11
‘As the CEO for Jaric Securities, I am well aware that the companies with the highest productivity are strongest on so many levels, and the same is true for countries and that is why engaging the unemployed and undervalued through art is, in my estimation, a tremendously worthwhile project, worthy of whatever help may be forthcoming.’
Gurjit Lane was a small woman with a strong voice and presence that had taken the Dollentry Gallery gathering in an easy hold. She was wearing a flowing black gown dress to match her hair and long silver earrings.
Furn had never met her but he knew where she had bought the dress and who had given her the earrings and even how it had turned out. She was May Jones’s boss and Furn had found himself listening to all that May had had to say about her. He supposed it was a realisation that a new career might be necessary some time soon and that if he couldn’t make politics, business was as close to an honest job as he could probably handle. He was standing hands in pockets at the back of the well-dressed crowd. The art had reached as far as the walls there, but, to Furn’s reckoning, the theme of the exhibition might have been loony eyes, as, for every warped head put to canvas, there was a pair of hideous, ailing-kidney yellow eyes spiraling out at him. If the works were some kind of cathartic release for the tormented artists, the gallery patrons were being plied for theirs with champagne and finger food upon silver trays. Furn’s glass was empty, so he scouted the crowded floor for any glimpses of silver.
‘Ms Lane reads her invitations from the bottom up,’ said May, pressing up against him. ‘That’s because “Refreshments will be served” is always closer to the bottom.’ She smiled and kissed his cheek, looking radiant in a tight fitting, shiny grey suit. She was beautifully made up with a touch of glitter in her mascara and a hint of cynicism in her eyes. ‘And why are you here? An admirer of art?’
‘This morning I woke up next to a dead kangaroo and l immediately thought of you.’
May pushed him away. ‘Should I be flattered?’
‘It’s true alright, but I don’t think you were responsible - cyanide would be too fast acting a poison for your tastes.’
May plucked the glass out of his hand and tipped it over his head. Only a drop fell out, so she was looking for a silver tray too.
‘I thought I knew who was stalking you,’ said Furn, ‘but now I’m afraid there might be more than one person.’
May looked at him hard. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The kangaroo was dumped on me a block away from our apartment. I think it was a warning from a gang of vigilantes called the Sapiens. They are a bunch of crazies and they seem to know pretty well which cops are being sent after them.’
May shook her head. ‘The Rogue Intercept Police couldn’t make a girl feel safer even if she was keeping the company of a bank robber like Johnny.’
‘On this occasion you might be right. Seeings we’ve broken up anyway, I’d suggest you keep your distance. It’s just not worth the risk giving people the impression we care for each other.’
May gave up looking for a fresh glass of champagne to throw and instead slapped Furn across the cheek. At the same moment the crowd broke into enthusiastic applause as Gurjit Lane completed her speech.
The cell phone sharing space with the Heckler and Koch around Furn’s armpit began to vibrate. Furn snatched it up and saw on the display that it was Breeze.
‘Yeah?’ he answered.
‘You alright?’ came Breeze’s voice.
‘Yeah, sure,’ replied Furn, watchfully pulling away from May. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You went to see May, right? I figure you’re probably as bad at asking for back up as you are at giving it.’
‘I’m fine.’ Furn paused in case there was something else coming down the line, but quickly lost patience. Silence could take care of itself. He snapped closed the phone and strode out the gallery.