14
BRAD
The sun was dropping on the other side of the bay when I left my townhouse. If I were being watched, I should have been able to pick out a tail while driving to Ebony’s. I had toyed with the idea of getting a tram to the city, catching a train to Altona, then a taxi to Ebony’s, but that was tempting fate. If they were following me, suspicions would’ve been rampant if I got on a tram, let alone caught a train. As far as they knew, Ebony was dead. My friend, Sherryn Forbes was renting my duplex in Altona, and I was visiting.
I navigated the traffic to get out of the city and onto the Westgate Freeway. I use the term “freeway” lightly. In all the years I’ve driven on it, I would never have called it a freeway. This evening was no exception. But thanks to the peak hour traffic gods,
