by Judy Nunn
There was a second rap at the door. It was an authoritative rap and Alain felt a rush of intense irritation. Who the hell was it and how bloody dare they?
He jerked his head toward the bedroom and Tran disappeared, quietly closing the door behind her.
When Alain opened the front door he discovered Brian Hopgood, hand poised, about to knock again. A man who was obviously a police detective stood beside him. They shared a quick glance and Brian gave a barely perceptible nod.
‘Alain King?’ The detective flashed his badge, not waiting for any form of acknowledgement. ‘Detective Sergeant Dalton. Mind if we have a word with you?’ Dalton was already easing his way into the flat.
Alain glared at Brian. ‘What the fuck’s going on, Hopgood?’
‘Hello, Alain. Sorry about this,’ and Brian also stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
Alain was dumbstruck at the audacity of the man. ‘Exactly what do you think you’re —’
‘I have a search warrant, Mr King,’ Dalton interrupted, ‘but it’d be much easier all round if you simply cooperated.’
Alain took a deep breath. He mustn’t overreact, this was obviously some ridiculous mistake, but by God, he’d make Hopgood suffer. He didn’t give a stuff what the man’s connection with Robert Bryce was, he was a fucking security guard and it was time he learned his place, time he learned to pay some respect to his superiors. ‘I’d be only too happy to cooperate, Sergeant, if I knew what this was all about. Perhaps Mr Hopgood could enlighten me?’
‘It’s about the burglary, Alain.’
‘What about the burglary, Brian?’ Alain’s voice was heavy with a sarcasm that seemed to entirely escape Brian Hopgood.
‘I’m afraid investigations have revealed some evidence that could seem to implicate you and … ’ Brian’s voice was deeply apologetic and he gave a shrug that seemed to say everything was beyond his control.
Alain stared at the two men for a second then laughed loudly. ‘What utter bullshit!’
‘Do you possess a Smith and Wesson .38 revolver?’ Dalton barked.
‘Yes, but what’s —’
‘I’d like to see it, please.’
Alain shook his head in disbelief but led the way into the study nonetheless. He might as well get this farce over and done with.
He took the revolver from the desk and handed it to Dalton who smelled the weapon and checked the chamber, then nodded briskly and looked about the room. ‘Now the safe.’
Alain suddenly started to feel a little uncomfortable, although he didn’t know why. ‘What about it?’
‘I’d like to see the contents of the safe please.’
Alain knew it was useless to argue. Besides, there was no threat to him. There was no way he could be involved in the burglary. The ‘Lolly’s’ disc wasn’t on the list of stolen property and if word got out that it was in Alain’s possession, so what? An innocent mistake. He’d unwittingly brought it home with the load of work that he regularly carted to and from the office. Nobody could prove a thing.
So why was he feeling so vulnerable? he wondered, as he clicked through the final combination number and opened the safe door.
Then he froze. The safe was stacked high with files, discs and video tapes which he’d never seen before. Brian Hopgood took them out and handed them one by one to Dalton who methodically ticked off a list in his notebook.
Alain sank into an armchair, his stomach churning. It was a set-up. But how the hell had they done it? The first half-dozen items had been laboriously ticked off Dalton’s list before Alain spoke. ‘All right, I get the message.’
Dalton flicked his notepad shut. ‘We’ll check the rest out down at the station.’
‘And the gun. What about the gun?’ Alain already knew the answer.
‘It’s been fired recently, of course, and I’m sure ballistic tests will find it matches the bullet we dug out of the wall at the channel.’
‘Yes, I’m sure they will,’ Alain muttered. Apart from the churning of his stomach, he felt numb. He looked dully at Brian Hopgood.
‘We won’t take any action until we’ve discussed it with Mr Bryce, Alain,’ Brian said reassuringly. ‘He’ll be at the channel tomorrow and, who knows, he may decide not to press charges.’ Alain nodded wearily. ‘In the meantime,’ Brian continued, ‘Sergeant Dalton will keep hold of the gun and the channel property.’
Brian crossed to the door. ‘So if you’d like to present yourself at the boardroom at eleven tomorrow morning, Mr Bryce will be expecting you.’ He opened the door for Dalton and there was an undisguised air of complicity as they exchanged smiles.
Dalton left and Brian Hopgood nodded sympathetically to Alain. ‘Mr Bryce has advised me that nothing about this is to be mentioned at the channel until after your meeting. I’m sure he wants to save you from any embarrassment until arrangements have been agreed upon.’ He turned to go.
‘How did you do it, Hopgood? How the fuck did you do it?’
But Brian had gone.
Alain didn’t sleep that night. At seven in the morning he was pacing the kitchen with his third cup of coffee, counting the minutes till he could leave for the channel. The sooner he got the whole thing sorted out the sooner he’d know how to fight it.
The hour between his arrival and his eleven o’clock appointment was tortuous but he went through the motions of a normal morning. He glanced at the mail that Wendy had carefully scanned and accepted the coffee she handed him.
‘Mr Bryce is in the channel,’ she said.
‘I know, I know.’ Alain noticed his hand was shaking slightly as he took the cup.
‘He called to say he’d like to see you in the boardroom in an hour.’
‘I know that, too.’
Wendy left in a bit of a huff. It was customary for initial contact to be made between Mr Bryce’s secretary and herself. It was not only a common courtesy but what on earth were personal secretaries for if they were to be so overlooked?
Alain stood outside the boardroom door for a full minute wondering whether he should knock or just walk in. He’d never knocked on the boardroom door in the entire time he’d been at Channel 3. But circumstances were different this time. He knocked.
Brian Hopgood opened the door. ‘Good morning, Alain.’
Alain didn’t answer. He stepped inside and Brian closed the door behind him.
Robert Bryce was seated at the end of the boardroom table but Alain barely saw him as his eyes focused on the diminutive figure standing beside him. It was Tran. Head bowed, eyes fixed on her feet, hands clasped over her tiny flat stomach. Alain gasped involuntarily.
‘Alain.’ Robert Bryce’s voice was authoritative but not unfriendly. ‘Come in. Sit down.’
Alain’s tongue froze against the roof of his mouth and he swallowed the breath that had been about to call her name. He crossed the room and sat in the chair beside Robert. He looked directly into the man’s eyes but all he could see were Tran’s tiny breasts only inches away from Robert’s left ear.
‘Hello, Robert,’ he said.
‘You sit down too, Tran.’ Robert indicated the chair to his left and the breasts disappeared from Alain’s peripheral vision to be replaced by the gleaming blue-black crown of Tran’s head. ‘And relax, dear,’ Robert continued. ‘The performance is over.’
Robert Bryce turned his full attention to Alain but all Alain could see was the head slowly raising itself to look at him.
‘You know Tran, of course.’ Robert was forcing Alain to look directly at the girl. He did. And he saw betrayal.
The eyes that looked back at him were not Tran’s eyes. The lips, already curving into a remote smile, were not Tran’s lips. Apart from the fact that the cool, self-possessed creature sitting opposite him was a child-woman, there was nothing that reminded him of Tran. Nothing.
‘Say hello to Alain, dear.’ Robert’s instruction was courteous and friendly.
‘Hello, Alain.’ And the voice! Accent-free, bold and distinct.
Not even a touch of malice.
Somehow that helped Alain. He forced aside his sense of personal betrayal as he told himself, ‘So that’s how they did it. Of course’. Tran would have smuggled the gun out of the flat so that Brian Hopgood could use it to fire that incriminating shot during his staged ‘burglary’, then she would have smuggled it back again. Just as she would have smuggled the tapes, discs and files into the safe. Or easier still, simply been there to let Hopgood in and open the safe for him. Alain had never told her the combination but she’d watched him open the safe often enough. Clever little thing, she’d worked it out and memorised it easily.
It was all so simple. And of course, he’d told her everything. Every devious little trick he’d pulled to undermine ‘The Glitter Game’. Every stolen idea. Alain’s rush of realisation stopped there. So what? he asked himself. Everyone stole ideas, everyone undermined other network’s shows. Why was Robert Bryce out to ruin him for doing what was common practice?
Alain realised that Tran’s face had become a blur. He’d been focusing on the space somewhere between Tran and Bryce as his thoughts raced to make sense of it all. Now her face appeared sharply before him again as he asked himself ‘why’.
He turned to Robert Bryce who smiled back at him. ‘You didn’t really think I’d let you go, did you?’
‘That’s why?’ Alain was incredulous. ‘But you accepted my resignation.’ Robert shrugged. ‘You didn’t try to outbid Channel 8.’ Robert shook his head. ‘But why didn’t you just buy me? Why didn’t you make a better offer?’
Robert studied the top of the boardroom table for several seconds. ‘Contrary to popular belief,’ he said slowly, ‘I’m not of the opinion that one can always buy loyalty. Sometimes one can of course,’ he said looking at Tran who accepted the innuendo without a shred of offence, ‘but not always. Sometimes, in quite rare cases, one simply relies upon the personal integrity of a man.’ He gave a quick nod in Brian Hopgood’s direction. ‘But more often than not I’ve found it necessary to let a man hang himself, just a little, in order to make him aware of where his loyalty is best placed.’
Robert leant forward over the boardroom table and for the first time in their interview, there was an edge to his voice. ‘And I’ll tell you why your loyalty is best placed with me, King. Because I’m the best there is at what I do.’ He sat back and smiled winningly. ‘And you’re the best there is at what you do. So I suggest you let me look after the rise and fall of networks and you concentrate on giving the viewers the television they want.’ He shook his head like a kindergarten teacher chastising a child. ‘You really have let things go a bit, haven’t you?’
Robert opened up a manila folder which lay on the table in front of him. ‘Here’s a contract I’d like you to have a look at. It ties you to Network 3 for five years but I think you’ll find it more than generous in all areas and we can always chat about the bits and pieces, can’t we?’ He closed the folder and pushed it towards Alain. ‘I’ll be staying at the Regent for the next two days. You can reach me there.’
‘Once it’s signed and sealed I’m sure we can persuade Brian to return your gun and forget the whole unfortunate burglary business. You’re far too valuable an asset to us to spend … ’ he looked at Brian for affirmation ‘ … ten years?’ Brian nodded. ‘Ten years in prison.’ Robert pushed back his chair, rose and extended his hand. ‘I think that just about covers it.’
Alain also rose, automatically accepting the handshake. ‘I’ll certainly look at the contract, Robert,’ he said. He knew he was trapped and he knew he’d say yes but his mind was whirling at such a rate that he also knew he could concentrate on nothing but getting out of that room. He turned to go, but he couldn’t resist a parting glance at Tran. It was as if she didn’t see him. It was as if her mind was miles away.
It was. Tran’s mind was in Cabramatta, the outer-Sydney suburb known as Vietnamatta to many. It would be nice to be living at home again with her mother and two little brothers instead of having to rush there several times a week during office hours. This had been a long job and she was tired. The rest would do her good. It would be a whole six weeks before Mr Bryce needed her again. Six weeks with her friends and family, and it was her birthday next week. She wished she could persuade her mother to move to a more upmarket suburb. They could afford it. Mr Bryce gave her a generous monthly allowance even when he didn’t need her to service or set up one of his clients. But ever since they’d arrived in Australia from the Hong Kong transit camps in 1979, Cabramatta had become home to her mother.
Lost in her own thoughts, Tran didn’t even hear Robert call to Alain just as Brian Hopgood was about to open the door for him.
‘And Alain … ’ Alain turned back. ‘Carnal knowledge of a minor is also a pretty hefty charge, not to mention what it would do to your standing if it got out.’
Alain felt small beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. No more, please!
‘I’d like to think that you could concentrate on the matters in hand without unnecessary worries on your mind.’ Robert gave his warmest smile. ‘So to put you at ease on that score, Tran turns twenty-six next week.’
Brian Hopgood opened the door and Alain left.
The next fortnight was the greatest challenge of Alain’s career. The day after his meeting with Robert Bryce he woke feeling sick, a negative, depressed sickness, beyond the restorative powers of Mylanta, a sickness the like of which he’d never known. After months and months of plotting and scheming to undermine Channel 3 and to kill off ‘The Glitter Game’ he was expected to undo all the damage … overnight?
He lay on his sleepless bed and stared up at the ceiling, his head dulled by the rare Mogadon he’d taken at two am which hadn’t really worked anyway. Where did he start? It was hopeless.
He looked at his watch. Seven o’clock. Just the time Tran would have been trotting in with his pot of tea on a tray with two slices of toast and little glass dishes of butter and orange marmalade. She’d put the tray on the bedside table, humming gently, slowly open the drapes, so that the shock of early daylight wouldn’t be too sudden. Then she’d sit on the bed beside him and pour his tea.
She’d never speak a work until he’d had the first sip. Then, ‘You sleep well, yes?’ She never called him by his name. Well, she had once, hadn’t she? ‘Hello, Alain.’ The direct, impersonal stare flashed through his mind for the hundredth time that morning and the clear, confident enunciation again rang shockingly in his ears.
Alain forced himself out of bed, crossed to the window and threw the drapes aside. The morning light streamed in. He looked down at the busy city below. The view was exciting, spectacular, it was why he’d bought the penthouse in the first place.
Alain could still remember the public outcry nearly twenty-five years ago when the block of luxury apartments had been built. ‘There should be laws protecting harbour frontages from high rise,’ the lobbyists had cried, ‘particularly residential frontages overlooking the city.’ Alain had been barely twenty at the time and was already making himself known as a bright light in the field of market research. He disagreed with the lobbyists. They were only fighting harbour frontage development because they couldn’t afford to buy into it themselves. Go for it, he willed the developers. Go for it, and one day I’ll buy it. I’ll buy the penthouse first and then I’ll buy the whole damn block.
It was brash youth talking, of course, and he no longer even wished to buy the block — real estate wasn’t his game, after all. But twelve years ago, on the day that he’d signed the contracts on the penthouse, Alain had proved something to himself. He’d proved that he could do anything he set out to do and from that moment on his belief in himself had never wavered. Until now, he thought, as he watched the endless stream of early morning commuters crossing the harbour by car, bus, train and ferry.
It had been a long time since he’d looked out of his window. It had once been a daily ritual to draw his power from the city. I own this town, he’d tell himself. Every pe
rson in every one of those buildings watches the television I make. I’m the most successful producer in the country.
So why hadn’t he been drawing his power from the city lately? He knew why. Tran! He’d been drawing his power from Tran. Stupid! You never relied upon people, you used people.
Alain felt a tightening of his buttocks and something strangely akin to an erection. He knew the signs. It was the call to battle and he hadn’t felt it for years. Things had been too easy for too long now. His only thrills had come from humping promiscuous schoolgirls or fighting for a ten per cent better deal. Where was the challenge in that?
The challenge was back now. With a vengeance. The challenge was his survival, his fight for life. Alain felt a surge of triumph. ‘The Glitter Game’ would make television history. Not only did he know it, but Robert Bryce knew it. What had he said? ‘You’re the best at what you do, Alain.’ That’s what he’d said. And he was bloody right.
Would he have given Alain as much rope as he had without knowing the man’s power to fight back? No way. He’d be making a noose for himself too if that was the case, and Robert Bryce was far too clever for that.
‘Get this to Robert Bryce.’ Alain slapped a sealed envelope down on Wendy’s desk. It was the contract, fully signed. ‘He’s at the Regent.’
Wendy nodded. ‘Good morning, Mr King. Isn’t it a lovely —’
‘Get Les Kleinberg on the phone then line up a midday meeting with Evan, Jim and Sandy.’
‘Would you like me to bring in your —’
‘Yes. Black with two sugars.’
Wendy looked dumbfounded at the door Alain had just slammed in her face. She wasn’t remotely surprised at his rudeness, but black coffee with two sugars? In all the time Wendy had been working for him it had been white and none.
Alain wasn’t disturbed by Kleinberg’s threats to sue. He knew he wouldn’t.
‘Sorry, Les. Got to go.’ Les Kleinberg was still talking when Alain hung up.