Directive RIP

by Stuart Parker

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  Did nurses wear perfume or was it just antiseptic? It might even have been Breeze’s cologne bouncing off her and actually smelling good for a change: he was nestling in so close, he was almost wearing her like cologne. But, with her alluring presence and the flirty look she had given him, it was easy enough for Furn to understand why.

  The nurse had thick lips and a long angular nose. Her eyes were dark and intense. She gestured to the high numbers the elevator was rising into.

  ‘This is a change. I usually only escort police officers downstairs - to the morgue.’

  Breeze had two trusted props in his pursuit of amorous exploits, his badge and his winning smile. On this occasion he was relying on the latter.

  ‘We’re not only interested in dead bodies.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. My specialty is with the living.’

  The elevator hit the top floor and Furn was the first out; and for a moment he wondered if he would be the only one. Breeze followed finally, farewelling the nurse with a sly grin.

  ‘So that’s how you deal with your post-traumatic stress?’ Furn murmured under his breath. ‘I’d like to meet your therapist.’

  ‘Why? He doesn’t look like here,’ Breeze replied as the elevator doors closed.

  Furn looked around the dark corridor they found themselves in. ‘Talking about morgues, this place doesn’t feel too different.’

  ‘Well, let’s get to the roof. That’s where the boss is.’

  They walked down a dark passageway lined with unmarked doors, one of which was jutting open with all the stacked chairs jutting against it. Obviously hospitals didn’t do penthouses. Up a short flight of stairs and through a metal door: Riley couldn’t have missed hearing them the way the hinges creaked and the bottom dragged along the spongy surface of the rooftop; he remained unmoved, however, hands on hips near the edge, peering out over the bay that was wistfully slipping into dusk.

  ‘You’ve got a problem with foyers?’ queried Furn.

  Riley slowly turned round. ‘Sometimes when a chapter in life is finished, I like to go up onto a rooftop. Then, if I can’t leave all the shit up there, I know it’s time to go down the hard way.’

  ‘Now that’s some cheap therapy,’ said Breeze. ‘And doesn’t involve any bothersome talking. It’s perhaps something I could try myself.’

  ‘Who are you kidding?’ snapped Furn. ‘For you a roof is just a sniper’s position.’

  ‘Not that you were shooting from such a distance this morning,’ Riley added accusingly. ‘I hear you cold-slabbed a couple of felons down at the Docklands. A messy business to be sure. Restraint is something more than just a seatbelt, you know?’

  ‘Babar’s gang stole some bags of blasting Semtax from a demolition site,’ said Breeze. ‘All seatbelts were off after that, I can promise you.’

  ‘Well, at least you didn’t shoot the wrong person,’ said Riley. ‘That means you’re still in. Both of you. And there’s a job that needs doing. Today I was briefed by the Prime Minister himself over a tasty garden salad – though lunch should have been something heavier for the job he was giving us. ‘

  ‘Yes?’ murmured Breeze. ‘I haven’t been this interested since the elevator ride up here.’

  ‘You’d better take this seriously,’ said Riley.‘The nature of our unit entails dealing with well-connected politicians, and yet experience tells me the higher up you go, the more exposed you get.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances,’ said Furn. ‘No one stepped in dog shit climbing Everest.’

  ‘In this case we’ve been given, it’ll be blowing in the wind,’ said Riley. ‘Ever heard of the Sapiens?’

  ‘The species?’

  Riley frowned and stepped away from the edge. ‘One of us is in danger of going over the railing. Anyway, I’ll get to them later. The case revolves around a certain Dr Gustav Dokomad. Like all brilliant doctors, he’s dying of something else. But he is quite valued. Indeed, at the bequest of the military, he’s been designated a PONI.’

  ‘If I’m not mistaken,’ said Breeze, ‘That stands for Persons Of National Importance.’

  ‘Yes, at least one of you is hitting targets today. Dr Dokomad is a Grade 1 PONI, which basically means he must be kept alive at all cost. Don’t ask me why. The military keep their secrets better than we do.’

  ‘But they don’t have what it takes to keep him alive?’ said Breeze. ‘Is that what this is about?’

  ‘The medical procedure that is going to save Dokomad’s life requires his brother to be a donor. His brother just happens to be a Grade 2 drop out: and I’m not talking about PONI now, I’m talking about high school. Starting to get the picture?’

  ‘You want the brother brought in?’ said Furn. ‘That’s it, right?’

  ‘But he’s on the run with some bikie gang called the Sapiens?’ added Breeze.

  ‘That’s just a graze wound,’ said Riley. ‘Not a bikie gang. I fear much worse. Sapiens stands for Severe Alternative Punishment Independent Enforcement Network.’

  ‘A much nastier acronym,’ said Furn. ‘Vigilante?’

  ‘Imagine the Freemasons minus the weird ceremonies and with a whole lot of violence. A self-interest group. Doctors, lawyers, politicians, business executives. A whole lot of interests and sensibilities they’ll do virtually anything to defend. This is the profile we have but they have never been officially investigated or even acknowledged as existing. Nevertheless, they’re the reason the Prime Minister has passed the job onto us.’

  ‘The brother is one of them?’

  ‘Apparently so. An enforcer. And, if you go after him, the Sapiens are liable to think you’re going after all of them. That would make life interesting.’

  ‘There’s not enough brotherly love that you couldn’t just put it out there that the doc needs a lifesaving operation?’ queried Furn.

  ‘It’s not a blood transfusion we’re talking about. The only practitioner with the moral and medical fortitude to carry out the procedure has been flown out from retirement in Thailand and refuses to stay a moment longer than November sixteen. That gives you two weeks.’

  The two RIP detective sergeants nodded their heads, liking the sound of the challenge.

  ‘There’s no time for the usual departmental procrastinations or over-planning and we’re the only unit unlikely to show either in the face of the Sapiens.’

  ‘Yeah, we’ll get your guy,’ said Furn, ‘even if we have to shoot a few doctors and judges to get him.’

  ‘It’s unlikely they will get that close,’ said Riley. ‘They outsource their enforcers. Just like Wragg. And they’re discreet about it. Nothing has come back to them. Whoever they are.’

  ‘What makes you think the brother is mixed up with them?’

  ‘Educated guess. It’s the Criminal Investigations Bureau that’s already tried to pick him up that got the education firsthand.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The two officers involved are not dead. They merely demanded a two week leave of absence with no questions asked. Sounds like the Sapiens got to them - scared them big time.’

  ‘Run out of town,’ said Furn with a smirk.

  ‘Can we talk to them?’ said Breeze.

  ‘You mean ask them some questions?’ Riley shook his head. ‘Forget it. You’re not going to strong-arm a couple of cops.’

  ‘What about the Thai specialist. Sounds interesting. Can we talk with him?’

  ‘He’s Dutch. And that’s not going to happen either. Military Intelligence has got him securely tucked away. The brother is all you’re getting, so you might as well start asking about him.’

  ‘You got any intelligence on him.’

  ‘A former dental technician and various odd jobs and one or two addictions. Now a suspected Sapien assassin. No fixed address and current location unknown. And don’t go roughing up his family looking for leads. We’ve got them under surveillance and that’s as far as that’ll go.’ Riley handed Breeze a manila folder
from under his arm. ‘From the Red Line Files. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like a moment alone with your partner.’

  Breeze nodded and glanced at Furn. ‘See you down stairs.’

  Riley watched Breeze’s departure from the roof before giving Furn a hard look. ‘Regret is a funny thing,’ he murmured. ‘You never know what’s going to bring on the feeling until it’s too late.’

  ‘If you’re talking about Babar’s arrest,’ Furn firmly replied, ‘I would have made that warehouse.’

  ‘Well, with Breeze’s successful exploits, the question will likely never be asked, not by anyone officially, at any rate.’

  ‘So, that’s why we’re here – being unofficial?’

  ‘Cops get so caught up in trying to get inside their suspects’ heads, they start to miss things in themselves – things that should be glaringly obvious. I mean, hell, we don’t even look into the mirror to shave. Tell me I’m wrong.’ Riley pulled out a slip of paper. It had been sitting at the top of his pocket, like the life insurance salesman’s business card.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Furn.

  ‘I’ll tell you what it isn’t,’ said Riley. ‘It isn’t a free pass to revenge. And it isn’t an invitation for two to Monogamy’s Hall of Fame.

  Furn took it and opened it to an address: #309 142 Glenferrie Road, East Malvern. Furn didn’t know it but the extravagant handwriting was familiar enough. He buried it deep into a pocket the way he did his boxer shorts into his washing machine and silently marched off.

  ‘Another thing it definitely isn’t, is my blessing of your match made in heaven,’ Riley called out, just in case Furn was planning on taking the by-pass home.

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