by HMC
‘That’s not true. I’ve got some bad news.’ He halted and took off his hat. ‘Uni will have to wait awhile I’m afraid.’ He’d promised her father he’d be the one to tell her, but it wasn’t coming out right.
‘What could possibly turn this gorgeous cloudy day bad? As for university waiting, I hope they don’t hold their breath. ’ She tilted her head – it was maddening. He could tell she was nervous though, when the corner of her mouth quivered.
‘Sam,’ he began, ‘come and we’ll sit down somewhere for this.’
Travis sat Sam down at the coffee shop booth. She watched as he ordered a skinny cappuccino, mocha with marshmallows, and a cheese sandwich to go. It was his favourite second breakfast.
Samantha was terrified something had happened to her father. Dr. Karl Phillips was getting on. He’d adopted Sam at an old age and she wasn’t sure how long he had left. He seemed vital enough. She pushed that thought aside. It didn’t bear thinking about – it scared her. Besides, her father was just as important to Travis, as he was to Sam. He’d have said something by now.
The faded blue booth they sat in had begun to tear in the corners and peel away. Sam remembered them new, when they were a brilliant royal blue. Back then, the place had been an icecream parlour. When her father had adopted her, it had been one of the first places he brought her, and she’d had her first ever banana split. Sam would never forget it – it was one of her happiest memories.
When she found out the shop had changed hands and become a café, she had not only refused to set foot in it for several years, but Sam often thought about burning it down. It was lucky she hadn’t. The new owners were a nice, young Maori couple and she’d never have forgiven herself.
‘Kia ora, Sam!’
‘Kia ora, Willy.’ She waved at him. He stood behind the counter and was almost as wide as he was tall. Willy coached the local rugby team and was like a giant teddybear.
His beautiful wife, Rosa, wore flowers in her hair. Today it was lavender. ‘If you two need anything else, just sing out and I’ll bring it to ya.’ She leaned over the table and placed a full set of salt and pepper shakers between them.
‘Thanks, Rosa.’
She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried off to greet a customer. Travis slid into the old booth.
‘So what’d you want to talk about?’
He took a deep breath. ‘You know we’ve been through a lot together.’ She nodded in agreement. ‘I’m always there for you. You’re like a little sister to me and in some catastrophic way, the love of my life.’
Sam laughed. The stern look on his face stopped her. He was serious. Thoughts raced through her head. What if he wanted to arrest her? It was about time he did, she deserved it. He knew about the Lancer. She bit her nails.
‘Please don’t do that.’ He looked at her with mild repugnance and she placed her hands into her lap.
‘Look, I can’t keep getting you out of trouble like this anymore, Sam. Your father and I, we’ve pulled all the strings we can. I’m not the boss on the force and even if I were, I’d have to put a stop to this nonsense. You’re getting into too much trouble.’
That’s it, I’m going to jail.
‘You can’t be surprised by this,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Seventy-five per cent of criminals are diagnosed with my problem. I know the stats. I’m missing something in my brain, or something’s not working right. Shit, I don’t know.’ Sam threw her hands up. ‘I try to stay out of trouble, Travis, but my brain takes over my body.’ Rosa inspected the table next to them and Sam lowered her voice. ‘Something doesn’t work right.’
It seemed that Travis had heard it all before and wasn’t buying it.
‘Please don’t make me go back to jail.’
‘What?’ He chuckled. ‘No, Sam, you’re not going to jail.’ She took a moment to enjoy the relief, although it didn’t last long.
‘Then what?’
Constable Travis Bourke made his way back across town. He balanced a cappuccino in one hand with a warrant and cheese sandwich in the other. He had let Sam go and trusted she would return to her apartment. She needed to pack her belongings and he hoped Karl would be there waiting for her. Travis had other important issues to deal with.
No matter how hard he tried, his mind wandered back to Sam. How would he cope? As he strode down the main street, he found himself fabricating a future with her. He sat watching her in their garden and she would plant roses.
She was better.
Their children would grow up and have children of their own. They would live in Fairholmes because they knew it by heart, every corner, every stretch of land.
Stop it! Travis tried to focus on the stripper who’d served him drinks the other night: a busty, tanned blonde with legs up to her ears and a sweet American accent.
An old couple hobbled by and Travis gave them a polite nod. Mr. and Mrs. Porchine were an eccentric pair, and today they sported matching yellow outfits, while hoarding goods for their full-to-the-brim farmhouse. Mr. Porchine was wheeling a little blue cart, already full of random downtown goods. Travis smiled to himself. He had absolute respect for the elderly. After a few hundred visits to Rowan’s Home Psychiatric facility, where Sam’s father used to work, he had developed close friendships with some of the seniors there.
Now Sam was headed to the same place, and not as a visitor. Travis was beginning to think it was a terrible idea. She would be surrounded by crazy people. It was so hard to picture Sam as crazy. She was different. She understood reality, most of the time, and she wasn’t talking about imaginary people or voices. She could function.
He knew that the decision had been made. The only thing he could do was respect Karl’s choice. Maybe it could help her and his ridiculous dream of a life together might one day become a reality. She really could go to uni and become a social worker, like she talked about. You have to be sane for that. Travis scolded himself, took a deep breath, and slapped a stern expression on his face, even though his insides felt like they were in a blender.
He threw his half-eaten sandwich and take-away coffee cup into the bin outside the art emporium. Ensuring that his gun was tucked away in its holster, he made his way across the street. His job was to pick up George Barter. George was one of the ‘crazies’ he was worried about. The old man was also being taken to Rowan’s Home.
He peered up at the grey tower and was halfway across the empty street when an object flew out one of the windows, shattering and splashing its contents onto the concrete in front of him. ‘Damn!’
He knew, without looking, exactly who was behind it. George had been a nuisance since Travis could remember, and he wondered if he had been aiming at him.
Travis hadn’t been on the force for long the first time he had a run-in with George. He was a citizen famous for his violent outbursts. It made Travis nervous and he was prone to anxiety, so much so, that he was worried about making it as a police officer – at least, at first. Sam had told him to ‘eat a spoonful of concrete and harden the fuck up’. It had been enough to convince him.
He thought about calling for backup, but decided that he’d better handle it himself. Besides, the boys would never let him hear the end of it. You’re a policeman. With a gun. What are you afraid of? Before he could think about it any further, he swept across the road and pressed the buzzer.
‘What?’ George Barter snapped.
‘George. This is Constable Bourke. I need to speak with you.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m indisposed right now. I can’t take visitors.’
‘George. I have a warrant.’ There was no need to tell him that it was a mental health warrant, just yet.
‘Do you have donuts, too? How about some bacon? I was just about to fry some eggs.’
Travis wasn’t amused. ‘You have thirty seconds.’
‘Thirty seconds? How com
e I only get thirty seconds? It takes you pricks a bloody hour to get here.’
‘Twenty seconds now.’
‘Bleeeeeeeeep, if you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try again.’ George sniggered like a schoolboy.
Travis was fuming. He could be here all day and he needed to check up on Sam.
‘Ten, nine.’ He started the countdown with no plan for zero. ‘Eight, seven, six …’ Still nothing. Travis got all the way down to one when the buzzer sounded. His bluff had paid off.
As he entered the apartment the smell of turpentine and acrylic hit him. Pieces of torn canvas were strewn across the floor. Objects lay broken from one end of the room to the other.
‘Do you like my latest art exhibition, Constable? It’s called Maud’s a bitch.’
Travis remained silent.
‘What do you want? I’m busy.’
‘I have a warrant, George. I told you that already.’ As Travis held it up for him to see, he wondered if it was protocol to do this alone. Wasn’t there supposed to be an entourage of shrinks in lab coats with a big needle – in case something went down? Or even a family member?
Apparently not, you’re on your own, buddy.
George spun and headed for the kitchen. He filled his sink with sudsy water to do the dishes. Travis followed. ‘You just threw a glass out of your window and could’ve killed someone!’ Travis had to raise his voice over the running water.
‘Yes well, I’m sorry about that. You see, I was out of paper.’ George returned to the living room. Apparently this was going to be a game of Cat and Mouse around the House.
‘We’ve had more complaints about you than we can handle, George, and your mother has committed you to Rowan’s.’
‘She’s not my mother.’ George launched into frenzied pacing. ‘And I told you, there’s no way in hell I’m going to that hole. I won’t be institutionalised again!’
‘Well, you can come quietly with me to the home, or you can come loudly to the station. This being on the grounds that you recently endangered the life of a police officer with a glass out a window. With your track record, George, I’d say the judge will be sending you to Rowan’s anyway. It’s just that on the way you’ll make a few new friends in the slammer if you don’t settle down. They would probably take quite a liking to you. Don’t you think?’ Travis was gaining confidence. He would get through this successfully, after all.
‘Who says I wouldn’t like them back, you wanker?’
‘Oh trust me. You wouldn’t. These guys aren’t the cuddling types.’ George put his hands up to his ears and screamed. Travis jumped back in alarm and George turned and dashed into his kitchen.
‘Bloody taps!’ he shrieked, slamming the knob closed tight. The water streamed down from the sink and he knelt to clean it, sobbing uncontrollably. As Travis watched from the doorway, George sopped up the water with an already saturated tea-towel and slapped it back down on the lino-covered floor, over and over, without wringing it out.
Travis bent to help him up. George threw the towel down on the counter and wiped his face with a dressing-gown sleeve. ‘I don’t want to go back there.’ He’d turned into a frightened little boy.
‘Come on. It can’t be that bad, can it?’ Travis put a hesitant hand on his shoulder and then removed it. ‘I remember it wasn’t so awful when Karl worked there.’
‘Dr. Phillips was all right. So, do I have a choice?’
‘No, George.’ Travis waited while George took it all in. ‘You don’t, mate.’
A WIDE-EYED PLEA
A young man with a green, tattered, Scooby Doo shirt dashed down the hallway of the deserted building. He cut the corners and used the walls to slide along, as he plummeted down a freshly painted staircase. His Nike shoes, which had been his first ever one hundred dollar pair, were in ideal nick. Not only were they now moulded to his foot, but withstood the nail he’d just trodden on. This chase was far too important.
Unfinished walls were aiding his target’s hasty escape. The old arcade building burned down a decade ago and was just now being refurbished. The building was used by the homeless to keep out of the cold, and if odour was any indication, as a urinal, as well. With all of the debris and equipment waiting to be used, it was a potential death trap for anyone moving faster than a shuffle. Damon jumped through an opening in the wall, caught his foot on a piece of half-erect plasterboard and crashed down hard.
Shit!
Some of the roof was open to the sky, lighting the dark. It gave hope to the otherwise impossible task of chasing down an unexpectedly fit escapee who seemed to know his way around. Damon pulled himself up. He groaned and stole a glimpse of the passage ahead. There had definitely been a hand. He launched himself back into pursuit. His legs ached.
One more floor to go. Damon grabbed the rail of the last staircase and vaulted over the edge. The smell of baking bread wafted past his nose, from the café. It was probably just after nine. If they were to take it to the streets they’d be seen. It was too late to stop now. Damon pushed on harder.
The doctor knew his pursuer was close behind him. He could hear Damon’s echoing footsteps closing in. The doctor was older and guessed about fifteen kilos heavier. He was starting to feel it.
He couldn’t understand how he’d managed to make it this far. The corridor seemed endless. He could hear the soft engines of the station wagons, work-utes and family vans. They purred along the street in front of him. If he could just make it out into the daylight, visibility might be his saviour.
Close now, he felt one last rush of adrenaline. Too late. He felt the heat and smelled the sweat of the man gaining on him. He turned and Scooby Doo was upon him.
Damon wrapped a strong arm around his throat and took him down. The two men grappled, raising clouds of dust and scattering the resident roaches.
‘Relax, Doc. I’m not gonna hurt you.’ His body went limp as he let Damon win the battle. ‘We just have some questions for you.’
Samantha Phillips looked up at her apartment, hidden amongst the other identical stacked homes. She loved her rent-free space and expected her father waited there for her now.
Travis had left her to get home on her own, and she had. Sam understood what was happening but none of it had really sunk in yet. All she could think about was a hot shower. The stench of an entire packet of cigarettes wasn’t exactly Chanel No. 5.
She reached for her key to unlock the entry to her building, then heard grunting and whining coming from across the street, and as she watched, two figures emerged from the construction site. An overweight man limped along, leaning against a younger, good-looking man who had a nasty five o’clock shadow. They were grubby and ragged, as if they’d been in a fight. The older man winced with each hop, and his youthful companion struggled to prop him upright.
Sam stared at the duo. They could be mischievous, trailer-trash gypsies after a drunken, early-morning rumble. Perhaps they were dim-witted criminals, leaving their hiding place from the previous night of illegal events. Maybe they were part of an underground fight club and the half-built arcade was their secret meeting place. She liked the sound of the last one. Fairholmes was getting less and less boring lately.
They staggered across the road and Sam got a closer look at the young one. She knew his face from somewhere. Finally the penny dropped and she realized that he worked at the bakery down the road. He was the new Hanna-Barbera guy, with the collection of shirts from Yogi to The Jetsons. She usually caught him trudging to his car most Saturday mornings. He always smiled at her, gorgeous white teeth lighting up a tired grin. Damon, that was his name. You couldn’t come to Fairholmes and stay long without everyone knowing who you were. But on thinking about it, she realised she didn’t know much else about him. She would have to find out more. What was this clean-cut, prep boy with a cartoon fetish doing? He didn’t look preppy this morning – he looked like
Raggedy Anne’s munted half-brother.
She sighed, and turned away to enter her building. Time to face the music.
Sam pushed open the unlocked door to safe familiarity. Paintings larger than life covered the walls. Her cat materialised by her right shoe and rubbed himself against her leg. He curled his black bushy tail around her ankle and meowed his mighty displeasure at her absence.
‘Hello, Moo Owl.’ She picked him up and buried her face in his neck. His fur made her nose itch and eyes water but she continued to hug him until she couldn’t take it any longer.
Sam glanced over at her father slouching in her favourite recliner, looking more exhausted than comfortable. He smiled at her and she winked at him. If there was any amount of affection that she could muster up, it was all for this man.
Dr. Karl Phillips pulled himself up and plodded over to embrace her. She was at least a foot shorter than he was.
‘Your hair smells like a nightclub.’ He cringed.
‘Sorry.’
Karl had kind eyes and a worn-out face. He was an elderly man. She forgot that sometimes. He’s handsome, still.
He pulled her back in for another hug. She felt his warm tears wet the side of her face. ‘Dad? Your sadness is making me feel sad.’
He wiped his eyes, sniffed back his sorrow, then Dr. Karl Phillips laughed out loud. ‘Well, at least that’s some kind of progress. You’re talking about your feelings! I knew I was a good shrink, but sheesh!’ She laughed with him.
As he gazed at her, his expression sobered. ‘You’ve spoken to Travis then. He called my mobile.’ It was more of a statement than a question and she nodded. She was proud that her father had learned how to use a mobile. It was the nineties, and everyone was getting them.
‘He’s forever doing your dirty work,’ Sam teased.
‘And so he should.’
