anything
about first aid. I don’t. He asks if I have something to stop the blood. Hasn’t
he? His eyes are pleading for help. I pull off my cardigan and hand it to him.
He takes it and bundles it into the man’s stomach. I suspect I may never wear
my favourite cardigan again.
Around me the world is beginning
to focus on our little tableau. At a discreet distance pedestrians are
beginning to congregate. Rubber necking. Whispering to each other. People are
such shitheads. They are forming a tight circle with me, the guard and the man
on the pavement at its centre. In seconds the circle is two or three deep.
There is nothing like a crowd to draw a crowd. They all stare. Not help but
stare. I hear one man say ‘Can you move? I can’t see. Is there blood?’
I give him my best ‘tosser’ look.
Unbelievable. A man is dying on a public footpath and someone is more
interested in seeing the blood than helping. Then the man on the pavement makes
a sound like a cat giving up a furball.
I turn away and the people nearby
look at me as if I’m about to say something. I do. I ask if there is anyone
with medical training. A man steps forward. He is tall, painfully thin, with a
suit that seems to struggle to stay on his body. He brushes me aside and bends
down; informing the guard that he is a doctor.
I take the opportunity to step
back into the crowd. George is back on my mind and I can see a train load of
questions coming my way if I stay here and I don’t have the time. George needs
me. The man on the pavement has nothing to do with me. I push back through the
crowd.
The second guard is back on the
pavement looking up and down the street. No doubt searching for the ambulance.
I squeeze past him and into the lobby.
The lobby is empty and I cross to
the lifts. There is no one waiting and there is a lift on its way down. It
flicks from floor six to five as I watch. Come on. The door opens and I’m
almost flattened as a policeman barrels out, eyes darting.
‘Did you see two men in suits?
One tall. One short.’
I say no and he takes off towards
the lobby and I get in the lift. I realise that I may have just lied. My gut is
beginning to churn. Events are piling up in a bad way. The men on the roof,
George on the roof, the push (and it was a bad push), the man on the pavement,
the rushing policeman. The running man in the suit. Are they all connected? I
hit the top floor button and lean back on the lift wall.
At the twenty fourth floor the
lift stops and there is a man standing in an agitated state. He steps in, hits
the ground floor button and sees the top button is lit. He asks if I’m going
up. I say yes, he swears, jumps back out and swears some more. The door closes.
Weird.
The world has gone crazy.
Just plain crazy.
Chapter 15
Something bad dawns
on Simon .
Leonard has sewn me right up. I
open my eyes and pick up the letter once more. I know his scheme can’t be
fool-proof. No scheme ever is. But on the face of it he’s done a good job.
Passwords, copies of accounts, specific instructions - he has put some thought
into this. I need to do the same. My hangover is not conducive to coherent
thought. I decide to order a taxi. Go home and figure what to do.
I flip open my address book to
find the taxi number. The alarm bell goes off in my head with the force of a
World War II siren. My address book falls to the ground. My alcohol fuzzed
brain catches up with the reality of what is happening.
Happening right now.
At this very moment Dumb and
Dumber are under instructions to hunt down Leonard. They have strict
instructions to cause him maximum damage. Fatal damage.
The same Leonard who now has me
by the short and curlies.
‘I do not want to die and
if you take a sensible approach to this little issue we can both live long and
healthy lives.’
Fuck, I need to stop them. The
number. Where is the phone number? On the business card. I dig it out of my
pocket. I reach for the phone then stop myself.
about first aid. I don’t. He asks if I have something to stop the blood. Hasn’t
he? His eyes are pleading for help. I pull off my cardigan and hand it to him.
He takes it and bundles it into the man’s stomach. I suspect I may never wear
my favourite cardigan again.
Around me the world is beginning
to focus on our little tableau. At a discreet distance pedestrians are
beginning to congregate. Rubber necking. Whispering to each other. People are
such shitheads. They are forming a tight circle with me, the guard and the man
on the pavement at its centre. In seconds the circle is two or three deep.
There is nothing like a crowd to draw a crowd. They all stare. Not help but
stare. I hear one man say ‘Can you move? I can’t see. Is there blood?’
I give him my best ‘tosser’ look.
Unbelievable. A man is dying on a public footpath and someone is more
interested in seeing the blood than helping. Then the man on the pavement makes
a sound like a cat giving up a furball.
I turn away and the people nearby
look at me as if I’m about to say something. I do. I ask if there is anyone
with medical training. A man steps forward. He is tall, painfully thin, with a
suit that seems to struggle to stay on his body. He brushes me aside and bends
down; informing the guard that he is a doctor.
I take the opportunity to step
back into the crowd. George is back on my mind and I can see a train load of
questions coming my way if I stay here and I don’t have the time. George needs
me. The man on the pavement has nothing to do with me. I push back through the
crowd.
The second guard is back on the
pavement looking up and down the street. No doubt searching for the ambulance.
I squeeze past him and into the lobby.
The lobby is empty and I cross to
the lifts. There is no one waiting and there is a lift on its way down. It
flicks from floor six to five as I watch. Come on. The door opens and I’m
almost flattened as a policeman barrels out, eyes darting.
‘Did you see two men in suits?
One tall. One short.’
I say no and he takes off towards
the lobby and I get in the lift. I realise that I may have just lied. My gut is
beginning to churn. Events are piling up in a bad way. The men on the roof,
George on the roof, the push (and it was a bad push), the man on the pavement,
the rushing policeman. The running man in the suit. Are they all connected? I
hit the top floor button and lean back on the lift wall.
At the twenty fourth floor the
lift stops and there is a man standing in an agitated state. He steps in, hits
the ground floor button and sees the top button is lit. He asks if I’m going
up. I say yes, he swears, jumps back out and swears some more. The door closes.
Weird.
The world has gone crazy.
Just plain crazy.
Chapter 15
Something bad dawns
on Simon .
Leonard has sewn me right up. I
open my eyes and pick up the letter once more. I know his scheme can’t be
fool-proof. No scheme ever is. But on the face of it he’s done a good job.
Passwords, copies of accounts, specific instructions - he has put some thought
into this. I need to do the same. My hangover is not conducive to coherent
thought. I decide to order a taxi. Go home and figure what to do.
I flip open my address book to
find the taxi number. The alarm bell goes off in my head with the force of a
World War II siren. My address book falls to the ground. My alcohol fuzzed
brain catches up with the reality of what is happening.
Happening right now.
At this very moment Dumb and
Dumber are under instructions to hunt down Leonard. They have strict
instructions to cause him maximum damage. Fatal damage.
The same Leonard who now has me
by the short and curlies.
‘I do not want to die and
if you take a sensible approach to this little issue we can both live long and
healthy lives.’
Fuck, I need to stop them. The
number. Where is the phone number? On the business card. I dig it out of my
pocket. I reach for the phone then stop myself.
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