04 Heller's Punishment - Heller

by JD Nixon

  “You’ll never get anywhere in the world with that attitude, Tilly.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m everywhere I want to be at the moment anyway, except maybe romantically.”

  He smiled. “Do you ever date any of the men you work with? There’d be no shortage of men, surely.”

  I pulled a face. “Let’s just say that Heller strongly discourages his men from any romantic interest in me.”

  “How strongly?”

  “Very, very strongly. They’re all too scared to even look at me.”

  “Hmm, you don’t strike me as a doormat. Why do you let him dictate to you in your personal life?”

  “As I said before, it’s complicated. It’s hard to explain to people. He’s a complex and intriguing man, and I’m extremely committed to him.” I laughed briefly. “He would probably be surprised to hear me saying that! I give him loads of grief.”

  “But you’re not sleeping with him?”

  “That’s not really any of your business, Trent. I didn’t come in to talk to you about my sex life.” I said it with a smile to take away the sting of my rebuke.

  “Why not? I’m all ears.”

  I laughed – the guy was unstoppable. “Cheeky! I’m off to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Sleep well.”

  “You too.”

  I was up early the next morning and helped myself to his treadmill, followed by his food. I’d washed up my dishes and was unloading the dishwasher when he emerged from his bedroom, immaculately dressed in a mid-gray suit, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. I made him coffee while he poured cereal into a bowl.

  “I think it’s weird,” I pondered.

  “What?” he asked, mouth full of crunchy high-fibre flakes. I noticed it was the cereal for which I’d done an embarrassingly long-lived TV ad where I enthusiastically gloried in the cereal’s anti-constipative qualities. It was possibly the lowlight of my unsuccessful acting career.

  “You. I mean, you’re a celebrity, a huge TV star, and here you are eating cereal that you bought in a supermarket yourself and poured yourself and you’ll probably wash up your own bowl afterwards too. It’s all so unglamorous. So . . . ordinary.”

  He laughed. “Were you expecting a more bacchanalian lifestyle? Me reclining on a gold-plated couch with a harem of beautiful naked women feeding me grapes and massaging my, er, feet, while I shovel cocaine up my nose?”

  I nodded, smiling. “Yes. That’s exactly what I was expecting.”

  “That’s what I do on the weekends, Tilly.” He winked at me.

  “I knew it!” I laughed.

  There was a knock on the door and I went to answer. It was the Heller’s men ready for work, but not the same two. Dubov had been replaced by an older man with a beefy, unsmiling countenance.

  “What happened to Dubov?” I asked Ozanne.

  “His father was rushed to hospital during the night. Heart attack. They’re not sure if he’s going to pull through. The whole family’s with him. This is Beyrer.”

  I didn’t take to him at all, which surprised me. I’d never yet met a Heller’s man I didn’t trust and wouldn’t be happy working alongside. But there was something about this man that put me off. Then I remembered that I’d seen him before. Not long after I’d first started, he’d made a derogatory comment about my relationship with Heller to a colleague, which I’d unfortunately overheard. My glance at him was not friendly.

  He had a twitchy appearance, his brown eyes flickering around compulsively. A sheen of sweat glistened on his upper lip, and he kept his fists clenched. He seemed to be tightly wound and hyped. I could see his H tattoo on his right forearm, and it wasn’t fresh, so that told me that he’d been working at Heller’s for a while. That had to signal that he was okay, because he wouldn’t have lasted long working at Heller’s if he hadn’t been. Heller and Clive weren’t exactly known for their tolerance of poor performance. I chastised myself for questioning Beyrer’s professionalism merely on the basis of my own personal reaction to him and a nasty offhand comment he’d made about me a while ago. Sticks and stones, Tilly, I reminded myself. Just because he didn’t like me didn’t mean we couldn’t work together.

  The three of us stood around and waited for Trent until he finally emerged from his office, briefcase firmly clasped in his hand. He stopped when he saw the new man.

  “Whoa! A seemingly endless supply of massive men. Where does Heller source them? Or does he grow them himself?”

  “He has a factory that makes them. All very top secret though, so don’t tell anyone,” I replied, deadpan.

  “Me? I wouldn’t tell a soul. It’s not as though I’m the host of a top-rating national current affairs show or anything.”

  We drove in a black 4WD today, one of the Heller’s fleet vehicles, Ozanne at the wheel. Trent was busy with paperwork again and I whiled away the time alternating between looking out of the window and watching him work.

  He glanced up and caught me observing him again. “You’re making me self-conscious.”

  “I just like to watch you while you work.”

  “Well, instead of watching, why don’t you make yourself useful.” He handed me a huge sheaf of papers. “Have a look through these and let me know if any of them are worth following up.”

  Curious, I took the papers and started reading the top one. It was a printout of an email from a woman who wished to remain anonymous, but whose name was clearly shown in her Hotmail email address in the header. She wanted Trent and his team to investigate her neighbour. She was positive the woman was running an illegal home-based brothel because of the number of men coming in and out of the house at all hours. She went on to provide an exceptionally detailed listing of dates, times, duration spent inside and a brief description of each man.

  “Brothel in the ‘burbs?” I queried.

  “Shit yeah! Haven’t done that story for a while.” He snatched the email from me and skimmed it quickly. “Excellent! Look at these details. What else could be going on there? Thank you voyeuristic neighbour with no life! Any story involving sex always rates its pants off, so to speak.”

  I read through some more, none jumping out at me at first glance. I spoke up hesitantly, “What about elderly couple being pressured by a national grocery giant to sell their property to build a new supermarket. They built the house themselves when they were married and have never lived anywhere else.”

  “How old?”

  “In their nineties.”

  “Definitely! Brilliant sob story. Stories about battlers up against big heartless corporations are always a winner. You have a good eye for what I’m after, Tilly. Admit it, you watch my show, don’t you?”

  “Never! I wouldn’t watch rubbish like that,” I lied, smiling at him.

  He smirked in disbelief. “Sure you wouldn’t. That’s what everyone says to me, but my ratings prove otherwise. Somebody’s watching it.”

  “I watch it,” piped up honest Ozanne from the front. “It’s interesting. I like the stories on boobs.”

  Trent raised his eyebrows at me. “The audience has spoken. Tilly, find me a boob story please.”

  I searched for a while. “Here’s a press release about a new push-up bra, designed specifically for the larger-chested lady.”

  “Perfect! Security man? Story about a push-up bra do it for you? Lots of lingering footage of said bra being modelled by a voluptuous young lady?”

  “Yes please, Mr Dawson.”

  “Blonde, redhead or brunette?”

  “Brunette, please.”

  “Tilly, add it to my pile of new follow-ups and could you just jot a reminder about the brunette, please.”

  “What else do you like, security man?”

  “Neighbours from hell.”

  “Tilly?”

  I searched again. “Here’s a man complaining about his public housing neighbours. Virtual prisoner in his house for three years due to their campaign of terror against him. Acts include th
rowing human excrement into his yard, blaring loud music into his bedroom window during the night and . . . good God . . . even setting his dog on fire! Just because he called the police on them once during a rowdy party. Well?”

  “Security man?”

  “Yes, sounds good, especially the dog bit.”

  “Outstanding! Tilly, you have quite a talent for this. I might have to offer you a job as my research assistant when I’m done with this court case. What do you think?”

  “I’m sure it would be an exciting job, and you’d be a good boss, but I couldn’t ever leave Heller’s. It’s unthinkable.”

  He looked flatteringly disappointed, but there was no more time for chat as we pulled into a parking spot near the courthouse. There was more of a media presence this morning, probably because Trent was due to testify today. A crowd of Gavin’s supporters made themselves heard by booing and hissing Trent as he walked up the stairs to the entrance. The media lapped it up, filming the support crowd and even interviewing some of them. Trent kept his head high, didn’t skulk and was calm and serious when he stopped for an interview.

  The supporters became deliberately noisy, but not overly raucous, when Trent attempted to speak to the cameras, but he wore it with no sign of anger or impatience. That wasn’t quite true of Beyrer though. He glared at the crowd with undisguised anger and clenched his fists so hard he would have surely left fingernail marks in his palms. A chunky woman with frizzy red hair pushed to the front of the crowd and started personally abusing Trent in some very colourful and inappropriate language. Despite her shrill voice, he managed to ignore her, though his mouth tightened with stress. Beyrer took a threatening step towards the woman, a mean expression on his face, his arm slightly raised. She stepped back nervously, probably thinking he was about to deck her. I didn’t blame her – I would have thought the same.

  I tugged on his forearm. “Hold it, big fella! We’re not engaging with this crowd. Step back.”

  He turned and looked down at my hand on his arm, recoiling violently. “Get your hand off me,” he snarled, utter contempt in his voice.

  I flinched, not used to being spoken to in that way by any Heller’s men. Heller only appointed men who had social skills, not solely interested in a force of brute strength. And the men were usually at least polite to me, knowing that Heller and I were close. Obviously this charmer had somehow slipped through his net.

  “Settle down, Beyrer. You’re in public, in front of a bunch of cameras, remember?” I hissed fiercely, not appreciating his tone, watching impassively as he struggled to get his anger under control. I decided then that I’d better keep a close eye on him.

  Ozanne and I discreetly hurried Trent along, forcing him to wrap up his passionate plea to the cameras with undue haste. He was going to be late for court if he didn’t hustle his butt immediately.

  We rushed into the courthouse just as the bailiff called in Trent. I went into the courtroom with Trent again, leaving the two men outside. I hoped Beyrer could restrain himself for the rest of the day, and felt sorry for Ozanne having to share hours of boredom with him. Trent hastily conferred with his lawyers, while I looked around for a seat, the gallery full. On spotting me, Gloria waved her arm and beckoned me. We exchanged smiles as I sat down in the seat next to her that she’d thoughtfully reserved for me.

  Trent’s lawyers were expensive and skilled. They dextrously built up a picture of Trent as a hard-working and righteous avenger for the underdog, fearlessly sniffing out shoddy practices wherever they occurred. They told of a man who was admirable and praiseworthy, but was now being taken advantage of by a money-hungry opportunist, happy to drag the memory of his poor, disturbed partner into the gutter with him in his quest for a big payout.

  And although Trent’s lawyers did nothing more than Gavin’s lawyer had the previous day, that huge man was not as practiced as Trent at controlling his feelings. His face alternately flushed red or paled during the opening speech. He grew increasingly agitated as the day progressed, his petite lawyer trying her hardest to calm him down. I watched the man carefully, worried about any outbursts.

  In the witness box, Trent came across as measured and unflappable, answering questions with intelligence and a hint of humour when it seemed appropriate. Even the judge chuckled at some self-deprecating comment he made at one point. In the recesses, Gloria demonstrated her unwavering enthusiasm in support for him, regaling me at length with why she wasn’t impressed with the arguments from the plaintiff. When Trent finally stepped down from the stand, he gave a discreet sigh of relief and flashed me a quick smile and a wink.

  Gloria sat up excitedly, clutching my arm. “Did you see that? He winked at me! He must know I’m his biggest fan. Wait till I tell my husband! He’ll be so jealous.”

  I smiled at her. It was incredible how a celebrity can make someone’s day just by noticing them. Incredible how we can construct entire relationships with them in our heads, when they’re not even the slightest bit aware of our existence. It would be strange to have people thinking that they know you intimately because they see you on television every night, when they’ve never even met you. All these thoughts jumbled around in my head as I sat in the public seats, studying the man down front who was sitting quietly, listening intently, jotting down a note or two in his neat writing.

  I couldn’t stop watching him, and then it struck me how much I was starting to like him. When I first met him months ago, I’d thought he was a sleaze, coming on to me boldly, but now I’d seen a more likeable and serious side to him, and wondered which was the real Trent. Maybe they both were and his bold persona was his performer’s face?

  The rest of the day dragged by with other witnesses for the defence and at last the court was dismissed. I had a pounding headache and a sore butt from sitting down all day. I promised to see Gloria again tomorrow and waved her goodbye, waiting in the aisle for Trent to finish talking to his lawyers about the next day. I had my back to the courtroom door, impolitely trying to lip read what Trent and his lawyers were saying to each other, when the door was flung back violently, smashing against the wall. Gavin came charging in, his face red and streaked with tears.

  It all happened in seconds. I stood directly in his path but I’m not sure he even noticed me as he went gunning for Trent, his eyes firmly fixed on his target. I half-turned towards him and had just enough time to raise my arms defensively before he bowled me over, knocking me flying backwards. He tripped over my flailing feet and tumbled down the steps of the aisle with me, clutching my arms. We landed hard at the bottom, him half on top of me, crushing all the air from my lungs. Looking back on it later, I realised how lucky I was that he didn’t break my back, because he was a bloody huge man.

  We both lay there for a moment, groaning at the impact, when the room burst into flurried activity. The two Heller’s men, closely followed by court security stomped down the stairs, ungently hauling him off me. The court security took over, it being their jurisdiction, ushering him out of the courthouse, giving him a warning. I remained on the floor, refusing offers of help, needing to get my breath back, before gingerly sitting up. A concerned Trent assisted me to my feet, where I stretched and rubbed my back in pain.

  “Geez, that hurt,” I groaned.

  “Tilly, you stopped him from attacking me!” Trent said, admiration in his voice.

  The look I shot him was full of disbelief. “Trent, I was in his way. He tripped over me.”

  He didn’t hear me. “I turned around and you were there breaking his momentum, your arms up ready to take him on. God, you’re so brave! You just threw yourself in his way. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  I tried to tell him the truth again, but he wasn’t listening. In fact, nobody except me had seen what had really happened and they all thought I’d tackled the man and brought him to the ground. No matter how many times I tried to explain how events had really unfolded, they thought I was merely being modest. I eventually gave up with a mental shrug. Let them thi
nk I was Wonder Woman, if that’s what they wanted.

  One person who didn’t rush to congratulate me was Beyrer, scorn and scepticism stamped on his face. He believed my story of ineptitude coming to the rescue. I wondered what his problem was? Misogynist or Tilly-hater? Either option didn’t bode well for our future work relationship.

  I hoped Dubov’s father recovered and he returned the next day.

  Chapter 22

  That night I began to feel the effects of my assisted tumble down the stairs, and despite a long, hot bath, some painkillers and my best acting efforts, I couldn’t disguise my sore muscles. Trent ordered some home-delivered food for us, even though I bravely offered to cook. He went off to take a quick shower while I sat on the balcony, hoping the calming view would soothe my screaming nerve ends. My phone rang, and I knew who it would be immediately.

  “I’m okay, just a little sore,” I told him, not bothering with a greeting or explanation. Heller would have heard all about it five seconds after the men left us.

  “Matilda, you shouldn’t be taking on big men. That’s why I send my men along. Let them do something now and again, for once. That’s why I pay them.”

  “Heller,” I complained. “It wasn’t like that.” And I told him the truth about what really happened and my attempts to convince everyone. “See, I wasn’t reckless. I was just in the wrong spot at the wrong time. But it worked out well in the end, because I guess I ultimately did stop him attacking Trent.” I paused. “I don’t like the new guy with us, Beyrer. He seems twitchy. I have a really bad feeling about him.”

  “I’ll check him out with Clive,” he promised, but he sounded a little distracted. “Hold on,” he told me and muffled the mouthpiece with his hand as he spoke to someone else. Then back to me. “Is Mr Dawson appreciative of your sacrifice today?”

  I laughed. “He thinks I’m a superhero.”

  His sexy low laugh. “We all do, my sweet. How do you think tomorrow will go?”