Chapter One — The Last Fare - She Drove Him Into the Dark
By Hasnainhr
At 1:16 in the morning, Maya Carter decided she was finished for the night. At 1:17, her phone offered her one more fare.
She stared at the screen while rain whispered across the windshield. THE LANGFORD HOTEL — SOUTH YARRA. Passenger: V. Hale. Estimated fare: $118–$137. Maya glanced at the dashboard clock, then at the fuel gauge, then at the banking notification she had been avoiding since dinner. Payment due tomorrow. She sighed and tapped ACCEPT. “One more.”
The words sounded familiar because she had said them three times already.
Melbourne after midnight belonged to people with reasons not to be home. Bartenders finished shifts, nurses waited beneath hospital awnings, drunk couples argued beside tram stops, and delivery riders cut through intersections as if red lights were suggestions. Rain softened everything. Office towers disappeared into cloud, neon signs bled across wet asphalt and empty trams moved through the city like illuminated rooms.
Maya liked driving at night because nobody asked what she was doing with her life. During the day, people wanted explanations. Was driving temporary? Had she considered going back to university? Why had she left her office job? Was she seeing anyone? At thirty, apparently every unfinished part of a woman’s life became public property.
At night, passengers brought their own problems.
And most forgot Maya was there.
She had learned more about strangers in eighteen months behind the wheel than in the twenty-eight years before it. People treated the back seat like a confession booth. Married men called girlfriends. Teenagers rehearsed lies before going home. Executives insulted employees they would smile at the next morning. Couples ended relationships between traffic lights, then reconciled before reaching their destination, then broke up again because someone said the wrong name.
Maya rarely interfered.
Listening was safer than participating.
Her grey Toyota Camry was five years old, immaculately clean and still technically owned more by the bank than by her. The dealership had called the colour Graphite Metallic. Maya called it Grey. It smelled faintly of vanilla air freshener, takeaway coffee and damp coats. She kept bottled water in the rear doors, tissues beneath the console and three charging cables because passengers left better ratings when their phones arrived alive.
Seven minutes later, she pulled beneath the Langford Hotel’s entrance canopy. The building glowed warm against the rain, all polished stone, brass trim and floor-to-ceiling glass. A black Mercedes waited outside, then a Range Rover. Maya’s Camry looked as though it had accidentally joined a wedding procession.
She parked in the pickup zone. Passenger notified.
One minute passed. Then three. At five, she considered cancelling. At six, the revolving doors moved.
A man stepped outside.
Maya knew immediately that he was her fare.
Not because he looked wealthy, though he did. He was perhaps sixty, tall and lean, wearing a charcoal overcoat over a dark suit. Grey hair, neatly cut. Expensive shoes already catching the rain. In his left hand, he carried a narrow black leather briefcase.
What caught Maya’s attention was the way he stopped beneath the awning and looked back through the lobby.
A doorman said something to him.
The man barely acknowledged it.
He continued staring through the glass as if waiting for someone to appear.
Maya followed his gaze. A receptionist stood behind the front desk. An older couple waited near the lifts. A man in a navy suit crossed the lobby. Nothing unusual.
Then the stranger turned and walked quickly toward Maya’s car.
He opened the rear door and got in. “Drive.”
Maya looked at him in the mirror. “Victor?”
His eyes moved to hers. “Yes.”
“I need the surname.”
A flash of irritation crossed his face. “Hale. Victor Hale.”
“All right.”
She put the car into gear.
The app showed an address in Kew.
Thirty-six minutes.
Maya pulled away from the hotel. Before they reached the end of the street, Victor turned and looked through the rear window.
Once.
Then again.
Maya noticed but said nothing.
At the first major intersection he leaned forward. “Can you ignore the navigation?”
“You want a different route?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“Any.”
Maya glanced at him in the mirror. “Any route?”
“As long as it isn’t that one.”
He nodded toward her mounted phone.
“The app isn’t plotting against you,” Maya said. “It’s avoiding roadworks.”
Victor did not smile. “Take the next left.”
The next left added almost ten minutes.
“Your fare will go up.”
“That’s fine.”
Maya turned.
Victor checked behind them again.
Her amusement faded.
Rain strengthened as they moved through South Yarra, tapping hard against the roof. The wipers swept back and forth at full speed. Maya watched Victor whenever the road allowed it. He was not drunk. His speech was clear and his eyes focused, but his right hand remained wrapped around the briefcase handle so tightly the knuckles had gone pale.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“That sounded convincing.”
Victor met her gaze through the mirror. “I had a bad evening.”
“That makes two of us.”
He looked away.
Maya expected him to ask why.
He didn’t.
She preferred him slightly for that.
They drove for another minute before he said, “How long have you been doing this?”
“Driving?”
“Yes.”
“Eighteen months.”
“At night?”
“Mostly.”
“Why?”
“Better money.”
“That’s all?”
“Do I need another reason?”
“No.” He looked through the side window. “I suppose not.”
A tram rattled past in the opposite direction, nearly empty. Victor watched it disappear.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked.
“What?”
“The people.”
Maya smiled faintly. “You’re currently one of the people.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Most are harmless.”
“Most?”
“Some vomit.”
For the first time, Victor almost smiled.
“Anyone dangerous?”
Maya shrugged. “Dangerous people generally don’t advertise.”
Victor looked at her.
Something about his expression made her wish she had chosen different words.
Her own phone vibrated.
A message from Luke appeared at the top of the screen.
You alive?
Maya ignored it.
Victor had noticed the name. “Your husband?”
“Brother.”
“Older?”
“Younger.”
“Close?”
“Usually.”
Victor nodded. “I have a daughter.”
Maya had not asked.
“She doesn’t speak to me.”
There was no self-pity in his voice, which somehow made the confession more uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” Maya said.
“Don’t be. She has reasons.”
His phone rang.
He looked at the screen and rejected the call.
Twenty seconds later, it rang again.
This time his jaw tightened.
He put the phone face down beside him.
Maya returned her attention to the road.
“Take the next right,” Victor said.
“That goes away from Kew.”
“I know.”
“Mister Hale, are you actually going to Kew?”
“Yes.”
“Eventually?”
A pause. “Yes.”
Maya turned right.
They were moving through quieter streets now. Large homes sat dark behind wet gardens and high fences. Traffic thinned until every set of headlights became noticeable.
One appeared behind them.
Black SUV.
At first Maya thought nothing of it.
The SUV followed through one intersection.
Then another.
Maya turned left.
It turned left.
She checked the mirror.
Victor was already watching it.
“Friend of yours?” she asked.
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Maya turned right at the next street.
The SUV turned right.
A small cold sensation moved across the back of her neck.
Victor leaned forward. “Take the next left.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Maya tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “No.”
“Maya.”
Hearing her name from him startled her.
Then she remembered the app displayed it.
Of course.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“Nothing is happening.”
“That car has made three turns with us.”
“It’s Melbourne. People use roads.”
“You were watching it before I was.”
Victor looked back.
The SUV was closer now.
One vehicle sat between them.
“Take the next left,” he repeated.
“Mister Hale—”
“Please.”
The word changed everything.
Not because it was polite.
Because for the first time, Victor sounded frightened.
Actually frightened.
Maya took the left.
The road narrowed instantly, running between high fences and trees bent under the rain. Parked cars lined one side. There was almost nowhere to turn around.
Maya watched her mirror.
The SUV reached the intersection.
For one long second, it slowed.
Then continued straight.
Victor released a breath.
Maya heard it.
“So that was nothing?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
Victor said nothing.
Maya pulled toward the kerb.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Ending the ride.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pay double.”
“That isn’t helping.”
“Maya, I need to get to Kew.”
“You’ve spent twenty minutes making sure we don’t.”
Victor leaned forward but kept both hands where she could see them.
Maya stared at him through the mirror. “Who was in that car?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who do you think was in it?”
“No one.”
“That answer doesn’t even make sense.”
Victor rubbed his forehead. For the first time, the controlled businessman disappeared and she saw something older beneath it. Exhaustion. Fear. Perhaps shame.
“If I knew who was following me,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t be sitting in the back of your car.”
Maya studied him.
She should have told him to get out.
Instead, she thought about tomorrow’s car payment, the electricity notice on the kitchen bench, the brake pads her mechanic said could probably survive another month and the eight hundred and sixteen dollars remaining in what she still called savings.
She hated that money entered her mind.
But it did.
“How much farther?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“No more detours.”
“Fine.”
“If you ask for another random turn, I stop somewhere public and you find another driver.”
Victor nodded. “Agreed.”
Maya pulled away.
Five minutes later, Victor’s phone vibrated again.
He answered this time. “What?”
Maya could hear only a faint voice from the other side.
Victor listened.
“No.”
The caller continued.
“I told you. It’s over.”
His eyes moved toward Maya.
Then away.
“No, you listen to me.”
Another pause.
Victor’s expression hardened.
“You don’t threaten her.”
Maya’s gaze lifted to the mirror.
The caller said something else.
Victor disconnected.
Silence settled over the car.
Maya waited ten seconds. “You don’t threaten who?”
“My daughter.”
“You said she doesn’t speak to you.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Then why would anyone threaten her?”
Victor looked out the window.
Maya considered pushing.
She didn’t.
Thirty seconds later, Victor said, “You were right.”
“About what?”
“Dangerous people not advertising.”
Maya looked at him in the mirror.
Victor gave a humourless smile. “Forget I said that.”
“Already forgotten.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Good.”
His answer sounded strangely sincere.
By the time they reached Kew, the rain had weakened to mist. Large houses stood behind stone walls and thick hedges. The road was so quiet Maya could hear water moving beneath the tyres.
The navigation directed them toward number fourteen.
“Destination on the left,” the app announced.
Maya slowed.
Victor leaned forward. “Keep going.”
She stopped.
“This is your address.”
“Two more blocks.”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“We had an agreement.”
“It’s two blocks.”
“Then you can walk.”
Victor looked toward the dark house beside them.
Number fourteen showed no lights.
No movement.
No vehicle in the driveway.
Then he looked back through the rear window.
The street was empty.
Victor reached inside his coat.
Maya’s heartbeat jumped.
Her finger moved toward the central locking controls.
Victor pulled out his wallet.
He placed five hundred-dollar notes between the front seats.
“Two blocks.”
Maya stared at the money.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
“Put it away.”
He added another five hundred dollars.
“One thousand.”
Maya turned halfway toward him. “If somebody offered you a thousand dollars to move two hundred metres, would that make you feel safer or less safe?”
Victor looked at the cash.
Slowly, he put it away.
“You’re right.”
“Good.”
“I’m sorry.”
For the first time, Maya noticed just how tired he looked. Shadows sat beneath his eyes. His collar had loosened. One shirt cuff had slipped from beneath the coat sleeve.
There was a small dark stain near the edge.
Brownish red.
Wine, Maya thought.
Or blood.
Victor noticed her looking and pulled the cuff beneath his coat.
Maya’s stomach tightened.
“Why number fourteen?” she asked.
“It’s an address.”
“Not yours?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
Victor did not answer.
Maya exhaled.
“Two blocks. Then you’re out.”
“Thank you.”
She drove.
Number sixteen passed.
Then eighteen.
Victor leaned forward. “Here.”
Maya slowed beside a narrow laneway between two properties.
There was no visible house at the end.
Only darkness.
“You cannot be serious.”
“It’s fine.”
“People who say ‘it’s fine’ this often usually know it isn’t.”
Victor picked up his briefcase.
He opened the door.
Cold air entered the car.
Before stepping out, he paused. “Maya.”
“What?”
“If anyone contacts you about tonight, you dropped me at number fourteen.”
She stared at him. “Contacts me how?”
Victor did not answer.
“Police?”
“I didn’t say police.”
“That’s about the second worst possible answer.”
Victor stepped out.
Rain misted across his coat.
Then he leaned toward the open door.
“Go home.”
Maya frowned. “Why?”
“Because this was your last fare.”
Her expression changed.
“How do you know that?”
Victor blinked.
Maya continued, “I never told you.”
For the first time that night, Victor looked caught off guard.
His eyes flicked toward her mounted phone.
“You said it earlier.”
“No, I didn’t.”
A beat passed.
Victor straightened.
“Good night, Maya.”
He closed the door.
Maya watched him enter the laneway.
Ten steps.
Fifteen.
His dark coat merged into the shadows.
Then a second figure appeared.
Maya leaned slightly forward.
The person stood near the far end of the lane, almost completely hidden by darkness.
Victor stopped.
The second figure moved toward him.
Maya could not see a face.
Victor appeared to say something.
The other person lifted one arm.
Maya’s fingers moved toward her phone.
Headlights suddenly filled her mirror.
A vehicle had turned onto the street behind her.
Large.
Black.
SUV.
The same one?
Maya couldn’t tell.
She didn’t wait to find out.
She put the Camry into gear and drove.
Fast.
She made one turn, then another.
At the third intersection she finally looked back.
No SUV.
She exhaled slowly.
Her phone rang.
Luke.
Maya answered through the car speakers. “What?”
“Nice to hear your voice too.”
“It’s two in the morning.”
“Exactly. You’re awake.”
“I’m working.”
“Still?”
“Going home.”
“Good. Mum called me.”
Maya groaned. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t called her.”
“I called Sunday.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“That’s how weeks work.”
Luke laughed.
Maya smiled despite herself.
“You coming Sunday?”
“Probably.”
“That means no.”
“It means probably.”
“Mum’s making lasagne.”
“Now it means definitely probably.”
Luke went quiet. “You okay?”
Maya glanced into the rear-view mirror.
Empty back seat.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You sound weird.”
“Had a weird passenger.”
“Drunk?”
“No.”
“Creepy?”
Maya thought of the black SUV, Victor’s stained cuff, the hidden lane and the second figure waiting in the darkness.
“Just weird.”
“You want me to stay on until you get home?”
“You’re twenty-six, Luke. Stop acting like my dad.”
“Someone has to.”
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
“Because I usually am.”
“Usually isn’t always.”
They spoke for another minute. Their mother wanted both of them at lunch. Luke complained about spinach in her lasagne. Maya told him adulthood included vegetables.
Normal conversation.
She needed it.
After they hung up, she switched on the radio.
A minute later, she heard a vibration.
She lowered the music.
Nothing.
Then again.
Bzzzt.
Not her phone.
The sound came from the rear.
Maya frowned.
Another vibration.
She pulled into a twenty-four-hour petrol station flooded with white fluorescent light.
She left the engine running and stepped out.
Mist touched her face.
Maya opened the rear passenger door.
The seat was empty.
She crouched.
A black phone lay partly beneath the front passenger seat.
Victor’s.
“Perfect.”
She picked it up.
The screen illuminated.
14 MISSED CALLS
A message appeared immediately.
WHERE ARE YOU?
Then another.
ANSWER ME.
A third followed.
YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE TAKEN IT.
Maya stared.
Taken what?
The phone rang.
NO CALLER ID
She let it ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
It stopped.
A message appeared.
WHO IS DRIVING THE CAR?
Maya’s skin went cold.
She looked around the forecourt.
A man stood beside a white ute filling the tank. A woman emerged from the convenience store holding coffee. The cashier watched a television behind the counter.
No black SUV.
No one looking directly at her.
The phone rang again.
Against every sensible instinct, Maya answered.
She said nothing.
A man’s voice spoke.
“Victor?”
Maya held her breath.
“Victor, listen carefully.”
The caller paused.
Then his tone changed.
“You’re not Victor.”
Maya ended the call.
The phone immediately buzzed.
A new message.
MAYA?
Her body went still.
The petrol station seemed suddenly enormous and exposed.
Victor could have told them her name.
The booking app had her first name.
There were explanations.
She switched his phone off and climbed back into the car.
Home.
That was all she wanted now.
Home.
She drove the remaining twelve minutes checking her mirrors far more often than usual.
Nothing followed.
By the time she entered the underground garage beneath her apartment building, she had almost convinced herself she had overreacted.
The SUV could have been coincidence.
Victor could have been involved in an ugly business dispute.
The messages could have meant documents, money, anything.
There were thousands of explanations that did not involve murder.
Maya parked.
Turned off the engine.
Silence settled around the car.
She gathered her handbag, her own phone and Victor’s phone.
Then she saw something in the rear footwell.
A corner of cream-coloured paper protruded from beneath the seat.
Maya frowned.
She cleaned the car before every shift.
That had not been there.
She opened the rear door and reached underneath.
Her fingers closed around a thick envelope.
No name.
No address.
Sealed.
Victor must have dropped it.
Except it was too far beneath the seat.
Dropped objects fell.
They did not usually slide themselves beneath upholstery.
Maya looked toward the garage entrance.
Empty.
She opened the envelope.
Money.
Bundles of hundred-dollar notes.
Maya stopped breathing for a second.
She did not count them.
She didn’t need to.
There were thousands.
Possibly tens of thousands.
Beneath the cash sat a small black USB drive.
And a photograph.
Maya pulled it free.
Victor stood beside a young woman near a waterfront, both smiling at the camera. The woman looked in her twenties, dark blonde hair moving in the wind.
His daughter, Maya assumed.
Something had been written on the back.
Maya turned the photograph over.
Three words.
DON’T TRUST DANIEL.
She read them twice.
Daniel who?
Her own phone buzzed.
Maya flinched.
A news notification.
She almost dismissed it.
Then she saw Victor’s photograph beneath the headline.
MAN FOUND DEAD IN KEW — HOMICIDE SQUAD INVESTIGATING
Maya stared at the screen.
For several seconds, the garage disappeared around her.
Victor Hale had been alive less than an hour ago.
He had sat in this car.
He had spoken about his daughter.
He had told Maya to go home.
And now he was dead.
Maya looked at the envelope in her hand.
Cash.
USB.
Photograph.
Her stomach turned.
She slowly raised her head toward the garage entrance.
A vehicle had stopped outside the security gate.
Large.
Black.
Its headlights remained on.
Maya could not see the driver.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She did not answer.
A message arrived.
You have something of mine.
A second appeared before Maya had finished reading the first.
Do not give it to the police.
Then a third.
Especially not Detective Daniel Reid.
Maya looked down at the photograph again.
DON’T TRUST DANIEL.
A soft electronic beep came from the garage gate.
Someone outside had entered the access code.
The barrier began to rise.