Intervention

by Rob Mclean

  “Forget it, man,” Zeke urged. “We’ve gotta get…”

  “What I really want to know,” John cut him off as he saw Marcus approaching. “Is why someone as smart as you would be hanging with these two?” John motioned towards Zeke and the semi-comatose girl. “And who’s your girlfriend?”

  “That’s none of your business, my friend,” Zeke said, lifting his chin defiantly. He stood curiously with both his feet pointed slightly inwards and looked as if he was trying to grip the floor through his shoes. He then wobbled back and forth, telling John that his courage was mostly alcohol fuelled.

  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong…” began John.

  “You have no right to harass us,” Zeke pointed his finger at John’s face. He could smell the tang of Bourbon on Zeke’s breath. “We’re just helping a friend who has drunk too much.” His lips curved into a thin, arrogant smile. John wondered if this guy was trying to be ironic or funny with that comment.

  “What are you, a lawyer?”

  “Might be,” Zeke smirk hadn’t wavered.

  “What you’re wrong about is that I’m most definitely not your friend,” John said in an even voice, and then added, nodding towards the looming bulk of Marcus, “and neither is he.”

  “You can’t touch us,” blurted Zeke as Marcus towered over him.

  “Marcus, could you show our guest here the back room please?” John said with his most polite voice as he opened his hand to point to Zeke.

  “Wif pleasure boss,” he rumbled, grabbing Zeke by his elbow and guiding him away. He had his other hand on Zeke’s back and ushered him from behind.

  Zeke tried to slap his hands away ineffectually. “I know my rights,” he called as he was hustled away.

  Blake blinked at John and looked dazed. “Are you security?”

  “Didn’t Jarred tell you?” John gaped at him, unable to believe his question. “Couldn’t you tell? Man, for someone so smart, you’re really thick.”

  Blake’s face dropped. The girl he was carrying started sagging heavily. John rushed to put a hand under her armpit to help hold her up. She didn‘t seem to notice at all. He directed them over towards a chair and sat the girl down. To his surprise she didn’t fall off, but slumped awkwardly with her head lolling backwards and her legs spread in a most unladylike manner.

  John saw Grace arrive. At forty-three, she was the eldest of his team by far, but she was trim and had spent many years as a prison guard, so she knew how to handle herself. John constantly found it amusing to see how many of the patrons responded to her maternal, almost matronly methods of crowd control, not to mention how many drunks tried to hit on her.

  “We got a drugged girl, heavily sedated.” said John by way of greeting.

  “Who did it? Not this little homie?” She fronted Blake.

  “No, he’s in the back room with Marcus,” John said nodding over his shoulder.

  “Good. I hope he messes him up good.” Grace had played this game before and John could see that she enjoyed being the bad cop for a change. “Do you think he needs any help?”

  “No, I’m sure Marcus had beaten some sort of confession out of him by now.” John saw to his satisfaction that Blake appeared suitably horrified and visibly paled.

  “Hope he gives him hell,” she shot a look at Blake and nodded at John with understanding.

  “Grace, we need to call an ambulance and the cops and to stay with the girl. Find her next of kin or, failing that, see if her friends turn up and see if you can’t get them to make a statement.”

  “Will do, Johnny,” said Grace. She was the only person, besides his mother, who called him that.

  “Now Blake, we can do this one of two ways,” John began by deliberately acting bored. He knew that Blake would interpret it as confidence that the truth would come out one way or another. “Either you can follow your friend out to the back room, which will be in a couple of minutes when Marcus has finished with him, or you can talk.”

  The look of panic on his puffy, sweaty face told John that Blake would say anything to save his skin.

  “Divide and conquer, lad. You’ve got him. Well done.” John smiled inwardly at the praise.

  “It wasn’t my idea,” Blake blurted. “Zeke had been at me for ages to get some Roofies ever since he found out my old man has a drug store.”

  “You’re talking about Rohypnol, the date rape drug?”

  “Yeah, I only got a couple of dozen in a box or two.” Blake admitted with a nervous glance towards Grace.

  “But he’d find out eventually, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but he’d never suspect me.”

  If I had a chubby, dateless geek of a son, he would be my prime suspect, thought John, but instead said, “You think he’d suspect the pretty young pharmacy assistants?”

  “Sure, these things are worth a fortune to the right people,” Blake bragged.

  “That friend of yours is not who I’d call a right sort of person,” said John icily. “How much did he give you for them?”

  “Heaps more than I’d get in months with my pizza delivery job.”

  “How much do you think her virginity is worth?” John rasped.

  “Aw, come on. She’s no virgin,” Blake sneered. “Just look at her. Look at the way she dresses. I bet she gets it more than she showers.”

  John grabbed Blake by the shirt with his left hand and drew back his right in a fist. “Even if you’re right, what makes you think you have any right to her?”

  “I don’t!” Blake squealed with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I mean, normally, I wouldn’t.”

  “But?” John prompted.

  “But when we heard about this alien thing, well, everything changed. You seem to get it. We were talking about it before, how stuffed we are. Humanity’s finished, man. Even Miss Arts Student behind the bar gets it. But these,” Blake pointed to the dance floor ravers, “they don’t.”

  “So?” John’s brow furrowed.

  “So? Look at them! The world’s coming to an end and they just wanna have fun. Ignorant bunch of oxygen thieves. Well, we thought we’d have some fun too.”

  “But what if you’re wrong? What if it’s all a mistake or what if the aliens are actually wanting to help us?” John wanted to head-butt the chubby geek, but tightened his grip on Blake’s shirt.

  “If I’m wrong, so what? She won’t know much about it. She’ll just wake up in her own bed the next morning, a little sore maybe…”

  Grace, who had been on hold while phoning the paramedics, suddenly interrupted, “Hit the bastard, Johnny,” she yelled. “If you don’t, I bloody well will!”

  “Maybe later, Grace,” John said, trying to calm both Grace and himself. Too many years in the prison system had taught her that violence was the simplest solution. In the nightclub scene, it was the greatest source of preventable loss. John could hear his boss’s voice lecturing him about the ever-present dangers of potential litigation. “But we do have our witnessed confession.”

  John released Blake and called Marcus and asked him to come back in with Zeke.

  “I doubt much will happen to these two though,” he said quietly to Grace. “With a pharmacist for a father, who probably won’t press charges of theft against his own son, they’ll get a good lawyer and probably get away with a suspended sentence.”

  “Not to mention that no rape actually took place,” Grace added.

  “Yeah, they’ll totally get off,” he agreed.

  Grace raised her voice for the benefit of Blake. “Should at least let me beat the crap outta this one before the cops get here. You know, resisting arrest or something?” she said putting her other hand over the phone.

  “Yeah, I should. Shouldn’t I?” he asked Blake.

  Before Blake could answer, Marcus arrived with Zeke. He still had him by the elbow and Zeke was still going on about his rights. Apart from his shirt hanging out, probably from waving his hands around, there was nothing physically wrong with him. Stunned confus
ion danced across Blake’s face.

  “Hey man, you’re okay. Nothing happened to you,” Blake exclaimed.

  “Nothing? Hey, my shirt is ruined, thanks to this rock ape,” Zeke whined.

  “But I thought you were being bashed into confessing,” Blake’s brow creased with confusion.

  “You thought wrong, Einstein. The only one confessing was you,” John smiled.

  “Boss, dis one had dis bag,” Marcus said. He held a bag of little blue pills.

  “I didn’t drop it. You stole it from…umm, err…” Zeke hesitated. John saw Marcus roll his eyes. They all could see Zeke’s slick mind trying to work out his options through a haze of booze. At length, the defiant attitude returned and he declared, “They’re not mine, never seen them before in my life.”

  John took the bag of pills from Marcus. “No big surprises there,” he said and put them in his jacket pocket. “Have it your way.”

  Marcus took the offenders away to the control room while they waited for the police and paramedics. John and Grace helped the girl to a booth where she would be more comfortable. All throughout her handling, the girl hadn’t done much more than groan occasionally.

  John now took a closer look at her and saw that she was provocatively dressed, but in a most unconventional way.

  She might be some sort of special hooker, he thought. She had a great figure and looked to be in her early twenties. She had shiny red stiletto pumps that screamed for attention while accentuating her shapely stockinged legs. She wore an over the knee, tight denim skirt with a generous slit up the side that showed her suspender belt. It was topped with a broad patent leather belt that added a conservative look with a twist. Her figure was enhanced by a white push-up bra that launched her cleavage almost through a skimpy white blouse that seemed to be missing a few buttons. She wore minimal make up, a little rouge maybe and a natural-looking lipstick. The whole fashion accident was finished off with a lacy flower arrangement with ribbons which was perched high up in her hair. It had had been put up in a bun, but had started to unravel, with wispy honey blonde strands escaping with electrostatic assistance. John lent closer to examine the hair decoration. He prodded it tentatively as though the thing in her hair was alive.

  “A fascinator,” Grace said. “Haven’t seen one of those since my grandmother’s wedding photos.”

  The whole picture looked confusing to John. She was obviously dressed up for a night out, but not in the usual way. A girl with a figure as good as hers could wear anything and it would look good, but she had chosen some mega retro look but spiced it up a bit.

  “Paramedics say that they’re busy with a riot downtown. They say we should get her to an emergency room if we think she needs it,” Grace rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Otherwise, she should sleep it off in a few hours.”

  “Well, we’re not sitting in a hospital waiting room for hours,” John said emphatically.

  “The cops are probably even busier. Doubt they’ll get here before lunchtime tomorrow. What will do with Sleeping Beauty and her boyfriends?” Grace nudged the girl with her boot.

  The girl murmured something unintelligible. She could be kind of pretty, thought John. What could make someone as attractive as her be so desperate to dress like this? Does being pretty make it easier for a girl? Or does it put more pressures and demands on her?

  His mind churned through possibilities. Maybe a drug habit? He checked her arms for the scars of needle abuse but found none. It was then John saw a tiny golden crucifix on a thin gold chain around her neck. It seemed totally out of place, suggesting she was outwardly trying to appear different to who she really was.

  “Did you check her handbag?”

  “No I.D. Just the usual girl things.”

  “No I.D.?”

  “Nope.” Grace shook her head.

  “Then how’d she get in? I’ll have to check the cameras.” John frowned. “She’s got a phone?”

  “Yeah, but an old brick.”

  “How about her friends?”

  “None that want to be found; either that or she worked alone.”

  “I don’t know,” John shook his head. “I don’t think she’s a working girl.”

  “No, Johnny? Why not? She sure looks like one.”

  “She’s trying to, sort of,” he conceded, “but in a constrained sort of way. Besides, she’s too clean. She’s got no tracks. And she’d have a better phone.”

  Grace shook her head and frowned. “She sure looks like a cheap hooker.”

  John shook his head. “But I bet she’s had a shower tonight before coming out.” He stroked his chin and studied the problem sprawled before him. She didn’t look like any of the sorts of girls who would hang around a nightclub. She looked too clean, too innocent. Maybe it was just because she was asleep. The moment she woke, he could imagine her normal personality emerging and issuing forth a tirade of abuse. Her pretty features would twist and contort so that she’d look just as cynical and jaded as all the other ‘ladies’ he’d met. But still, something about this girl was different, and it prodded at his mind, calling out for his attention.

  “Hey, can you open her mouth? I bet her teeth are perfect."

  Grace gave John a frown before she put on a pair of surgical latex gloves and tilted the girl’s head back, showing a few fillings in an otherwise straight, clean set of teeth.

  John nodded mainly to himself. “Yeah, my guess is that she’s out doing the fancy dress thing with a bridal party or something and got separated from her friends by these predators.”

  “You could be right Johnny, but I haven’t seen a bridal party in tonight.”

  John took the girl’s phone and scrolled through her contacts. They were all first names with occasionally an initial for a surname. He couldn’t find any entries for ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’. He then went through her call history. The last call was to a ‘Zeke C.’ That had to be that sleazy friend of Blake’s. He felt a sudden urge to keep her away from creeps like that.

  “So what do we do?” Grace repeated.

  “We’ll get photos, ID, you know, names and addresses from the two creeps and then let them go.”

  “What? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Like you said, the cops won’t be coming anytime soon. Also we can’t prove it was them who gave her the drug.”

  “What about the surveillance cameras?” Grace asked.

  “They’re good for seeing who hit who first in a fight, but not enough resolution for the sleight of hand stuff. Just make sure those clowns know they’re not welcome back.”

  “Sure Johnny, but what about her?” Grace asked nodding at the girl.

  “We’ll keep her in the control room. If anyone calls her or comes looking for her, or if she wakes up before we leave, problem solved.”

  “But what if she’s still here at closing time?”

  “Then you can take her home.”

  “Me? Hell, no way,” said Grace emphatically. “Got enough strays at my place already.”

  “Cats aren’t the same as people.”

  “Sure are better company though.”

  John and Grace carried the girl between them. Her head lolled forwards and her red stilettos dragged behind. John was more than a bit concerned but not really surprised that no one looked twice at them as they took the girl up to the control room.

  They sat her in a lounge chair and made her as comfortable as they could. Marcus had taken down the details from the detainees and was about to escort them out the back door when John stopped them. He left Blake outside with Grace and had Marcus bring Zeke back in the control room. John closed the door behind him.

  “Do you know who she is Zeke?” John asked, nodding towards the sleeping girl on the lounge.

  “No.” His gaze slid away, determinedly avoiding eye contact. John didn’t need his inner voice to tell him that Zeke was lying. He pulled out the girl’s phone and redialled the last number. Moments later Zeke’s phone broke the silence.

  “Seem
s she knows you,” Marcus’s deep baritone laugh filled the room.

  “So, who is she?” John repeated, his patience strained.

  “No idea,” Zeke lifted his chin. He still wouldn’t meet John’s eyes, but the corners of his mouth curled slightly as a smug smile formed.

  John took one step forwards and punched him in the stomach, following through deep under the ribs. Zeke’s feet lifted off the ground and he doubled over, winded.

  “No surveillance cameras in here.” John returned the smug grin as he pushed a waste paper bin towards Zeke.

  “You punch like a girl,” Zeke said through clenched teeth.

  “That was just a love tap,” John said as he dismissed Zeke’s impudence with an incredulous look. He wouldn’t be provoked into totally losing it. “If you need to puke, you had better get it all in the bin.”

  Zeke’s fists clenched into balls and his body tensed. His eyes darted about, assessing the room. John wondered if he might be stupid enough to try something with both Marcus and himself standing nearby. He partly hoped that he would, but the paperwork afterwards wouldn’t be worth it. Instead, Zeke’s shoulders slumped and his hands nursed his abdomen.

  With satisfaction, John then opened the office door and turned to Marcus. “Take this piece of shit away.”

  John followed them out and saw Blake’s eyes widened as Marcus escorted Zeke past.

  “Now Mr. Blake, perhaps you have something to tell us?”

  Grace tapped her baton on Blake’s shoulder to emphasize the point. The colour fell from Blake’s face. He shook and stammered before blurting, “They knew each other for sure. She wanted something from him but he just said ‘Later.’ He put the pills in her drink to make sure they worked. I thought she was supposed to be part of my payment.”

  John saw Zeke fix his betrayer with a murderous glare before he was dragged away.

  “Her name?” John prodded.

  “Umm…, can’t remember.”

  “You didn’t need to know her name, did you? Not with what you had planned for her,” Grace spat her words at him.

  John cracked his knuckles in front of Blake’s face. “You sure?”

  “Umm, Angela,” he said blinking. “I think?”