By Felipe Brenny
‘So, Mr June, what’s next in line on the conveyor belt of the future?’ the spokeswoman says.
‘Please, call me Mason. Actually, no, Mr June is fine. As for your question, while I can’t reveal it just yet, I can tell you that it will be revolutionary,’ Mason June says.
‘Is there anything you can tell us?’
‘Well, if I have to give you something. We’re looking to grant the possibility of exploring our very minds more thoroughly than ever before.’
‘Sounds big.’
‘And that’s just the start, but onto the original topic. Look, I have no quarrels with—’
I turn off the TV and watch as Harry, the other half of our detective duo, gets up off the couch with a groan and begins to slap on the box from the top. Grinning, I call out to him and chuck the remote.
‘What do you think of the new tech?’ I say.
‘Well, it did cost us a lot, Alex. I honestly forgot about this thing,’ Harry says.
‘Dawn of the decade, keep your heads outta the clouds cause it’s all here.’
‘There’ll be more to come. Anyway, are you hearing this junk?’
‘Could you swear once? It’s fucking bullshit.’
‘I know. That’s why we got this letter after all.’ Harry pulls out a letter, and after opening it with the letter opener he keeps in his jacket pocket, he reads it out loud.
‘Dear Harry and Alex, my poor son has gotten himself so lost that I cannot bear not to write to the greatest detective duo in the—’
‘Yeah, yeah, you wad, what’s it actually say?’
‘Jeez, alright.’ Harry’s eyes dart across the paper before bundling it with the letter. ‘Got a good one on our hands,’ he says.
‘If you say so, but you still gotta tell me what’s happening.’
Harry and I walk into the next room, where a large tack board awaits us. We remove all the tacks from our previous case, and as he neatly colour codes the pile I placed down on a nearby table, I grab the letter from his hands.
‘Rude,’ he says. I place it in the middle of the tack board as I use a red pin for it, the pin of great importance. Reading over the letter just confuses me more and more.
‘June Corp? Really?’ I say.
‘Huh? Why not?’ Harry says.
‘Feels too, I mean, what better way to put it than “obvious”?’
‘So anyway, Son goes for an interview about some contract he signed an NDA on—’
‘Come again?’
‘Non-Disclosure-Agreement, you should know this.’
‘Of course, please, go on,’ I let out a sigh as Harry rolls his eyes.
‘Son goes missing and doesn’t call her back as they promised, she can’t seem to get a hold of him, and while the police are still searching. She wants answers quickly,’ Harry says.
‘So of course it’s going to June Corp and asking all our questions there and—’
‘Wrong.’
‘Knew you’d say that. How did I know? Because you make it a point to do so.’
‘You don’t get more answers by looking where the—’
‘Police have. God, sometimes it’s like I can just do what you do.’
‘So why haven’t you?’ Harry smirks. I give him a slight nudge to get him back on track.
‘So this means that we’ll be splitting up,’ Harry says.
‘Well, do I need to ask where I’m going?’
‘Try to guess.’
‘No,’ I say.
‘Come on.’
‘Nope.’
‘Ok fine, but let me walk you through it.’
As far as plans went, it wasn’t the worst thing. It only involved trespassing; of course, it could turn into breaking and entering, but it’s a worthwhile risk. We’d gotten a tip about a potential schism between June Corp and everybody’s favourite weapon manufacturer, Nigel & Garfield’s. Supposedly, the last time the two interacted was in a meeting last week, but afterwards, it’s just been the night’s silence. Checking the perimeter of the CEO’s mansion, I realise that he’s just one of two big assholes in this place. Just what can the two of you be up to?
As much as I hate to do it, there’s always a simple and easy route if this works out. I approach the main gate and simply spark up a conversation. ‘Hi, is this the Steelwood Estate?’
‘Uhm, who—’ one of the guards starts.
‘Am I? Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I reach into my pocket and grab my wallet. Inside are a plethora of fake ID’s, and I take the most appropriate one. ‘The name’s Rose Smith. I’m a journalist for The Hasty Cat. I had a meeting with Mr Nigel, the CEO of Nigel and Garfield’s. This was scheduled a month ago, so I’m really hoping he isn’t preoccupied.’
‘Look, Ms Smith. Mr Nigel isn’t taking any visitors today,’ one of the guards says.
‘What? No, I’m sure it was today. Hold on, let me check my notepad,’ my eyes darted over empty lines as I frantically tried to look for something which didn’t exist. ‘It can’t be, I’m certain it was today and after I drove for so long too.’
‘How long have—’
‘I mean, it’s not like I’ve been driving for the past few days. All while my editor isn’t willing to convince the higher-ups to pay for the trip down here.’
‘Ma’am, are you—’
‘Alright? Yep, just dandy. So sorry to interrupt your duties. If you just excuse me, I’ll be going,’ I say, turning around to walk away.
‘Wait!’ the guard yells after me as I sheepishly turn back to him. ‘Look, we can guide you to the entrance hall, and you can try to convince someone there, but there’s no guarantee.’
‘Oh my god, really? Oh, thank you so much.’
Oh my god indeed, the shit Harry has me do just to get onto a property. Still, the first hurdle is done, even if it means they know I’m here. I either split and try to do the rest on my own or try to get an interview in the first place. Despite what my gut is telling me, I’d really rather not have to deal with an assault or, worse, a battery charge. If worst comes to worst, I can just sneak back onto the property.
They leave me in the entrance hall, and I just wait. What is it with rich assholes who insist upon marble and gold? A little bit of wood, or even a rug, could go a long way to make this place feel welcoming. Then again, perhaps making your guests feel uneasy before a big meeting has its own merits.
There’s so little to ponder about this one room that I find myself waiting, and waiting, and waiting. I mean, at this point, I feel like I should just go, right? Explore on my own? Maybe my gut feeling is right, and besides, who are they to just leave a woman on her own for God knows how long?
Stepping through a door, I’m greeted with a much nicer interior. Red carpets, wooden floors, they must know me so well. Door after door, I discover useless rooms, like seriously, who needs a personal theatre room the size of a one-story house? It might be even bigger, but I don’t have the time. It’s not long though until I find what I’m looking for. But it’s not right…
They never said Mr Nigel was in a wheelchair.
I slowly approach him, and he’s staring into nothingness even as I wave my hand in front of him. Grabbing a torch, I shine it over his eyes. I get no movement at all, completely unresponsive. ‘Fuck me,’ I mumble as I rub my knuckles across his chest, aiming for his sternum. There’s no response at all; he still has a pulse, but for all accounts, there’s nothing behind his eyes.
There are footsteps out the door I came from, and I quickly hide behind a curtain as they slowly swing open. Gentle clicks echo through the room, heels on the carpet, there’s someone saying something, but I can’t make it out. Nevertheless, they quickly leave the room and leave me behind. There’s no reason to stay any longer.
Checking out the window, I’m careful of any guards before I open it. I can’t lock it from the outside, but I should be long gone before they realise, but still… Mr Nigel has a disagreement with Mr June, and that results in this? Do I even need to check if he has a condition? Because I have a sneaking suspicion the answer is a resounding no. Harry will know what to make of this.
Making it back out was easy enough, and the guards I talked to earlier were still friendly. No harm, no foul after all. I go to my car and grab the walkie-talkie from the glove box. I switch it on.
‘–-wanted. Even you couldn’t figure that out?’
‘No, even you made a remarkable effort to hide your evidence.’ The voices are too distorted by the radio, I can’t tell who’s talking.
‘So even I bested you?’
‘You are missing one thing.’
‘Huh?’
‘Oh, and don’t bother thinking I’d even tell you. Then I’d just be a fool.’
‘I wasn’t going to bother looking. Simply put, there’s only one thing in store for you.’ With that, I hear some sort of click as rustling ensues, until…
‘There’s a radio on him, and it’s on.’
‘What? Damn him, smash it and move on.’
The voices cut just like that. Dammit, that bastard. I’m nowhere near him to try and intercept them. I can only assume Harry’s in trouble, but even so, what am I meant to do? Think like him, and maybe I’ll find something. He might have left something for me back at the office.
I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing; he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want to, that much I know.
Author Bio:
Hi, my name is Felipe Brenny (He/Him), and I am a third-year student at QUT studying creative writing. I have a passion for writing various kinds of fiction, and for my creative project unit, I am working on a dystopian novella, which I hope to complete after the unit. I enjoy playing a variety of video and board games, as well as reading books like “The King in Yellow” and “House of Leaves”.