by Drew Lindsay
The Australian summer had arrived on a Thursday this year. Spring had warmed up to its usual ‘hit and miss’ way with warm days followed by a plunge into cold. On the Thursday that Ben Hood walked out of Police Headquarters after handing over his badge, handcuffs and gun; summer had arrived with a vengeance.
Ben walked slowly back to the Criminal Investigation Branch, a short distance away in Liverpool Street. He knew the boys would already know what had happened. Juicy news travelled fast in the job. The bland façade of the CIB confronted him. His car was parked in the basement and he had stuff to collect. The plan was to be in and out quickly.
As the lift doors opened on the 11th floor, his worst fears were realised as he walked past the skull and crossbones hanging over the entrance to the Special Operations Team headquarters.
He had been walking with hunched shoulders. Defeated. Sad. He wasn’t going to let them see him that way. Ben straightened up to his full height of six foot one, pulled in his slowly increasing middle aged girth and flexed his well developed arm muscles. At least he had retained his arm muscles. His blue eyes were piercing; a feature which had assisted with numerous Police interrogations and several out of hours encounters with the opposite sex. That had also probably contributed to the rather distant relationship he now shared with his wife. His short cropped brown hair was thinning on top but thick at the sides with just a hint of grey. He had forgotten to shave that morning so dark stubble was evident.
His suit had seen better days. Dark blue pin striped. The seam in his trousers had disappeared. He no longer had a large gun to hide so his coat hung over his shoulder from his right hand finger and the empty pancake holster was in plain view.
Ben walked into the squad room. Eight young male and two female faces swung towards him. Most were smiling. The two female faces were not. Ben scanned the room and walked confidently to his desk. He put his coat on the back of his chair and sat down. No-one spoke.
Ben looked at the framed photograph of movie star Brenda Grant on his desk. Someone had blackened out one of her front teeth with a Texta pen on glass. They were always doing that, or worse and he had always faithfully cleaned off the ink and restored her to her incredible beauty.
He put the photograph of Brenda Grant face down on the desk. He looked at one of the young Detectives. ‘Brian. Could you get a box for my stuff?’
‘Yes sir,’ said a youthful Brian and he scurried to the break out room.
Ben scanned the 7 male faces and ignored the girls. ‘Obviously you all know?’ Several mumbled that they did.
‘Looks like I’ll be trying to start another life eh? Might even go to Hollywood and meet Brenda.’
Laughter rippled through the room.
‘Well why not? I’m not that old.’
Detective Simon Bastock put his hand up to get Ben’s full attention and said, ‘Ben, you ARE that old and Brenda Grant is half your age. You are also married. Brenda is totally untouchable, way out of your league and lives in a bodyguarded mansion on the other side of the planet. You have been pulling our legs with this Brenda Grant thing, right?’
Brian walked back into the room and dropped a cardboard carton on Ben’s desk. Ben looked back at Simon Bastock. ‘You’ve got to have dreams mate. We work one of the crap jobs of the world so you have to have dreams…..even if they are out of your reach.’
Simon said nothing. Ben emptied the contents of his desk drawers into the box and laid the framed photo of Brenda Grant on top. A phone rang on a distant desk and was answered by one of the girls. The Police radio squawked softly from a speaker in the ceiling. Ben threw his coat over the cardboard box and lifted it into his arms. ‘You guys take care and don’t forget to write.’
‘What are you really going to do Ben?’ asked Simon.
‘Get used to being washed up I suppose,’ said Ben and he walked out of the office. As he waited for the lift he became aware of someone beside him. Ben looked down at the young female Detective. He had forgotten her name. She placed a business card in the pocket of his shirt.
‘What’s this?’
‘A friend of mine. I used to date him. He’s in security.’
‘I hate security.’
‘This is different. It’s a very professional operation Ben. They need people like you.’
‘Not interested.’
‘Just in case.’
Ben looked into the pretty face and sparkling dark brown eyes. ‘OK, thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.’
The lift arrived and he stepped in. He did not look back at the girl as the doors closed.
Simon Bastock looked around the squad room at his colleagues. He glanced briefly at Detective Lisbet Fenton as she walked back into the room from the lift foyer and dropped into a chair at her desk. Bastock laughed loudly. ‘Tell you what guys. If I ever see any evidence that Hood gets Brenda Grant to even acknowledge that he’s alive, I’ll personally send the bugger a thousand bucks.’
Lisbet Fenton looked up from her desk. ‘Careful there Simon. You just never know.’
‘I’m not joking! A thousand bucks to Hood if I see any evidence from anywhere that can convince me baby eyes even knows Hood is alive. You’re all witnesses, right?’
‘Right,’ said Lisbet. ‘We’re all witnesses.’
“****”
Chapter Three