto.

We had wanted to get caterers in for the occasion but Stan had insisted on supplying everything. We didn't mind, he was only wanting the best for Kashmere. So the plate was covered in products of Stan's own industry, salami made to the old family recipe, olives from his trees that he had cured himself, Italian cheese he had made, tomatoes from his own hot houses in the Riverland, boiled eggs from his organic chickens, quartered and garnished with a splash of oil, Stan's own olive oil, and a sprinkle of chilli powder, Stan had grown the chillies. There was a cucumber salad, again the cucumbers were from his own hot houses. We drank our champagne commenting on Stan's produce then Stan poured Kashmere and me a glass of red wine made by him from his own grapes.

'Wine?'

'Thank you,' I said.

'Thank you Grandpa.'

'We need talk,' he said.

'Go on.'

We were having a very informal engagement party, no presents, just a few friends and no speeches. I had insisted on the no speeches bit.

'Honeymoon?' said Stan.

'All under control,' I said. 'We are going to Melting Beach, I went there on a training camp in the army.'

'Army, army, you take Kashmere on manoeuvres for honeymoon?'

'It's nice there Grandpa, there's a resort there now.'

'I think you fly to old country and go Sicily, then you go London, stay in Dorchester Hotel, top hotel very classy, then Queen Mary, first class suite, cruise to New York and you stay Waldorf Hotel, top place, you send me postcard from Empire State Building.'

'We can't afford that Grandpa.'

'I pay.'

'Thanks Stan,' I said, 'thanks a lot, but we want to go to Melting Beach, it's off the Queensland coast, on the barrier reef, we're going diving on the reef.'

'I buy this for you.'

'Grandpa, Jack wants to pay for the honeymoon.'

'Okay, okay, in that case I buy you house.'

'I have a house,' I said.

Business had been pretty good, what with one thing and another, and I had swapped my rented home for a real home, with a real mortgage.

'Wine, more wine?'

'Thank you.'

'Your house old and no good.'

'Well actually I had thought we could sell my house, buy a block of land and live in a yurt,' I said.

'What is yurt?' said Stan.

'It's a portable dwelling structure used by nomads in the steppes of central Asia. The structure's covered with layers of felt for insulation and weather proofing, basically it's a big round tent.'

'I think not,' said Kashmere.

'I buy land next door and build three storey house, eight bedrooms for you two and six kids. No yurt okay?'

'No yurt but it's two children Grandpa.'

'What you say?'

'It's up to Jack.'

'Jack, Jack. I want this for you my Kashmere.'

'What do you say Jack?' said Kashmere.

She smiled at me, shrugged her shoulders and winked.

'I suppose I could rent out my house. Look I'll agree, but only to two storeys and four bedrooms.'

Sometimes you just have to accept that someone wants to do something for you and let them do it. Kashmere's mother had never had a wedding, although she did have four children, and Stan desperately wanted everything to be perfect for Kashmere. It wasn't necessarily our idea of perfect but what the hell, it wasn't going to kill us to go along with him.

'And I will only agree if the house is in your name,' I said to Kashmere. 'I don't want it in both our names. I'm not a freeloader but Stan wants you to have it.'

'It should be in your name too.'

'But me no buts.'

'What he say?'

'He said yes Grandpa.'

'You good boy Jack. I right about you, you good boy.'

'Thanks Stan, but I don't want anything else.'

'You join business, you be my business partner, no more private detective.'

'No Grandpa, that's who Jack is, he's a man of action, that's what he does, that's why I love him.'

'Business take brains, business is action.'

'No Grandpa.'

'What I know?'

'Maybe later,' I said, 'when I'm getting too old to take on the world.'

'Okay maybe later you join business.'

At that moment a slow waltz played on the sound system and Bren, an old friend of Lincoln's, Lincoln being an old friend of mine, anyway Bren, who I usually describe as Mr Rolex, came up to us.

'Am I allowed to ask the beautiful Kashmere for a dance?' he asked me.

'She's her own woman,' I said.

Kashmere stood up.

'It will be a pleasure,' she said.

I would have preferred it if it hadn't been too much of a pleasure.

'House, we draw plans, I see architect tomorrow.'

'Not so quick,' I said.

'You have baby boy and call him Stan?'

'I'll get back to you on that one.'

I have to admit I wasn't paying Stan much attention, I was watching Kashmere, I'm just a little bit jealous of any man who pays Kashmere attention. But she wasn't long gone before she was back and sat herself down on my lap.

Lincoln, who I met during a brief stint of studying law at the University of Adelaide, wandered up to me. Picture a middle aged man wearing an expensive suit that hangs badly. Although that's just on the outside, on the inside he's a great bloke who has helped me out of trouble quite a few times.

'Jack, the man of the moment,' he enthused. 'What a lucky bloke hey Stan? He's about to marry the prettiest girl in the whole world. If I was single I'd marry her myself.'

'I wouldn't have you,' said Kashmere.

'I'll do you a deal Jack, if you don't think you're man enough for Kashmere, I'll be more than happy to take her off your hands.'

'He's man enough for me,' said Kashmere.

'Are you going to dance with your second cousin twice removed?' said Lincoln.

'Just the one dance,' said Kashmere.

Lincoln led her to the dance floor.

Ollo and Sunshine came over to our table. Ollo is second in command in my private detective agency. Sunshine is Ollo's world and my Girl Friday. She also takes in Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.

'G'day,' said Ollo.

'Hi Ollo,' I said.

I got up and gave Sunshine a hug.

'You like glass of wine,' said Stan.

'Nah, got me claws around a drop of the amber nectar,' said Ollo.

'You like glass of wine?' said Stan to Sunshine.

'Thanks but I'm the designated driver, no grog for me,' she said.

'Having a good time?' I said for something to say.

I'm not good at parties, especially if I'm the centre of attention.

'You know you've picked the prettiest girl I've ever seen,' said Ollo.

'Apart from me,' said Sunshine.

She nudged him hard with her hips.

'Well obviously apart from you sweetheart,' said Ollo. 'This salami stuff is good.'

He stuffed large amounts of salami into his mouth.

'My recipe from my village in old country,' said Stan.

'I've tidied up that investigation in to the bad neck fraud for the paint company,' said Ollo. 'Lincoln was really happy with the film, he says he can use it in court.'

'You're a wonder with the camera Ollo.'

'Yeah, should have been in the movies.'

'Strange old business really. We represent insurance companies who do their best to rob their clients blind, that's called business. When their clients try to rob them blind it's called fraud,' I said.

'The insurance companies pay well,' said Ollo. 'Coming for a dance good looking,' he said to Sunshine.

Sunshine turned to me.

'I know I've said this before but congratulations and good luck Jack, it couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke and if it falls through with Kashmere look me up, you could come up and see my etchings.'

Ollo and Sunshine went off to the dance floor and started to boogie in a weird and wonderful way. I wanted to laugh but decided to be diplomatic.

Pandora and Penelope now made their way over to our table. I first met them at Lincoln's garden party, where I had re-met Kashmir after our fateful commando raid together. They, Pandora and Penelope, were friends of Mr Rolex and on a few occasions Bren and I had gone out of our way to see who could flirt with the girls most. I liked to think I was ahead on points. They were tall, blonde and had incredibly long legs.

'Hi big boy,' said Pandora.

I think it was Pandora.

'Hello you hunk of beef steak,' said Penelope.

I think it was Penelope, they can be hard to tell apart.

'Hello ladies,' I said.

'You like some salami, special recipe from my village?' said Stan.

He handed them a plate of antipasto. They both took a slice of salami and chewed away with their white, bright teeth.

'Wow this is good,' said P1.

'Yeah, I like this, it tastes like Italian sausage,' said P2.

'It is Italian sausage,' I said.

'Wow,' they said in unison.

'You like more?' said Stan and he proffered the plate again.

'Might have an olive, have to watch the calories,' said one of the P's.

'Look at those little cutsie tomatoes, I'll have one of those,' said the other P.

They looked at me and then each other.

'Such a loss,' said one of the girls with a sigh.

'Such a pity,' said the other.

'Tell you what,' I said. 'If it falls through with Kashmere, I'll be first in line.'

'I'll be waiting.'

'So will I.'

'Liked the pictures of you in the paper a while back.'

'Especially the one without your shirt on.'

'I've got it pinned up on my mirror in my room.'

'I've got a copy folded up in my purse.'

'I've got to go, promised some guy or other a dance.'

'Me too.'

'Such a loss,' said one of the girls again with a sigh.'

'Such a pity,' said the other.

'Bye ladies,' I said.

'Nice girls,' said Stan.

As I was now unattached in the small talk department Anastasia, who had been eyeing me off for some time, wandered up to me with her new husband, Jayden, in tow. Anastasia and I had an intense few days together. I saved her life when the Russian mafia were trying to kill her. I had offered to marry her, for no reason other than being a knight in shining armour. Thankfully Jayden had stepped in, for which I would be eternally grateful.

'Hello good looking.'

'Hello Anastasia, how's things?'

'Pretty good.'

'How's married life? Has it turned into a Jane Austen novel?'

'No, not yet, but it might.'

'How's Basher?'

'He's so cute.'

'I hear you passed your exams with flying colours and you're going to do business studies at uni.'

'I still wonder if I should have married you when I had the chance.'

'No, it was for the wrong reasons.'

'They might have been wrong for you but they felt right for me, you saved my life.'

'Don't worry, you made the right decision.'

'I suppose I did, I just want it all really, like the spoilt brat that I am.'

'How are you Jayden,' I said shaking his hand.

'Happy thanks,' he said.

'I'm glad to hear it.'

'We're going to dance,' said Anastasia. 'I like to dance. Will you save the last waltz for me?'

'I'm afraid my Mum has booked me up.'

'Damn.'

I wasn't over the moon about having to dance the last dance of the night with Mum but she had demanded it of me and, to be honest, she makes very few demands of me. I didn't know why an ex hippy would like a song like that, maybe it reminded her of Dad somehow. So, when the music started, I led her onto the dance floor. It goes something like:

Da dum de dum

I had the last waltz with you

Two lonely people together

I fell in love with you

The last waltz should last forever.

I danced with Mum and Kashmere danced with her Grandpa, Stan the Man, but after we had made a couple of circuits I timed it so that we all collided. Stan handed me Kashmere then whisked Mum away. I took the centre of the dance floor with Kashmere in my arms.

'You do love me Jack don't you?' Kashmere asked. 'And you will love me through thick and thin?' Kashmere asked.

'I will love you forever, just like in the song,' I said.

It sounds a bit corny but there are times when only corny will do.

3: Soft Pink Bubbles

So, no villains on the horizon at the engagement party. But, I had obviously upset someone, somewhere, otherwise why was I incarcerated in a blacked out cellar? I had to do something, I wasn't going to let them, whoever they were, beat me.

I rocked from side to side in my wooden frame, that increased the pain and discomfort but to hell with pain and discomfort. I rocked forwards and backwards, the pain was worse but I got some movement. I moved my head as much as I could, that was fairly easy but when I tried to move my legs there wasn't much movement there at all. I moved one arm and then the other, again not much movement there either. I wasn't sure how much longer I could stay like this before I started going crazy. In not very much time at all I was going to be a claustrophobic mess.

If the body can't move, get the mind working instead, think of something pleasant, something beautiful, think of Kashmere.

We had a date, Kashmere and I, to meet at an alternative style café, Colin's Food Trough, and although the name sounds feral some of the food is good. The coffee wasn't, that was made from roasted parsnip or something like that, filthy stuff. The meat was made from soya, so I gave that the big miss, but they knocked out a salad full of wonderful flavours with asparagus, beetroot, mushrooms, rocket, hummus, feta cheese, baby tomatoes, sprouts, assorted lettuce leaves and anything else you could think of. I felt like a rabbit after I'd eaten, but a well fed happy rabbit. I ordered an organic beer for me and a glass of organic rosé for Kashmere, then we did what we had come to the restaurant to do, talk.

'I went to see Magenta,' said Kashmere.

As