by Clare Kauter
“I don’t know,” I answered. “She used to be nicknamed Violent Violet. I reckon she could probably make him stay.”
I could tell that amused him. “Maybe you should tell Adam about her, honey. B-Co suffers from a chronic shortage of middle aged female assassins.”
“Violet would kill you if she heard you say that.”
He raised one eyebrow. Show-off. “She’d kill me for calling her an assassin? That’s logical.”
I snorted. “No, she’d kill you for calling her a middle aged woman, you dork.”
He smiled. “Either way, I doubt she’d actually kill me. I mean, I know she’s probably capable, but what with her crush on me and everything…”
I laughed. By this time, our plates had been cleared away and dessert was set out on the table. It was a pineapple upside-down cake. Yum.
Tim passed on the dessert. I noticed he’d also passed on the beer/wine he’d been offered. I’d passed on the alcohol also, because I didn’t drink, but I definitely didn’t pass on dessert. Mmm. Pineapple upside-down cake with whipped coconut cream. What was the point of existing if you didn’t eat dessert? I suppose you’ve gotta work for a body like Tim’s.
I remembered fitness program and immediately felt sick. I guess it must have shown on my face because Tim looked at me and said, “You thinking about exercise again, honey?”
It amazed me. I’d only met him on Friday, and already he knew me better than most of my school friends. I guess I wasn’t all that enigmatic. Maybe I just related better to guys than to women. It made sense, considering my three best friends when I was little had been male. Although I’d driven them all insane. My brother had run away, Will had ended up on drugs and now James McKenzie was accused of murder. I guess this was another one of those things my conscience should have done something about. You there, conscience? Hello?
Silence. My conscience was asleep.
I walked Tim to the door when he left that night. Due to the fact that it was nearly summer, the sun was still up and I could watch him as he walked away. He had a really nice…
Car.
Chapter Eight
It took a few moments of dazed confusion for me to realise what was going on. What was that noise? Where was I? Then I remembered: I was in bed and that was my alarm clock. I checked the readout. 7:00 a.m. I looked at my wall clock. No, my alarm wasn’t malfunctioning – it really was seven.
Time to get up, my head said. Any second now.
But my body wasn’t feeling cooperative. It reckoned it needed a few more hours of sleep.
You can have a few hours of rest, said my mind. When you get to the office.
Grudgingly, my body gave in. I rolled out of bed and whacked my head on the bedside table. At least it was on my scalp – no one would see the bruise that way. And the one on my face was virtually gone.
I grabbed some clothes and crawled down the hallway to the bathroom. I knocked on the door and when nobody answered I reached up and turned the handle (yes, I reached up – I had literally crawled to the bathroom).
Whilst under the spray of the shower I became semi-alert, and after about half an hour of shower time I was pretty sure that I wasn’t going to fall asleep again. The reason my alarm had rung so early was because I’d decided to follow Tim’s advice and get to work a bit before I was meant to start. It seemed like a good idea, seeing as I was going to meet Adam Baxter today and I wanted to make a good first impression and all that.
By the time I’d made it down to the kitchen, wearing a white blouse and a black tailored skirt suit that used to belong to my mother, I could probably pass for conscious. I wondered what I was going to look like at 6:00 tomorrow morning for my exercise class. Eek. I’d gone for the professional look again today, wearing my black-rimmed glasses and tying my hair backing a neat, low, side-part ponytail.
I glanced at my watch and realised that at the rate I was going, turning up on time was unlikely, let alone getting there early, so I skipped breakfast, shoved my wallet in my handbag and hightailed to the door in panic. I ran as far as the mailbox before realising how much of an idiot I must have looked. I chose not to care, and decided to get a taste of what jogging to the gym tomorrow was going to feel like. By the end of the block I had a pretty good idea. It was going to hurt.
I managed to make it to the office by eight thirty through a combination of power walking, sprinting, raw determination and bravery. (The bravery was when I had jumped fences to cut through people’s yards despite the Beware-of-Large-and-Vicious-Dog signs, and when I ran through the middle of heavy traffic and in front of a semi-trailer whose driver had no idea I was there.)
I took a couple of deep breaths that had nothing to do with being puffed and walked up to the front door. I turned the handle and – nothing. It didn’t open. I tried again. Damn. How the hell was I expected to get in there when it was locked? I went to try again and a voice said, “Turn that again and you’ll set the alarm off.” I was pretty sure it wasn’t my common sense talking, partly because my common sense didn’t visit very often, and partly because when it did visit, it didn’t have a man’s voice. So I turned around to see who was talking to me.
I was right. It wasn’t my common sense. It was Impolite Young Man, wearing faded jeans, a loose-fitting dark blue T-shirt, a peak cap, a pair of blue All-Stars, and a frown (on his beautiful, beautiful face). I chose to see this as a sign that he was surprised that I had turned up so early and not that he was startled by my morning zombie state.
That was until he said, “There’s a coffee machine in the hall inside. You look like you could use it.” Guess I wasn’t looking quite as awake as I had hoped. You’d think my cross-country expedition would have done something for that, but you should never underestimate the power of getting me up earlier than ten. My face at this time of the day would scare the bravest of men. “At least you’re here early. It’ll give me a chance to run through some things with you before you need to get working.”
Hold on, wasn’t Adam Baxter supposed to be showing me around? Unless… Oh, dear god.
So much for making a good first impression.
“Adam Baxter,” he said, introducing himself.
“Charlie Davies,” I answered.
“I know.”
He handed me a card and nodded towards the intercom panel on the right-hand side of the door. I took this as a signal to swipe it. I punched in the code he gave me and there was a little beepy noise and a click. I turned the door handle again and this time it opened. Phew.
I stepped inside and, of course, tripped. Adam grabbed me before I fell, and I was going to thank him but his facial expression stopped me. He was looking at me like I was a poo and he’d found me somewhere he wasn’t expecting. “Do you always fall over or do you just do it to impress me?” Wow. What he made up for in looks he seriously lacked in personality.
“Hate to disappoint you, but I do it a lot – even when you’re not around,” I said, angry but trying to put on a façade of pleasantness.
“Oh good. You’ll fit right in around here.” The sarcasm was strong with this one. He shut the door behind him and I heard it lock automatically.
“Do you remember the code?”
I said it back to him.
“Good.” Yay! Positive feedback! Maybe I was growing on him! Like a fungus!
We walked behind my desk. Holy crap. The ‘in’ tray was full and my desk was covered with files, envelopes, and other work for me. “Will it be like this every Monday?” I asked dazedly, gesturing towards the mess on my desk.
“Probably not. For the last month we’ve had no one to do this work for us, so people were supposed to do their own. This is probably all the work they’ve had sitting around their offices that they’ve been avoiding.
“When you’re working your way through this, it’s best if you do anything marked ‘Urgent’ first, then open mail. After that just prioritise it in whatever way seems logical.” OK, so do anything for Harry and Adam first, then anyth
ing for Tim, I decided. They were definitely the three most important employees I’d met. Also the only ones. I planned to make two copies of anything I did for Tim, just in case it was connected to McKenzie.
“OK,” he continued. “Sit down and I’ll tell you about Baxter & Co.” I took a seat behind the desk. It was the first chance I had to really look around since they’d installed all the new equipment.
There was a brand-new iMac on my desk, which I guessed was connected to the new printer/scanner/photocopier/I-don’t-know-what-else that sat to the left of it. I pulled out the little ledge of the desk that was designed for holding the computer keyboard and had a mild panic attack. I don’t know what it was on that ledge, but it certainly wasn’t a keyboard. OK, so maybe it was, but it wasn’t designed for an office. It was designed for NASA’s control room. I didn’t know how they expected me to be able to use it.
A cordless telephone sat to my right. It looked like a normal phone, but there were a few extra buttons. It wasn’t too scary, I decided.
There was also another chair off to the side. Swivel chair. I guessed it was for clients and workmates and anyone else who might come to visit me.
And, last but not least, there were new Venetian blinds on my window. Ah, the homey touch.
Adam took the spare chair and rolled it over next to me, sitting down. He began to speak. “Baxter & Co. is a security and investigation company now in operation for over 35 years. It was founded by my father, Harry Baxter. It started out here in Gerongate. We now have branches in all Australia’s major cities as well as a couple in the Americas, Europe, Asia and Africa.”
“I guess there’s not much call for one in Antarctica.”
No response. Note to self: gorgeous genius has no time for humour. “We’re still expanding. Controlling quality is hard. That’s why we make things difficult for people who want us to employ them.”
“I got my job pretty easy.”
“It’s keeping it that’s the hard bit. The fitness program is what most people find hardest, but it’s necessary.”
“To weed out the people that aren’t committed enough?” I guessed.
“Partly that,” he answered. “And partly because it really is necessary to be as fit as possible. We do a lot of dangerous work. Fighting and running are necessary skills.”
“But I’m admin,” is what I said aloud, but my tone said, This doesn’t apply to me. I don’t know what I was hoping for. Whining doesn’t usually get you out of things you don’t want to do. It just kind of annoys everyone. Including yourself.
“Yep. And you’ll probably be asked to help out with a lot of odd jobs around the place. We don’t have as many women working here as we’d like and those we do are flat out. That means that you will be, too.
“You’ll probably get dragged away from the office from time-to-time. The guys will have to get clearance from my father or me before they take you out of work. And you get paid for whatever work you do.”
“So, if someone doesn’t keep up with their workload I guess they’re axed?”
“Yeah.”
“Say I didn’t get through all these papers today…”
“Judging by the amount of work you got through on Friday, I’d say you’re more than capable of completing this.” And judging by what he did on Friday, I’d say that he’s more than capable of killing someone. But it’s best not to dwell on the past. Plus, that was another compliment! Kind of!
“So, do people just come in and drop work off whenever they want?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I thought for a moment. “How do clients get into the building?”
“When you’re not around, they talk to the guys in the control room through the intercom.” I worked somewhere with a control room? What was this, a dodgy sci-fi movie? “Otherwise, it’s your job. Not just anyone can walk in here. They have to have an appointment booked. Again, that’s you’re responsibility.”
He booted up the computer. While it was warming up he talked me through the keyboard.
“OK,” he said, “this part here is the normal keyboard, got that?” I nodded. I think he was intending that to be patronising, but I was clinging to his every word. Normal. Keyboard. “This little extra bit off to the side is the intercom panel that connects to the one outside. That’s where you slide your card and punch in your code to let people in or to log onto the computer. Some programs will also require you to swipe and code again. It’s the same code as the entry code. Right?” I nodded. So far, so good. “When someone buzzes, the picture for the intercom comes up on your computer screen, so you can see who’s outside. Hit this to let them in.” I nodded again. “So you feel confident with the keyboard now?”
“Yeah.” About as confident as a four year old driving a Ferrari.
Actually, scratch that. I felt about as confident as the parents watching their four year old drive the Ferrari.
“Good. Now with the files, there are a few things you could be asked to do. Some will be closed cases and they’ll just need filing away. Others will be research files. You might need to run names, photos, symbols, businesses and stuff through the system. The folder might tell you what program to use or you may have to run things through all programs. You print out everything you find, add it to the folder and put the file in the out-tray.
“Now the phone.” He reached over and picked it up. “Pretty straight forward. If someone rings, press the green button. The red one ends the call. When someone calls wanting to talk to someone specific, like me, press this button and it puts the caller on hold as well as bringing up an alphabetical list of all employees on the screen. You use the arrows to scroll down, and when you get to the name you want (in this case mine) you press this button. Then you tell me who it is, like, ‘Adam, it’s some hysterical lady wanting you to kill her husband’,” – because naturally that’s the first example that comes to mind – “and you press this button to put me through to her. Every office has an individual phone number so if the person wants to talk to us they’ll generally just call us specifically. However, it’s your number listed in the phone book, so you get most of the calls.”
“OK.” I paused. “What if I just want to call someone else in the office to ask a question or something?”
“Just press the same button you press to find their name when they have a caller. After you speak to them, just hang up and that’s it. OK, now to the computer.”
By the time Adam left (9:45) I was pretty sure I knew what to do. I could run names and photos and stuff through all the programs. I could send messages to other staff members. I could open letters. I could enter appointments on the computer so that everyone (including the guys in the control room) knew who was coming, when, and why.
I went through my in-tray and the files strewn all over my desk and filed away the completed cases. I opened mail and entered appointments. I had to call Adam to ask what to do about a letter that wanted to send a Baxter & Co. representative to a meeting. He said he’d deal with letters like that and to send him a copy via the message program on the computer. After completing that I prioritised the cases. Three were for Harry, four were for Adam and one was for Tim. I left the rest mixed-up because I didn’t know any of them. I had just started the second search for Harry when a pop-up showed on my computer screen. It was the visual for my intercom system. James McKenzie.
I unlocked the door. As soon as he opened it my mouth started watering. Not at him, if that’s what you were thinking. There was no mistaking the smell of the big, fatty, hangover-cure breakfast. McKenzie stumbled through the doorway carrying a paper bag with grease-spots in one hand and a takeaway cup in the other. It smelt good, and I hadn’t eaten all day. I licked my lips.
James caught me doing that and raised an eyebrow (was I the only one in the world who couldn’t?) but then he put the pieces together.
“You didn’t have breakfast.”
“How could you tell?”
“You were either licking you lips at me
or my breakfast and my luck hasn’t been that good lately.”
“Well, you’re right. I’m hungry.”
“Want a hash brown?”
“It poisoned?”
He looked wounded. “Just being friendly.”
“Just being cautious, what with your reputation and all,” I responded.
He didn’t look happy at that. “I’m not a murderer.”
He looked like crap. Too much alcohol and not enough sleep was my guess. I actually found myself feeling sorry for him for a second. Kind of. No, that was stupid. He didn’t need my sympathy. I, on the other hand, did need breakfast.
“Is the hash brown still on offer?”
He smiled and sat down on the chair next to me, where Adam had been sitting earlier. He opened the bag, took out the box of hash browns and handed me one. I don’t think I’d liked him that much in the last 15 years. Well, he was OK when he was drunk, but that hardly counted. He was in danger of being kicked out of my ‘Worst Enemy’ position and being replaced by Jeremy or Karen Martin. In fact, maybe they’d replaced him already.
I tucked into the hash brown. It was good, but I wanted more. I glanced at McKenzie. He was drinking his iced coffee (if I knew him at all, made on soy with a pump of hazelnut) through the plastic straw. He looked at me, then at the cup, then at me again. With a sigh, he handed me the drink. I hesitated for a moment and then took it. So shoot me, I was thirsty.
I took a sip. Yum.
“Soy iced coffee with hazelnut?”
“You know me too well.”
Normally I didn’t like coffee, but in this? Perfection.
“Did you drive here?” I asked him.
“No, Karen dropped me off. Why’s that?”
“Well, you just don’t look fit to drive.”
He frowned. “Uncharacteristic of you to be concerned about my safety.”
“I was more worried about the other people on the road.” He smiled at that, an ‘I-should-have-known’ smile. “What are you here for, anyway?” I asked.
