CHASING LIFE

by Steve Jovanoski

  Surely, he could trace the disappearance of $20,000. The withdrawal logs for his savings account held the answer. They showed two payments, each for $10,000, to separate accounts. Both were listed as foreign: one indicated the recipient as Gerard Pompei, the other as Pompei Gerard.

  ‘Whose are these?’ he mumbled as he held his grumbling gut.

  The credit-card transaction was equally puzzling. A payment had been made to a Liechtenstein Travel Agency for two airline tickets to Buenos Aires.

  ‘Where the hell is Liechtenstein?’ Unable to hold it any longer, he rushed to the bathroom. It was disgusting in there, but he was in a rush and didn’t care. He tore strips of paper, lined the seat quickly and dropped his pants, letting loose of what his body desperately wanted to expel. Cold sweat made him shake all over.

  Thinking he was done, he tried to pull his pants up—but he had to sit back down immediately. The more his mind tried to comprehend the situation, the more stress his body went under. He must have flushed five times—nothing came out but still he had the urge to go. Finally, he came out, exhausted and pale-faced. He sat back down at the computer. The hope of a different result faded when the same account balances showed up. How did someone manage to steal $25,000 from his accounts? He struggled to understand it all. How was it possible? His web-banking details were compromised, but he hadn’t recorded his PIN anywhere. It wasn’t possible! What had happened recently? He tried to think. The last time he had checked his accounts on the web was the day before he met Vincant.

  ‘Vincant!’ He was the only connection, but how could he have done it? The time between Dave’s throwing up on Vincant’s suit and his being taken home was the key. He couldn’t account for what had happened during that period of nearly four hours. The other thing was the mystery of how he had gotten so wasted that evening. He’d drunk more in Hong Kong without suffering the same debilitation, and at the party outside Paris he’d been careful. He was even drinking a bottle of water to make sure he’d be all right. He wasn’t in a state to lose his memory anyway. Anastasia was the other link, she must be. Anastasia had given him a Viagra pill. It must have had more than manhood-enhancing abilities. Vincant and the Bennie the bartender were the ones who took him home and Anastasia was involved. He was convinced now.

  He was devoid of money in a foreign country, and he had no one to turn to. What was he to do first? Call the police, the Australian embassy, the bank, his friends? What? What was the most effective course of action? Arsehole, how could you let this happen? He cursed himself and checked his wallet. After buying dinner and cigarettes, he now had twelve euros left. The thieves had left him with next to nothing.

  He could just see the three of them laughing about it, ‘Leave the poor fucker at least something.’ In French, it would have sounded more elegant.

  ‘Fuck you. A very funny joke, you bastards,’ he spoke aloud through gritted teeth. ‘That arsehole, Vincant.’ His fists clenched, his body shook with rage, and his teeth ground like crazy; he was breathing heavily and coming very near to punching the screen in front of him.

  ‘Fuck!’ he finally let it out loud. The receptionist popped her head up from behind her computer screen like an alarmed meerkat. Dave put his head down, wishing a hole in the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

  ‘You dumb-arse. How could you let this happen? How?’ He shook his head and went back to his previous state of shivering. His dream of opening an accounting business was whisked away. The money he and Julia had saved together! It wasn’t much but it was a piece of her he still had with him. It was supposed to be invested together. And now, some strangers had whisked that away from him. Stolen it and destroyed it.

  How did they do it? Convince him to access his bank account? Not likely, he thought. Whatever was in that drug must have placed him under their control. They had even taken him home, put his pyjamas on and tucked him into bed. At least he still had his wallet and phone. Dave found the emergency number for his bank in Australia and dialled. Successive beeps indicated that his phone’s battery was in need of recharging.

  A woman on the other end answered, and it was an immediate relief for Dave to talk to another Australian. When he explained his desperate situation, she promised to help him as much as she could. She said that his credit card would have to be cancelled immediately and that the bank’s fraud department would need to investigate. There was a chance that some, if not all, of his money could be recovered because of the transfer delay from one country to another. They would get in contact with the receiving bank, she told him. If the transaction were caught in time, they could freeze the account and stop the release of funds. This was good news, but the bad news was that Dave would have no money in the meantime.

  ‘Do you have traveller’s insurance?’ the bank representative asked. ‘In a worst-case scenario you’d be able to claim it back.’

  ‘Yes, but only to Hong Kong. I hadn’t planned on coming to Paris,’ Dave replied.

  ‘Oh, that’s unfortunate. Let me check on what type of credit card you have,’ she said. He waited anxiously and prayed that his phone wouldn’t die on him. ‘You’re in luck. Your credit card gives you automatic travel insurance coverage.’

  ‘Great!’ Dave responded. ‘I needed some positive news.’

  ‘You’ll have to file a police report, however, in order to submit a claim.’

  ‘Okay, I will,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll call you back. Is this the best contact number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right, Dave. We’ll do our best to help you.’

  The phone beeped one last time before the line went dead. ‘Shit,’ he murmured. Before logging off, he printed his bank-account statements, paid two euros for the Internet access and rushed out. He now was down to ten euros.

  Dave walked back to his apartment, thinking about what had happened Vincant had been dodgy from the start, and Dave had fallen in the trap. Sam had even cautioned him about the man. Was he set up the moment he met him? He remembered the laptop in the car. Vincant must have used it to get to his bank details.

  He grabbed the TV remote and pressed hard on the buttons, flicking through channels, but that just frustrated him more, and he threw it against the wall. The batteries fell out of the case, and he got up and put them back in carefully, examining the device for any damage.

  ‘Treacherous bastard,’ Dave muttered to himself. ‘Rip off the Aussie! He’s cashed up and clueless. We’ll split the difference and holiday in Argentina.’ He constructed a movie in his mind about the three conspirators. Vincant would rely on Anastasia, if that was her real name, to drug the victim, and Bennie the bartender was partners with Vincant from way back. They all would disappear when they had the house money.

  Where the hell would a tourist look for someone like them? As he thought of it, he realised the same thing could have happened any other time, on account of how trusting he was. He felt betrayed, lonely and that looming depression of his was knocking at the door. Who can I trust? he asked himself.

  Eventually he pulled himself out of his funk. There was work to do, and he must keep his mind occupied, he concluded. Dave got up and plugged his mobile at the power outlet. If he didn’t get active right away, he would sink into one of his depressive states for days. What would Julia do in a situation like this? If she’d been there, it never would have happened. She was a good judge of character and would have picked up on Vincant straight away.

  Calling his parents would only make them worry. He decided to turn to Mike and Amy instead. When the mobile phone switched on, a signal returned. It was two in the morning in Paris, so close to midday back in Melbourne. Dave dialled Mike first, but his call went straight to voicemail. He left Mike a short message explaining what had happened and hung up. He tried Amy next.

  ‘Hello, Amy speaking,’ her voice was pleasant and professional.

  ‘It’s Dave,’ he quavered with a lump in his throat.

  ‘Hey, how are you? Is everything
okay?’ Even from the other side of the world Amy could detect his mood.

  ‘Not really. I’ve run into a problem.’

  ‘What? What’s happened?’ she spoke with that alertness again.

  Words just wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Get it together man, he told himself.

  ‘Dave! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’ Amy repeated.

  ‘No, I’m okay,’ he finally replied.

  ‘Then what’s going on? You’re scaring me, Dave.’

  ‘I haven’t been hurt. I was robbed. I just checked my bank account and all my money is gone.’

  ‘What? How did that happen?’

  ‘I was at a party. I don’t know exactly what happened. I must have blacked out. Anyway, when I woke up today in my apartment, I couldn’t remember how I had gotten back. I tried to take money out, and the ATM said I had insufficient funds. When I checked my account over the Internet, I found that twenty grand had been transferred out. My credit card is overdrawn by five grand too.’

  ‘Jesus, Dave. Was it someone you met?’

  ‘This guy and a girl. I must have given them my bank details somehow.’

  ‘But why can’t you remember anything?’ Amy sounded more stressed than he was.

  ‘I think I was drugged. Actually, I know I was drugged. I threw up at one point and the next thing I know I’m waking up in my apartment in my pyjamas with a hangover bad enough to kill a horse.’

  ‘Have you called the police? Have you told your parents? What are you going to do?’

  ‘It’s okay, Amy. I’ll sort it out. Please don’t tell my parents. They don’t need to know. What I do need is some money to keep me going and pay for my stay here in the apartment. I’d appreciate it if you could help me out.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll transfer it to your account,’ Amy replied without hesitation.

  ‘No, not to my account, not until I hear back from the bank. Send it through Western Union, and I’ll pick it up here.’

  ‘What about ID? How will you withdraw it?’

  ‘I’ve still got my passport. It wasn’t taken.’

  ‘Oh, thank God for that!’ He could hear her exhale deeply. ‘How much do you want?’

  ‘Just send me $1,000 or so if you can, Amy. I’ll understand if it’s too much.’ He felt rotten for having to ask her, but he was desperate and she was the only person he could trust without any reservations.

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I know you’ll pay me back. I’ll do it right away.’

  ‘Thanks Amy.’

  ‘Why don’t you come back? Sort this out and come home, Dave.’

  ‘I will, I will,’ he said in a calming tone, ‘but not just yet. I’ve still got more trouble to get myself into.’

  ‘You’re a dick.’ Amy lightened up. ‘Look after yourself. I’ll call you back as soon as I put the money through.’

  ‘Thanks, darling.’

  ‘Love you. Bye.’ Dave knew that Amy worried about him like a sister, and it pissed her off when he didn’t listen to her advice. Her solicitous concern for him put a smile on Dave’s face. When his phone rang an hour or so later, he heard another familiar voice.

  ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  ‘Hey Mike.’ Dave couldn’t be bothered going through another explanation, but he couldn’t tell a friend to just leave it alone.

  ‘I just heard your message telling me you were robbed. Are you all right? Do you need money?’ Mike’s concern was genuine and devoid of his normal jocularity. It had obviously dawned on him how serious his friend’s situation was.

  ‘Yeah, I’m okay, mate. Amy is going to lend me some cash while the bank gets back to me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘All right, you cheeky bastard,’ Mike said in a low voice. ‘I hope it was worth it.’ His old self had returned and Dave found it a relief.

  ‘Well, the problem is that I don’t remember most of it.’

  ‘No shit? You really went balls-out, didn’t you?’

  ‘Nah, I think I was drugged.’

  ‘Bloody hell! Have you told your folks?’

  ‘No and please keep it that way,’ Dave grew concerned at the notion of his parents worrying about him. After everything he’d put them through, this was the last thing they needed.

  ‘All right, you banana. What now?’

  ‘I’ll have to sort it out with the cops and see whether I can get my money back.’

  ‘Are you coming back to Aus?’

  ‘I can’t, not yet anyway.’

  ‘Okay. Well, call me if you need anything.’

  ‘Will do. See ya, Mike.’ Dave hung up and threw himself on the bed, bouncing on it uncomfortably like a sack of potatoes.

  Chapter 22

  After the incident, Dave spent his days mostly in and around the apartment, staying sober at all times. His newfound motto of ‘try anything’ was under revision. His inclination to trust people had fallen to an all-time low and it took him some time to recover from a dislike of the French. One tends to hate everything foreign when wronged, he’d learned, but he was the foreigner here. Eventually he came to the conclusion that not every French person was out to rip him off. They weren’t to blame, after all, for the bastards of their society.

  Meanwhile, he longed to escape from this crappy experience and go back to Melbourne. The world wasn’t as safe and accommodating as he’d expected. However, he was trapped for now, and there was no going anywhere without money. Every hour of the day and every day of the week would be counted down until he’d sorted this mess and bought himself a ticket out of there. He felt lonely, unhealthy and horrible in general. He contemplated seeing a local doctor about it. What worsened things was his constant thinking of Julia.

  Waking up with a hangover and an ashtray mouth virtually every day had disgusted him. Something had to change. With the money Amy sent him, Dave bought a pair of shorts. He had decided that exercise would be a way to pass the time. Over the years his body had turned soft and flabby—a direct result of sitting on his arse for most of his working life. For a week, every morning Dave had shoved his apartment key into his pocket and headed for the park across from rue Buffon.

  At the botanical park, Jardin des Plantes, runners had passed him by while he struggled to complete one kilometre of a track five times that distance. Although exhausted and puffing like crazy, by the time he’d reached five hundred metres, he’d pressed on. He’d pushed himself until his heels broke out in blisters, calves burnt and thighs begged for mercy.

  Along the park’s dirt path were benches occupied by teenagers fiddling with iPhones, lovers smooching, old ladies quietly chatting away and young families idling with prams. Having people around him, even though they were strangers, brought Dave comfort. The noise in his mind was akin to a busy freeway full of congested traffic. Focussing on the world around him distracted the useless thoughts floating endlessly. They had no purpose, except to feed his loneliness and depression. At night, he’d devoted all his time to learning the French language. He read anything he could get his hands on, plus stuff he could find on the Internet.

  Eventually, something interesting happened—and unexpectedly. The more he ran, the more the world revealed itself to him. The smell of the flowers in the lush garden devoured his senses like never before; it was intoxicating. He realised that the park and the environment around him was full of life; the chatter and people’s facial expressions when greeting each other and reading their moods became a new interest. All these creatures had lives of their own: happy, sad, playful and absorbing, they were all going through a range of emotions. Like him, they were part of it, this life. Ordinary Parisians going about their business like ordinary people.

  Dave tackled the full five-kilometre track after a week of daily running. During that week, his body had cleansed itself of the toxins he’d been accumulating of late. Over the week, one lap had turned into two, then three and then, a week on, he’d broken through the comfort zone he’d confi
ned himself in and ran across the busy street and along the Seine. His chest heaved and his heart pumped like a perfectly timed steam engine— well-built machinery chugging along without missing a beat.

  This was a new experience. He was dodging the tourists blocking his way, but he wasn’t annoyed or angry. This state of mind brought him balance, and he didn’t mind the little things. The anger he was normally prone to felt distant. It was just like in his younger days, and Dave felt good. At one point, a rowdy group of Russians walked into his path and nearly forced him into oncoming traffic. They had apologised and, to his surprise, he found himself saying ‘Have a nice day’—and he’d said it in French. He felt elated and wanted to share it with the world.

  With abundant energy he sprinted down a set of stairs and ran along the Seine’s banks. When boats full of sightseers floated by, he increased his pace. He was trying to keep up and imagined a passenger taking pictures of him and egging him on, saying ‘Come on, Dave. Keep going.’ He ran nearly halfway around Notre Dame Cathedral, over the main bridge to the other side and down the banks again, where he ran out of running space. The footpath came to an end.

  He stopped to catch his breath and give his legs a break. As he wiped the sweat off his brow, he watched the sightseeing boat float past him. The passengers pointed in his direction. He wondered whether they were really looking at him. Dave felt exhilarated because they were even taking photos. He turned around to see if anyone on the banks was watching, but there was no audience.

  A man was walking his dog atop the riverbank, and a couple gazed down, but not toward him. The boat’s passengers had been taking photos of Notre Dame. They had a great angle from where the boat was passing by. Dave smiled at his naivety. Why would they care about taking photos of a jogger? He got his breath back and continued on his run.