KILLER T

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘How much toast do you eat?’ Charlie said, smiling, but conscious that she looked a mess. Barefoot, baggy nylon shorts and one of Juno’s old Gap tees, with no bra underneath.

  ‘Been up playing pool on the mezzanine,’ Brad explained. Charlie realised he was still in the clothes he’d worn when he’d dropped her off. ‘Want some jelly toast?’

  ‘Why not,’ Charlie said.

  She was too stressed to be hungry, but preferred chatting to Brad to going back to her room.

  ‘They put fresh bread in here every day,’ Brad complained, opening an overhead cupboard mounded with half-eaten loaves. ‘But nobody ever cleans out the old stuff. This is green!’

  Brad dropped the mouldy bread into a trash can.

  ‘And the cleaners …’ he moaned, tailing off as he placed two fresh slices into the toaster and pushed the lever down. ‘So how was the Maker’s Yard? Got back OK?’

  Charlie couldn’t face the humiliating details.

  ‘It wasn’t what I expected,’ she said understatedly, before changing the subject. ‘Do you know Ken Kleinberg?’

  ‘The support officer?’

  Charlie smirked. ‘How many Ken Kleinbergs do you know?’

  ‘All right, Miss Smartass,’ Brad said, making Charlie flinch with a flicking gesture. ‘He used to be my support officer, but he’s been off sick a lot. I wouldn’t say Ken’s a bad guy, but he’s moody. One day snapping and snarling, another he’s so wrapped in his own problems you could probably rape a nun and get away with it.’

  ‘A nun!’ Charlie said, shaking her head and laughing. ‘It’s dark in that head of yours, Brad.’

  But she was laughing, and she’d stepped slightly closer.

  ‘You look cute with your hair all mussed,’ Brad said, then bit his toast.

  The compliment seemed ridiculous, but Charlie didn’t care. Brad swung his toast in front of her mouth.

  ‘Crunchy peanut, chocolate spread and lime jelly,’ he said.

  Charlie took a bemused sniff. ‘Kinda gross …’

  But Brad’s smile was infectious and after a pause for thought, Charlie went on tiptoes and took a cautious bite.

  ‘Tastes better than it looks, doesn’t it?’ Brad said, before putting a sticky hand on the back of Charlie’s neck and gently kissing her lips. She loved his confidence, and the way he tasted like chocolate instead of beer and weed. Charlie considered Brad’s girlfriend. But in this moment there were only two places to go: forward with a guy who turned her on, or back behind her bolted door, sleepless and tormented.

  Brad grabbed her butt and lifted her easily on to the kitchen worktop. The back of her head hit a cabinet, but that didn’t stop him pushing up her shirt. Charlie rubbed against Brad’s chest, but she really wanted to see it.

  ‘Take your shirt off.’

  Brad took a step back and Charlie was scared that she’d done something wrong.

  Do guys not like it if you tell them what to do?

  ‘You don’t have to take your shirt off,’ Charlie said nervously as Brad swept a hand over his greasy brow and stared down at floor tiles.

  Brad shook his head and breathed deep. ‘It’s not about the shirt.’

  Charlie felt like a germ. ‘Is something wrong with me?’

  ‘You’re awesome,’ Brad said softly. ‘But I’m guessing you’re new at this …’

  ‘I’ll be sent back to White Boulder tomorrow,’ Charlie pleaded. ‘My whole life is shit. I might not be alone with a guy again for years.’

  ‘You don’t know you’re going back,’ Brad said.

  Charlie slid off the cabinet, looking tearful. ‘With my luck, you can bet the farm.’

  Brad surprised Charlie by closing again. He pushed her back on to the worktop and stood between her legs, teasing them apart.

  ‘Do you like that?’

  She shuddered with pleasure as he kissed her neck.

  ‘It’ll hurt if it’s your first time,’ Brad said. ‘Tell me you really want it.’

  ‘I want you,’ Charlie gasped, scared of what she was getting into, but surprised by a lack of doubts. Even a painful escape seemed better than reality.

  28 COLGATE CHEST

  Charlie sat on Brad’s toilet and felt spaced out as she peed. So, that was sex then …

  Brad reached from under the covers when she came out and picked her shorts off the floor.

  ‘Come back to bed,’ he said softly.

  Charlie liked being spooned, with his hand on her belly and his breath spreading around her neck and down her back. Brad fell asleep quickly, but Charlie couldn’t get comfortable without waking him up and found herself staring into the gloom, somehow comforted by the photo of Brad’s twin sisters at the end of the bed.

  She hadn’t expected to sleep, so it was a surprise when Brad woke her, stroking her cheek with his little finger and kissing softly as she opened her eyes.

  ‘Another day,’ Brad said ruefully.

  Hazy light breached a crack in the curtains as he climbed over Charlie, scratching his butt as he padded to the bathroom.

  Charlie rolled to the middle of the single bed, finding Brad’s heat and realising that his sheets were disgusting. She liked Brad’s smell, but there were dried-out noodles stuck to the duvet and the thought that other girls had been here made her feel itchy.

  Brad spat toothpaste in the basin, then leaned out of the bathroom door, his perfect chest blobbed with Colgate.

  ‘Sleep good?’ he asked.

  ‘I guess,’ Charlie said, yawning as she instinctively pulled the covers up to her neck. ‘It’s only twenty past seven.’

  ‘I have to leave earlier when Mel’s staying at her dad’s,’ Brad explained.

  The girlfriend’s name made the bed even less comfortable.

  ‘I need a blast in the shower,’ Brad said. ‘Might be an idea to hop back to your room, before too many people are up and about.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ Charlie said weakly.

  Brad moved towards Charlie as she swung her feet out of bed. She let covers drop around her feet as Brad pulled her into a hug and followed with a toothpastey kiss.

  ‘Hope you’re still around when I get home from school.’

  ‘So do I,’ Charlie replied, managing a slight smile.

  • • •

  Charlie panicked when she saw five messages on the phone plugged in beside her bed. Harry calling was no surprise, but there were have you seen this video messages from two girls she’d known at White Boulder, and her old schoolmate Trish, who’d moved to San Diego when they were in sixth grade and who barely looked recognisable in her avi picture.

  The final message was from OIL’s reception desk, reminding Charlie that she wasn’t allowed off premises until she’d seen Ken Kleinberg at noon.

  The WiFi at OIL wasn’t great and the video buffered for ages before Charlie got to see JJ’s horror leg break and Fawn making an ass of herself. Fawn looked older, but her snarling muddy face gave Charlie chills.

  It was the expression Charlie had seen when her sister screamed and kicked and threw stuff around the trailer. It was hard to enjoy slapstick from the person who’d steamrollered her life to enable her boyfriend to play college ball, and now had her paws in their disabled brother’s trust fund …

  Harry and the others had sent the clip to cheer Charlie up, but seeing Fawn filled her with dread. Why does she hate me so much? Why have I messed my life up so fast? Does Brad care about me? Where will I be sleeping tonight? The meeting with Ken isn’t for four hours and time’s gonna drag so bad …

  Charlie had showered by the time Juno came into her room, giving her a hug and wishing her luck. She only managed fruit for breakfast, and when everyone had left for school Charlie went up to the mezzanine floor and guilted herself about all the positive things she could be doing, instead of guzzling Pepsi and aimlessly blasting balls around the pool table.

  ‘Apologies for being late,’ Ken Kleinberg said, settling in front of his desk when he finally ar
rived.

  Charlie felt like her insides had shrunk to a tangerine as she settled in a metal-framed chair, gripping both arms.

  If Brad was a god in human form, Ken was his opposite. Crooked posture, shaving rash, snub nose and grey teeth. He had a shabby briefcase open on the desktop. Besides several files, it contained a model-railway magazine, a boxed lunch and a compartmented pill case.

  Ken had a fresh cup from the water cooler, and he kept Charlie in suspense as he necked two red pills, a lilac triangle and a brown-and-red capsule.

  ‘I’m keeping big pharma profitable all by myself,’ Ken joked, seeming nicer than the ogre she’d imagined. ‘How are you finding Obama?’

  ‘OK,’ Charlie said. ‘My room is nice. And I’m sorry about what happened yesterday.’

  ‘You’ve certainly caused a ruckus. One of the reasons I’m late is that I’ve been taking calls from several parties about your case.’

  ‘Swallow Park?’ Charlie asked warily.

  ‘Amongst others,’ Ken explained. ‘I’m obliged to follow a set of rigid guidelines. The zero-tolerance policy for newly released offenders exists because we can’t create the impression that someone can get away with staying out after curfew once, or puffing a joint, or skipping a couple of lessons at school.

  ‘However, one of your friends pointed out that you are younger than most people released into an environment like this. I’m also supposed to evaluate any positive efforts you’ve made since your release.’

  ‘My friends?’ Charlie said curiously, thinking of Juno and Harry.

  ‘Steve Malbrouck at Makers Yard has known my wife for many years and he called me this morning,’ Ken explained. ‘Steve tells me that you’re a fine young person, and that the situation at Swallow Park was wholly unfair. I also had a conversation with Mango Kowalski-Clark at the Radical Cake Collective, saying that you’ve shown an interest in baking and that she’d like to offer you a part-time job.’

  ‘Oh,’ Charlie said, trying not to look as surprised as she felt.

  ‘Have you always been a baker?’ Ken asked.

  ‘I didn’t have much chance at White Boulder, but I’ve always loved it,’ Charlie lied.

  ‘I’m a bread maker,’ Ken said, smiling. ‘It never ceases to amaze me that water, flour and yeast can make something that tastes and smells so wonderful.’

  ‘I know.’ Charlie nodded, wary of saying too much and exposing the fact that the only things she’d ever baked were Ed’s frozen chicken bites.

  ‘So, with a community figure like Steve speaking highly of you and a job lined up to keep you out of mischief, I’m willing to overlook yesterday’s unfortunate incident at school.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ Charlie beamed. ‘That’s awesome.’

  ‘But …’ Ken said firmly, resuming after a dramatic pause. ‘It will look bad on me if you mess up again, so expect zero sympathy next time around. I also want to know where you are at all times. That means strict 6 p.m. curfew, except for pre-approved adult-supervised activities. Do not go out without your cell phone fully charged because a dead battery is not an excuse, and do not travel more than two miles from here without getting my permission in advance. Is all of that acceptable?’

  ‘Very,’ Charlie agreed.

  The restrictions were a pain, but a thousand times better than getting sent back to White Boulder. Charlie’s face was alight as she walked out, pulling her phone to call Harry. She’d hoped she might catch him before the end of his lunch break, but had to settle for voicemail.

  29 TEACHERS ARE DICKS

  The buzzer had gone for Queensbridge Academy’s first afternoon lesson, but Harry was desperate to return a call. The school’s darkroom hadn’t been used in years and he glanced over his shoulder before unlocking the door.

  The windowless space had a lingering smell of photographic chemicals. He flipped a switch, illuminating three deep-red bulbs, relocked the door from inside and propped his ass against a steel sink with a dripping faucet.

  His phone’s screen made more light than the bulbs. Harry made sure his call-recording app was enabled, dialled the number of a missed call and waited several rings before a man answered.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Is that Earl? This is Harry Smirnov from Vegas Local. I’m returning the messages you left, about a possible story.’

  ‘I’m Earl,’ he said, halfway between confused and scared. ‘Sorry about the other phone. I started getting weird calls and had to ditch it. What’s your beef with the Janssens, Harry?’

  ‘I don’t have a beef,’ Harry lied.

  ‘But I’ve read that you don’t take their advertisements.’

  Harry didn’t want to go into personal stuff about Charlie and getting his nuts wrung, so he waffled. ‘Vegas Local depends on a strong relationship with the community. We select our advertising partners carefully and Janssen Corp put a lot of noses out of joint.’

  ‘You mean they’re a bunch a dirty crooks,’ Earl croaked, then broke into a rasping laugh.

  Harry smiled. ‘I couldn’t say that, sir. Especially online, cos the Janssens can afford to sue my ass.’

  ‘The local TV stations swim in Janssen dollars,’ the old guy said, a touch suspicious. ‘I admire your decency, but how old are you, boy?’

  ‘Twenty,’ Harry said.

  ‘You’re all so young these days,’ Earl snorted. ‘Drop out of college and a billionaire by twenty-five, eh?’

  ‘I live in hope.’

  ‘Got quite an accent there, son. You Australian?’

  Harry avoided answering. ‘I’m under a lot of time pressure,’ he said – not admitting that the pressure was fourth-period chemistry. ‘I understand you have a story.’

  ‘If you’ve got balls big enough to run it.’

  ‘OK,’ Harry said, preferring not to think too much about balls.

  ‘You know about SNor?’

  Harry laughed. ‘Hard to miss.’

  ‘What about HHD, the Hotel Hygiene Directive?’ Earl asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘At the height of the SNor epidemic, the Center for Disease Control in Washington issued cleaning guidelines. They focused on schools, prisons, retirement homes, cruise ships and hotels, because those were the places where the biggest outbreaks were happening. The HHD gave strict guidelines on how hotel rooms had to be cleaned, from towels being laundered at higher temperatures, strong chlorine bleach being used in all cleaning sprays, UV sterilisation, disposable gloves and masks for staff, disposable toilet brushes for each room and so forth.’

  ‘Right,’ Harry said. ‘I remember all the hotels on the strip had to close their buffets, and there was no traffic in town, even Friday and Saturday.’

  ‘The Hotel Hygiene Directive wasn’t legally binding, but every big hotel operator agreed to follow the procedure, including the four Janssen Corp casinos that have hotel rooms. It was expensive to implement, but it was a way to rebuild customer confidence.

  ‘HHD doubled the time it took to clean a hotel room. And you can imagine how hard it was trying to recruit minimum-wage hotel cleaners to do the dirty work during a virus outbreak. The Janssens had empty hotels and casinos losing money, while their cleaning and laundry costs spiralled. Their solution was to bend the rules.’

  ‘Sounds like Janssen Corp,’ Harry said, intrigued but not terribly excited. ‘Trouble is, there have been a ton of stories about stuff like this, Earl. The corporations put it down to teething problems with new procedures, and say that they’ve got things sorted now. Plus, people have lost interest in SNor scare stories. Once you’ve had a dose you’re immune and everyone has had their week on the toilet now.’

  Earl sounded irritated. ‘Seventeen people died after being infected at Janssen Island Casino in Fremont street. I’ve spoken to a few people who worked there. The hygiene was horrible. Cleaning staff quit. The rooms haven’t been refurbished in twenty years and they keep Janssen Island busy on weekdays by offering twenty-dollar rooms and free bus ride
s to seniors from California.

  ‘They were old and vulnerable, and they dropped like flies. The Island should have been shut down for two weeks and deep cleaned, but Janssen kept bussing seniors in. Because they were mostly one-night stays, most of them were home before they got sick. Cleaning staff who could see what was going on were scared to speak up because the Janssens are thugs. Quite a few people did wind up dying or getting seriously ill while they were still in Vegas, but the source of all the cases was never identified.’

  ‘Why not?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Hospitals and doctors must notify every fatal case of SNor to the Center for Disease Control, including the likely source of infection. But not a single case was registered as being picked up at Janssen Island. The patients’ hospital records were accurate, but when the hospital data got uploaded to the CDC, all reference to Janssen Island vanished.’

  Seventeen deaths and a cover-up was a story and Harry was intrigued.

  ‘How do you know this?’ he asked.

  ‘I worked at Clark County medical records department for over twenty years,’ Earl explained. ‘The major hospitals and clinics all use our centre. SNor created extra work, so I came out of retirement on a twelve-week contract to help with an administrative backlog.

  ‘I thought something was peculiar when I had to track down a patient record with a wrongly entered insurance number. I noticed that the source of infection was Janssen Island Casino on the hospital record, but shown as “Out of State” on the stats uploaded to the Center for Disease Control.

  ‘So I called up all SNor deaths in the hospital nearest Fremont Street, and found sixteen more records that had been changed from Janssen Island to Out of State. When I showed my line manager, she said she’d look into it. When nothing happened after two weeks, I made a fuss and got rebuked for ordering dead patients’ records without authorisation.

  ‘Two days later, I arrived at work and my swipe card was dead. I got told I was being dismissed for breaching patient confidentiality, but they said they’d pay the rest of my twelve-week contract if I signed an agreement not to speak out.’