Heaven Nor Hell

by Paul Greenway

  ‘Bloody well remember!’

  Todd couldn’t really scratch his head while being coated with rouge. ‘OK. He did go on and on about wars in Africa. And how they used to be about “-isms” like communism and fascism, but are now caused by diamonds and oil and stuff they put in mobile phones. Jeez, he even made me feel guilty. For a minute, anyway.’

  Ashleigh stared at the card and mumbled to herself. ‘Unilateralism.’

  ‘What's that mean?’ asked Jordan.

  Asian Makeup Girl casually answered as she tried combing out the tangles in Jordan's hair. ‘Unilateralism is a doctrine whereby nations work alone, usually without consultation with other countries, and often against the desires and interests of their citizens.’ Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd stared at the woman, who glared back. ‘You think I'm stupid just because I work in makeup? I have an MBA, you know.’

  Jordan twisted around in the chair and peered up to Asian Makeup Girl. ‘I think I'm in love.’

  Todd couldn’t really nod while being streaked with mascara. ‘I remember something else. When that dude gave me his card, he explained that his division had to start with the letter “u”. I was going to ask him why, but …‘

  ‘… your glass was empty, right?’ On the table, Ashleigh placed the four cards showing the letters P, R, U and G.

  Todd glanced to his left. ‘PRUG?’

  ‘These four letters have to mean something. They have to make a word. Why else would this guy's division …’ Ashleigh held up the newest business card. ‘… have to start with a “u”?’ She arranged the cards in a different order.

  Jordan whispered to Asian Makeup Girl. ‘Does PURG mean anything?’ As she shook her head, Jordan indicated that his sideburns needed trimming.

  Ashleigh continued, almost to herself. ‘The four people are definitely linked. The business cards are almost identical. And the first three digits of each telephone number indicate that they most probably share the same office. Although the email addresses are all different.’

  Jordan tried to impress Asian Makeup Girl, but she growled softly whenever he spoke and moved. ‘But who or what runs that office?’

  ‘Well, if we add an “e”, we get the word PURGE. That guy who gave us this card …’ Ashleigh pointed to the one with the letter R. ‘… said Catholicism was a business in one of the largest industries on earth: religion. And these are all major industries, too.’ She pointed to each card. ‘Pharmaceuticals. Unilateralism, which really means war. And government. But they must all be under the control of something or someone ... So, what other obscenely powerful and rich industry starts with an “e” to make PURGE?’

  Todd couldn’t really speak while being glazed with lip gloss. ‘Environment?’

  ‘Nah.’ Ashleigh shook her makeup-free face. ‘No-one becomes obscenely rich and powerful by saving the environment.’

  ‘They do by destroying it.’ Jordan grimaced as his hair continued to be untangled. ‘Logging. Mining for coal. Oil.’

  Ashleigh thumped the table. ‘That's it!’

  Asian Makeup Girl winked at Jordan, who winked back although he didn’t have a clue what she and Ashleigh had both realised.

  Neither did Todd. ‘What is it?’

  On her iPad, Ashleigh found and watched unedited footage from previous interviews of the two doctors. She then nodded with satisfaction and played a snippet of the footage to Todd and Jordan.

  ‘Are you part of some organisation?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the name is ..?’

  ‘The group.’

  Todd and Jordan glanced at each other and shrugged. Ashleigh exhaled noisily, picked up a tube of lipstick, and took some blank paper from a printer. She sat down and scrawled a large O in the middle of the page with a bright shade of “Heavenly Passion”. ‘It’s obvious. O is for “oil”, which is one of the biggest, most powerful and corrupt industries on earth.’ As she continued to explain, Ashleigh placed the two business cards with the letters G and R to the left of the O on the blank page. ‘These are the five biggest industries on the planet. G for Government. R for Religion. Then, there’s Oil.’ She positioned the other two business cards with the U and P to the right of the O. ‘Unilateralism, which is another word for war. And there’s Pharmaceuticals. And all of these divisions are under the control of–’

  ‘–a group called GROUP?’ Todd’s face was now fully caked and daubed, so he could speak properly.

  Asian Makeup Girl broke the confused silence. ‘The owner of this TV station is part of a group called GROUP.’

  ‘What?’ Ashleigh spun around. ‘How do you know that?’

  Asian Makeup Girl shrugged. ‘He tells me stuff when we shag.’ Jordan gaped at her with abject disappointment. ‘To get anywhere in the TV business,’ she mumbled glumly, ‘you need more than an MBA.’

  * * * * *

  In the TV studio a woman with copious makeup that could not conceal her wrinkles and droopy chin was perched daintily on the edge of a velvet chair under a sign that read Dawn at Dawn. Seated beside her was a man with a smile for which dentists charged him over $17,000. Cameras were primed as an associate producer counted down with fingers to indicate that the show was about to re-commence after an extended break of puerile advertisements.

  ‘Welcome back to Dawn at Dawn.’ The audience applauded as instructed by another associate producer. ‘Joining me now is Layne …’ She swivelled in the chair towards her co-host. ‘… our political reporter.’

  Most of the audience were women and adored his $17,000 smile and football physique, so they whistled and cheered.

  ‘Thanks, Dawn.’ Layne displayed his rows of pearly-whites. ‘Lovely to be here again. We have so much to cover this morning and …’ He paused to beam once more. ‘… uncover.’

  The audience cooed as one. ‘Ooohhh.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Dawn tried unsuccessfully to match Layne’s grin. ‘So, please welcome our guests, Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd.’

  To polite applause as instructed by a third associate producer, the three students strolled uncertainly on to the set and squeezed onto a couch facing the two hosts.

  Dawn spun towards the camera with the red light. ‘As we all know, these journalism students have hogged the headlines across the world recently because of their investigation into the Eternal Drug.’ She turned towards her three guests. ‘You must be delighted to be here.’

  ‘We must be.’ Jordan made little effort to control his sarcasm.

  Ashleigh also couldn’t hide her distaste. ‘I hate these sorts of shows.’

  But Todd leered at Dawn. ‘Well, I am so very, very happy to be here.’

  Dawn shuddered slightly before turning back to the camera. ‘I am sure everyone has read all the reports, seen the film clips, and heard about the most recent voice recordings.’ She raised an arm towards Ashleigh. ‘But it's time to be honest now, dear. It's all a pack of lies, isn't it?’

  ‘What? No!’

  The audience jeered on command. ‘Boooooo …’

  Dawn had to speak above the audience’s reactions. ‘Why should anyone believe you?’

  Ashleigh sneered. ‘Why should anyone believe you?’

  ‘… boooooo …’

  Ashleigh had to almost shout. ‘Look at that previous story we had to watch before all those stupid ads. How do we know that the things you said really happened?’

  Dawn snorted with derision. ‘Because this is a reputable show.’

  The audience cheered and applauded.

  ‘Ha!’ Ashleigh sneered again.

  ‘… boooooo …’

  ‘You’re not a journalist, are you, dear?’

  ‘Are you?’ Ashleigh knew the answer, so she didn’t wait. ‘How did you get a cushy job hosting this crappy show? Was it despite your bottled blond hair and Botox boobs?’

  The audience gasped with disbelief as Dawn gulped. ‘Time now to introduce you three to Layne …’ Dawn turned to her co-host. ‘… who is a journalist.’<
br />
  The women in the audience again whooped and whistled.

  Layne addressed Ashleigh with a condescending tone. ‘So, what proof do you have to back up these allegations about there being no Heaven or Hell? Or proof for your ridiculous stories about people coming back to life after being injected with this Eternal Drug?’

  ‘But you've seen the proof. There's film clips–‘

  ‘–of two old men making preposterous claims. But no-one believes them. They are gangsters, knee-deep in racketeering, gambling and child-care centres. They lie and cheat. It's what they do. And they do it well.’

  ‘… yeah … so well … they’re crims …’

  Grinning extravagantly at the audience’s reactions, Layne turned to a screen that showed footage of Charlie and Dom being arrested by police. ‘These men haven't been totally honest with the tax department, have they?’

  The audience chuckled and cackled.

  Jordan sneered at Layne. ‘Have you?’ Jordan turned to Todd. ‘Make a note to investigate Layne's income tax records for the past ten years.’

  ‘… boooooo ...’

  Todd opened a notepad and pretended to take notes as Layne looked on uneasily.

  Ashleigh continued to argue her case. ‘And that nun said–‘

  ‘–what exactly?’ Layne sniggered patronisingly. ‘All I've seen is a clip with a digitally-altered voice that any nerd can create …’ He glanced at Jordan. ‘… after they've illegally downloaded the editing software.’ 

  ‘… ha … so wrong … such nerds … ’

  Jordan was forced to shout. ‘And you've never illegally downloaded anything?’ He again turned to Todd. ‘Make a note to check.’

  ‘… boooooo …’ But the audience’s reactions were now less convincing.

  Layne glanced at Todd with subdued alarm. ‘And the third lie is that you apparently met someone who claims to be the Prime Minister's Special Envoy.’

  ‘I've got his business card.’ Ashleigh searched for the evidence in her secret jean pocket.

  ‘But he does not exist.’ Layne shook his head with well-practised exaggeration as the audience continued with a combination of boos and jeers. ‘And the Prime Minister doesn't even have a special envoy.’

  ‘What?’ Ashleigh glared at Layne. ‘But …’ She glanced at Jordan and Todd, who both shrugged.

  ‘And, sadly,’ added Dawn, ‘the Prime Minister doesn't have a mother anymore either.’

  ‘… aaahhh ... so sad ... a shame …’

  Layne waited for the audience’s responses to subside. ‘And, of course, that doctor ...’

  Ashleigh was aghast. ‘But you saw the video clip!’

  ‘… with the shadowed face and fuzzy voice? Lie number four, wasn't it? It could've been anyone.’

  ‘… yeah … right … anyone …’

  Dawn smirked at Ashleigh with unrepressed disdain. ‘I suspect the doctor was really just one of your silly little classmates on your silly little journalism course at your silly little university.’

  Layne offered an extended sigh. ‘You must’ve learnt in Legal 101 that none of your apparent evidence would ever stand up in any court.’

  ‘… yeah … of course ... no way ...’

  ‘It’s all just a hoax, isn't it? For …’

  ‘… boooooo …’

  ‘… glory, fame and money. Just a desperate attempt to get something, anything, to include in–‘

  ‘–your silly little university assignment,’ added Dawn.

  ‘… ha … yeah … so true …’

  Jordan stood defiantly. ‘Piss off. We had more–‘

  ‘–film of the doctors?’ Layne snorted. ‘So you say. But that was apparently taken from you, wasn't it, by this mysterious envoy?’

  Ashleigh also stood. ‘Yes, it was!’

  ‘… no … it wasn’t ... couldn't have ...’

  Layne continued with confidence that a $17,000 smile and $200,000 annual salary could provide. ‘And those two recordings you recently posted online. One is an apparent conversation with this special envoy–‘

  ‘–who doesn't exist,’ added his co-host.

  ‘… yeah … made up … no such person …’

  ‘–and the other recording you claim is the formula for the Eternal Drug, but is just a list of numbers.’

  ‘Which none of our experts can decode.’ Dawn sniggered.

  ‘… no way ... can't decode ... means nothing ...’

  ‘Gangsters. Nuns. Resurrections. Eternal Drug. Mysterious envoy.’ Layne offered the most perfect grin that $17,000 could ever buy. ‘Sounds like the plot of some silly book.’

  ‘A very silly little book that people would be crazy to read.’

  The audience cackled, clapped and cheered as a fourth associate producer counted down with his fingers to another ad break.

  * * * * *

  While the front of Channel Nine is well-tended and reasonably welcoming, the grubby lane running past the rear of the building is not. As Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were shoved out the back door of the studios, they stumbled past overturned rubbish bins and peered back helplessly as the door slammed shut.

  Jordan booted one of the bins. ‘What just happened in there?’

  Ashleigh shook her head. ‘We were sucked in ...’

  ‘... chewed up ...’ added Todd.

  ‘… and spat out,’ finished Jordan.

  ‘That’s journalism, I suppose.’ Todd shrugged.

  The students trudged towards Wellington Square. They felt utterly dejected, and Ashleigh couldn’t even find the energy to giggle at Todd and Jordan’s faces still encrusted with makeup.

  ‘So, that makeup chick would've shagged me if I was her boss?’ Jordan spread out his arms. ‘Is that how to get some action?’

  Ashleigh scoffed. ‘You could try being sincere, well-groomed, happy, funny, kind ...’

  Jordan paused to consider these options before turning to Todd. ‘What sort of business should I set up?’

  Ashleigh slumped onto a park bench, which was clearly retained for reasons of history, not comfort. ‘What are we going to do? No-one believes us anymore. Everyone – the media, the public – has turned against us. And nothing's been resolved.’

  Todd slouched beside her. ‘And in one week our silly little assignment is due.’

  ‘We can't just give up.’ Ashleigh paused before making a decision. ‘OK. We need to do three things.’

  ‘That's handy, cos there’s three of us,’ said Jordan.

  Ashleigh turned to Todd. ‘You ring Kathy and find Doctor Olsson and Doctor Mitchell.’ She swivelled towards Jordan. ‘You're the nerd. Work out what those numbers mean from that recording the doctors gave us. See if it really is some kind of code. And I'll find that special envoy guy.’

  ‘But how?’ Jordan was unsure if being called a “nerd” by Ashleigh was complimentary. ‘He doesn't even exist.’

  ‘Of course he bloody does! And he'll be at the funeral of the Prime Minister’s mother tomorrow.’

  Jordan stared at Ashleigh. ‘But how are you going to ..?’

  Ashleigh peered around the park before sheepishly extracting something from her secret jean pocket. It was a card with a photograph inside a plastic pouch and attached to a lanyard.

  Todd’s jaw dropped. ‘You stole Dawn's press pass?!’

  Chapter Nine

  Wednesday

  Like many profitable factories and workshops, the Morphettville Medical Centre is open 24/7. Loitering near the front entrance, Todd tried to look nonchalant but couldn’t help scampering to a bush whenever he saw or heard anyone. After what seemed to him an eternity, but was less than 10 minutes, he spotted Kathy strolling down to the underground car park after her overnight shift.

  Todd followed her as she approached a shiny new Jeep. ‘Kathy!’

  The receptionist’s immediate concern about a possible assault was instantly replaced by a feeling of unambiguous anger. ‘You never rang me back.’

  �
��Yeah.’ Todd tried to look contrite. ‘I've been kinda busy.’

  ‘I saw you on TV yesterday morning. They crucified you.’

  ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘No.’ Kathy opened a handbag and fumbled for her car keys.

  ‘I need to speak to Doctor Mitchell and Doctor Olsson again.’

  ‘I can't.’

  Todd paused as the realisation set in. ‘They got to you, too?’

  ‘Goodbye.’ Kathy found her keys and opened the car door. ‘And don't ring me again. Oh, that's right ...’ she added with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘Did Charlie Harper and Dom Futura visit here …’ Todd waved in the general direction of the medical centre above. ‘… on the day they died?’

  ‘Yes. In the morning. And just a few hours later they were …‘ Kathy peered around fretfully. Noticing someone approaching, she dragged Todd into an alcove of bins and kissed him. As the stranger strolled past, Kathy broke away. ‘I saw that in a movie once. But it doesn't mean anything.’

  ‘Well, it did to me.’ Todd was dazed by the kiss and startled by his reaction.

  ‘I don't know anything.’ Kathy unclenched her teeth as she giggled at Todd’s bemused expression. ‘OK, try Doctor King. She's a friend of Doctor Olsson and Doctor Mitchell. She's worried sick about them. And angry, so she'll probably help you. She works at the Royal Adelaide.’

  ‘Thanks, Kathy.’ Todd stood back – smiling, smitten – as the car door closed. ‘I'll call you!’ he yelled as she sped off, before speaking softly to himself. ‘Honest, I will.’

  * * * * *

  Jordan was often unwashed, generally untidy and had unsavoury friends, so he, his bed and computer gear had been banished to the garage of his mother’s modest home in Goodwood. Jordan and four male adolescents were now seated around a ping pong table that served as Jordan’s work desk and dining table.

  ‘Attention, please.’ They glanced at Jordan while continuing to play games and check out lesbian websites on their laptops. ‘You know the drill, gentlemen. Thick black-rimmed glasses.’ They obediently extracted glasses from side pockets of their baggy cargo pants and slid them over their protruding noses and ears. ‘Now, caps of sporting teams we don't follow.’ From daypacks at their feet, each took out a colourful cap with an insignia and logo of an obscure English soccer or American basketball team. ‘And, finally, smelly T-shirts with meaningless writing.’ The four of them peeled off flannelette shirts to reveal grubby T-shirts with symbols and words that signified very little, if anything. Jordan inspected and sniffed each of the garments from a distance, and nodded his approval. ‘OK, we can now commence this extra-ordinary meeting of All Nerds, No Birds.’