His room-mate had
already departed and the place was a clutter of boxes stuffed with
clothes, tapes and books.
Anthrax sat in bed half-asleep, half-watching the `Today' show when he
heard the sound of a large vehicle pulling up outside. He looked out
the window expecting to see the removalists. What he saw instead was
at least four men in casual clothes running toward the house.
They were a little too enthusiastic for removalists and they split up
before getting to the door, with two men forking off toward opposite
sides of the building. One headed for the car port. Another dove
around the other side of the building. A third banged on the front
door. Anthrax shook himself awake.
The short, stocky guy at the front door was a worry. He had puffy,
longish hair and was wearing a sweatshirt and acid-wash jeans so tight
you could count the change in his back pocket. Bad ideas raced through
Anthrax's head. It looked like a home invasion. Thugs were going to
break into his home, tie him up and terrorise him before stealing all
his valuables.
`Open up. Open up,' the stocky one shouted, flashing a police badge.
Stunned, and still uncomprehending, Anthrax opened the door.
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