Heller

by JD Nixon

  Client Manager

  Security & surveillance business

  Must be discreet and experienced

  Enquiries: 0400 xxx xxx

  Hmm, client manager? Security and surveillance? That sounded a bit cloak-and-dagger, a bit exciting, maybe even a bit dangerous. I was immediately interested, my boredom slipping off my shoulders like a silk cloak. Before I became a professional actor (and please don’t laugh when I say that), I’d done some client relations work. As long as you could stay calm under extreme provocation, keep a straight face while blatantly brown-nosing and could tolerate being a drudge, there were worse ways of earning some money. Like acting, I thought bitterly as I carefully ripped out the ad from the paper. I’d ring about the job first thing in the morning.

  Chapter 2

  I pressed the buzzer next to the glossy black front door and waited as I’d been instructed. When I rang to enquire about the position I was told by a polite and mellow male voice to send in my CV via email. I had sneaked onto Jon’s (or Don’s?) laptop to do so and barely an hour later received a phone call from the same man inviting me for an interview the following morning and providing me with directions. The suburb was one I’d never visited before. It was shabby, previously industrial but slowly morphing into an uneasy mixture of high-density residential and white collar commercial businesses. Property there would be worth a fortune in about ten years, but it was still distinctly grungy right then.

  I glanced up at the old redbrick building in front of me, calculating that it was about six stories high. It had probably been a warehouse/office combination in a previous life. It had a grim facade with no interesting features except for its sash windows, the front door and a large garage door off to its left. No external signage indicated that the Warehouse (which is what I decided to call it) was a business premise. There was nothing but a shining brass street number neatly centred on the door and an unusual number of security cameras focussed on the entry, garage door and all sides of the street.

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other as I waited. I’d decided to dress conservatively despite the continuing heat, aiming for a slightly prim and proper look. My makeup was discreet and although I didn’t think that my bargain reproduction designer suit (half-price on sale), in a demure shade of pale rose, was too crushed from the long bus trip across town, I smoothed down the skirt with my hands just in case. I’d left the top two buttons of my white cotton blouse undone and pulled it down slightly to expose a bit more cleavage. I wasn’t above using my assets for my own benefit when necessary and hopefully my interviewer would be male. My scuffed rose-coloured court shoes were pinching my feet after the walk from the bus stop and I was having serious regrets about wearing them. Thankfully it wasn’t as hot today, but I still felt twin trickles of sweat making their ticklish way down my spine and between my breasts and hoped they wouldn’t leave damp patches on my blouse.

  Glancing down, I cursed, noticing a run in my left stocking and prayed it wasn’t visible from the front. I patted my hair to make sure it hadn’t escaped from its neat chignon. I’d taken a lot of care to make sure I looked respectably presentable. I had a feeling that first impressions would be important in this position.

  The door flung open suddenly, startling me. A small, sharp-faced teenaged Goth stood in the doorway, so androgynous in appearance that I had to heads-or-tails in my mind over whether it was a girl or boy. I chose boy, but I wasn’t one hundred per cent confident in my choice as there were no discernable lady or man lumps to give me any decisive clues about gender. He stared up at me through his carefully sculpted jet black fringe, thick black kohl encircling his big, pale blue eyes. He wore black skinny jeans, a belt studded with small silver skulls, a striped black and purple t-shirt and chunky black combat boots. His left ear held six silver piercings, his right ear five, and his nose three. He wore a silver skull ring with red jewelled eyes on his right ring finger.

  “Hi,” he said in a friendly voice, “you must be . . .” His eyes dropped to his hand where I could see something scribbled in black pen. “Ms Chalmers, right? I’m Niq. That’s Niq with a Q, by the way”.

  No help there even. That could be a girl or boy name. “Very pleased to meet you, Niq with a Q,” I said politely.

  “Follow me, please.” His voice was also decidedly ungendered – not too deep for a female, not too high for a male. The boy/girl led me down a hallway to a lift and repeatedly stabbed the up-button with a black-painted nail. I thanked the heavens for the building’s frosty air-conditioning and stole a surreptitious look around me while we waited. The walls were bare redbrick and the floors polished but well-scuffed dark hardwood. A stairwell led both up and down stairs. Besides the front door, there was only one other door on that level, and it remained firmly closed. There were no paintings, rugs or plants. It was pure jailhouse and as quiet as a tomb except for the clunking and clattering of the lift slowly grumbling its way down to us.

  As we waited for the lift, the inner door was thrown open and four of the biggest men I’d ever seen in my life spilled out into the hallway, laughing at something one of them had said. They were tall, broad-shouldered and seriously muscled. They were dressed identically in black polo shirts with a gold H embroidered in script on the pocket, tucked into black cargo pants, with black utility belts around their hips and the same black boots that Niq was wearing. The four men stared at me with open curiosity and I smiled at them sweetly, eyes huge with sheer astonishment at their size. They looked intimidating, but nodded at us with a reassuring affability as they passed.

  “Guys,” Niq acknowledged indifferently, barely casting his eyes in their direction. They didn’t notice, their eyes fixed on me as they clumped downstairs. The word SECURITY was plastered across the back of their polo shirts in gold lettering. As I watched their retreating backs, they all threw me flatteringly attentive glances over their shoulders as they left. One of them turned back a second time to give me a cheeky wink. I decided that I liked this place already.

  The lift landed with a thumping shudder and the wooden doors slowly opened with an agonising screech. We stepped in and Niq repeatedly pressed the button for the second floor. The doors reluctantly closed. A nervous energy seemed to radiate from the little Goth as he chewed on a thumbnail while staring up at me intently through his fringe. He seemed, not hostile, but strangely excited by my presence. What was that about?

  “You look like that chick in that lame ad. You know, the one about the cereal,” Niq said. He suddenly burst out in a shrill, overjoyed singsong voice, “I’m the happiest girl in the nation now I’ve cured my constipation!”

  I cringed at hearing that corny jingle again. I wasn’t going to admit to that, so I shamelessly lied. “It wasn’t me, but I hear that all the time. I guess I do look a bit like her.” Niq stared at me suspiciously as if my protest wasn’t quite believable. I gazed back with wide-eyed innocence. I had to admit I was impressed though – it was an uncanny impersonation of my hammy acting.

  One of those awkward silences descended. I smiled at him briefly and raised my eyes to the lift ceiling, surprised at its intricate timber inlay. I thought that must mean that the lift was quite old because lifts weren’t built like that anymore. I hoped it was safe as it slowly ascended, screeching misery all the way. To take my mind off that worry, I turned back to the little Goth.

  “So Niq, do you work here?” I teased gently. He was only thirteen or fourteen at most and so slight in stature that one of those huge security men could have crushed him with his bare hands.

  “No,” he smiled shyly and peered up at me through that black fringe. “I’m still at school, but I will work here when I finish. I want to work here now, but Heller says it’s important for me to get a proper education first.” He rolled his eyes at that sensible piece of advice like a typical teenager.

  “And who’s Heller?” I asked conversationally, barely stifling a yawn. The rave club next to our unit block had been pounding out thumping bass until
five o’clock in the morning. I had finally properly fallen asleep at one minute past five, only to be woken up at three minutes past five by a garbage truck noisily making its way down the street.

  “You don’t know who Heller is?” he asked me with genuine surprise. “But –”

  Before he could finish, the lift shuddered and stopped suddenly for a few ticks before continuing again, unbalancing the both of us. Alarmed, I clung like a gecko to the lift wall, my palms flat against the side to brace myself.

  “Are you sure this thing’s safe?” I asked, slightly shaken.

  “Hasn’t crashed yet,” he replied, brushing the hair back from his face and smiling up at me again.

  And thankfully it didn’t today either. At last the lift stopped with a terrifying lurch that made me reel against the side of the cabin, my hands out for balance again, my stomach leaping into my mouth. The doors opened and I prepared to step out to face my interview ordeal, but unhappily the lift hadn’t made it to its destination. Instead, it had decided to discontinue the journey about two metres short. We were caught between floors.

  “Uh-oh,” said Niq, pressing the close-door button frantically. Nothing happened. He then pushed on the up button. Again nothing. Niq turned to me. “I think it’s died.”

  “You think?” I asked, a little sarcastic.

  “Daniel!” Niq screamed suddenly, making me jump. “Daniel!”

  From the gap in the lift, I saw a pair of legs walking quickly towards us.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” a man apologised profusely to me, kneeling down to peer awkwardly into the lift cabin. “Don’t panic. I’ll get you out of there as soon as possible.” Then he turned to Niq, crossly. “Niq! I knew I should have brought Ms Chalmers up myself instead of trusting you. I told you not to use the lift. You know it’s not safe.”

  I shot Niq a smug told-you-so smile.

  “Sorry Daniel,” Niq replied, pulling a face back at me.

  “Okay, let me think for a second. Niq, I’ll get you out first and then you can help me with Ms Chalmers. Grab onto my hands and use your feet to climb up the walls of the cabin.”

  Daniel leaned down into the cabin and grasped Niq’s hands. He hauled the little Goth up until Niq was dangling from the floor of the next level, legs kicking out wildly as he tried to maintain his grip. I watched with interest, wondering how I was ever going to complete the same obstacle in my suit and heels when one of Niq’s chunky boots unexpectedly cracked into my nose. I shrieked in pain and staggered against the lift wall, holding my face, my eyes tearing up uncontrollably.

  “Oops, sorry!” Niq shouted down to me, finally managing to swing one leg onto the floor and quickly scrabbling to pull the other one up as well, escaping the lift. Niq and Daniel stared down at me anxiously.

  “Oh dear. Are you all right?” Daniel asked with concern.

  I touched my nose tenderly. It hurt like hell. I hoped it wasn’t broken.

  “Sure, it’s nothing,” I lied bravely, blinking away the tears. I took off my tight shoes and tossed them up onto the floor above. I threw my handbag up as well. This was going to be very inelegant. Thank goodness I had worn my best pair of panties today!

  Daniel grabbed my hands and I tried to do what Niq had done, climb up the wall of the cabin using my feet until I could throw one of my legs onto the floor above my head. Unfortunately my stockings made my feet slippery and I couldn’t maintain a grip on the polished timber panels of the lift wall. Daniel was trying valiantly to drag me up, almost pulling my arms out of their sockets in the process, but it was no good. He just wasn’t strong enough and Niq wasn’t able to reach. Daniel let me go, promising to be back in a second. I thought briefly of removing my stockings, but decided that there was no way that I was going to start taking off my clothes in a place that appeared to be full of men.

  Daniel returned quickly, talking softly to someone else. Another pair of shoes appeared in the gap, fashionable glossy pointed black shoes.

  “Heller will be able to get you out, Ms Chalmers,” Daniel told me in his soothing voice. “You’ll be free in a minute.”

  A different man knelt and reached his arms down towards me. I couldn’t see him well from where I was but lifted my arms up helpfully and before I could even take a breath, he gripped my forearms and forcefully pulled me up. He wasn’t gentle and I scraped my entire body as he dragged me out of the gap between the top of the lift and the floor. I stumbled with the momentum of being hauled up and fell with a great lack of dignity on my hands and knees at his feet.

  I sat back on my haunches and looked up at him. I had to look a long, long way because he was very tall, well over two metres, with a muscular fit body, cheekbones you could slice your hands on and a sensuous mouth. A light tan emphasised his spiked, razor-cut blond hair and incredible glacial blue eyes. His teeth were very white and even. He was exceptionally well-dressed, completely in black – black silk shirt (with a gold H monogrammed on the pocket), black suit, black shoes. He wore an expensive silver watch with a black face and a chunky silver ring with an engraved H logo on his left ring finger.

  He was the most astoundingly beautiful human being I had ever set eyes on in my whole life. He was more beautiful than an entire host of heavenly angels, more beautiful than the progeny of the most beautiful gods who had ever reproduced. He was simply drop-dead deliciously divine. My eyes goggled and my pulse quickened. My mouth dried up. I had to urgently press my lips together to stop my tongue from lolling.

  I had just met Heller.

  Chapter 3

  He bent over, grasped my arms again but more gently this time, and pulled me to my feet. I managed to steady myself, gaping up at him in stunned, stupid, silent wonder. My eyes were gigantic in my face and not one cogent word formed itself in my brain and made its way down to my mouth. I was literally dumbstruck. I’m from a tall family and am very tall for a woman at 180 centimetres (about six feet for you old-fashioned folk), but I felt tiny standing next to him. His eyes raked my face intently and frowning slightly, he took a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me.

  “Your nose is bleeding,” he commented, a charming northern European accent tingeing his voice. German? Danish? I took the handkerchief and gingerly dabbed at my aching nose, eyes fixed on him still. Would I ever be able to look away?

  “I kicked her in the face,” Niq confessed. Heller turned his frown on Niq before stepping alarmingly close to me. My heart started racing. He reached towards me, gently grasped the bridge of my nose with his fingers and moved it around carefully. Somehow I managed to stifle my yelp of pain, although my eyes watered again. When he stepped back afterwards, I suddenly wished he hadn’t, despite the extra pain he had caused. I wanted to catch the scent of his tantalising cologne again. He stared at me and frowned once more, his blue eyes boring into mine relentlessly.

  “It’s not broken,” he diagnosed coolly. I delicately held the handkerchief to my nostrils to stem the flow of blood, trying to ignore the screaming pain. I despaired of the terrible first impression I was making with this extraordinary man, dripping blood onto my suit and onto his carpet. He was immaculately groomed and you could tell at a glance that appearances were important to him.

  “Niq, what in God’s name were you doing in the lift? I have told you a hundred times that it is not safe!” Daniel seethed. Heller spun his blue spotlights back to Niq, giving me a brief reprieve. The little Goth hung his head and seemed to shrink a bit smaller at the rebuke. I was immediately sorry for him. He was just a kid, after all.

  “It’s my fault,” I spoke up, my voice muffled through the hankie. “Niq wanted to take the stairs, but I insisted on the lift. I’m a fan.” Three pairs of eyes – two blue, one brown – regarded me with doubt. Heedlessly, I blustered on. “Of antique lifts, that is. A huge fan. I just can’t resist them. Have to ride in them every time I find one, no matter what condition it’s in.”

  Niq smiled up at me gratefully through his fringe again. The other t
wo were uncertain what to say at my unexpected and far-fetched explanation, so wisely ignored it.

  Heller turned to Daniel. “Please give Ms Chalmers some first aid and a few minutes to compose herself before bringing her into my office.”

  Daniel nodded and Heller returned to his office. God, what a hard-arse, I thought, watching him walk away. I’d been about to suggest that I turn around and go home, that we all cut our losses and pretend that today had never happened. Instead I was getting a few minutes to ‘compose myself’ before carrying on with an interview.

  Daniel smiled faintly at me. “Let’s start again, shall we? Thank you for coming here today, Ms Chalmers. I’m Daniel, the office manager for our business, Heller’s Security & Surveillance. And that was Heller, the owner of the business. You’ve met Niq, our little troublemaker, already. Did you have any problem finding us?”

  His friendly, dark chocolate eyes assessed me subtly. I wondered how I stacked up in comparison to the other applicants for the position, thinking that surely none of them had experienced such an unpromising start to their interview. He was a lean, well-dressed young man, wearing a nicely tailored dark gray suit and a black shirt with an H monogrammed on the pocket in gold thread, identical to the H on the security men’s polo shirts. He was about the same age as me, mid-twenties, with a stylish haircut and an attractive face, long lashes and a sympathetic welcoming smile. I was fairly sure it was his lovely voice I’d heard on the phone and warmed to him instantly.