Jack flopped onto the nearest settee, of which there were quite a number. Luckily there didn’t appear to be gadgets attached to this particular choice.
“Coffee?” Louise asked, from over near a doorway that led to an expansive kitchen.
“Sure.” He nodded. “Love one.”
“Tea for me,” spoke up the Professor, as he sat close to Jack on the other side of a small, low oval table. “All that caffeine keeps me awake.”
“In case it escaped your notice,” Louise called out while waltzing into the other room, “tea has more caffeine than coffee.”
“Ahh, then that’s what keeps me awake all night,” he chuckled.
“Louise says you’re an inventor, sir.”
“Sir? You make me sound like a schoolmaster. Prof will do,” he insisted, at the same time reaching over and patting the Equalizer’s knee. “And, yes, I suppose I am an inventor in my free time, away from the ball-and-chain the antique store has become. Are you interested in the sciences?”
“More the outcome than the process itself.”
“I say, that’s very cluey of you.”
“I know my limitations. What do you make?”
“Oh…this and that. Mostly silly gadgets. I’m currently working with Vita-Rays.”
“You mentioned. What exactly are they?”
“I’m not quite sure. More importantly, there’s a loose connection on my printed circuit projecto-analyzer. You wouldn’t have a screwdriver handy, by chance?”
“Er…not on me.”
Jack gazed at the other man, unsure if the Professor was deliberately playing it vague, or genuinely absent-minded.
“Mens sana in corpore sano,” the old man muttered. “A sound mind in a sound body — that is my goal in life, Jack. My dream.”
#121
Louise was asleep beside Jack on top of her twin-size, scrolled iron bed. Propped up against the bars was the brunette doll Tarpé Mills, looking straight at him.
They’d played it above-board, engaging in conversation with the Professor and waiting patiently for him to go to bed. Even so, Jack judged from his twinkling expression and slight smile that the old man had suspicions regarding what was afoot. Likely, he knew a lot more than his guest.
Aside from furtive kisses on the doorstep and much recent hand play, Jack had never before touched a girl. Even the doll staring back was unnerving.
He didn’t tell Louise that; couldn’t. He was certain his clumsiness and apprehension were evidence enough, but the girl proved patient and considerate, helping him through the audition.
Louise had removed her glasses, slowly unbuttoned her dress, stood before him in a white satin slip and stockings — and then unbuttoned his shirt, too, as he had not moved a muscle. Given the earlier revelation about her husband’s death, Jack thanked lucky stars he’d ditched the costume.
Throughout everything, he was held hostage by her gaze, which said so much in a myriad of subtle forms: tenderness, happiness, sadness and mischief each had their moment in the emerald sunlight of those eyes.
For a long time after, they sat on the iron bed in an embrace, simply holding onto one another. When she came closer still and kissed his mouth, he wanted to hang on to her forever.
“You’re a gentle man, Jack,” Louise murmured, between kisses. “Thank you.”
Eventually, the girl fell asleep on his arm.
Jack stayed awake, studying every facet of the face close beside his. So happy he felt swamped — this kind of joy was far beyond him — the man swivelled his head and instead examined every inch of the ceiling. The sound of her breathing had a calming effect as he did so.
Finally, Jack slipped his arm out from under Louise; he lifted himself onto one elbow and stared briefly at the serene profile on the pillow inches away.
Easy enough to push aside her blonde tresses, to make out — in the poor light — a ‘p’ on the back of her neck, beneath the collar-line.
Beside the bed, Louise had a round fish tank with seahorses in it. Jack leaned over, dipped his finger, and quietly returned to dab at the p. The ink there was as indelible as a tattoo.
Jack eased her hair down and tidied it, glanced at Tarpé Mills, gave her a smile.
Okay.
PATR10T CLA1MS
#122
The Port Phillip Patriot, located at 335/1000 Broadway, occupied a twenty-two-storey art-deco office tower. Compared with the bulk of the city’s surrounding architecture, this rendered the building a pygmy, but what the place lacked in height was made up for with largesse unto itself.
Take, for example, the long-winded slogan above the entrance, hand-carved across two metres in a flowing font, all inlaid mother-of-pearl and gold leaf: