by Zac Funstein
In the relative safety of Flamand’s lean-to Cardoso tried to explain how ‘Cardoso-strip’ could be his salvation.
“Most rivals miss half the stuff there or they get tons of adhesive over it so that you are lost in glue.”
The delivery was positively crusader-like-as if everyone was in a state of somnolence from which it was Cardoso’s duty to wake us all up. We had an overdraft of debt for him telling us that if you listen to him.
“If we apply this to the relevant clothing you are telling us that more will be found than with what we usually use.”
The report is read-then the names of the adhesive run off:- ‘Parang’, ‘Behayan’ being the main product-leaders.
“‘Behayan’ is up there in my estimation, but ‘Parang’ seems to be the one that people go for. It has withstood a hammering from all sides but despite savage treatment is the the leader.”
“But your Cardoso-strip knocks these into a cooped hat-or whatever the expression is.”
“It doesn’t oxidize for a start like those I have just mentioned. Once word gets out I’m sure it will cleave a huge wedge between them-they will be like boys to the deep man that Cardoso-strip is.”
“I’m sold you’re a good salesman-since you are not asking anyone to dig into their wallet I can only believe you have the Schreiber resolution as your aim. I trust you are okay with mortuaries.”
“I can take/ leave them-I try to avoid them, but it is impossible sometimes.”
Fegget after a series of phone calls guided Cardoso to where the deceased was stored. Gaining entrance was never difficult there were never crowds lining up to get in when this icy storage was mentioned, but if few wanted entrance far less had exit. There was never much orthographic error in a mortuary either-if someone was dead you got there name bang on lest they got confused with someone else. It was unusual to be guided by someone who was the indoor croquet champion of Northern Ontario several times in a row.
Once inside the transformation of Julian was incredible like this was a peculiar thrill putting strips of sticky latex onto dead people. A scenario could be even seen where this made him dysfunctional.
“I wasn’t sure how you were going to do this,” mumbled Fegget. “For a terrible moment I was sure you were going to wrap him up like a mummy.”
“I’ve heard that a lot-it’s amazing the prejudices that some come up with,” said Julian wearing what must have been a Mexican- in- origin serape presumably to keep warm. “That’s the trouble with us saps always coming up with something new to ruin the established order of everything. No in answer to your question it doesn’t have to be much. It doesn’t have to be a voracious usage-no big boardroom decision.”
A very small square was neatly fashioned then positioned so it was guaranteed to pick up the most of the tiny debris.
“I can see you’ve done this a lot Julian.”
“Do you know Peebles vs Schmidt?”
“It doesn’t immediately start a chain of association if I am honest.”
“They had a Star-Spangled Banner that they found in the airliner wreckage everyone didn’t seem to believe it had any significance. Then when they brought in the Scottish genius Rory Muir who had this voracious need for what Rory called facts by the shovelful Cardoso-strip was one of the first props that was turned to. ‘The wrong-doer doesn’t skimp on the deviltry why should we,’ was Rory’s favourite.”
“I’ve heard that-there wasn’t a single godly techno-buff that could do there job properly was another of his.”
Julian produces from his tray of accoutrement what seems like an atomiser that would seem better in a clutch-bag either with blinding spray for an assailant or more likely deodorant. This however has a more important purpose than either self-defence or erotic perfume.
“This is what my great grandfather should get a sainthood for in my opinion. It’s where they go wrong putting the adhesive on the latex rather than in a separate spray so you can just position it where necessary. Sometimes it isn't needed the gangrenous decay has disseminated such that dispensing so with is easy. Here however dear Glad had not been left for but a short while.”
G seeming a little like the frozen star captain in Dark Star is indicated.
“It’s not any good being benevolent with the sticky stuff by the sounds of it.”
“There’s other factors they get sent out of kilter sometimes-the alkalinity gets mucked around with for starters.”
“What does dear G here tell you off the record?”
Another glance at the deceased is given albeit briefly.
“Someone or something was near her just before G’s fatal assault that used a robo-hoover.”
“You mean one of those disc like machines that gets stuck sometimes that has trouble negotiating bumps-ones that have pretensions to compete with more conventional vacuums?”
“Its called ‘decontamination symmetry’ if you want to know the truth-dust is disseminated differently in households that have this.”
“What sort of people have robo-cleaners as a rule? I suppose it isn’t good to generalise but it will do as a start Julian.”
“I’m indecisive-I wanna say gadget-lovers-but nowadays these are fairly common.”
“They must be lazy-they might be someone who is lackadaisical in covering up their tracks.”
“Now that you mention it. If you allow us a little more leisure I might be able to tell you just what model it is. Popularity in these is quiry it might not be something that is even on sale any more. They had one with a geodesic dome that freaked everyone out so they don’t make it any more.”
His tone was one of confidentiality like this was something tattletale or trade secrets were being given away.
“So we have someone who might or might not use a robo-hoover that isn’t very much to go on.”
“It can be-did you know that such owners are more likely to own an Infiniti FX or that they are a greater cluster of meter readers who drive a Subaru Legacy.”
“My life-continuum is enriched for being a party to that. One thing is for certain how can you roughen society or make it any more brutal with sanguinary like this having been in the offing.”
The driver Frankie M. Oliver was probably a European, Swedish or German-aggressively Caucasian anyway not like the usual Indian, Sikh or Afro-American driver they had here. There was clear indication of burn on his outer surface suggesting that a trip to some warmer clime had been taken although this may have been artificially induced. Oliver was fortunate someone somewhere liked him-there had been rumours of a taxi mafia with drivers being threatened. It seemed to be anybody regardless of race or color suggesting a rival franchisee was responsible.
Seeing an apparent fare standing at the junction waving frantically at him this taxi aficionado drew up sharply to where Betancourt was-this was perhaps a little slower than usual maybe on account of this relaxed atmosphere.
Even before Frankie had come to a stop (or at least so it seemed) Rory had secreted himself in the interior then was watching the embarkation point fade into the distance like in a monochrome film-noire. The homegoing chattering stenographers/clerks slowly getting smaller/smaller began to recede even further.
Before it could be asked where they were to go an address was pushed into his grasp.
“Burn up the tarmac driver fast as you can to this destination if you would.My regular car has broken down.”
Oliver let a slow exclamation.
“That is a very impressive address-not like my usual fares.”
“I don’t own it-now please if you would I do not have the leisure to go in why it is important-I doubt it would interest you if I did.”
With a staccato jerky motion they began.
Thanks to Juanma Maestas Acuna/ Donatila Corral Yáñez who have owned the chateaux for so many years, their young/attentive staff, plus the spoiling ministrations of their manager, Alain Gouraud, Chantill (a perfect replica of its French counterpart) fairly bustled with activity.
Rory Vega Betancourt (Sørensem’s temporary deputy) who was a diligent man arrived early for his appointment. Rather as Huxley saw himself as a ‘man of science’ rather than a ‘scientist’ Betancourt drew upon his persona from several sources.
The new Hammett, the new Chandler, the new Maigret. Yeah. The truth was a little harder to swallow-that Betancourt was nowhere near as good as believed.
Now dropped in this hyperreal get together never did Rory sense more this disparity between the genuine versus the false. Although his education had been by no means liberal, Rory was endowed by nature with penetration/eloquence. While was working on his Ph. D, Bentacourt was hunted by a computer software house as a troubleshooter which went to show just how revered RB was-this guy was hot.
A nagging doubt had been gnawing at him that despite Karl Sørensem’s entreaty to the opposite that Joel Rignall Newark was not the producer of the Glauconite that was found on the chance square of material would not go away.
Major Joshua P. Reed a top medico of the US Army a retired Republican former Missouri senator, who had been tapped by presidents of both parties, who was a neighbour of Rory was inclined to agree. ‘I’d stake my career on it Betancourt there is something else as per a factor in this’.
If Joshua was certain about something you had to listen.
Some people are quite flirty all the time, while others, even in a state of extreme ardour, seem cold/standoffish, Donatila was one such a person. Alas there is no reason why the most odious, contemptible people might not be able to make the sweetest, most wonderful creations. Again Donatila fell into this category. Donatila was like the small Southern town Betancourt had come from, a situation where nothing ever seemingly changed. Her intonation was icy as if the energy company had shut off the electricity. This was someone smug, pompous, condescending, arrogant even controlling all by the same turn. To the sound of a radio in the distance informing everyone how Christie's held the biggest art auction in history on Wednesday, selling much contemporary/ post-war art, led by a pair of Andy Warhol works featuring multiple images of Elvis Presley/Marlon Brando, Donatila exclaimed:
Mr. Newark has read your e-mail Mr. Betancourt. Joel was sure you were trying to stir up trouble about Juanita again.”
The former San Onofre lawyer, was accused of administering his wife, Juanita Newark, with a lethal dose of nicotine in order to collect a life-insurance policy.
Though police initially questioned Newark regarding his wife's demise, they were unable to charge him until a new investigation begun, by then their source-of- interest would be out of the country no question. Juanita had been married before in a sullen uncommunicative relationship but in their later throws, they talked regularly at last settling into the kind of untroubled companionship that had eluded them during their marriage. This had passed over to this new liaison too.
‘I begged Juanita to leave Joel before it was too late,’ Juanita's friend Thea E. Lorenzen told the court shortly after the jury delivered its verdict. ‘Joel should fry for this instead they’ve made him into a saint-it’s wicked beyond belief’.
During the trial, Joel 's next wife, Nicole appearing like your cruel, much-dead grandmother, a victim of alzheimer's testified that a ‘debilitating’ illness during the final year of her marriage afflicted her with various ailments.
‘After leaving him Nicole immediately started getting better. ‘It happened so quickly,’ I’m sure N would have wound up dead too,’ her friend Mia E. Thorsen added.
Nicole insisted that her suspicions were that Joel was trying to poison her, that it was odd when her other half suggested they both get life-insurance policies.
‘He'd never spoken about it before,’ the ex observed.
In Juanita's instance, Newark waited only until the day after her funeral before beginning requesting remuneration from her life-insurance provider.
‘Juanita was for him nothing more than a freebie,’ Assistant D.A Lasse M. Christoffersen told jurors during trial. ‘Newark was greedy, wanted so much for that Juanita died’.
In a witness-impact statement given at full throttle, Nicole's favourite nephew August A. Brandt recalled the pain of watching his aunt die in agony. ‘We knew that Linda was being slowly poisoned,’ August said, according to the Oregon County Register. ‘We were helpless to do anything-because Nicole refused to accept what was happening to her’.
“I’ve not come to stir up trouble but to ask his assistance regarding a substance that Kayfase Inc make-Glauconite for use in artificially aging working-clothing.”
“The Vytorun-now I comprehendre.”
“Isn’t that used to reduce risk of stroke?”
Somewhere Rory had got it into him that Vytoreen, which is a combination of ezetimibe (sold under the brand name Zetia) plus the statin simvastatin had proved successful in reducing such risk. Not by very much admittedly but enough to get some important people very interested in using this to improve Canadian health.
“That’s Vytorin I believe. No matter Mr. Newark is an avid racquets fan indeed would like you to join him. Joel enjoys playing with his daughter/ teenage son plus many squash playing friends in the area. It's a pure hobby of enjoyment but be warned our glorious leader is a charming person but if his shots start missing their targets a quite horrible streak in his nature comes out.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” exclaimed Rory as from under his hoodie a sinister smirk seemed to emanate.
A nameless individual took him to where the courts were. An attempt at finding out where they were being lead was made but met with silent rebuke. Then Rory was pushed almost impolitely through an entrance. Betancourt peered around at where his in situ was. A thin line went around his panelled confines that was just above his height. It was a little like what used to be known as the ‘plimsoll line’ which was used to denote height. In the usual setting this would be deemed high. The square countersunk exit which had brought him was bolted so that removal from this situation was impossible. It was tried but didn’t work. The person who had brought him here was gone as had the garrulous Ms.Yáñez. To add insult to injury Rory tripped over an empty jerry-can. Though what this was doing here was anyones guess-because it served no immediately discernible purpose. There was no glass above the gallery (it had been deemed that it was a squash court that they had arrived in. Indeed if gallery was the correct appellation-for this seemed more like an old theatre auditorium, with a dress circle, an upper circle, plus boxes on the sides) but there were some steps that might have been an escape if necessary if getting there by jumping was possible-which it wasn’t.
On a monitor screen set on brackets just above this racquet players plimsoll line a smartly dressed man appeared as he gave the impression he was shouting at someone. Immediately above him was the picture of a soldier—a Gurkha perfectly turned out: well-fitted uniform, forage cap worn at an acute angle, belts polished like mirrors, the man himself excellently set up moving very smartly. A large percentage of the Regiment had decorations—the Frontier, the Afghan medals the Kabul-Kandahar star—a fine sight on a full-dress parade.
However upon seeing Rory the fracas stops.
“Mr. Betancourt I am sorry to restrain you albeit for a moment. Try to tell yourself you’re in a former high school auditorium - a nice room, actually - that has that public school vibe. The acoustic properties of the theatre are extraordinarily good.” The sound of the electronic bolt sliding to one side is distinctly heard. “It is terrible is it not to be trapped in a maze knowing that which ever route you take is certain distress, don’t answer that for I will tell you yes it is-no matter you are now free to leave if you wish? If you will do us the honour of waiting for a while.”
A person appears after a short while from another previously unseen entrance, but it is clear they are not prepared to play any racquet based game for they are dressed very smartly. The man's voice was low, gentle, barely above a whisper
“I was a little suspicious at first-I was sure that you h
ad come here merely to ask questions about Juanita. You'll understand if I am a little doubtful. After all, this is a little weird. ”
“Nothing like that. Who was the military person in the photo on the screen?”
“Ugansing Mai, a veteran of the famous battle for Imphal, lived a humble life. Mai could have chosen a path of luxury, simply by selling his VC. But it never occurred to him until I was met that is. I sold him the scheme for building this mock chateaux that you see here. I believe Ugansing was justified in his investment. This wasn’t a scam as some claimed. I will give you a guided tour afterwards then you will see for yourself.”
“There is denim product here too presumably Newark?”
There was no doubting who this was-the stance, the bearing could only be a single person.
“Yes but it is not an opium-den-the staff have union representatives-they have leisure breaks; college students participate in the federal government's work-study program as part of its financial-aids superstructure for those who demonstrate need, but that is not why you’re here.”
“I engaged Mrs. Priester who implied the Glauconite we found on a scrap of fabric at the scene of a terrible attack was from an artificial aging technique using a chalk addition that only you use.”
“Rachel-how is Rachel!”
For an instant there had been some confusion on Joel’s part with a Rachel that was a student at his daughters preschool. The child could almost be seen whining constantly as was her want. Only when a set of plastic blocks with a self-correcting feature on them that could be combined in an order of progressively large/small volumes did the complaining seem to stop.
