Heller's Punishment (32 page)

“Trent, you’re
not here to entertain me. Work if you need to. I’m perfectly
capable of looking after myself. I had a relaxing time on the
balcony watching the boats. It’s such a lovely view. You’re very
lucky.”

He leaned back
in his chair and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
“Do you know, I barely even notice the view any more? I guess I’ve
just become used to it. Too busy working to sit back and enjoy
it.”

“What are you
doing?”

Embarrassment
crossed his face. “I was watching tonight’s show. Wanted to make
sure everything went smoothly without me there.”

I raised my
eyebrows.

“Okay, okay,
you caught me. I wanted to make sure that my replacement wasn’t too
capable. Have to keep an eye on the competition.”

“Verdict?”

“I’ll be back
next week,” he said with confidence. “I’d love for the ratings to
dip temporarily in my absence though, just to reinforce it. I have
contract negotiations later in the year. Always useful to remind
the bigwigs of my star power when I’m arguing for more money.”

“You have a
fairly high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” I teased.

“Self-belief is
critical in this industry, Tilly. No one else will promote me. I
have to do it myself. And I’ve worked hard for my success. I won’t
give it up easily.”

“I can see
that. You’re a driven man. Like Heller. Personally, I don’t get
it.”

“You’re not
ambitious?”

“Not at all. I
just appreciate having a job, to be honest. That’s probably why I
wasn’t a success at acting. No killer instinct. No self-promotion
skills.”

“You’ll never
get anywhere in the world with that attitude, Tilly.”

I shrugged. “I
don’t care. I’m everywhere I want to be at the moment anyway,
except maybe romantically.”

He smiled. “Do
you ever date any of the men you work with? There’d be no shortage
of men, surely.”

I pulled a
face. “Let’s just say that Heller strongly discourages his men from
any romantic interest in me.”

“How
strongly?”

“Very, very
strongly. They’re all too scared to even look at me.”

“Hmm, you don’t
strike me as a doormat. Why do you let him dictate to you in your
personal life?”

“As I said
before, it’s complicated. It’s hard to explain to people. He’s a
complex and intriguing man, and I’m extremely committed to him.” I
laughed briefly. “He would probably be surprised to hear me saying
that! I give him loads of grief.”

“But you’re not
sleeping with him?”

“That’s not
really any of your business, Trent. I didn’t come in to talk to you
about my sex life.” I said it with a smile to take away the sting
of my rebuke.

“Why not? I’m
all ears.”

I laughed – the
guy was unstoppable. “Cheeky! I’m off to bed now. I’ll see you in
the morning.”

“Sleep
well.”

“You too.”

I was up early
the next morning and helped myself to his treadmill, followed by
his food. I’d washed up my dishes and was unloading the dishwasher
when he emerged from his bedroom, immaculately dressed in a
mid-gray suit, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. I made
him coffee while he poured cereal into a bowl.

“I think it’s
weird,” I pondered.

“What?” he
asked, mouth full of crunchy high-fibre flakes. I noticed it was
the cereal for which I’d done an embarrassingly long-lived TV ad
where I enthusiastically gloried in the cereal’s anti-constipative
qualities. It was possibly the lowlight of my unsuccessful acting
career.

“You. I mean,
you’re a celebrity, a huge TV star, and here you are eating cereal
that you bought in a supermarket yourself and poured yourself and
you’ll probably wash up your own bowl afterwards too. It’s all so
unglamorous. So . . .
ordinary
.”

He laughed.
“Were you expecting a more bacchanalian lifestyle? Me reclining on
a gold-plated couch with a harem of beautiful naked women feeding
me grapes and massaging my, er, feet, while I shovel cocaine up my
nose?”

I nodded,
smiling. “Yes. That’s exactly what I was expecting.”

“That’s what I
do on the weekends, Tilly.” He winked at me.

“I knew it!” I
laughed.

There was a
knock on the door and I went to answer. It was the
Heller’s
men ready for work, but not the same two. Dubov had been replaced
by an older man with a beefy, unsmiling countenance.

“What happened
to Dubov?” I asked Ozanne.

“His father was
rushed to hospital during the night. Heart attack. They’re not sure
if he’s going to pull through. The whole family’s with him. This is
Beyrer.”

I didn’t take
to him at all, which surprised me. I’d never yet met a
Heller’s
man I didn’t trust and wouldn’t be happy working
alongside. But there was something about this man that put me off.
Then I remembered that I’d seen him before. Not long after I’d
first started, he’d made a derogatory comment about my relationship
with Heller to a colleague, which I’d unfortunately overheard. My
glance at him was not friendly.

He had a
twitchy appearance, his brown eyes flickering around compulsively.
A sheen of sweat glistened on his upper lip, and he kept his fists
clenched. He seemed to be tightly wound and hyped. I could see his
H
tattoo on his right forearm, and it wasn’t fresh, so that
told me that he’d been working at
Heller’s
for a while. That
had to signal that he was okay, because he wouldn’t have lasted
long working at
Heller’s
if he hadn’t been. Heller and Clive
weren’t exactly known for their tolerance of poor performance. I
chastised myself for questioning Beyrer’s professionalism merely on
the basis of my own personal reaction to him and a nasty offhand
comment he’d made about me a while ago.
Sticks and stones,
Tilly
, I reminded myself. Just because he didn’t like me didn’t
mean we couldn’t work together.

The three of us
stood around and waited for Trent until he finally emerged from his
office, briefcase firmly clasped in his hand. He stopped when he
saw the new man.

“Whoa! A
seemingly endless supply of massive men. Where does Heller source
them? Or does he grow them himself?”

“He has a
factory that makes them. All very top secret though, so don’t tell
anyone,” I replied, deadpan.

“Me? I wouldn’t
tell a soul. It’s not as though I’m the host of a top-rating
national current affairs show or anything.”

We drove in a
black 4WD today, one of the
Heller’s
fleet vehicles, Ozanne
at the wheel. Trent was busy with paperwork again and I whiled away
the time alternating between looking out of the window and watching
him work.

He glanced up
and caught me observing him again. “You’re making me
self-conscious.”

“I just like to
watch you while you work.”

“Well, instead
of watching, why don’t you make yourself useful.” He handed me a
huge sheaf of papers. “Have a look through these and let me know if
any of them are worth following up.”

Curious, I took
the papers and started reading the top one. It was a printout of an
email from a woman who wished to remain anonymous, but whose name
was clearly shown in her Hotmail email address in the header. She
wanted Trent and his team to investigate her neighbour. She was
positive the woman was running an illegal home-based brothel
because of the number of men coming in and out of the house at all
hours. She went on to provide an exceptionally detailed listing of
dates, times, duration spent inside and a brief description of each
man.

“Brothel in the
‘burbs?” I queried.

“Shit yeah!
Haven’t done that story for a while.” He snatched the email from me
and skimmed it quickly. “Excellent! Look at these details. What
else could be going on there? Thank you voyeuristic neighbour with
no life! Any story involving sex always rates its pants off, so to
speak.”

I read through
some more, none jumping out at me at first glance. I spoke up
hesitantly, “What about elderly couple being pressured by a
national grocery giant to sell their property to build a new
supermarket. They built the house themselves when they were married
and have never lived anywhere else.”

“How old?”

“In their
nineties.”

“Definitely!
Brilliant sob story. Stories about battlers up against big
heartless corporations are always a winner. You have a good eye for
what I’m after, Tilly. Admit it, you watch my show, don’t you?”

“Never! I
wouldn’t watch rubbish like that,” I lied, smiling at him.

He smirked in
disbelief. “Sure you wouldn’t. That’s what everyone says to me, but
my ratings prove otherwise. Somebody’s watching it.”

“I watch it,”
piped up honest Ozanne from the front. “It’s interesting. I like
the stories on boobs.”

Trent raised
his eyebrows at me. “The audience has spoken. Tilly, find me a boob
story please.”

I searched for
a while. “Here’s a press release about a new push-up bra, designed
specifically for the larger-chested lady.”

“Perfect!
Security man? Story about a push-up bra do it for you? Lots of
lingering footage of said bra being modelled by a voluptuous young
lady?”

“Yes please, Mr
Dawson.”

“Blonde,
redhead or brunette?”

“Brunette,
please.”

“Tilly, add it
to my pile of new follow-ups and could you just jot a reminder
about the brunette, please.”

“What else do
you like, security man?”

“Neighbours
from hell.”

“Tilly?”

I searched
again. “Here’s a man complaining about his public housing
neighbours. Virtual prisoner in his house for three years due to
their campaign of terror against him. Acts include throwing human
excrement into his yard, blaring loud music into his bedroom window
during the night and . . . good God . . . even setting his dog on
fire! Just because he called the police on them once during a rowdy
party. Well?”

“Security
man?”

“Yes, sounds
good, especially the dog bit.”

“Outstanding!
Tilly, you have quite a talent for this. I might have to offer you
a job as my research assistant when I’m done with this court case.
What do you think?”

“I’m sure it
would be an exciting job, and you’d be a good boss, but I couldn’t
ever leave
Heller’s
. It’s unthinkable.”

He looked
flatteringly disappointed, but there was no more time for chat as
we pulled into a parking spot near the courthouse. There was more
of a media presence this morning, probably because Trent was due to
testify today. A crowd of Gavin’s supporters made themselves heard
by booing and hissing Trent as he walked up the stairs to the
entrance. The media lapped it up, filming the support crowd and
even interviewing some of them. Trent kept his head high, didn’t
skulk and was calm and serious when he stopped for an
interview.

The supporters
became deliberately noisy, but not overly raucous, when Trent
attempted to speak to the cameras, but he wore it with no sign of
anger or impatience. That wasn’t quite true of Beyrer though. He
glared at the crowd with undisguised anger and clenched his fists
so hard he would have surely left fingernail marks in his palms. A
chunky woman with frizzy red hair pushed to the front of the crowd
and started personally abusing Trent in some very colourful and
inappropriate language. Despite her shrill voice, he managed to
ignore her, though his mouth tightened with stress. Beyrer took a
threatening step towards the woman, a mean expression on his face,
his arm slightly raised. She stepped back nervously, probably
thinking he was about to deck her. I didn’t blame her – I would
have thought the same.

I tugged on his
forearm. “Hold it, big fella! We’re not engaging with this crowd.
Step back.”

He turned and
looked down at my hand on his arm, recoiling violently. “Get your
hand off me,” he snarled, utter contempt in his voice.

I flinched, not
used to being spoken to in that way by any
Heller’s
men.
Heller only appointed men who had social skills, not solely
interested in a force of brute strength. And the men were usually
at least polite to me, knowing that Heller and I were close.
Obviously this charmer had somehow slipped through his net.

“Settle down,
Beyrer. You’re in public, in front of a bunch of cameras,
remember?” I hissed fiercely, not appreciating his tone, watching
impassively as he struggled to get his anger under control. I
decided then that I’d better keep a close eye on him.

Ozanne and I
discreetly hurried Trent along, forcing him to wrap up his
passionate plea to the cameras with undue haste. He was going to be
late for court if he didn’t hustle his butt immediately.

We rushed into
the courthouse just as the bailiff called in Trent. I went into the
courtroom with Trent again, leaving the two men outside. I hoped
Beyrer could restrain himself for the rest of the day, and felt
sorry for Ozanne having to share hours of boredom with him. Trent
hastily conferred with his lawyers, while I looked around for a
seat, the gallery full. On spotting me, Gloria waved her arm and
beckoned me. We exchanged smiles as I sat down in the seat next to
her that she’d thoughtfully reserved for me.

Trent’s lawyers
were expensive and skilled. They dextrously built up a picture of
Trent as a hard-working and righteous avenger for the underdog,
fearlessly sniffing out shoddy practices wherever they occurred.
They told of a man who was admirable and praiseworthy, but was now
being taken advantage of by a money-hungry opportunist, happy to
drag the memory of his poor, disturbed partner into the gutter with
him in his quest for a big payout.

And although
Trent’s lawyers did nothing more than Gavin’s lawyer had the
previous day, that huge man was not as practiced as Trent at
controlling his feelings. His face alternately flushed red or paled
during the opening speech. He grew increasingly agitated as the day
progressed, his petite lawyer trying her hardest to calm him down.
I watched the man carefully, worried about any outbursts.