by Cenarth Fox
‘I’ll just ask for help,’ said the receptionist beckoning to the security guard. He didn’t need beckoning.
‘Could I ask you to step over here, sir?’ asked the guard in more of an order than request. He gently took Animal’s arm to escort him outside.
Animal growled. ‘Hey, what’s with the hands?’
The guard backed off a tad, noting that Animal had muscle, and an attitude similar to that of an almost-sleeping wild animal. Had Animal been wearing a nametag, it would have read Do Not Disturb.
‘You’ll need to follow me, sir,’ said the guard, hoping like hell the visitor would oblige.
‘Listen mate, all I wanna do is see Jessica Reid. It’s no big deal, just a quick chat. Okay?’
Not okay. Animal’s request needed to be vetted, and the further away from VIPs and innocent citizens the better. Just when it appeared that force would be required, a voice interrupted proceedings.
‘Is there a problem?’ Genevieve came out of her office at the pointy end of the dispute. ‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘Yeah, I want a quick word with Jessica Reid; just five minutes.’
Genevieve took control. Telling the man to get lost or having him forcibly removed might spell trouble. A quick chat to resolve the problem should have the gent depart a happy camper.
‘Will you come this way please, Mr … ’
‘Animal.’
Without fuss, Genevieve dismissed the security guard, led the visitor to her office, and indicated a seat.
‘Now Mr Animal, what can I do for you?’
Genevieve was good. She did not have Jessica’s naked ambition, but her people skills were top drawer.
‘Me name’s Alan Darcy but everyone calls me Animal.’ Genevieve smiled. Animal got the message. ‘Ah, well a few years back, Jessica got me off a police charge, and I want her to do the same for me mate.’
Genevieve felt relief.
He’s not a nutter. He needs legal aid. I can handle this.
‘Okay, I think I understand but I’m afraid I have some bad news.’
‘Look, this is really serious. The cops have fallen for a con job. Me mate’s been framed for murder, and there’s no way he done it.’
‘If I might finish, Mr Darcy. The bad news is that Ms Reid no longer practises criminal law. I’m afraid she can’t help you.’
‘What about if I ask her meself?’
Genevieve sighed. The silly bugger’s persistent. ‘Just not possible.’
‘So is she something in the government then?’
‘She is. Jessica’s the leading law officer in the State Opposition.’
‘Would she be interested in police corruption?’
Good question. Bloody good question.
If this person has something important which Jessica could use to her advantage, then we are in a completely new ball game.
‘She may well be interested, Mr Darcy, but first I need some details. What exactly is this police corruption?’
‘Listen, no offence, lady, but I want the boss, not the cleaner.’
The gatekeeper discovered demotion. Genevieve liked the putdown.
‘I tell you what, Mr Darcy. I’ll have a word with the Shadow Attorney-General, and get back to you with her reply. How’s that sound?’
‘When?’ asked Animal.
‘Well she’s a busy woman.’
‘Is she here now?’
Genevieve didn’t have to answer as the door to her office opened, and there stood the Shadow Attorney-General. Animal’s face shone.
‘G’day Miss,’ grinned Animal, and Jessica saw a flashback.
‘Are you insane?’ asked Genevieve after Animal left. ‘You cannot touch this case with a barge pole. You haven’t the time, and what is ridiculously worse is the fact that the accused and his buddy have criminal records as long as your Cartier necklace. Parisi’s a drug dealer and extortionist. I can’t believe you’d even consider this.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘No, but you will be if you get involved.’
‘I like a challenge.’
‘Jesus, Jess, grow up. Get a grip, woman.’
‘I’m disappointed, Gen.’ Her friend stood gobsmacked. ‘If this Luca Parisi’s been framed, I can have that overturned. It’ll prove I fight injustice for everyone, including the crims.’
‘Oh, that’s a clever career move; how to impress the world by defending a man who makes his living out of other people’s misery.’
‘So the Law only applies to the good and noble?’
‘The next Victorian Attorney-General does not defend drug barons. Listen to me. If you take on this case, the cops will hate you.’
‘They do already.’
‘If you take on this case, and get the bastard off, the cops will become your sworn enemy.’
‘Do the cops vote for the next leader of the Liberal Party? Well?’
Genevieve stared at her friend. Jessica got serious.
‘If I expose a police cockup, the public will thank me big time, and my colleagues will see a strong leader. This case just gave my leadership aspirations a serious leg up.’
Genevieve struggled for an answer. ‘Okay, get involved, but stay out of sight. Work behind the scenes, give advice to another solicitor.’
‘And where’s the fun in that? You know I love a party.’
Genevieve looked like she might explode. Office staff could hear the argument and pretended to be busy. When Genevieve stormed into the outer office, every head was down.
Jessica did get involved. She relished being back in the world of criminal law. She met Animal back in her old chambers. He told Jessica about the feud between Murphy and Luca, and all the gory details of how Murphy murdered his own man to set up Luca.
Jessica felt fantastic knowing she still had the skills she once used daily as a solicitor. She took statements from Luca’s kitchen staff. She found witnesses who identified men in the lane behind Luca’s restaurant. She had a former cop visit Noddy, and put the frighteners on him for protecting his boss who murdered one of his own.
‘Did you drive the getaway car, Noddy? You’re an accessory to murder mate. The murder of your little pal, Hoops.’ Noddy felt sick.
Pressure.
All this information was building a strong case for doubt in the jury’s mind should the case proceed. Jessica took her favourite barrister, a man the cops hated more than Jessica, to the Office of Public Prosecutions.
The OPP knew Jessica well from earlier times, but this was a first. The Shadow Attorney-General acting for the accused in a murder case.
She had her brutal legal chum heap pressure on the OPP with statements, photographs, and alternative possibilities backed by logic and bravado. It worked.
The OPP dropped all charges, Luca was released, and the detectives involved invented new curses.
‘The murder investigation is continuing,’ announced the police through gritted teeth. The cops privately vowed revenge on Jessica Reid.
Genevieve was right. The police hated Luca and Murphy, and all they stood for and did. But the cops had a bigger target. They hated the politician who overturned the murder charge against Parisi the crim.
If Ms Reid ever attains office, she’ll be the Attorney-General most loathed and opposed by the constabulary.
Genevieve ate her words. She couldn’t believe the OPP would drop the case. She was certain Jessica would ruin her career, and cruel any chance she had to become Premier. Now, suddenly, with all the publicity about Jessica’s win, here was a golden opportunity to maximize the would-be Premier’s position. Strike while the publicity iron’s hot.
Genevieve’s plan involved leaking the appalling lie that Myles Lane, devoted husband to Jessica, and loving father to their adopted daughter Simone, had a secret life; a perverted interest in child pornography.
Hail the dirty tricks.
But they had to leak to the right person.
Genevieve knew a weak individual sans conscience.
Ah,
the depths to which politics can sink.
Genevieve sat in the wine bar frequented by journos, politicians and their staffers. She sipped her white wine and waited.
Bliss thought Genevieve when her favourite victim spotted her.
‘Hello me darling,’ said Gordon; ‘all on your lonesome? Where’s that flaming redhead bosom buddy of yours?’
‘Piss off, Gordon.’
‘Now don’t be like that.’ He sat and sipped his beer. ‘We don’t usually see you in here. Lovers’ tiff was it?’
‘If you don’t go away, I’ll kick you in the balls — if you’ve got any.’
‘Oooo, who’s rattled your cage? Come on, you can tell Uncle Gordy.’
Genevieve had performed in university revues and the odd play; very odd. She invoked her thespian skills, hesitated, than dropped her voice.
‘You know, you bastard.’ Gordon grinned. He had no idea what Genevieve was talking about but he sure as hell wanted to know. ‘I might have known you’d know. You probably started the rumour.’
‘Ah, so it’s only a rumour. I could’ve sworn it was true.’
Gordon luxuriated in gossip, with sleaze an essential ingredient. Genevieve hooked him good and proper, and she milked the moment.
‘Defending that drug baron killed her. She upset the cops, and now they’re going in boots and all.’
‘And so they should.’ Gordon paused.
She isn’t going to tell me so I’ll have to ask.
‘Going in over what?’
Genevieve switched tactics. ‘Ah, you don’t know,’ she sneered. ‘Well maybe we’ll be okay after all.’
Gordon mixed salivating with frustration.
What don’t I know?
He tried again. ‘So our wonderful Shadow Attorney’s in a spot of strife. It couldn’t happen to a nicer bitch.’
Genevieve played her ace. ‘Actually you could probably help us, Gordon. Being such a liar, if you spread the rumour, no-one’ll believe it.’
Being immune to sarcasm, irony and criticism, Gordon grinned. ‘Try me,’ he whispered exuding aromas of alcohol, tobacco and halitosis.
Genevieve hesitated, looked around, and then spoke quietly. ‘The cops are so pissed off at the Shadow Attorney-General; they’ve decided to go after her husband.’ She sat back.
Gordon felt hopeless. ‘Is that it?’
‘And you didn’t hear it from me.’
‘Didn’t hear what? You haven’t told me anything.’
‘It’s crap, complete bullshit. Jess’s husband has legitimate concerns about child pornography from an international legal point of view.’
Child pornography?
Gordon suffered a meltdown.
Genevieve tapped her nose with a finger. ‘We don’t know if the cops will go public before or after Jessica challenges for Leader.’
Oh my sainted aunt’s bicycle clips. Gordon copped both barrels. Jessica making a challenge was enough to incinerate his briefs. To have the cops arrest her hubby for kiddy fiddling set fire to Gordy’s gonads.
He skulled his beer, patted Genevieve’s hand then fled.
Don’t shoot the messenger; salute the messenger.
‘The cat is well and truly among the pigeons,’ said Genevieve reporting to Jessica. ‘I told Gordon the Gossip you were soon to challenge for Leader, and Myles is under police investigation.’
Jessica wanted to vomit. The hare was running, the genie had popped the lid of the bottle, and the worms were escaping the can.
Jessica struggled to speak. ‘So, how do we play this?’
‘I suggest we don’t reveal the specifics until the very last.’
‘We don’t reveal the specifics? You want me to announce the lie that my husband’s a paedophile?’
‘Listen to me. The plan can work if we hold our nerve.’
An email pinged in Jessica’s inbox. She read it aloud.
‘Party room meeting tomorrow at 10am.’
‘They’re worried.’
‘Me too. How can I rally support before then? They know I’ve not been canvassing, and they reckon they’ll catch me ill-prepared.’
‘Ah but you’re not,’ said Genevieve. ‘You’ve been planning this move for years and you hold the unknown ace.’
‘Which is what, precisely?’
‘The sympathy vote.’
8
BERNIE STARED at his kitchen table. The mixed ingredients of his Moral Compass Pill — he decided to call it the MCP — stared back at him. The first batch was born. But one question kept tapping on his brain.
How the hell can I effectively test it?
He thought about Lois and her Mark Twain quote.
A person with a new idea is a crank until the idea succeeds.
He filled a few capsules, and a small airtight container with his “pixie dust”, popped on its lid, stored the creation, and retired.
Next morning Lois was back at work with her mother now recuperating in hospital. Bernie saw a spring in his colleague’s step. Not having her abusive parent at home made Lois almost chipper.
They discussed her mother’s health, and then got on with their work until Lois could not contain her curiosity any longer.
‘So, Professor Slim, what progress on the new wonder drug? When do you administer a double dose to our beloved leader?’
Bernie laughed. He hadn’t contemplated the Hyphen as a guinea pig.
Bloody hell, imagine if the MCP worked, and on Ralphie boy.
‘Slow progress I’m afraid,’ replied Bernie. ‘And I regret to say I’ll not be able to speak about it again.’
Lois looked puzzled. ‘Oh?’
Bernie tapped his nose. ‘Spies.’
Lois laughed in a way Bernie had never heard before. ‘Spies?’
Bernie dropped his voice. ‘Here in Labcope. Maybe even in R & D.’
Lois liked Bernie teasing her, but a sliver of curiosity stirred in her brain. Did his attempt at humour mask something serious?
‘I think you’re over-doing the cinnamon doughnuts, young man.’
He enjoyed Lois calling him “young man”.
‘Speaking of which,’ he said, ‘addiction and the canteen calls. Sure I can’t tempt you?’
Lois gave her usual “thanks but no thanks” answer and Bernie left. In the canteen, his order was stored in the barista’s brain.
‘Morning Bernie,’ chirped Enrico.
‘Morning sir,’ replied the scientist. Bernie alone called Enrico “sir”.
‘Your usual as usual,’ said Enrico placing the coffee and doughnut on the counter.
Bernie paid with the exact money — always. ‘Molte grazie,’ he said, and headed for his usual table. Talk about Mr Habitual.
He sipped, chewed and thought; my kingdom for a human guinea pig. Suddenly his day got worse. Josh the boastard burst into view. He hadn’t yet seen Bernie who considered sliding under the table. Too late.
‘Maaaate,’ greased the phantom shagger, joining Bernie. Josh winked, then leant forward and whispered. ‘Have I got two tales for you?’ He tapped Bernie’s shoulder. ‘I’ll be back with a ball-by-ball description.’
Josh fronted the barista where he called Enrico, “my man”. The serial womaniser was officially a gilt-edged scrote.
Bernie worried about his own character. Surely, a stronger person would tell Josh to get lost. Playing disinterested would never work.
Josh must think I actually enjoy his company. Who will rid me of this troublesome twat?
The boastard returned, and launched into the gory details of his latest sexual conquest, then stopped to sip. ‘Shit, no sugar.’ Bernie pointed to the next table. ‘Nah, I want that dark stuff.’
Josh returned to Enrico. Bernie’s brain pinged. He hesitated for a few seconds then decided. He removed the container holding his magic powder, checked to see if anyone was looking, then sprinkled a serve on Josh’s coffee. The powder sat on top. Panic. Josh headed back. It was too late to stir the brew. ‘Sink, sink,
sink,’ silently cried Bernie.
Surely, he’ll notice.
Josh sat, and Bernie cringed awaiting an accusation of poisoning or attempted murder — or worse. Josh spotted the MCP.
‘What,’ said the confused sex maniac? ‘He has put the damn sugar in.’
‘Must have been hiding behind the froth,’ opined Bernie, offering a pathetic smile.
Josh shrugged, added the “extra” sugar, stirred his drink, and sipped. Bernie trembled with a solid serve of horror.
Then the salacious storytelling commenced. Josh described his latest conquest whilst drinking his now drug-laden coffee. The coitus chat meant nothing to Bernie who was spellbound, watching Josh’s face.
Will he break down and weep? Will he clasp his head as his conscience shouts “repent”? Will he nothing?
Josh kept prattling, with no sign of any response to the drug.
First guinea pig report — fail.
Pity, because Josh was the ideal candidate. If ever anyone needed their conscience pricked, it was Josh the prick.
Bernie returned to Lois wondering if he’d injured, or possibly laid the groundwork for murdering the womaniser. What if Josh collapses? What if he dies, and there is a post mortem?
Shit. What have I done?
‘You look worried,’ said Lois. He was worried but diverted the other scientist by asking more about her mum.
‘All being well, she’ll be home this weekend.’
Bernie wanted to say, “Enjoy it while you can”, but found his brain preoccupied with Josh from Marketing.
‘I’m dreading my mother coming home,’ said Lois in a soft voice.
‘Good,’ said Bernie, thinking of other things.
Lois too was preoccupied. She wanted to ask Bernie a favour.
After work he shopped for milk and cat food. Signora Conti provided abundant “extras” for Alberto, but not his favourite dry food.
When shopping, Bernie always bought things he didn’t need. One day, science will discover the be-kind-to-grocer gene.
With a planet-destroying plastic shopping bag in each hand, he bowled along Swan Street when something hit his leg from behind.