by Alex Focus
Chapter 7
Sydney - Thursday: September 24
The pit was about eight kilometres from the main city centre in a suburb called Tempe, in the inner west of Sydney. Tempe was romantically named after the 'Vale of Tempe', a beautiful valley in ancient Greek legend set at the foot of Mount Olympus. When it was first settled, Tempe must have been truly beautiful: with Cook's River languidly flowing through a peaceful green valley. Unfortunately, the Industrial revolution came to Tempe like a cancer; it soon achieved the dubious honour of an industrial slum. This new status was aided by the infamous Tempe Tip, which accepted all kinds of waste and was forever burning it off, producing fetid clouds of noxious fumes 24-7. Believe it or not, it was one of the first things that visitors saw of Sydney: Tempe lies adjacent to the Sydney International Airport. City planners, you wonder if they ever stop smoking that funny weed.
These days, most of the eyesores have gone, the Tempe Tip has been converted into parkland and Cook's River is once again almost able to support some form mutated fish life.
Ah but, The Pit remained. Located at a closely guarded location (to avoid the embarrassment of passionate environmentalists committing suicide in protest to its existence) it continues to process Sydney's most toxic liquids.
The Pit was a concrete lined depression, about an acre in area. All manner of industrial and other liquid waste, ready for incineration, filled it to the brim. Trucks would back up down a ramp, much like a common public boat ramp, and either unload or pump their toxic cargoes into it. I don't think any radioactive waste went into the pit, but at night, it had an eerie blue-green glow, yet to be explained by modern science.
The 'beauty' of the pit was; that if you were not aware of its existence, and you made it through the closely guarded gatehouse, you were apt to drive straight into it. I figured these Russian bozos would not have made it their first point of call on a tourist trip around the city.
You know, I could have lost them if I had really wanted to, but I didn't even try, in fact, I allowed them to inch closer for a bit and then I would accelerate and leave them behind for a bit.
"Ah, ah ?you are playing them like a big snapper," Steve observed with admiration in his voice
"I like fishing," I said.
"Are you really sure you want to do this?" He asked, doubt creeping into his voice once more.
"You bet I want to. Look on the positive side ? We can go visit them in the Deacon ward and ask a few questions of our own, later on" I said.
"Mmm, there is that," he said, "but they could all drown in the shit you know."
"I don't think so?we'll call the Fire Department before they do, I swear," I said.
"Okay then, if you promise," he said.
"You bet," I said.
Finally, we were nearly there and I allowed them to catch up a bit. It was important that they should not realize what was going to happen until it was too late. We entered the open gates of the industrial dump, without stopping, but slowing down enough for Steve to wave his badge at the guard. He waved us through.
Vasiliev and his squad did not even slow down, but as the guard tried to stop them they let off a shot at him, which fortunately missed him but broke a window of his little guardhouse. A very good result: the guard was not going to be in a hurry to call for help, when they landed in the shit.
I headed down the ramp toward the bowl of toxic waste. Just before the ramp, there was a side lane that was not immediately obvious as it was hidden behind a small ridge and a tall stack of 44-gallon drums full of toxicity. I put Doris into a four-wheel drift around the sharp corner, barely missing the tall stack of drums that lined the other side of the lane, I followed the manoeuvre with a handbrake turn and, in zero time, we were facing the way we had come in: I wanted to watch the show. I noticed that the cast was on its way toward us.
"Nice," Steve said.
"Thanks," I said
The black commodore came pelting down the access road; I guess they were trying to catch up to us. They must have figured they had us trapped now and were moving in for the kill. It flew over the small ridge that had hidden our manoeuvre and on reaching the top, the car became airborne. It came down with a severe thump on the concrete ramp, only a few metres from the noxious lake. Their tires did not even screech when the driver tried to stop the car on the slimy surface at the end of the ramp. There was a big WOOFF and they went straight into the sea of poison.
The car's own momentum carried it further 'off shore'. We got out of my car and watched as the Commodore started to sink. Everyone in it tried to scramble onto the car's roof, one pulling on the other. A few were dragged into the poisonous soup by some of their 'mates' trying to reach the roof first - it's a dog eat dog world, I mused to myself, smiling.
They waved at us and shouted "Help, help".
We waved back, and shouted "Fuck you."
"I suppose we should call the rescue squad, now" Steve said.
"Already? Don't you want to see how long they last before they try to swim for it?" I asked
"Nah? I better call it in," he said and lit a smoke.
"I guess so, if you must, you must," I said, as I lit my own cigarette while leaning on Doris's hood and relaxing a bit.
"Yep? I better call it in," he said again, leaning next to me, inhaling deeply through his already swollen mouth.
"Maybe the guard has already done so, and has saved you the trouble," I suggested.
"I don't think so, not after they broke his little window. I think that might have pissed him off," he said.
"Yeah, there is that," I admitted, nodding.
"Well I'm going to make that call, then," he warned once more, taking another pull at his smoke.
"If you must," I said, nodding.
"Yep, I must," he said, crushing his smoke under his foot and patting his pockets for his mobile phone.
"OK then," I said.
Meanwhile the black commodore had sunk right to the roofline. All the goons and Vasiliev were covered in muck and still screaming for help. I finished my smoke and was about to flick it into the lake when Steve stopped me.
"Not a good idea, mate. Don't you see all the "Highly inflammable" signs all over the joint?" He asked.
"Inflammable is that the same as flammable? I thought it meant the opposite." I answered, innocently.
"Yeah, right," he said extracting the phone from his pocket.
"Really," I said, crushing the butt under my shoe.
"Yeah right," he repeated, dialling 000. He asked for the rescue squad, explained what was happening and hung up without giving his name. The car was completely submerged and they were standing ankle deep on its roof.
"I don't think it will sink much more," I said
"Maybe not," he said
"Then again?" I said, as the car sank another six inches, but already we could hear the sirens in the distance.
"Guess it's time to go," I said
"Good thinking," Steve said
"We can go and check up on our new friends in the decontamination unit in a few hours," I said
"Good thinking," Steve said.
"Let's go and have some lunch," I said.
"Good thinking, "Steve said.
The fire department decontamination unit passed us on our way out, as we got the thumbs up from the guard. I headed straight back to town.
"Did you notice how their skin went all that funny shade of red? well, it gave me and idea?do you feel like having lobster?" Steve asked pensively.
"Great idea, mate, " I said with enthusiasm, and changed course for Watson Bay, where the best fish restaurant in world serves the best lobster and oysters: Doyle's.
We had a two-hour lunch, but we did not end up having lobster after all, our mouths were much too sore. But oysters don't need to be chewed. We both had four servings of the oyster entrees each: natural. A few glasses of wine as an anaesthetic and that great view, cheered us up considerably, even though Doris's boot still had an ugly hole in it. <
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Calling a taxi by phone, Steve left a little earlier than I did. He figured that he'd better call in at work before they declared his desk as vacant. Me, I stayed where I was for a little longer, soaked in the view, had another couple of glasses of wine, finished off with two short black coffees and thought a lot - mostly about Maria.
I really wanted to go over to Mum's and see how Maria was doing, but Pip had said Sunday, and no one in our family, not even Dad or Mum ever failed to follow Pip's 'advice'. Early in his grown-up life, Pip had established himself as the thinker of the Breccia clan, the fact that he was a Physicist at Sydney University and that he is two metres tall and weighs over 120 kilos with not an ounce of fat considerably helps his image. So, before all my thinking about Maria got me nowhere except into a fit of depression, I decided to call Henry to see how the Lidia was doing.
"Yo!" he said.
"Hi, it's Louie." I said.
"I know that, I got you in my phone," he said.
"How is she doing?" I asked.
"Never better," he said.
"How so?" I asked.
"She seems to have been released from a huge weight on her shoulders. She is happy and smiling. She has a whole new wardrobe, she sees the Doc every day. I think it's the happiest she's been in years," he said.
"Wow! Maybe she did knock him off, after all," I said, jokingly.
"Shit, I would have," he said. "Hey, she figured out that you asked me to keep an eye on her. And she sends her thanks, but you have to stay on the case, anyway. She will not be entirely happy till all of this solved and is completely behind her."
"Don't worry, I'm right on it," I lied.
"Good," he said.
"Well, I'll call again soon," I said.
"Cheers," he said.
After hanging up, I called Steve.
"What's up?" Steve answered.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," I said
"Plenty on the Harrison case, there have been three more victims. Same MO, everyone is buzzing around looking busy, but there are no leads to follow up. By the way, I just found out that the goons show is on at the Prince Alfred Hospital Decon. Unit," Steve explained.
"You wanna take them some flowers and say Hi?" I asked.
"I should stay here and look busy on this serial killer case, but we got nothing so far. Mike has everything under control?I am sure he won't mind, so I might as well, but I don't think flowers will be allowed ? They are going to be pretty sensitive to any kind of chemical stimulus for a while," he said and I could hear the smile in his voice. Mike was Steve's current partner in crime ? solving.
"OK I promise: no flowers." I said. "Pick you up in about an hour and a half?"
"See you then," he said.
"See ya," I said.
When I got there, he was waiting for me on the footpath. "You are late," he said entering my car.
"Only a couple of minutes, I did not want to push Doris too hard, she was shot today, you know." I said.
"Fuck me ? she ? it is only a car, you know," he said, knowing that it would stir me right up.
"Whatever," I replied, not falling for his taunt. We drove on to the hospital in a sulky silence.
I parked Doris in a handicapped space and on the dashboard; I placed a fake 'handicapped' sticker.
"You have no conscience, at all. You know that?" Steve said.
"If I had one, you wouldn't be my best friend," I said
"True," he said.
"What floor?" I asked.
"It's in the basement," he said, "right next to the morgue," he added, as an afterthought.
"Does that mean that their Decon. Unit is pretty hopeless and most patients end up dead anyhow?" I asked, cheering up already.
"Maybe, on the other hand, it could be that it has been placed where it can do the least damage: if the contamination spreads; it can only spread to people already dead. They are not going mind, are they?" He argued.
"True," I agreed, depressing the 'down' button for the lift. As the doors opened, we saw that it was already occupied by two nurse's aides manning a hospital trolley. On the trolley was a motionless figure covered with a sheet from head to toe, on which was tied a small label.
I looked at Steve. He looked back. There was nothing much that could be said, so we stepped into the lift, the doors closed and it started to move down at the pace that would have kept up with a sick snail.
Then the motionless figure under the sheet, moved.
"Hey!" We both shouted in unison jumping back and hitting the elevators doors.
"Don't worry, just a nervous spasm," one of the orderlies said, confidently.
"Are you sure?" I asked trying to hug the door. Hitting the B button several times as if the elevator, understanding our situation, would now speed up.
"Absolutely," the orderly said, "look," he added and removed the sheet from the face of an old geezer, whose eyes sprung fully open just at that time.
"Fuck!" I said.
"Fuck me!" Steve said.
"Shit!" The orderly said.
Just then, the doors opened and we fell out in a heap.
"I hope you are not coming with us," I said to the orderly in a raspy voice.
"Guess not," he said "I guess we take this one back up."
The doors closed and the lift ascended toward higher wards, at a speed that would ensure the old geezer would be dead from old age, on arrival. I looked at Steve and he looked back at me, we were still on the floor on our arses.
"Shit, what kind of place is this?" I asked.
"Very creepy," he said.
"You can say that again," I said.
"Very creepy," he repeated, as I knew he would. "There it is," he added, before I could comment. He was pointing to a set of double doors in the far distance with more warning signs on them than the entire F3 expressway.
"Sure looks like it," I said, getting up and helping Steve up.
Steve showed his badge to the duty nurse, who subjected us to a long list of 'dos & don'ts', without taking a breath. I guessed the opportunity to talk to someone did not come down here very often. Grudgingly and with some sub-vocal murmurings, she waddled out from behind her desk and showed us the room where the goon squad was being treated. Man, they were a sight! Covered in bandages, IV drips going in, catheters coming out. Even I started to feel a few pangs of regret and remorse, really ? I nearly did.
"Hey boys, how're ya doin'?" I asked brightly. They all turned in our direction. It was a bit hard to determine their emotional reaction to our visit as they were entirely bandaged up and their mouths only emitted guttural sounds. By nature, I am a positive thinker, so I took the many "mmmrrchhs!" to be greetings in Russian. I may have been wrong.
We walked straight up to Vasiliev, who, on the other hand, was showing no reaction whatsoever, his beady blue-white eyes followed us around the room as we walked toward him.
"Hey Vasy," I said happily to him. "We need to finish our conversation. If you remember, it was interrupted by your little surprise. I especially found the nipple clamps very entertaining."
He said nothing. He did not move. He may have flinched; his eyelids wavered at the mention of the nipple clamps.
"So, why were you following us?" Steve asked.
No reaction.
"What do you want with my friend, Maria?" I asked.
No reaction.
"You know, Steve, I thought Vasy here was a pretty smart guy, but I have been wrong before," I said.
"That you have," Steve nodded.
"For instance, Steve, I bet this lil' switch here on this gismo, controls the morphine that helps Vasy here with the pain from the acid burns, what do you think?" I asked, absentmindedly leaning on one of Vasiliev's heavily bandaged legs.
"Maybe, why don't you switch it off? We'll see if you are wrong again," Steve suggested. I nodded and followed his advice. We waited and he stared at us and we stared back. His reaction was slow in coming but when it finally came, it was quite vigo
rous and increasing in intensity.
"So, Vasy, why were you following us?" Steve asked again. I kept the switch in an 'off' position as encouragement.
"Orders, find girl." He mumbled, his voice gravely, weak and urgent.
"Why do you want her?" I asked switching it 'on', to his visible relief.
"Orders. She has something ? belongs to us"
"Orders from whom?" Steve asked
He hesitated and my finger caressed the on/off switch, but I did not have to turn it off again.
"Big boss in Melbourne, Mr. Tarasoff," he added quickly.
"Well, Vasy, old man, we would like for you to pass on a message to your Big boss. Tell him that Maria, as of now, is off limits. Comprende?" I said.
He said nothing.
"We want it to stop, and we want it stopped now," Steve said to Vasiliev, "just pass that on to your boss." Steve added, fixing him with his laser eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments, then, like all those before him, Vasiliev turned away.
"I will tell him," he said, but his tone told us, that his boss was not going to listen.
"You do that," I said, and we turned around and left. I considered turning the switch off again, but I am not cruel man, so I just saluted a good bye and we walked out of the room, thanked the nurse at the desk and with some trepidation waited for the lift. I half expected to find the same orderlies with the same old man on the hospital gurney, all three trapped for ever in that ancient lift, as if in the Twilight Zone. Fortunately, the lift was empty.
Once back on the street Steve said, "You think that worked?"
"A total waste of time," I said.
"It wasn't a complete waste of time," he objected.
"How do you figure that?" I asked
"Well, we brought an old geezer back to life in the lift," he pointed out.
"You think that was us?" I asked surprised and starting to feel real good about it.
"Definitely, we step in the elevator and he is resurrected, no doubt about it," he asserted with complete confidence.
"Hey, I like that." I said, I then thought about it for a moment, "maybe we should come to the hospital more often?" I added.
"Don't want to push our luck," Steve said.
"Guess not," I agreed. Just then, Steve's mobile started singing and he answered it.
"Steve," he paused. "No SHIT?" he paused again. "On my way. Right. See you," he hung up and pocketed the mobile.
"That was Mike, there's been another one." he explained before I could ask.
"Killing?" I guessed.
"Yeah, another victim ? Shot in the head just like Harrison and the rest," he nodded.
"No shit!" I said.
"Take me there?" he asked.
"You bet," I said.
