Chapter 3

Benson awoke to the buzz of the alarm and to the sour taste of last nights whisky in his mouth. Nothing new there, that's how he normally woke up. What was new was that today he had something that actually interested him to do.

He could never be arsed making a bed so if it was cold he climbed into a sleeping bag or if it was a bit warmer he just draped the bag over himself like a doona on the bare mattress. Benson rolled out from under the bag and flicked on the kettle. Over the years he'd taken to the habit of keeping the kettle, a jar of coffee and a mug on the bedside table. He didn't even use a spoon, Benson just tipped the amount of coffee he thought was about right into the mug and added water.

"People smuggling and human trafficking" he thought "what the hell do I know about people smuggling or people trafficking"? Benson said to himself as he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

There were dark bags under his wrinkled eyes and red and purple veins prominent on his nose due to the alcohol, but for fifty one he hadn't done too badly in the body department. Though technically an alcoholic Benson had a rule that he never drank till the sun went down and on most days he pushed himself through a rigorous physical workout of some kind. Today he needed to think and so this morning it would be a run.

Benson didn't know much about people smuggling or human trafficking but he did know enough to know they were two very different but related forms of crimes. As he ran he recalled that people smuggling was the facilitation of illegal border crossings by willing, usually paying customers and human or people trafficking was pretty much what amounted to modern day slavery. Similar in lots of respects but also very different too. He also knew that at an organised crime level it was mostly Middle Eastern and Asian syndicates that dominated operations in this neck of the woods. So what was a South African doing setting up shop here in Australia? He'd just have to file that question away for more thought later.

After about thirty minutes of running along the river Benson turned for home "an hour ought to do it" he thought. Already he could feel the excesses from the night before excised from his body and he put on a burst of speed to overtake another runner about 30 years his junior dressed in all the latest kit but going nowhere fast "wanker" Benson thought to himself as he accelerated past.

Being a Saturday there would be a limit to what he could achieve, but after showering and a breakfast of cold pizza Benson decided to pay a buddiy of his a visit in Chinatown.