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like a George Morrisby. He
had an ancestor who had been a British army major stationed in
Sudan after Britain and Egypt retook Sudan in 1898 and made it a
protectorate. As the fifth son of a minor British lord William
Smythe Morrisby had little back in Britain to interest him so when
he fell in love with a local girl he decided to make Sudan his
home. His descendants had made a reasonable living importing and
exporting goods from Britain. Never really accepted in his
homeland, partially because of his mixed blood and partially
because his family were Anglican rather than Orthodox Christian or
Sunni Muslim, he had left his country in his late teens and gone to
Oxford to study engineering. One summer he came home from college
to find his family had been massacred as collateral damage in one
of Sudan’s many sectarian struggles for power. After five years in
refugee camps, two years in an Australian immigrant detention
centre and one year in a settlement program he had finally gained
his citizenship and become an Australian only to find he couldn’t
get work. His English might have been immaculate but times were
hard and even though no one was openly racist he knew his skin
colour went against him. He tried not to blame them, few outside of
Africa knew anything about his country and most had only seen the
worst of his fellow Africans on their new bulletins, brutal
dictators, machete wielding madmen and the like. Simon had found
him and offered him a job as his personal chauffeur. When he wasn’t
running clients up to Simon he made a bit extra hiring the Bentley
out for Weddings. He smoked the dope to help forget the pain of the
past. His large hand gripped Tyra’s and he smiled. “What’s someone
like you doing watching Simon’s door?”
    Tyra decided George seemed an honest
down-to-earth character so she decided on an honest reply. “I had
reason to need a security license so Simon gave me the job. I’m
still learning. This is my first night. By the way what is it that
Simon actually does that has the rich elite making a two hour drive
to this neck of the woods?”
    George frowned, searching his brain
for a safe answer. “Ah. That’s not for me to say, you’d better ask
Simon for the specifics. But that one tonight’s from Melbourne.
Nearly all of them I pick up at the airport. Simon pays me well so
I don’t ask too many questions.”
    Tyra sensed she wasn’t going to get
any more out of George. They spent the rest of the evening casually
discussing the weather, the footy and engaged in the Australian
pastime of bagging the politicians from all sides of politics. Once
or twice she thought she heard a cry or shout coming from the house
but George calmly told her to ignore it and went back to their
conversation.
    Some three hours later the lady
re-emerged, no longer looking hesitant but instead she held herself
with grace and calm. As she walked to the car peace and serenity
wafted off her in waves. She ignored Tyra and nodded to the
passenger door for George let her.
    George gave Tyra a quick hug in
farewell “Guess I’ll be seeing you around then. Take
care.”
    “ You too, see you
‘round.”
    Tyra watched as the Bentley
disappeared in the night, turning when she heard a call behind
her.
    Simon had partially opened his front
door. “Tyra, you give me a hand here?”
    “ Yeah, sure,
coming.”
     
     
    Tyra’s eyes bugged as she took the
sight of Simon and his lounge room. Simon was dressed, if you could
call it dressed, in black leather boots, black leather undies and
some kind of studded strapping that criss-crossed his back and
chest. At one end of the lounge stood a sturdy wooden cross frame
with what looked like furry cufflinks hanging from its ends and
around the floor were an array of ropes and whips.
    Simon pointed to the catch at the back
of his body harness. “Can you undo that for me, it’s always a
struggle to get out of this thing and since you’re
here...”
    “ Um...okay? Tyra came