Wraith

by Shane Smithers

  ‘I don’t think so. I doubt she would allow a scruffy sailor to put his left pinkie toe inside that front door, let alone buy something from him. But it was a good try. Let’s hope we have more luck at the next shop.’

  Outside Gaudy’s Jewellery Shop, Adelaide, South Australia

  While waiting for Erebus to return, Wilson and Collins started arguing.

  ‘No way, Collins! I just won’t believe it,’ said Wilson stubbornly.

  Collins shrugged his indifference.

  ‘I mean to say, how can fundamental particles be made up of vibratin’ strings! That’s ridiculous – absurd, I tell you. Just ’cause General Relativity doesn’t mesh with Quantum Mechanics doesn’t mean the universe is composed of one-dimensional strings.’ Wilson was waggling his finger in Collins’s face.

  Collins growled.

  Wilson removed his finger, adding, ‘An’ this tendimensional space stuff, where dimensions are tiny and curled up in other dimensions – ha!’ He folded his arms and turned away in disgust, paused, and then was at it again. ‘Besides, String Theory’s predictions can’t be verified. It’s just a lot of . . . of . . . flapdoodle!’

  Collins raised his eyebrows.

  ‘An’ it’s no use tryin’ to convince me otherwise. I’ve had enough of your fantasy world,’ said Wilson.

  Down the street Erebus was helping an old lady cross the road. A few moments later the driver’s door opened and Erebus slid into the driver’s seat, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Hope you boys have been behaving yourselves,’ he said, looking across to Wilson’s angry face. ‘Not scaring too many passers-by with that ugly melon of yours, I hope.’

  Collins released a low growl.

  ‘Oh, you two haven’t been fighting again, have you?’ moaned Erebus. ‘Can’t I leave you alone for five minutes? You’re like an old married couple.’

  ‘He started it,’ snapped Wilson. ‘He said . . .’

  Erebus held up his hand to silence him. ‘As I’ve said before, I don’t want to hear about your arguments.’ Wilson and Collins hung their heads as Erebus continued, ‘You’re both to blame, and you need to sort it out yourselves – but not on my time.’

  ‘Sorry, Boss,’ muttered Wilson.

  Collins gurgled as he skulled the rest of Wilson’s stale milk.

  Erebus turned the ignition key and was about to pull out from the curb when Wilson suddenly yelled, ‘It’s him!’

  ‘Who?’ said Erebus, scanning the area.

  ‘That kid . . . what’s his name? . . . James Goldie Lockes.’

  ‘Where?’ said Erebus.

  Wilson pointed. ‘There,’ he said.

  Erebus frowned. ‘Where?’

  Wilson grabbed the milk carton from Collins. ‘There,’ he repeated, shoving it in Erebus’s face.

  Behind his shades, Erebus rolled his eyes. ‘One day, Wilson,’ he muttered, ‘you might grow a few brain cells.’ He pulled the station wagon out into the traffic.

  ‘Eh, what about the SAFFIRE?’ said Wilson, glancing back at the shop. ‘Do they have it?’

  ‘We’re coming back tonight,’ said Erebus.

  ‘I wonder if there’s a reward?’ said Wilson.

  ‘Huh?’ said Erebus.

  ‘You know . . . since we’re in South Australia. We can take the empty drink carton back and get money for it,’ said Wilson, wiggling the milk carton at the rear vision mirror.

  Erebus tilted back his head and mouthed the words, Why me? ‘That’s called a refund you . . .’

  Lyndoch, South Australia

  Even before nine a.m. it was obvious to Cirro that James and Aureole were no longer at this residence, if they had ever been. But he stayed put in the woodshed, watching. At about noon, he put his Supasmart Z in his inside coat pocket, stood, straightened his jacket and opened the door. Unsure what the protocol was, he left by the back gate, walked up the lane, around and down the street and through the front gate, took a deep breath and knocked on the front door.

  ‘Just a minute,’ said a voice. Cirro took a few steps, craning his neck to look around the corner of the house. He saw an old lady wearing a sunhat, a pair of secateurs in her hand.

  ‘Mrs Westerly?’ Cirro asked.

  The old lady lifted her eyes from the rose bush and looked his way. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘I am Primary Agent Cirro, NIB.’ Cirro stepped forward and presented his credentials.

  ‘NIB? You’d better come inside,’ she said, straightening her shoulders. ‘And please call me Gran, everyone else does.’

  ‘Certainly, Gran.’ Cirro followed her around the back and into the kitchen.

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Gran turned the kettle on and then gathered cups and saucers, placing them on the table. ‘I take it you’re here about James,’ she said.

  ‘I am,’ said Cirro. She got straight to the point; he liked that. ‘I assume he was not alone.’

  Gran lifted her gaze and really looked at him. ‘Is she your sister?’

  Cirro cocked his head, looking impressed. ‘Aureole you mean? Yes, she is my sister.’

  ‘Beautiful girl. Intelligent too.’

  ‘If only she was not so hot-headed.’

  ‘We can all be hot-headed at times, Primary Agent,’ said Gran, offering him a seat.

  ‘Please, call me Cirro,’ he said as he took off his jacket, hung it on the back of the chair and sat down.

  The kettle gave a little whistle and then clicked off. Gran poured the water into the teapot and placed it on the table. She took a seat opposite Cirro. ‘Is this about the assault?’

  ‘They told you about that?’

  ‘No, the police did. James said the man threatened him and Aureole.’

  ‘You believe him?’

  ‘I know my grandson. He’s a good boy. He wouldn’t hurt anyone, not without a reason.’

  Cirro gave an understanding nod. ‘Do you know where they are now?’

  Gran shook her head. ‘They’d gone before I got up, this morning. Left me a note.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Not to worry. That they had some stuff to do in Adelaide.’ Gran sighed. ‘I was hoping James would tell me what was going on, but he’s been brought up in a house full of secrets . . . I guess it’s rubbed off on him.’

  ‘The whole situation is quite complicated, but I think you need to know,’ said Cirro. ‘Let me fill you in . . .’

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Gaudy’s Jewellery Shop, Adelaide, South Australia

  Somewhere above them a little bell jangled as James and Aureole pushed the door open to Gaudy’s Jewellery store. This jeweller also traded in meteorites. If the SAFFIRE wasn’t here, they were out of options.

  ‘I’ll talk to the shop assistant. You take a look around,’ said Aureole in a low voice. James nodded and was about to move off when she grabbed him by the sleeve and added, ‘And don’t touch anything.’

  James spotted some rocks of various sizes and shapes in a display case not far from the entrance. Except for a couple, most were a boring greyish colour. He read the little placard in front of each one: Chondrite, Achondrite, Kamacite (that one was shiny silver) and Tektite, which looked like black glass. Could one of these be the SAFFIRE? James scratched his head; they all looked too small. He tried to examine the rocks more closely by placing his nose against the glass, but the outside fogged up and they disappeared. He hoped Aureole hadn’t seen what he’d done.

  Aureole was on the other side of the shop waiting behind a female couple, who were busy discussing what type of engagement rings they wanted. The shop assistant offered multiple suggestions, but they rejected each one.

  Aureole began rocking from her heels to her toes and back again, and then yawned a smidgeon too loudly for polite company.

  Behind them, the bell jangled and in strolled a thin, balding, middle-aged man in a pinstriped suit, carrying an umbrella. He had one of those old-fashioned moustaches that curled up at the ends and reminded Jam
es of a gangster from the 1930s; he just needed a violin case instead of an umbrella.

  The man placed his umbrella against the wall behind the counter, adjusted his tie, carefully twirled his moustache ends and then said, in a deep baritone voice, ‘May I help you?’

  Aureole rushed to the counter. ‘I hope so,’ she said, putting on her sweetest smile. ‘I’m looking for a very specific item . . . for my father.’

  ‘I see. And what might that be?’ said the man.

  ‘I believe it belonged to a Japanese sailor, who recently sold it,’ said Aureole.

  James was at her side by this time and added, ‘His name is Mr Watanabe.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said the man, his eyes flicking uncertainly between the two. Then he smiled, showing perfect white teeth. ‘The meteorite!’ he beamed. ‘Never seen anything quite like it.’ James’s heart skipped a beat and Aureole let out a little gasp. ‘The intricate crystalline patterns, the complex angles, and the colours . . . Oh, the colours . . .’ The man’s lips trembled and he blinked several times as if fighting back tears. ‘A marvellous piece of nature – almost as if it was man-made.’ His eyes suddenly doubled in size. ‘Or alien-made,’ he whispered. ‘I would have paid double what Mr Watanabe asked. It was even more beautiful than a Pallastes meteorite, which can fetch up to $25,000 per gram.’

  ‘May we see it?’ asked Aureole excitedly.

  The man shook his head. ‘Mmm, I’m afraid not.’ ‘Why not?’ said James, a bit louder than he intended.

  The couple on the other side stopped and looked over.

  ‘Because,’ said the man, tweaking his moustache. ‘I’ve already sold it.’

  ‘What?’ said James even louder.

  ‘Is everything all right, Mr Goldstein?’ asked the shop assistant.

  ‘Sorry,’ said James, lowering his voice. ‘It’s just that we’ve been looking a long time . . . and just when we think we’ve tracked it down . . .’

  Mr Goldstein must have seen the frustration in James’s eyes. ‘Yes, Miss Bijouterie, everything’s fine,’ he said with a curt smile.

  ‘My father is really keen on this meteorite. Could you at least tell us who you sold it to?’ pleaded Aureole.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss, that just isn’t possible,’ said Mr Goldstein.

  James’s and Aureole’s shoulders drooped.

  Mr Goldstein twisted one end of his moustache around his finger, contemplating them, then said, ‘I don’t see how you could afford this item . . . however, give me a contact number and if the new owner wants to sell, I’ll give you a call. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.’

  Aureole nodded glumly and then wrote down a fake name and contact number on a piece of paper. As they stepped outside onto the footpath, she instantly said, ‘We’re going to come back tonight.’

  ‘Why? The manager already said he didn’t have the SAFFIRE anymore.’

  ‘Yes, but I bet his computer has the new owner’s name and address.’

  James couldn’t believe she was serious. ‘How are we going to break in? There must be alarms everywhere.’

  ‘Forget the alarms, we just have to be quick. Fly in and fly out.’ Aureole had that look on her face again, the one that told James there was no changing her mind.

  ‘Forget the alarms?’ he repeated. ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘The police will take at least twenty minutes to respond to a break-in,’ said Aureole.

  ‘Oh, really?’ James couldn’t hold back his sarcasm.

  Aureole put her fists on her hips. ‘Yes, really.’

  James mimicked her stance. ‘And when did you become the expert thief?’

  ‘One whole unit at school was watching Agrarien police shows.’

  ‘Watching police shows? They’re not real life,’ said James. ‘What about the locks, then? How are we going to get past them?’

  Aureole laughed. ‘You worry too much. Trust me on this one – have I ever let you down?’ James went to answer, but she stopped him with her hand and said, ‘It was a rhetorical question.’

  FIFTY-NINE

  Gaudy’s Jewellery Shop, Adelaide, South Australia

  The dusky station wagon cruised down the street, pulling up opposite Gaudy’s Jewellery store. Erebus switched off the lights and killed the engine. The concertina security mesh covered the front and a “closed” sign hung on the door, but inside, the shop was still well lit.

  ‘Everybody ready?’ asked Erebus, putting on his gloves and balaclava.

  Collins gave an excited grunt, while Wilson, who had his balaclava rolled up on his head like a beanie, said, ‘I still don’t see why we can’t do a ram raid.’

  ‘I’ve already told you, Wilson, there is no way – let me stress – no way, I’m using my exceptionally rare, vintage car to smash into a building.’ said Erebus.

  ‘Why not?’ said Wilson. ‘It’d give you an excuse to steal a nice new one . . . with leather seats, an’ drink holders, an’ cruise control, just like the BMW.’ There was a dreamy element to his voice.

  ‘No, definitely not,’ said Erebus, appalled at the thought of smashing his ’67 Safari V8. ‘Besides, I didn’t steal this one, I bought it legit.’

  Now Wilson seemed appalled. ‘You’re even more eccentric than Collins said you were.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ growled Erebus.

  The three men scurried across the deserted street, doing their best to keep within the shadows.

  ‘Wilson, you go disable the alarm and kill the lights,’ ordered Erebus. He led Collins to an adjacent alleyway. Their footsteps echoed softly off the alley’s high brick walls as they made their way to the rear fire exit. ‘This is it,’ he whispered, pointing to a steel door.

  Wilson arrived soon after. ‘Alarms off, lights dead,’ he said, sounding efficient.

  Collins carefully laid out his lock-picking equipment and then stood back to examine the door.

  ‘Collins is one of the best lock-pickers in the country,’ whispered Wilson.

  ‘I know,’ said Erebus.

  Collins grunted under his breath, leaned back, lifted one leg . . .

  ‘What’s he doing?’ asked Erebus, but Wilson didn’t have time to reply, because Collins’s boot had already made contact with the steel door.

  There was the sound of splintering wood as the timber doorjambs gave way. Collins waited a few seconds and then leaned forward and gave the door a gentle push; it creaked as it swung open.

  ‘But, like I said before,’ said Wilson. ‘he likes breakin’ more than enterin’.’

  Erebus was about to say, ‘Any idiot could have done that’, but then, looking at the size of the dent in the steel door, he decided that not any idiot could have.

  ‘Collins, keep watch,’ ordered Wilson.

  ‘Pull your balaclavas down,’ said Erebus as he stepped through the doorway.

  Wilson rolled his balaclava down over his face and then walked – smack! – straight into the brick wall. Collins grabbed him just before he collided with the wall again and then tried twisting his balaclava around, but this only made Wilson swivel in a circle. So he placed his boot on Wilson’s left foot, and tried again, this time with success.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Wilson as he staggered off to find Erebus.

  Erebus was standing in front of the computer terminal. ‘Get the cameras,’ he said.

  ‘Righto,’ Wilson said and dashed off to the other side of the room.

  There was a brief sound of breaking glass and then Wilson was back at Erebus’s side holding three digital SLR cameras. ‘I didn’t know how many you wanted, so I got three . . . I thought one for each of us.’

  Erebus’s eyes ripped through Wilson like knives.

  ‘I can get more if you want,’ said Wilson quickly.

  ‘Not those cameras, you imbecile . . . the security cameras,’ hissed Erebus.

  ‘Oh, right.’ Wilson dashed off again.

  Meanwhile the computer had loaded up, and Erebus got to work cracking the access password.

 
Wilson laid the security cameras on the counter and said sheepishly, ‘It’s done, Boss.’

  ‘All you had to do was break them. You didn’t have to bring them to me,’ said Erebus, not even bothering to look up.

  ‘If you wanted ’em broken, you should’ve asked Collins to do it,’ growled Wilson.

  The computer let out a succession of beeps and then up popped the words Gaudy’s Jewellery Store on the screen.

  ‘You’ve done it,’ shouted Wilson.

  ‘Shh. I still have to find the address.’

  ‘I reckon I could’ve got that broad to talk. Then we wouldn’t’ve had all this muckin’ about.’

  ‘That broad, as you so nicely put it, wasn’t allowed to tell me who bought it. There are privacy laws,’ Erebus said.

  ‘I still reckon I could’ve done better . . . a few broken fingers . . .’ mumbled Wilson.

  Erebus stopped what he was doing and gazed at Wilson, aghast. ‘Wilson, she’s a lady.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, we don’t go around breaking ladies’ fingers. Or anybody’s fingers for that matter.’ Erebus would never resort to common criminal tactics.

  He resumed scrolling down a long list of names on the screen, ignored Wilson, who was muttering under his breath in a high-pitched voice, ‘Snap . . . ah, Wilson, I’ll tell you anythin’ . . . no, no, not me pinkie.’

  ‘Got it!’ said Erebus suddenly, making Wilson jump. ‘52 Clarence Drive.’ He was about to shut down the computer when a flashing red light below the terminal caught his attention. ‘You did take care of all the alarms, didn’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t bother with the display cases, cause you told us we weren’t allowed to take anythin’,’ said Wilson.

  ‘You took the cameras,’ Erebus reminded him.

  ‘You told me to,’ said Wilson in a small voice.

  They stared at each other for a brief moment and then bolted for the back door.

  ‘Let’s go, Collins,’ shouted Erebus as he darted past. He overtook Wilson and had the engine revving by the time his two offsiders arrived. Wilson’s door was still open when the wheels spun, sending up a cloud of smoke and dust.