Narrower Steps Read online

  When Lee and Darren get into the main office, no eyes rise to meet her, but they do confer on why he’s back with the game of musical statues coming from all corners with cups in their hands, others frozen with their pens behind their ears; files being patted down and sorted no longer, and a few simply give some facial recognition to who that is and get back to whatever it is they were doing.

  Lee knows the ones who don’t know Darren personally, and they keep themselves to their work and don’t fiddle beyond their paycheck. She wishes she had the luxury of such an easy life with no obligations. The room goes back into work mode and thus begins the unwinding of the clock that ticks very differently from the average day.

  Lee knows that when she steps past that line which is a piece of blue duct-tape that divides the room into one of the sections, she’ll be on the opposition side. There are two sections that segregate the blue and yellow colored units. The yellow line is on the other end of the room, past the last desk that always has to be pushed across as knees being bashed against it happens to frequent.

  Lee is with the baby-blue unit. Darren is with the yellow and mellow. They split like two hands departing from a handclap and neither has much else to say as they pass over their line.

  The middle of the room is simply where you get to see a whole bunch of files and data behind a few computer desks, indoor plants that add some outdoorsmanship, and the two windows that let in some light as the chunky folders blocks the sunny side of life and replaces it with labeled criminals.

  It’s no wonder that when Darren first joined, some of them gave him a shady glance and then turned to each other insensitively with no veil on the statement that he shouldn’t be here. The data-rape reception, that’s what Lee calls it after a few glasses of wine and poor company. The information they store is a pinch of salt on a cold turkey and there’s plenty of dishonor on her part too.

  They aren’t cops, just office folk who sort out the suspicious criminality and have foggy eyes that only see the lines and walk upon it with no questions asked in all that cloudiness.

  Lee pats her own back for that monster boost as crossing that line is walking the plank in layman terms. It’s where she’s greeted with a milky coffee in a white teacup next to a folder upon it. Today, it’s a see-through lime green folder with a passport type photo that slips out before she can catch it. She bends down to pick it up and takes a look when she’s back on her feet: Eric Batcher.

  The chubby man in all his sweaty glory gives her a gormless open-mouthed and starry-eyed stare in this picture that leaves no question about the triple chin she knew he tried to hide. No hiding it here. The dead man needed to lose a few and she had warned him that excess fat is better donated to charity.

  It’s donated to the mortuary now. She lays the photograph down and takes a look at the rest of the contents in the folder: lined paper, with plenty of writing to shuffle through and inhale with the coffee that she sips and places back down faster than Lotan who now walks past and enters into Henny’s office.

  A couple of desks in here and hers has-to-be the one that overlooks the visitor's gate. Lee also directly faces Multan’s desk that’s always a mess with overdue assignments and empty cups and saucers. An ashtray with numerous stubs and some mints that lay in front of his picture with his newly found wife is the rest of what he owns.

  Multan is from Kosovo, and a good cop with a crooked eye when it comes to the law. He has the deepest voice that must’ve come with years of abusing cigarettes and high society alcohol. The guy is lanky, rough, tough-skinned, and Lee’s kind of guy to turn to when you don’t want a friendly hand to help.

  He hasn’t shown up yet. Late! Always late after the shower turns cold. He was on the failed bust a few hours ago and most likely overslept with a bottle close by if it gets any colder.

  Linda crosses the line and chucks something into the small bin that greets everyone on their right, second guesses it in that cream pencil-type skirt and digs back for it, uncrumples the small yellow sticky notes and then spots Lee watching her so throws it back in again.

  Lee walks over to the bin holding something she wants to dispose of in her brown leather jacket pocket; a used piece of tissue that’s no longer useful and walks over to Linda with a few pieces of Eric’s file in her hands and hands it to her.

  “Is Lotan watching?”

  Linda briefly glances to the side of Lee to check. Lotan’s office window is a long rectangle that when you stand reveals the occupants inside, he also has a couple of bookshelves: black and plastic on both corners of the curved wall with documents that she knows nothing about and certificates on the wall with his qualifications that he accumulated over the years in the job.

  There’s also a common family portrait of the wife and kid that hangs, a few bags with god knows what inside. Somebody’s dirty laundry, maybe? Money? Highly doubtful, but its always there looking like a sleeping bag is inside. Henny also insists on sourced packs of water that comes in six. They lay stacked in his office like a storeroom.

  “He’s not looking. But he’s about to draw the curtain though...”

  Lee turns quickly as Henny draws the curtain along until purple rain is the color they see from the inside. He saw her. She wanted him to. “Deep conversation about to take place,” she can only imagine. What they are talking about will have to be found out from somewhere else.

  “We’re the only ones in here today. No Multan or Saul.”

  “Nope.” She turns back to Linda, then to the sticky paper in the bin. “Any idea where he might be?”

  “None at all,” Linda looks down at the bin, then back up. “I better go and sort out my desk. I hate that mine and Saul’s is behind his office. Always feels so disconnected from the overall room.” She walks on bypassing Lee’s desk and down the side to where her desk rests on a cobalt carpet.

  Saul’s desk is directly opposite hers with a 4-seated sofa and whiteboard that lies in the middle. Evenly sized, with 2-corkboards lying on either side of the whiteboard and stacked with assignment notes, cases, etc., and details that can either be borrowed or added. Lee takes out the tissue paper that she wants to discard, places the folder underneath her armpits and lowers herself to chuck it in. She does, then lowers her hand some more to pick up the yellow sticky paper and returns to her desk to unravel it. She takes a seat and has a sniffy:

  Intelligence just in.

  Placed in some remote town

  Working under the floorboards

  But you already knew this?

  That’s indirect. Lee wants to give a side glance to Linda and a curious shuffle brow. But Linda probably didn’t write this with the style of writing to go by. Linda’s is more controlled and precise. A curve at the end of the J, a more fancy-nancy style that accommodates her personality that is more relaxed than her up-tight dress sense suggests.

  If she had to guess, she needs her coffee which is colder now and less drinkable, but she needs some more now that she has this to mull over. She glances undoubtfully at the coffee, wanting a new one. Then pondering on who made the coffee for her today? That little assistant isn’t here. Then continues wondering about who wrote this note? Whose style is that? Lotan’s? Henny’s? An unfortunate full stop. Why would she think that Henny wrote this when his style is as brass and quietly bold as he is?

  Lee opens her drawers and nearly laughs at the tiny fly that buzzes out of there. The draw is so unused that she pities the insect trapped with only her office supplies like cellotaph pink sticky pad, sharpener, glue, scissors, a few blue inked pens and some rubber bands of various light colors.

  She takes the pink sticky pad and pulls off one piece of it. Henny draws back the curtain and makes it known that he wants to make eye-contact with Lee who doesn’t give it to him, so he knocks on the glass that captures her attention and mouths out, “can I have a word?” with real enthusiasm behind the pronunciation.

  Lee gives him an astute nod then side-glances Linda who’s giving her a keen eye and the
nibbling of her bottom lip with her upper maxillaries. An uneasy realization comes over them as Lee closes her drawer and sees Lotan exiting Henny’s office with a saturnine face as he slowly walks, his whole body depicting a hanged man and out to dry image. He reaches the bin and lets his gumdrop loosely down like a long line of saliva into the bin.

  He stares down at it for a few seconds. Lee’s up and gives Linda another glance, it can’t help to see if she’s still nervous. Lee then tucks the sticky-note into her jacket. Linda gets up from her seat, taps the pile of papers that she was reading neatly onto her desk into an orderly pile and slides them into her silver metal tier file folder at the top of everything else not worth reading. Lee does the same with her metal folder and organizes all the shit that can be left for another week at the bottom. On the top, that’s where you get a certain someone to come and pick it up and have a read.

  That’s only if your Linda and Lee, who happens to roam on the same level because women are so scarce that a desperate bond has to be formed because other females prefer to just sip that tea and croak for another cuppa. It’s not that their no good on the beat and doing their duty, it’s just that if you want to be powerfully respected, then you have to play it their way and be better at it.

  Lotan still stares down at the bin and Lee thinks about the tragedy of sharing the same letter for their 1st name. The 3 L’s, everybody says, with Lotan at the top, Linda in the middle, and then Lee at the bottom.

  Linda walks pass Lee with the discreet words “good luck” traveling from her glossy lips and disappearing as fast as Lotan’s sullen face that watches her hips and glutes fly with him in a trance that he can’t break out of until Lee shows up behind him in a ‘peek-a-boo, I’m behind you.’

  Lotan jumps. “You are pretty jumpy for a man who’s guaranteed to get that promotion. Henny piling on the pressure for you already?” Lee says.

  Lotan still watches the carpet path that Linda’s flat shoes walked upon with a returning sullenness in his eyes from the loss of that vision. “Don’t dig too deep in the mud for that information, Lee. You’ll find that all you need is right on your desk on the smallest piece of paper that bears a half-truth but at the same time, a part of something that you’ll never be ready for.”

  “Half-truth? White truths. Black truths. I wasn’t ready to be left outside alone when it’s cold out there, by the man in charge. And not just once either. If Henny wants some half-truths than why doesn’t he turn to that sunburnt lotion called Lotan, with the bad tan and burnt crumpet smell? He’s right here. Why don’t I sell you to him?”

  Lotan outstretches his hands like he’s staring at his nails. It’s his skin that he’s checking up on to see if what Lee says is accurate. “Have you tried the top of your skull? That balding patch is looking mightily red.”

  “Testing out your observation skills, huh? They’ve improved over the years.” He taps the center of his head with his fingers and they end up getting singed. Lee would laugh at this but time is of the essence and she needs to speak with Henny.

  “Might need some cream for that.” She points to the light red spot, “I’d offer you some, but I don’t want any sort of defection upon it - now that you’ve touched whatever it is that’s on your head.”

  Lotan stops himself from touching it again, “keep searching for answers, Lee. You’ll find them in the unlikeliest places. And when you do find it, you’ll see that people like me, who people think are ...” Lotan won’t say it, but his eyes flicker an uncertain flash of haughtiness and doubt before he looks to Henny’s office and back onto her, “I want you to learn for yourself why venality is your best and worst frenemy in this line of work.”

  Lotan bids her goodbye in his usual fashion of a real small nod and no dialect, and Lee’s pupils gaud suspicion as she feels its quicksand beneath her feet to the spot where she stands now as he leaves. It’s a cold trip to hear Lotan sound so pensive, and at the same time, accommodating towards her.

  There was some geniality there that she’s never heard or cared to imagine that he possesses. And it came from Lotan looking through that office window where Lee now turns the silver knob and sees Henny by his desk and reading through some paperwork that he signs while arching his back to do so.

  Lee grips the knob. And for some reason, she can’t let go of it and doesn’t want to enter until he gives her permission to fully come inside. She used to think it was being well brought up and respecting those in a higher authority that made her so polished, but after working through her own personality a bit more, she realized that waiting before you enter can give you a heap of benefits.

  It gives Lee time to scrutinize the room, Henny, what he’s reading, and anything that might karate chop her way into her awareness. It’s funny that many are so wrapped up in what they are doing that they forget they had invited somebody into their space of habitation. Lee can already see a few things off; Henny usually has 5 PVC files color coded. What their contents are is beyond her, but one is missing, the green one that was marked File C.

  The desk is pushed back a little. It’s a painted khaki desk with 4 wheels that move freely against the dark gray carpet that was newly furnished on his request. It’s not an accidental push-back. It’s more of a slight shove and some of the contents of his desk have hastily been placed back into their current positions.

  Maybe the time she spent speaking with Lotan was enough for Henny to fix it all up. And that would explain why his 2-executive silver knight pen holders are facing inwards to each other with the tip of the pens points touching and creating a V-shape.

  Henny corrects and then bends down to pick up some loose change that must’ve also fallen onto the floor. He picks it up and puts it in his gray trouser pocket. He spots Lee who’s just about to knock the door to come in. He removes his hand from his pocket with a penny that he releases from his grip and drops onto his desk.

  Lee looks to the bronze penny that’s on his large placement mat. Henny is into collectibles; coins that date back before the peerage and coin press: fake, authentic, not sure if you ask him about its history, but an old knight or king is on there and he equates that to old times so just leave it there.

  “Have a seat, Lee?” Henny invites her to sit down on a basic chair with no cushion and many visitor’s glutes have felt the extent of how severe that seat is on the soft cheeks. Henny might as well call it the seat of grievance. Because once you get up from it, psychologically, the feeling that’s left is ice cold water, please. And needing to dip the bumpy checks into 50-liters of water in a container.

  And what else comes with the grievance is the meeting with Henny. Like right now, Lee’s attention is on the penny that grows in size as she nears the seat to sit down. She takes her time, eyes on Henny who’s flittering between her and the penny - then the window that he’s too lazy to draw for privacy.

  Lee turns to do this but is stopped short mid-way, “Don’t worry about the curtain Lee. Just sit down because I want to get a few things off my throaty chest and I’m not too well.”

  Lee gives a blink-nod, then returns back to the penny as she sinks into that seat. Cheeks hardening with a preoccupied mien that can’t be wiped off. “What’s the illness?” She makes herself comfortable.

  “The artful man upstairs who wants some answers to the mishap. He’s a soggy nose right now and he’s dripping all over me and wanting me to deliver him a story that can manifest into something positive. He wants to know who did the shoveling in the pit.”

  “That would be me.”

  “It would be. But it would also be me who pushed you to the point of suffocating and sniveling.” He sighs, eyes on the coin, “A dead man who got what he wanted and lied through his yellow teeth.”

  “Eric lied, yes, but Henny, the man throughout was a hog with a rope around his neck. They took it all from him; business, revenue, custom, and his self-confidence. So, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was backhanded into giving us up to remain alive. They obviously had something to h
ide.”

  “And we were in on that too. Maybe he found that the paperwork you presented to him was... unreliable to what he truly needed.”

  “I can’t answer that. He was nervous when receiving it. But, apart from that, the fish bit the bait and that was an all-clear.”

  “Hmm. You know there’s a lot going around... about that special assignment?”

  Lee scans Henny; his fingers are interlocked onto the desk, his relaxation onto the back of his comfy seat as his back pressed against it. He’s observing her now to see if she truly knows about the rumors. Or the talk? Or if she participates in idleness that all the others do. “I haven’t heard a thing.” No lie from her. Henny unlocks his fingers and a small twitch in his eye indicates that he suspects that’s true to an extent.

  “I believe you.” He declines into his seat with a big exhale. “It’s the reason why I know I’m making the right choice here. Lotan might hate what I’m about to do, but it’s for the greater good.”

  Lee’s all blanks and a white wall. But Henny seems to think that he’s making sense and picks up the penny, flips it into the air and catches it in his palm. It lands heads, and he holds it out for her to pull her chair closer to the desk. She’s still bemused and stuck. “The bust was a disaster. And the man we wanted got away. Your work, all of it, was the prime reason why he even got that far. And you even found out his name,”Shaka Bean.” Lee can’t forget that name as it always rolls off the tongue with a French fancy and some fragrant vinegar.

  “Exactly. A name that’s hard to forget about this force. The man can do no wrong. Until you upped and found out about his operation. Nobody...” he flips the coin again, catches it and it lands on tails, “has been able to find Shaka, the dark-skinned harsh-faced motor who runs on ferocity and secret ventures. Even now I’m sure his face has more bumps and peeled skin than the last taken picture of him.”