Through a glass wall to her right she saw a board meeting underway. Jamie Fischer was there speaking to some clients.
Dammit!
She had to think quickly.
She looked around for a way to improvise. She crossed her arms while she concentrated. She had to make sure that everyone that looked her way saw an empty space or they would ask her why she was there. And seeing she was wearing a padded lycra body suit, she didn’t want to explain that.
She approached the reception desk.
The blonde woman at the reception desk looked up from her laptop.
“Yes? Do you have an appointment?” Then her eyes grew wide as she saw a police officer. “I’m sorry, can I help you officer?”
The female officer lent on the desk. “Yes you can, actually. I just need a few words with Mr Fischer, if that’s ok.”
Courtney smiled to herself as the secretary hurriedly scanned her boss’ schedule.
“He is umm…busy at the moment. Can I get you to call him, about three?” she smiled apologetically.
“Is that him, just over there?” Courtney gestured to the conference room.
“Umm…yes. I’ll call him and let him know you are here, officer. She picked up the phone and dialled the conference room number and Jamie held up a finger to his clients before answering the phone.
“Mr Fischer, I’m sorry to disturb you, but there is a police officer here to speak to you.” She nodded and turned to Courtney and put the hand over the mouthpiece. “He asked if it could wait.”
Courtney shook her head sadly.
“Oh.” The blonde secretary spoke to Mr Fischer again. “I think it’s rather urgent. I’m sorry. Yes sir. I can do that. Of course sir.” She hung up the phone and looked up at Courtney. He won’t be a moment. I’ll take you to his office.”
“Thank you, that would be good.”
Courtney followed the secretary up the steps to Mr Fischer’s office where she was offered a chair to sit down.
When the secretary was gone Courtney relaxed.
She was alone for a moment.
She could just be herself.
There were footsteps climbing the stairs outside the office. She needed him to see someone else, at least for now.
The door opened.
Jamie Fischer came in and looked at the police officer. He was a man in his mid thirties. He carried himself with confidence and always dressed fashionably. “Sorry to keep you waiting, I just had to take care of the people downstairs.” He flashed a grin and gestured back towards the stairs. “Some of our bigger clients.” He walked behind his desk and took a seat in the expensive leather chair. “What can I do for you, officer?”
Courtney grinned evilly. “I believe you have something for me.”
Jamie frowned.
Courtney chuckled and changed Jamie’s perception of her. Now he saw a beautiful and dangerous woman sitting with long slender legs crossed.
“It’s… It’s you.” Jamie nervously shifted in his chair.
“That’s right.” Courtney kept smiling demurely.
“Mirage. They told me that you would come.” Jamie found it hard to swallow. He was genuinely afraid. He had heard the stories about this woman. There was a rumour that his father even hired her to make certain people disappear and to acquire evidence from the prosecution in some big trials. But that was two years ago.
“And do you have what they asked for?”
Jamie Fischer nodded vigorously and pulled open his desk draw. He then drew out four manila folders. He held them up before laying them on the desk.
Courtney rose from her chair and came to sit on the desk to inspect the folders. “Are you sure this is everything?”
“Umm… Yes. That’s everything they had. I checked personally.”
Courtney nodded slowly as she flipped through the pages. These were the court records of her employer and his associates, as well as herself. Her mission was to acquire the files and make sure Mr Fischer didn’t speak to another soul.
“Thank you, Mr Fischer.” She smiled. “I’m pleased. And my employer would be pleased.”
Jamie nodded and gave a half smile as he wiped his brow.
“Unfortunately, your wife killed you.” Courtney smiled at him again.
Jamie was confused.
He sat up in his chair. “What? Is that some sort of story we are going to use? It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, not a story.” Courtney picked up the photo of Mrs Fischer off the desk and gazed at it for a long moment.
Jamie was watching the door, thinking about escaping from this woman.
“Look Mirage, I…”
The beautiful brunette sitting on the desk had become his wife and she glared at him with malicious intent.
“No, no, no… Not her. You can’t. Not like this. I have children. Please!” Tears were running down his cheeks and he was openly sobbing and shaking his head.
“It’s not an attractive look for you Jamie…” Courtney grinned.
She pressed a chloroform soaked handkerchief to his mouth and nose.
Jamie sobbed and squeezed his eyes closed.
“Pathetic excuse for a man.” She muttered
Courtney then drew one of the long, thin, chrome steel spikes from her thigh holster.
She chuckled as she pushed the long pin down between his collarbones, down into his chest where it punctured his heart. Then she jabbed it again and again into his heart, until it was full of irreparable holes, then he would bleed internally.
“Thank you, Mr Fischer. Your services are appreciated.”
Courtney wiped Jamie’s blood on his clean white shirt and leapt off the table and gathered the files. She slid the long pin back into her thigh holster and took a deep breath.
She chuckled to herself as she walked out of the office projecting the guise of Jamie Fischer’s wife to the minds of all who took notice.
She confidently marched back out of the building the same way she came in: the front door.
Chapter 2
The desert wind was hot and dry.
It was the sharp kind of wind that carries enough air to dry your sweat, but not enough cool to feel relief.
Everything in the desert was hot from the scorching sun and when the wind blew it just carried that heat on to the next destination.
It wasn’t the sort of desert you see on TV, with enormous dunes and oceans of sand; it was one of the deserts in Australia’s southeast. Some people wouldn’t expect there to even be a desert so close to civilization. A lot of Australian’s would live close enough to know where it was, but not even know that it was in fact, a desert. It was a sea of low, tortured eucalypts and spiny bushes that don’t grow higher than your knees.
The wind picked up again carrying a perpetual rustle across the sea of spiny shrubs.
Cynthia Abell stood on a patch of loose white sand, watching her partner, Matt, dig the grave.
“Can I borrow your sunnies?” Matt Claire whined as he shoveled some more of the fine white sand out of the pit.
“No.” She was barely listening. Her loose white blouse fluttered in the desert breeze and her long blonde hair floated around behind her like she was a model in a shampoo commercial.
Her long black silk gloves looked out of place.
“Why not? I’m the one doing all the work while you just stand there posing.” He stopped and leant on the shovel. He had stripped down to his singlet to keep his shirt clean and he was so busy showing off his muscles that he hadn’t noticed the sunburn on his shoulders.
It made Cynthia smile.
“Oh come on Cynthy? The wind is blowing sand into my eyes. I can’t do this faster if I have to stop every twenty seconds to get the sand out.”
Cynthia rolled her eyes and took off the glasses. “Fine. But if you scratch them I will take away the use of your right arm.”
Matt reached up and took them, smiling. “C’mon Cynthy, that’s me favourite arm.”
“You’re a dick. Hurry up and
dig. We have a five hour drive after this.”
Her bright blue eyes squinted in the glare. Without the sun glasses the desert radiated a shimmer of heat. It was an unforgivable heat that created a mirage over the rest of the scrub. It was a reflection of itself and it went on forever.
She smiled as she stared out into this desolate landscape. This was a place no one would look.
On the ground beside her was a man’s body wrapped in plastic and chicken wire. His name was Sam Blume. He was a small time businessman who was starting to have some success in Melbourne’s outer suburbs and in a few rural cities. He was well on his way to becoming a member of The Brand, a group of united business owners who work together to control the sale and distribution of legal and no-legal merchandise.
Blume refused to work for The Brand and created direct competition for some of The Brand’s members. So he had to take a long holiday.
This holiday was administered by The Brand’s Post-Human enforcer, Cynthia Abell, also known as Deadfall. Matt Claire, her partner had worked for The Brand for longer than she had. He was a highly talented amateur detective and P.I.
“How deep?” Matt wiped the sweat from his forehead as he looked at the hole around him.
“Deep enough that we never have to worry about him re-appearing, Matt. That should be obvious.” Cynthia shook her head.
She wandered over to the meager shade of one of the few eucalyptus trees. It was the best she would get. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out an elastic to tie her hair back.
While she pulled back her hair she watched the breeze move the leaves.
It was silent here.
Peaceful.
No people.
Maybe she would come back someday.
Matt had some more digging to do. She wasn’t going to let him do a shoddy job of burying a body. This had to be done right if Blume was going to stay buried.
She decided to go for a walk.
As desolate as the landscape was, Cynthia found it beautiful. It reminded her of documentaries about the African savannah, only this desert consisted of spiny bushes instead of deep grass.
Something white caught her eye.
She pushed through the bushes to reach it. It was a collection of bones beneath a scraggly old tree. They could have passed for human if you didn’t know what to look for. Cynthia did.
She knelt down and picked them up one at a time. A kangaroo; a male, fully grown.
She smiled to herself as she picked through the sun-bleached remains.
When she wasn’t a contract killer, Cynthia was an artist. Her specialty was bones and dark gothic scenes of violence. Her teacher at university said she must have had a troubled past. Maybe it was. Death just appealed to her. She found bones to be beautiful.
She withdrew the skull from the leaves. It was perfectly preserved. She shuffled about till she found the matching mandible.
“Nice.” She put them together and opened and closed the mouth. “You’ll work nicely…”
A sting on her ankle.
Cynthia rolled over to see what had happened.
There were two bleeding puncture marks on her exposed skin. It was a snakebite.
“Dammit. I knew I shouldn’t have worn three-quarter jeans!”
She looked around for the culprit.
On the sand only a metre or two away, a large brown snake was writhing around. It was acting as if the sand was too hot, writhing and knotting, then finally it stopped still.
Cynthia shook her head. “You brought that on yourself my friend.”
The snake was dead.
There was a loud thump as the body of Mr Blume landed in the bottom of the pit.
“That’s it Cynthy, he’s nice and deep.” Matt leant on the shovel and watched Cynthia step out of the scrub.
“We’ve you been?” He saw the kangaroo skull in her hands. “Do we seriously have to bring that in the car?”
“You know we do, Matt.” She laid the skull on her jacket that was sitting under a tree.
“You gonna help or what?” Matt gestured to the hole.
“Do you have a second shovel?” Cynthia smiled.
Matt shook his head, sighed and began to fill in the grave.
Chapter 3
The take away store was the kind you see in any of the small towns that dot the Victorian countryside. It had a selection of deep fried goodies and the classic selection of dubious sandwiches.
The one thing Cynthia had found she could count on was the cold drink selection. She grabbed an ice-coffee for herself and an energy drink for Matt, who was a little tired after all his digging.
She stalked up and down the two isles of products to find something to sooth his sunburn.
“And this…” Matt stood at the end of the isle holding up an ice-cream.
“You are such a girl.”
“There is nothing girly about eating ice-cream. It’s hot outside!” he complained smiling.
“Here,” she tossed him a tube of skin soothing cream.
“Thanks. I was dying.”
“Girl,” she teased.
Cynthia began to flip through some magazines. They didn’t have a big range. Nothing about contemporary art or design. They did manage to have two different hunting magazines and one about crochet. She was about to have a look at the local newspaper, but she was interrupted.
“Ya burgers are ready, luv.” The middle-aged woman behind the counter smiled, creasing her leathery sun damaged face.
Cynthia approached the counter and paid for their meal and Matt’s ice-cream and skin cream. She carried the purchases across the road where Matt waited next to the car smoking a cigarette.
Matt doesn’t smoke.
It meant he was watching someone.
He looked wary, almost nervous.
She scanned the road and the park near where they parked but couldn’t see anything. She decided to act as if nothing was wrong in case they were being watched.
Matt turned when he heard Cynthia’s heels clicking across the road.
“Hey, lunch is served.” He half smiled, but his eyes said: danger, act naturally.
Cynthia nodded that she understood and played along. “It sure is. There’s yours; no tomato.”
“Nice. Thanks.”
Matt walked around the car and sat on the driver’s seat with the door open. Cynthia followed his example and sat in the passenger side.
She took a big mouthful and was surprised that it tasted good.
“So,” she mumbled through a mouthful of food. “Who is it?”
Matt looked at her and gestured with his eyes to the public toilets.
She followed his hint and tried to observe discreetly.
Two motorbikes. A Kawasaki and a Triumph. They each had overnight bags strapped on the back and another long thin case. Possibly a rifle case, she thought, or a crossbow if it was dismantled.
She kept eating her burger while she made some calculations. The bikes were one hundred and fifty metres away. Too far for accuracy unless they are using high powered rifles. They’d need silencers, and they’d need to fire at the same time for the shooters to make a confirmed kill. Too many variables and chances if they shot from that distance.
She took another mouthful.
Crossbows then. They would need to have concealed themselves somewhere in the park in front of the car.
That had to be it.
She mumbled to Matt again. “Did you see them arrive?”
He swallowed before he spoke. “No, otherwise I’d just drive out of here.”
“What are they waiting for?” Cynthia took anther mouthful.
“Whoever sent them must have people at every major stop. They knew we were coming this way. Cynthy, I think they are waiting for dark.” Matt said looking at the position of the sun.
“I think you are right. We can’t afford to stop again. They must be in the toilets then. They’re waiting to get us at a bathroom stop.” She shook her head. “Th
at’s sly.”
“Good thing I went in the desert.” Matt said smiling with a mouthful.
Cynthia rolled her eyes.
It was bordering on dusk.
They needed to move.
They closed the doors of the new Honda and drove south.
Cynthia was annoyed at herself for not taking the highway. It would have been too public for their shadowing assassins.
Driving through this hilly countryside was quite nice during the day; it was a picturesque area to explore.
The desert had slowly merged into bushland and the bushland slowly made way for farms, and then finally they were in this area of rolling fields. They had been driving for two and a half hours.
Behind them there were two tiny spots of light. Cynthia had hoped that it was a car, but she was fairly confident that it was the two motorbikes.
“Where are we going to lose them Cynthy?” Matt was stealing glances in the rear view mirror.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been this way.”
Matt rubbed at his sunburned cheeks in irritation.
They couldn’t let these people follow them all the way to Melbourne. “We need to stop.”
“What?” Cynthia glanced at the fuel indicator and noticed it was still nearly a full tank.
“I mean we need to stop and take care of our friends.” Matt was biting his lip as he looked in the rear view mirror.
“Take care how, Matt? From what I can tell you just want to put bodies in the boot and leave two motor cycles for the police to trace it back to us.”
“Pub?” Mat raised his eyebrows.
Matt’s plan began to take form in her mind.
He was suggesting that they stop at a pub where there would be witnesses. There, they could incapacitate their two followers one at a time to give themselves a head start.
Cynthia took out her phone to look at the local map for a good place.
“Here,” she pointed to a tiny town on the map. “It has one pub and two roads that can be taken to the next big town. It would at least halve their chances of pursuit.”
“Good. How far?”
“Twenty minutes.”
They pulled up out the front of the small pub.
Deadfall: A Post-Humans Story Page 2
