All was quiet at 125 Greygum Ave. It was 9.30 p.m. and all the windows were dark. A light was on over the front porch. In the dim street lighting Benny couldn't see Lucas's car parked anywhere on the street. All the other houses were still and silent. A typical suburban street on a Wednesday night. Why wasn't Lucas home?
Benny was sweating. He had bought a jacket with deep pockets to carry the gun and even though it was now early autumn, the nights were still warm. And he'd walked the five kilometres from his house to Lucas's—less risky than catching a bus or riding his bike. The fewer people he met along the way the better.
He looked around for somewhere to hide until Lucas came home. There was nowhere; only the large plane tree at the end of the street where he'd loitered the first tim
