by Jack Stroke
It didn’t matter anyway. The thing went down.
It might not be possible to climb out of an elevator, but it is possible to climb in.
The two retired couples on the way to the ground floor looked to be in their 80s, so probably had seen plenty in their combined 300 odd years of life, and yet the sight of a woman removing a panel above them and descending into the elevator via the ceiling was probably not one of them. They stared at Amber and one another, mouths agape, as Amber casually dropped to the floor and pressed the button for one.
They stopped at the first floor and the doors opened.
“This is me,” Amber said with her best smile, leaving the couple to wonder what they had just witnessed.
“Please tell me I am hearing this right,” Franz said as they sped away in the black Jaguar. “Please tell me you risked your life to save a dog.”
Amber had taken the stairs and exited through the underground car park, no sign of Gomez.
“Not exactly. It was a bit more complicated than that.”
But was it? Amber doubted Mother would agree.
12
The black Jaguar picked up Mother by the side of the road and drove to an unknown location. At lest, unknown to Amber. It felt strange, being in the front with Franz, Mother in the back. Like the roles were all wrong.
“You should be sitting here,” Amber said to Mother. “Do you want the front seat?”
No response.
The lights flashed off Mother’s customary sunglasses as the car sped through the night. There was little point saying anything. Mother would tell Amber when it was time to talk. She felt like a kid again, a kid who knows they are in trouble and is waiting for it to really hit.
Finally Franz pulled the car over. He gave Amber a ‘good luck’ smile and scurried off on foot.
Amber turned to the back seat. Mother extended a hand, indicating for Amber to join her. Amber considered climbing through but decided instead to get out and get back in again. Much more dignified. Particularly in such a short skirt.
Mother handed her an ice pack. “For your eye.”
It was a nice thought. Amber had completely forgotten about being punched in the face. A long silence followed, Amber waiting for Mother to speak first. Droplets trickled down her face as the icepack melted.
“What was that?” Mother said finally. “Other than a fiasco.”
“Surely fiasco is a little strong.”
Even with her eyes concealed by the sunglasses, Mother’s expression wasn’t difficult to read.
“It was a dog. I didn’t want to kill it.”
“It was a dog,” Mother repeated. “Precisely.”
“Rocky shouldn’t have to die because of what we were doing, even if he did want to rip my face off.”
Mother said nothing.
“Rocky is the dog’s name.”
“We gathered.” Mother sighed, staring out the window for a long time. “Perhaps we should be getting you back in for additional training.”
“Training? No. That’s… Training is for rookie agents. Beginners. No.”
Amber had spent five years at the Diamond Logistic’s facility and had zero desire to go back, even to visit.
“It wasn’t just the dog. The entire mission was a disaster. It was supposed to be a subtle in-and-out op. You were noticed every step of the way.”
Not much point arguing that.
“Even so, being in the field is better than any sort of training. You know that.”
“Do we? There are concerns.”
“What concerns?”
“The more time you spend in that… place. With that family.”
“What? Paradise Cove? It’s —”
“It is impacting your approach. We are concerned about your mental process.”
“I think you should have more concerns about my mental progress if I had actually shot the dog.”
“The dog was one of a litany of errors —”
“One or two. Hardly a litany.”
“— Starting with the shoes.”
“What does it matter? The mission was a success.”
“No, the mission was a complete failure.”
“The transfer went through.”
“What were we attempting to do?”
“The mission? Steal information?”
“The point was to put in a backdoor to Gomez’s operation. Very useful to see what he’s up to”
“So, we did it.”
Mother shook her head. “Not even close. He is aware you were in his room. Right now, he is asking himself why. The entire operation is now useless. He’ll change his whole system.”
“He would have known I was in his room if he had come back to a dead dog.”
Mother turned her head and gazed out the window. Not much point. It was all dark. More so through sunglasses. Amber waited.
“This job demands absolutes. You know that. It is a question of control,” Mother said finally, turning back to look directly at her. “You can’t control everything, Amber.”
“What? I… I know.”
“Do you?”
“Sure…”
Mother stared at her for a long time before nodding, not convinced.
13
It took another twenty-four hours for Amber to get back to Paradise Cove, and when she did it was late, meaning Amber didn’t see anyone. It was likely someone saw her though, that just being how Paradise Cove worked.
Waking the following morning, a familiar calm and pleasant warmth greeted Amber. A comforting sense of being home, more than Amber had experienced anywhere else in her life.
Strolling out of her cabin, she found Lion the cat waiting for his morning pat. It was a regular appointment the two of them had near reception, Lion sitting on the flat rock he liked so much. Had the animal hung around there yesterday, only for Amber not to show up? Did cats mind stuff like that? Or remember?
If he was disappointed with yesterday’s absence, he showed no signs of it, rolling over and exposing his soft white belly. At one point he got too carried away with the patting and fell from his rock, getting quickly to his feet and strutting away, acting as though the fall was entirely intentional. Just as a person would do.
Amber glanced over at the owner’s cottage. She didn’t really fancy breakfast, but she would have to face everyone at some point. May as well get it over with.
As she approached the open door, the smell of food rushed Amber. An abundance of foods. Joan always made breakfast. Usually it was one thing - bacon and eggs or pancakes or waffles. This morning she appeared to have made everything. As though she was feeding an army. And she was singing. Not simply humming like usual, full-on singing at the top of her voice.
Megan and Ben were at the table, Megan with her head buried in her hands.
“Oh, for goodness sake. Mum, will you please cut it out.”
Joan looked at her. “No,” and kept going.
The slap of the screen door shutting announced Amber’s arrival. Joan danced over and gave her a big hug.
“Amber,” she said with alarm. “Your eye.”
Despite Mother’s icepack, Amber was sporting a rapidly-darkening black eye thanks to Gomez’s punch, the side of her face puffing up considerably.
Amber had considered trying to hide it, except the others would have noticed if she suddenly started wearing a whole lot of makeup around the place. It likely wouldn’t have disguised the damage in any case.
“It’s nothing, Joan,” Amber said, extracting herself and taking a seat at the table. “I walked into a pole.”
“What… At your job?” Megan said, her tone rich with scepticism.
“No, shopping actually. I got distracted and turned and crashed directly into a concrete pillar.”
“Klutz,” Megan said, picking up her phone, the conversation boring her already.
Ben’s eyes burned into Amber, desperate for more information, while Joan hovered at Amber’s shoulder.
“What
can we do for a black eye? Do you want an icepack? Or some Panadol? I’m sure we have got —”
“Joan. It’s fine.” She pointed to the food. “What’s all this?”
“What do you mean, what’s all this? It’s breakfast.”
“Why so much?”
“Ugghh. Mum is happy,” Megan moaned. “Didn’t you hear her singing?”
“I like to express myself when I’m happy. What’s wrong with that, Megan?”
“It’s torturous for the rest of us. And we end up with leftovers for weeks.”
Amber and Ben exchanged a smile.
“Why so happy, Joan?” Amber asked, filling up her plate.
“Nothing. I’m… What’s wrong with being happy?”
“She’s met someone,” Megan said.
Joan went bright red.
14
Amber glanced from Joan to Megan. Megan appeared bored while Joan looked flustered.
“They’re going on a morning date,” Megan went on.
“Oh, Megan. Stop it. Stop being silly.”
“What part of what I said is not true?”
“You make a sound like we’re Ben’s age or something.”
Ben raised his hands on his way to grabbing more bacon. “Leave me out of it.”
Joan lightly slapped his hands away. “Use the tongs, Ben.”
“Joan, that’s great that you’ve met somebody,” Amber said.
Joan’s face remained a flushed shade of red. “I have not met somebody.”
“Oh, okay…”
“I mean, I have, but not like that. It’s nothing really. He is just a nice gentleman called Ted. We’ve been chatting a bit and we’re going for a walk this morning. That’s all.”
“See? It must be love,” Megan said. “When was the last time you actually walked anywhere, Mum?”
“Stop it.”
“Looks like it’s just you and me, Ben. The last two singles. Unless you have some secret girlfriend I don’t know about.”
Amber deliberately didn’t look in Ben’s direction. Ben did have a secret girlfriend, Ava, but that had ended when Amber shot her between the eyes. Or perhaps it had been over earlier when she kidnapped Ben. Either way, it hadn’t ended well.
Instead, Amber focused on Megan. Her comment might’ve been in jest, but there was some truth to it. Amber had come to the conclusion Megan was lonely. She’d given it a great deal of thought. Made sense. It was the human condition to crave company. Megan had sparked these thoughts when she and Amber had been sitting around this same table a few weeks ago. Having had too many drinks, Megan complained Amber had stolen everyone from her. Everyone including Vaughan. It had just slipped out.
“Me too,” Amber said, a little too late.
Everyone looked at her.
“I’m just saying, I’m not seeing anyone either.”
“Sure. Whatever, Amber.”
Tempting as it was to defend herself, there wasn’t much point. They’d all made up their minds about her and Vaughan a while ago.
Megan stood and wandered away. With Joan busy washing the dishes, it left Ben and Amber alone at the table.
“So,” Ben whispered. “What’s the real story?”
“Real story?”
He pointed to her face. “It was a job, wasn’t it?” Excitement burned in Ben’s eyes. “Someone hit you? What did you have to do? Did you get the bad guys?”
Amber shushed him, flicking her head towards Joan. Yes, she had gone back to singing. She was still close by.
Ben nodded but couldn’t help himself. “Did you mention me?”
“Pardon?”
“To your boss. You said you were going to —”
“Shush. We’ll talk about it later,” Amber said as Megan wandered back to the table.
Later or not at all.
The door slapped again and in strolled Vaughan. With his crumpled shirt and torn shorts, he looked as dishevelled as always.
“Well, aren’t you the lucky one, Ben, getting to have breakfast with three beautiful ladies.”
Joan giggled. Ben rolled his eyes.
“Did you smell the food, Vaughan? Gosh, it’s like Central Station in here. We may as well invite all of Paradise Cove,” Megan said.
“Sit, eat,” Joan said, attempting to usher Vaughan into a seat.
“No, I’m good, thanks.” Although he did lean over and help himself to a pancake.
Amber watched Megan’s eyes focus on his shapely rear end.
“Actually, kid, I just came to have a quick chat with you,” Vaughan said to Amber.
“There’s a surprise,” Megan muttered.
“Can we take a walk?” Vaughan asked.
“Umm, sure.”
Why did he ask for a walk? He could have said a quick chat. Everyone was going for walks. Everyone except Megan. Could Amber invite Megan on the walk with Vaughan, without being hideously obvious or embarrassing? Not really, not without knowing what Vaughan wanted.
Leaving Megan, Joan, and Ben to the mountain of food, Amber followed Vaughan outside.
“What’s up?”
“Come with me to see Grubby.”
“Grubby at the bait shop?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Somebody attacked him.”
15
The bait shop was one of the few shops in Paradise Cove, up near the dock where Vaughan kept his boat. It said something about the area that it was easier to get fish food than people food.
A bell tinkled above the counter as Vaughan held the door open for Amber. The shop was more of a shack, crammed full of rods and lures and all kinds of other fishing devices Amber knew nothing about. The smell wasn’t all that pleasant either. Kind of damp and earthy.
A guy sat behind the counter, his feet propped up, sipping a can of beer. Given it was only nine am, it was probably a little early, although who knew? Maybe in Grubby’s world it was late.
By comparison to Grubby, Vaughan appeared as though he had made an effort to dress up. Grubby was decked out in an undershirt which may well have been white once but was now a dreary brown colour, complete with a couple of holes. His hair was cropped short like he had got bored and attacked it with scissors, and at least one of his more prominent teeth was missing.
Vaughan made the introductions.
“Oh, the infamous Amber Storm, ’eh? Enchanté.” Grubby rubbed his nose across the back of his hand before offering it to Amber to shake. She politely ignored it.
“Youse wanna beer?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” Vaughan said.
“What happened, Grubby?” Amber asked. “Vaughan said you were attacked.”
“Youse can call me Grubs if you want. That’s what me friends call me.”
Amber furrowed her brow. Wasn’t Grubby already a nickname? Didn’t matter.
“Tell Amber what happened. It was to do with that boat, wasn’t it?” Vaughan prompted.
“What? Oh, yeah.”
“What boat?” Amber asked.
“So a few weeks ago me mate Mick was telling me about this boat. Just a sailboat, but they installed all this insane high-tech gear on it. Cameras and stuff.”
“So?’’
“So it’s just this big, old sailboat. Not the type you’d fit out like that. Waste’a money.”
“The boat that was out in Hidden Beach,” Vaughan said, using Amber and Megan’s name for the secluded, rarely used bit of coast near Paradise by the Bay apartments. Amber didn’t need reminding. Ava’s boat. The one she had burned to the bottom of the sea.
“Anyway, so Mick rings me up and tells me to watch out. Says these two blokes’ve been askin’ about the boat, wanting to know if he said anythin’ or if anybody had been askin’ or anything. He musta been scared, you know? Anyways, I didn’t think much of it. Mick is always scared about somethin’ or other. Smoked too much skunk and now he’s paranoid.”
The story was accompanied by hand gestures indicating dope-smoking.
&
nbsp; “But last night these same two blokes showed up here at me bait shop.”
“How do you know it was the same two?” Amber asked. That threw Grubby.
“Just was, wasn’t it?”
“What did they look like?”
“One had a scar.” Grubby ran a finger down his cheek. “The other had this stupid hat on.”
“What, like a cap?”
“Nah. Old-timey. Like from… back in history. They roughed me up pretty good. Breaking stuff and pushing me around.”
Grubby didn’t look roughed up. Amber glanced about. It wasn’t easy to tell if they had messed up the shop, or if it always looked like this.
“What did they want?” Amber asked.
“Same thing. What I knew about the boat. Why I was talkin’ ’bout it. I said I wasn’t talkin’ ’bout it. I was listenin’. Mick was the one talkin’. That wasn’t good enough. They wanted to know what happened to the boat. Where it went.”
“Didn’t it sail away?” Amber said, sounding convincing.
“That’s what I said.” Grubby slurped his beer. “Cept they didn’t believe it. Not for a second.”
Amber could feel Vaughan’s eyes on her.
“What do they think happened to it?”
“I dunno. Somethin’. Said they were gonna come back, and when they did I better have answers for them.”
Vaughan prodded Amber lightly on the back. “What do you think it all means?” he asked.
Trouble, Amber thought, although she didn’t say anything.
16
Amber and Vaughan had difficulty convincing Grubby to let them call the police. Some sort of long-standing personal grudge.
“But they need to know. They can help.”
“The Port Simmons police? Ha! They couldn’t help nobody with nothin’.”
“Go on, Grubby,” Vaughan tried. “This is important.”
“No way. No cops.”
“It’s not for you, Grubs. What if these guys try and do this to somebody else? Someone not as tough as you.”
“Good point. You don’t want anyone else getting hurt here,” Vaughan chimed in.
