Chapter 42

 

 

After kick to kick, in the hope of editing an article at the office, Ewen jumped into the Prado. His mobile. Francis.

Ewen didn’t know if the businessman’s quick response was an asset or a worry.

 

Ten minutes later, he rode the lift to Hogmyre’s floor and stepped into an empty reception foyer. Raised voices turned his attention to Hogmyre’s office door. A voice behind the door dominated. It wasn’t Francis. Ewen sneaked over, intent on listening in, but on reflection thought better of it. He knocked instead.

“Enter.” Francis’s voice also sounded heated.

Ewen did. Closed blinds. View gone. The room a bunker. Hogmyre, his son Zeya, Dirk the driver and a pale teenager with black nested hair, stood around the antique desk.

“And him,” spat Zeya, pointing to Ewen at the doorway. “How the hell is a Sunday sloth reporter going to help you? Are you beyond help? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Zeya!” yelled Hogmyre. “Button up!”

The son turned his back on his father and shouted at Ewen. “This guy’s a nobody! One, two, three, snap my fingers and he’d crack like an eggshell.”

Ewen froze. The psycho emails flashed. In an attempt to contain his breathing, he didn’t breathe at all. Don’t panic, he told himself. A frozen response to Zeya’s outburst would look justified.

“Come back here!” yelled Hogmyre to his son walking towards Ewen.

“The Nobody Man,” said Zeya, as he brushed past and bailed from the room.

“Ewen,” said Francis, “close the door, please.”

He placed a hand on the doorknob and peered into the foyer. Francis’s son waited at the lift, staring back at him. The expected nod or wink from Zeya never materialised. Instead, the steely face spoke volumes. The stakes had clearly risen.

The lift pinged and Zeya stepped inside.

Ewen closed the door like someone arming a bomb. Under everybody’s stare, not only did he feel turmoil within, he felt it without, the room thick with it. Thick enough to use as cover. Unable to maintain eye contact with anyone, he turned his attention to an open briefcase and handheld electronic instruments on the desk.

“Sorry,” said Hogmyre. “My son worries me. He may need a doctor.” A laugh stumbled out. “Or a psychologist.” He waved Ewen over. “You know Dirk.”

The driver didn’t offer his hand. The teenager did.

“Renault,” he said.

Lucky if he’s eighteen, guessed Ewen who labelled the two face studs below the kid’s bottom lip an ugly distraction. Ugly because every time Ewen took his eye off the ball, he felt vulnerable to a broadside, even though he had no idea where the ball was or who would run through him.

“Unusual name.” Ewen knew he sounded robotic, but the less said the safer.

“My parents love France. Two trips. Big deal.”

“Renault’s my communications expert,” said Hogmyre.

Ewen couldn’t grasp how to look at Francis. The stark surprise that someone as young as Renault worked for the businessman helped camouflage his angst.

“Don’t let age fool you,” second-guessed Francis. “If you require the latest in technology, go young.”

Ewen glanced at Dirk. Eyes, set deep behind the hooknose, watched him. If those eyes were knifes, reasoned Ewen, a murderer had just mutilated him. Enough—nobody here had a clue about Zeya’s emails.

“Communication’s a hobby,” said the kid. “Gaming’s my passion. Have you heard of Shoot the Sherriff?”

“The game the regulators tried to ban?” asked Ewen.

“My baby.”

“Impressive.” Actually, worthy of discussion, but words acted like tripwires. Wait for someone else to speak. Stop trying to read faces. Stop shifting weight from foot to foot.

“Investments, Ewen. Spread the net far and wide.”

“I guessed you’d dress conservatively,” said Renault. “So I brought standard with a touch of flair.” From his briefcase, he pulled a blue and white chequered, short sleeve, Millar cotton shirt. “I build user-friendly, so take care when handling the buttons. The collar button is the mike and the one below it the receiver.”

“And the risk?” asked Ewen.

“The only risk,” said Francis, “is inactivity.”

“They’ll never pick it,” added the kid. “This is beyond art. Even if they sweep you.”

Every time Ewen saw Hogmyre, he saw Zeya.

“You appear confused,” said Francis. “Understandable.” He raised his eyebrows. “Still taking notes?”

Ewen grimaced. A witty reply would have been a godsend, but he couldn’t pull it off.

“Act normal when the bastards contact you. They’ll want face to face, guaranteed. Act scared. Act willing. And above all, somehow make them discuss the consequences of you not cooperating with them.”

Ewen held silent.

“You can do it,” continued Francis. “I even included an information teaser on Mt Lefroy Mining. Except I won’t act on it. They’ll cream their pants when they hear this and probably let their guard down and trip up. They’re public servants after all.”

 

The moment Ewen left Hogmyre’s office building and stepped onto the bright pavement, he rang Lon. “Nutcase, I know who he is—” He scanned the building, to the top floor. The mirrored windows had turned the office block into a fortress. “Not on the phone. I’m coming over.”

 

After Ewen recalled the Zeya incident to his friend, they sat silently on the couch, staring through the window at the police station.

“Zeya Hogmyre. What’s your game?” Lon sparked a joint and passed it to his friend who shook his head and said, “I’ve gotta stay straight.”

Lon took another drag, leant forward and rested the joint in the ashtray. They watched the smoke snake upwards. He reached over and gently stubbed it. “It’s getting complicated.”

“He’s in danger. I’m in danger.”

“So he says.”

“From who? He was fighting with his old man.”

“Contact him?”

“No.” Ewen wandered over to the window and stared up the street to a bus stop. A poster advertised the latest Hollywood movie; robots taking over the world. “Zeya made that clear.”

“And if ASIC contacts you?”

“Play Francis’s ball.”

 

At the Western Times’ office, Ewen sipped his coffee and googled Zeya Hogmyre. He’d googled Zeya days before. Did he miss anything? What angle would uncover a link? Zeya trouble? Half done in jest, he typed it in. He clicked on a Fortune Bank rogue FX trading link. Yes, Zeya held the top spot in the currency trading division. Yes, investigators interviewed him about the rogue trading.

Ewen’s half-arsed attempt at work only added to his frustration. He knew he’d entered sit and wait mode. At mid-afternoon, he bailed.