by Zac Funstein
“What about the ungodly compendiums that were found in the glove compartment?”
“These you mean,” exclaimed Ralph thumping a cardboard-box which contained the remnants of the aforementioned-dashboard compartment. Peeking out from behind them were a clutch of ornaments-as if saved by erudition- each with its own story to tell. A rosary that had nestled with them seemed to boast-that it was a prayer, inchoate unfinished, for the deceased, her love, her loss, her lesion, a rosary of words to the calendar compounds as if the past existed somewhere like an inheritance still waiting to be claimed.“No good being a gunner for these,” moaned Ralph lifting a solitary volume. “we checked with the pundits that had given them but they were on public-display when this happened-one was in his garage the other was holding a group meeting somewhere.
You know what is funny -do you know the defining difference between passive/ active citizens?”
“Not that I can immediately reach for.”
“Curiously, it isn't income, geography, or even education. It depends on whether or not they read for pleasure. These cultural activities seem to awaken a heightened sense of individuality but more importantly social responsibility too.”
“It didn’t give our charge much input as per the luck-stakes.”
“Whilst we’re on the topic-there was some old-guy whom G met whilst admiring some public monument- an opprobrious monument to human greed-we haven’t found him yet, but don’t hold out much as per a chance.”
“Anything else Ralph-better clear the tubes.”
“A vehicle – described on police scanner traffic as ‘possibly a silver Mercedes-Benz V’-- was seen speeding away from the next towns intersection shooting toward the freeway. A coterie of computer-scientists, who referred to themselves as alumni of ‘St Almeida’s Prep’, who spoke of their inscrutable teacher with awe were devoting their talents in programming. The e-mails between the foundation/ state officials describe a symbiotic relationship intent on finding G’s nemesis. The Ontario Foreign Press Association, a coterie of journalists for international newspapers/magazines were ditto engaged.”
They had to admit it they were in an opprobrious no-mans-land.
Once again Ralph watched Ricardo turn into a tiny figure on the horizon then Tranquillo appear on his bike.
What might have been a non-profitable day was turned into the reverse when someone who claimed they were a ‘binner’ phoned to offer their input.
“I’m not very well up on cultural references what is a binner or binning when it is at home?”
“A binner steps into the void, sifts through the mess, returns the empties, pockets the rest for him/herself.”
“I still don’t really comprendre but I have a better inkling.”
“As filmmaker Ernest D. Welty explains in his upcoming GHV documentary, ‘Extinction With Pride’, binning is a lucrative industry; some binners claim they can earn a fortune. The local bottle bounty comes courtesy of the province’s aggressive container-deposit legislation, which covers not just bottles, but also cans plus Tetra Paks. The idea, in principle, is that levies will motivate consumers to return their bottles and cans. In reality, many throw them in the garbage. Maybe if I send you an art attachment of artist Matilda Herrera Sandoval it will make everything plain.”
Surely ‘lateness' or 'belatedness' must not apply to art for the imagery arrived almost simultaneously. There is nothing more disenchanting than to be shown the springs/ mechanism of any art- perhaps in aesthetics the reason is the same: those disclosures which seem fatal to the dignity of art eventually destroy it. No matter-the photo of a collage of some tin cans, squeezy-bottles plus cling-film has arrived.
“This provoking exhibit is just one of several local artistic projects in Prince Rupert inspired by the underground economy of the binners. Also known as dumpster divers and lane pickers, binners are a well-established presence in British Columbia, where several ply the lowly trade.”
Ralph gets an ‘aha’ moment with attendant ‘ting’ noise.
“Victoria city council had been debating making it mandatory to lock all dumpsters, something which binners/others who make a living from scouring through the trash for recyclable materials have resisted. The DVBIA wants council to impose a ‘dumpster-free zone’ in the downtown core. But I don’t see what this has got to do with the Schreiber Girl.”
“Matilda has been researching dumpsters in remote regions for one of her exhibitions-this was found in a dumpster near where the deceased parked.”
A tiny Pinocchio model like the ones that lined G’s bedroom shelf is viewed. Then it disappears as the phone is thumped against something.
“Call it ‘cramming,’ ‘whamming’ or ‘super-slamming’ call it what you will, but I call it a rip-off-I was shocked recently to find charges crammed deep into my phone bill for services I didn’t authorize-I now find more here now.”
M
It was half-past the hour when Joel Litmanen returned to the former Karaoke palace-‘Paynologged Bar’ as a last desperate resort. The scene of the disaster was much as Joel had left it. All the gentlemen which had clamoured for an affluent thrill earlier had now left. Mrs. Ribeiro the owners totalitarian better half was there puffing up the cushions. No one liked it when this autocrat was around they were too scared to touch anything. When anyone spoke to Mrs. Ribeiro it was like encountering a hydrogen peroxide tinted didactic somebody whose last job was with the security in some oppressive state.
The baccarat-counters were still strewn everywhere those that had been so neatly stacked now were like childrens tiddliwinks or a numismatics collection. Chaos seemed personified, as the empty glasses waited for the person who reluctantly had to clean them to arrive. A window had been opened to let the smoke out. It made that sound that perfunctorily opened glass apertures make when they are disturbed so-the glass rattled in the ancient putty-but rather than letting the smoke out which had formed an internal cloud which lingered seemed to be letting in a fog. Reijo Rantala -Joel’s chemin de fer-partner himself had merely discarded his dining jacket for one of his innumerable blazers with a heraldry which seemed to be a desideratum at this hour. Tuxedos were only reserved for special events.
"I was sure you had left," exclaimed Rantala with his usual grandiloquence.
"No," said Joel, pushing past him rudely without ceremony-leading the way in with an impudence amazing to himself even.
"Not come back for your revenge, have you?” almost growled Reijo indicating the strewn counters.The beginning to pile them up.“Because I'm afraid I can't give it to you. I was sorry myself that the others-“.
They were squared off by the mantlepiece now like some old duellers, Rantala cut him short.
"Reijo," said Litmanen, "you may well be surprised at my returning in this way at this hour. I hardly know you. I was never in your rooms before to-night-yet here we are exchanging as if we have known each other since youth. Of course that's no excuse; but will you listen to us—for a minute at least?"
In his emotion Joel had at first to struggle for every word; but his expression reassured Reijo in going on, Rantala was not mistaken in its expression.
"Certainly, my dear chap," said the sparring partner; "as many minutes as you like. Have some snuff take a pew-chill out." Rantala gave him his silver snuff-case which was peculiarly warm again like one of those warmers where snapping the foil contents releases reactive chemicals inside. It was sensed that Reijo was uncomfortable like a corset was worn or a truss for a hernia-although such was now deemed archaic. They both partook of the mixture enjoying the twang. How can I know your medicine is true medicine someone once asked the proof was in the usage no question.
“It is the subject which we touched on briefly last which interests us Reijo.”
“The terrible attack at BC-yes I have given it very much consideration I can assure you. I believe it is the inoperative stereo which is crucial.”
They had found the car-radio tuned to this distant sports station but a
lthough it had been checked before leaving-it did not function properly.
“There was something else you mentioned that you didn’t have a chance to mention earlier that you were sure was crucial.”
“Sure-my dropout brother-in-law Harri Somervuori who’s a wrecker knows that road like nobody else alive. Since the bitter acrimony of his divorce-his articulated lorry has driven past there countless times. Driving keeps him from doing serious damage to his ex.”
“There was some trouble there you mentioned near where it happened.”
“Sure Somervuori jack-knifed there that is not personally but the lorry that was carrying light explosives.It wasn’t like being In South America-the experience that got him the job, supplies of nitroglycerine were needed at a remote oil field in Paraguay. An oil company once paid several men to deliver the supplies in several trucks. A tense rivalry develops between the sets of drivers on the rough remote roads where the slightest jolt could result in a fatal explosion.Harri was the only one to survive.”
“This ability not to become slack even in such geographical obscurity stood him in good stead.”
“Sure it’s a gymnastic maneuvering those things as you know-you must have seen them trying to get round side streets or narrow roads-well add this extra vulnerability you’d get the picture.”
“Then you said there was a rub that you’d heard of that was like the Old French remedies brought to South Carolina then later to Mississippi which were used to prevent/ cure common colds and coughs.”
“Like the one found with the the other junk taken. It sounds similar whether or not it was the same remains to be seen-considering there was an Angolan that was abused who used the same rub-only a solitary conclusion can be drawn in my opinion. I may be wrong without ocular proof I can’t say.”
Reijo adjusted his heraldry which must have been attached by velcro-this was pulled off folded put into his top-pocket then another attached. Joel whose only remotely similar item was a reversible sweatshirt was duly impressed.
“Excuse the slight alteration but we have another crew in tonite-a more sporty crowd-they seem to respond better to a different typo. I have to take up the cudgel unfortunately as superficial as it might be.”
Anyone who demanded what the new transcendentalism of the Latin cryptography was would surely be deflected.
The next exchange was transacted to the the accompaniment of a lighter being filled with butane which seemed as if it belonged with the snuff box set.
“Have you tried a phone-in Litmanen they sometimes get good results even somewhere like this which is miles from anywhere? It isn’t always just a superficial marketing catch.”
“The switchboard was busy for a while-but the arousal of interest was feeble generally. Some kind of identikit picture was constructed but the guy that was come up with didn’t seem like anyone on the agency-books. There was some attempt to inculcate a guide who took tourist-hunters around that area but they could pin anything on him. They got the suspect mixed up with some slinky Lithuanian mountain man who lived in rompers. Someone who used napalm as a cornerstone of their career in Vietnam rather than end up in an asylum went native.”
There were some camera-shots taken about this time too-though some nitwit asst destroyed the darkroom by accident
the GPS tracking device attached to hire-cars commandeered at the airport (something many car-service fleets install in their vehicles as an antitheft measure) was checked for all hires that went past that locale but nothing was found.
“There was some kinda counsellor that had got out of a decriminalization rap that some enterprising law-buff tried to stick one I was sure I came across somewhere.”
“Yeh-Caio Rocha Ferreira. Everyone tried to stick it on Caio. Ferreira had everything-a criminal record for falsification of operations-no alibi per se-being ‘foreign’ didn’t help. But the accusations had so many holes in it-it wasn’t true. Caio didn’t have a car for one-couldn’t even drive. Luckily his command of English was quite good so the unfortunate heroic fellow was able to stick up for himself. No one likes the bondage of a police-state.”
“Then some lonely sheet metal worker with an iniquitous past.”
“You didn’t need to hold a referendum on him no one believed it was him even for a moment. The plots on the lie detector didn’t even bother to move this guy was so innocent. There might have been other things done wrong but this wasn’t one of them.”
The suggestions just got wackier ‘n wackier. Some claimed that the encroachment of an airstrip nearby which was used to smuggle drugs was unwittingly disturbed by the unfortunate girl but no one found any airstrip nearby or any record of light aircraft being reported in the area. There was an occasional take off around there or disturbance of the radio frequency but it wasn’t going to lead to any decimation of existing assumptions.Try to aerate anything to do with this was like coming up against a barrier of silence.
There was a semiskilled schoolmaster in a position at the relevant school who was well-grounded in this kind of observation who was sure that one of the children had it in for her-they were jealous because of her car. This too however did not stand up to substantiation-sure it annoyed them like the boring rudiments of an unhappy life did everybody, but there was no diabolical plan-no confederacy that was mislaid to any such passive resistance.
“Seems like the atypical scintilla to us Litmanen-unsolved attacks like this get this sort of rubbish flung at them constantly. The same knaves get trotted out-they slip through the mesh as always. There is an outburst of dissent then everything dies down as before.”
Arvid Oramo moved the snapshots on the table so they would be more easily visible. In took him to when in the North Vietnamese camps when they were threatened by severe weather plus medicine shortages. Then the supplier who was about to be shot for corruption had put many black-and-white photos on the table then said, ‘Examine these pictures- you'll know what I have done!’. His daughter, Jenna, who seemingly roused herself from her TV watching to examine the selection had another purpose which inspired her however.
"Darling old Arvid," Jenna said, settling his tie more to her liking, "I sometimes wish you weren't quite so young. You let yourself in for so many disappointments."
Arvid did look rather younger than his years, in spite of his succombing to the tide of life like all of us. The paternal-element had a fresh complexion-was even dark, amused. His figure was that of a young man, his daughter had only settled his tie out of affection, for the rest of his clothes were perfect, with that perfection which comes imported from Bond Street/ Savile Row, the expenditure of considerable energy plus knowledge/ taste in such matters. Arvid was, in fact, as agreeable as any man of his age could be, unless you were to demand evidences of unusual gifts, which Arvid hadn't got, indeed did very well without.
Jenna smiled then stepped aside so Arvid could twirl her around to examine her. 'Oh yes, do I pass for you, madam?' her dad asked as his daughter stared at him then smiled again. Arvid went in closer to him, pulled her closer again as Jenna adjusted his tie once more.
As for his eldest adopted daughter Afro-Canadian Monica, her appeal needed no qualification whatever, for Monica had, in addition to her attractions of feature , that adorable blessing of youth, which, in the case of some fortunate beings, seems to emanate grace. It was so with her with Monica. The same age as the teen-now-gone-it might have been some doubt as to whether Monica could be called beautiful or only very attractive, the doubt would not be resolved for some few years to come. Monica was delicate, was fine at the extremities, moving with natural grace/ freedom. Half of these qualities belonged to her youth, which was so living/palpitating in her as to be a quality of beauty in itself.
Monica was charmingly dressed, her clothes, like her father's, meant as well as perfect taste; perhaps, rather, taste perfectly honed to the fashions of the moment. They were both of them people of the sort whom wealth adorns, who are physically perfected expanded by it: whom it is a pleasure to
think of as rich even opulent. The room in which we first meet them gave the same sense of satisfaction as their general air of prosperity, indeed expressed them in the same way. It was large, half library, half morning-room. There was a dark carpet, deep sofas covered with bright chintzes, many many pictures, an ion generating machine, some ornaments of beauty/value, but few that were not also for use, all the expensive accessories of the mechanism of life in silver, aluminium, morocco. It was as quiet/homelike as if it had been in the middle of the tundra, though it was actually here in the city. A great fire of coal leapt in the open hearth like a cartoon. It was a delightful setting for ease of family life, which was a state of being enjoyed/appreciated by the fortunate family which inhabited it.
There was a clutch of them, without counting Christensen, who yet counted for a great deal. Arvid Oramo was a banker, by inheritance/ to some extent by acquirement. Arvid cares sat lightly on him, they interfered in no way with his pleasures- which was hunting mostly with his prized Kimber Adirondack which went wherever its owner went it seemed. ‘Never let a day pass without using your Kimber’ was the moto.Arvid liked his work, as Arvid liked most of the things that Arvid did/ was clever at it. Arvid spent a good many days in the year shooting/playing golf, went away for sabbaticals, generally with his family. But his enjoyments were enhanced by not being made the center of his life. His banking was almost an enjoyment in itself. It was certainly an abiding interest, one that Arvid would not have been without.
Oramo had married young, his wife Eeva had died at the birth of his only son Arvid Jnr. some while before. Arvid Snr. had missed her greatly, which had prevented him from marrying again when his children were all small; now they were grown up, or growing up, their companionship was enough for him. But Arvid still missed her, Eeva’s presence was kept alive among his children, only the eldest of whom, however, had any clear relationship with their mother.