Chapter Eighteen

Oops

Stephen’s ability to apply the cold-bastard-Pohler gene was far superior to that of his brother. Richard came across as a constant arsehole. Stephen came across as lovely, and then suddenly the reveal the true bastard inside. This subtle ability kept Liz and Sandra sitting on his couch, cradling their beer as if it were a life jacket, just waiting for the shark they never saw coming. There was something dark in there. And it was scary.

“What are your real names?” he asked.

“My name is Sandra Walker. This is Elizabeth Jones”, Sandra answered for the two of them. She was trying to sound tough, like detectives – Sargent Sandra Walker and Lieutenant Elizabeth Jones, but sounded more like ‘I’m sorry Principal Reynolds but we really didn’t mean to break that window.’

“I see. And why are you here?”

They looked at each other. Sandra spoke.

“You don’t know?”

“I’m asking.”

“You lied to us first.” Sandra said. Liz turned to her, shocked. But Sandra was having none of it. “You asked if we were from number 37 when there isn’t one. You knew immediately we weren’t who we said we were, but you went along with it.”

Stephen smiled. It was cold, and not so much a smile as a reverse frown. Liz joined in and pushed it further.

“Are you really Stephen Pohler?”

He finished his beer.

“I think that’s enough”, he said very seriously, and stood up.

“No, fuck you”, Sandra said, and stood up. Well that sure caught him off guard.

“What?”

“I said fuck you you prick, I’ve come too far to back down on this. Seriously, what are you going to do? You gonna kill us? Here, in your living room? Cause we’re gonna put up a hell of a fucking fight you piece of shit.” And, for emphasis, she tried to smash her beer on the side of a table. It didn’t work, and bounced out of her hand and fell to the floor.

He paused, and his eyes glowed. He raised his hand to hit her in response, and she flinched, terrified. Satisfied he’d made his point, he didn’t follow through.

“Sit down.” He said, and she sat again. She looked at Liz for support, and saw that not only was she more terrified, but she also had her hands up.

He dragged the coffee table across the floor so that it was directly in front of them, and sat on it. He looked from Liz to Sandra, and back again.

“Now ladies”, he said, still sharing his gaze between the two girls. “I want some truth out of you two. First of all, what do you want with Stephen Pohler?”

They looked at each other. Sandra spoke first.

“So you’re not Stephen Pohler?”

He reverse frowned, and simply said “I’m asking the questions. What do you want with Stephen Pohler?”

They paused. Then Liz said :

“But –“

“ENOUGH.” He didn’t move. His body remained where it sat, his head didn’t even tilt, but the veins in his forehead appeared out of nowhere and throbbed to compensate for the lack of physical response. He then tucked away his little explosion back in the place where he stored all of his pent up rage, and spoke eerily calmly. “I’m not going to ask you again. What do you want with Stephen Pohler?’

Suitably afraid, Sandra decided it was time to spill the beans. But her way. Not hiding her fear, she answered.

“Someone murdered Richard Pohler Jnr.” She watched his reaction. Nothing. “And Sebastian Pohler.” Now, that was more interesting. He tried to hide it, but there was definitely shocked. “And we have reason to believe whoever did it is coming after Stephen Pohler. Is that you?”

He sat back on the table, his mask falling away and the shock spreading through his system.

“What happened?” he asked, genuinely.

She assumed he was referring to Sebastian.

“He was beaten to death. I think he either stumbled onto something, or more likely he had something somebody wanted and they killed him for it.”

“Did they get it?”

“Did they get what?”

“Did they get what they after you idiot?” he snapped.

“I … I don’t know. I don’t know what they were looking for.”

“Shit”, and he stood up. Agitated, and went to walk away but then realised he couldn’t.

“Are you alright?” Sandra asked, in an attempt to win him onside. He rapidly swung back at her.

“How do you know all of this? You don’t strike me as one of Richard’s normal employees.”

“So you do know Richard then?”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS?” He screamed at her, and in his anger flung his arm out and knocked a shelf of pictures to the floor. She waited for them to finish crashing to the floor before she spoke, meekly.

“I found his body.”

“Where was it?”

She took a punt.

“At the apartment.”

“What was he doing there?”

“I don’t know.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I’d left something there.”

“What did you leave there?”

“My bag.”

“Describe it to me.”

“White, large, two side pockets. Long strap.”

“What’s inside?”

“My phone. Some cash. Cardigan maybe. Not much. But I’d really like to know where it is.” He just nodded. What was he playing at? “Do you know where it is?”

“Listen to me little girl, and it’s vitally important that you are honest with me. Did he have anything on him? Anything at all?”

“Can you be more specific?”

“No more fucking games Sandra Walker. Did he have anything on him?”

She answered honestly.

“No. He had nothing on him.”

He paused, thinking. Sandra took the opportunity to do the same. Whatever it was he was missing, it was at the heart of all of this. She put the three phones out of her mind. If she didn’t think about them, then they didn’t exist, and they could pretend that Liz’s bag only had her ID and a cardigan in them and oh shit he’s picked up her bag.

“What are you doing?” she asked, angrily.

“Shut up”, he responded, and sat on the table again. She leant forward.

“Who was Sebastian Pohler?”

He stopped what he was doing, the unopened bag limply held in his hand.

“Nothing to do with you.” He looked up at her. She could see that he was hiding so much she wasn’t sure where to start. “Do you work for Richard?”

“Yes”, she replied. “Sort of.”

“What does that mean? Sort of? Do you or don’t you.”

“I didn’t until this morning. Before that I was investigating this by myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I found Richard – Sebastian’s brother – dead. I found his body, Stephen. You are Stephen aren’t you? I found his body, throat slashed, in the bathroom of the apartment. I don’t know how I got there, I don’t know what part I play in all of this, but I’ve been trying to find out. That was how I met your brother. And apparently he wants to know to, which is how I ended up being employed by him.”

He looked her straight in the eye.

“Don’t trust him. You cannot trust that man. Don’t trust anything he says to you.”

She took a breath. They were staring directly at each other, but she needed to keep him distracted. She had to keep the phone hidden.

“Why should I trust you?” she asked. “You’ve hardly given us reason to.”

He sat back.

“Trust is a difficult thing to come by”, he answered. “So far we’ve done nothing but lie to each other. How about some truth then.”

“Truth is good”, Sandra said, feeling like she was starting to get somewhere.

“Good”, he replied. “So, Sandra, one last time. Did Sebastian have anything on him when you found him?”

She gave it perhaps a flicker too long of thought before she answered “No. There was nothing on his body. He was beaten and bruised, he was wearing his suit, but I checked his pockets and found nothing.”

“Now why don’t I believe you?”

Shit.

“I don’t know. Do you find it difficult to trust people perhaps?”

“I trust my wife. I trust my kids. I don’t trust politicians, I don’t trust Richard Pohler. And someone like you Sandra? I don’t think I can trust you.”

For some reason she found this personally offensive. It cut her to the core. Why can’t he trust her? Okay, so she’d lied, but he’d lied, and they seemed to be getting along, and in these situations you take what you can get.

“You can trust me Stephen.”

“Can I really?”

“Absolutely.”

And it was at that exact moment that Rock the Kasbah vibrated out of the bag that Stephen held in his hand. He clearly recognised it. Surprised, he looked at the bag, then gave a murderous glance at Sandra, before turning back to the bag to get the phone. He was momentarily confused when he looked inside and found three phones of the same make.

“What?”

And that was when Sandra grasped her opportunity, and in one swift movement scooped a picture frame up off the floor, and brought it crashing down across the back of Stephen’s head. He let out a yell of pain and broken glass showered onto the floor. Liz leapt up and snatched her bag out of his hand. Sandra made a break for the door, but Liz was really pissed off.

“Fuck you”, she cried as kicked him repeatedly. “Fuck you you fucking fuck fucking fuck fuck fucking fuck”, as she lay in the boot, tears in her eyes.

“Liz, come on”, Sandra cried, before having to turn back, grab her arm and drag her to the door. But before they could open it, they heard that familiar key sound, and saw the door swing open. Standing there was a middle-aged woman, that they quickly recognised from the photographs. She stared at them, confused. They stared at her, unsure of what to do. She tried to look around them.

“Daniel?”

A pained voice called out from the lounge room.

“Stop them, they attacked me!”

Not waiting another second, Liz shouldered her out of the way, and she fell against the door as they bolted to the car. She had her keys out and ready, and as they jumped in they could see the lady reaching the end of the front path.

Sandra put her foot down, and car screeched off down the quiet suburban street. They drove fast for as long as they could, before they pulled over into a park to stop.

Sandra stared out the windscreen, into the grass and trees beyond.

Liz did the same, before she started to cry.

Sandra needed to pee desperately, but still started to laugh, and soon Liz was laughing too.

It was good to be alive.