Of the girl

Some say murder is the ultimate betrayal of human nature. The point of no return. But sometimes the insatiable need to kill someone corrupts the mind to such an extent that it consumes your every living thought. The only way you can put an end to this infatuation is to kill this person. Suppose there was someone who fits this criteria. What do you do? You start planning, start to finish. Then you review it and fine tune any mistakes until the plan is flawless. Your target is the challenge. He is the most protected man in Australia. To penetrate this seemingly impregnable defence will be a challenge to you, even with all your planning and intelligence. Finally you get a break, with a mix of luck and perseverance. It's now time to put the plan into action. To get revenge. So life can return to some sort of normality. It's time to kill.


Prime Minister Alexander Callan received the first death threat on a Wednesday. He remembered the day well because it was his oldest grand daughters tenth birthday. Tears welled in his offending eyes as he looked into the limitless beauty contained in her tiny face.

Death threats weren't foreign to the Prime Minister. In fact they'd been routine since the announcement of his latest election policies. But this one was personal. This one portrayed such raw hate for Alex that each time he read it, a cold shiver ran down his spine. That was only the first. Each new one got more and more specific, giving times and places he might expect to meet his death.

He stared down at the latest. This would be the last. It had been left on his desk this morning, and since it's discovery two arrests had been made. The ink had been matched to the printer of the married couple who cleaned his office. In addition, two fibres from the envelope were matched to a desk from their house. Federal police indicated more evidence was likely to come. Until then, they said, you could sleep easier.

The latest developments made Alex feel worse. He had looked into the eyes of the two on many occasions. They had politely chatted at office Christmas parties. He liked them. They were nice, amiable people who kept to themselves. A loophole in his mind refused to dismiss the possibility that the police were wrong, that they'd made a mistake. But he also knew that common sense had to prevail. It was them, he told himself. The ordeal was over.

A knock at the door invaded his discerning mind.

“Come in,” he said in his sonorous, politician's voice.

His new secretary, Pauleta, entered gracefully. She was strikingly beautiful, having all the attributes of any fine model. A perverted, boyish sense returned to him for a few moments as he sized her up.

“Chalenkov just called, he wanted to know if your meeting was still on tomorrow,” she said in a high pitched, girly voice.

He hesitated a moment, still in a trance over the girl who was a good forty years younger than him. A sudden urge returned to hold a lady close, to smell that scent. He swore she had flirted with him no end since she had started to work for him three months earlier. He didn't read much into it. Secretaries had done the same since he could remember. Most were wary of fire-happy bosses and did anything to avoid the unemployment line.

“Yes it's fine. By the way, when you call him back, tell him we should have an agreement by next Wednesday,” he replied.

'Rightio, I'll get straight back to him. By the way, I noticed your schedule was free for tonight.”

Indeed it was. He had told his wife, Leanne, he had a meeting, but was instead planning a few stiff drinks in his city apartment.

“That's true, I was planning on a bit of alone time downtown,” he replied, knowing the information wouldn't get back to his wife. Pauleta was trustworthy and knew what he said to her stayed between them.

She took a seat in front of him, showing Alex the full brunt of her beautiful, smooth legs.

“Well, I was just thinking, if you weren't doing anything, that maybe you wanted to come over to my place and celebrate the end of the week. Roast meal, few glasses of red. I thought it woudn't do any harm for us to get to know each other better,” she said, cajoling him with a seductive, playful smile.

His mind suddenly in a state of stupor, he realised that this was a manifest invitation for sexual relations. He had cheated on his wife only once, an occasion he was still particulary contrite about. It had been a mistake, and bore a secret he would carry to his grave. His mouth hung open for what seemed an eternity.

“Uh, that would be nice. What time would suit you?”

“Wonderful. Any time after seven will be fine”.

She turned and started to walk away from his desk, which saw his breathing restored to normal. He couldn't even start to comprehend what he'd just done. Looking around, he fully expected his wife to jump out. He opened his bottom drawer, withdrawing the hidden flask of vodka he had kept there for years in anticipation of emergencies like this. Somewhere between the first and tenth sip, he decided dinner with Pauleta wasn't such a bad idea after all.


*

A small child, yes, a baby girl. Her pantomime eyes pitied me. She looked up at me condescendingly as I gently cradled her, paying careful attention to the protection of her tiny, fragile head. I knew her only through the rare photos her mother cared to send to me, to the man who had abandoned them.

Other images flashed by, images now confined to my fading memory. She stayed in the back of my mind always, questions of what she looked like, was she married, did she have children and whether she had the same questions about her father a daily routine which had failed to cease, even all these years later.

There she was again, fading in the distance now. I put my hand out, begging for her return... and then she completely disappeared into that deep, limitless abyss. I was left with only darkness, my constant companion.

*

He awoke to the gentle humming of rain, trying to decipher his latest dream. The same dream came and went over the years, but that did little to quell the sickness he felt after each one.

No work of any kind was completed for the rest of the day. Nor did he have any further human interaction, bar a brief phone call from his wife. He found himself staring at the clock impatiently, waiting for seven o'clock to come. At about six, he decided to go for a drive. His first challenge was to convince his minder, Jonathon, to allow him to leave unsupervised. Doing so would be a complete breach of security protocol, but he was sure Jonathon would give in to his omnipotence.

He stood unsteadily from his chair, feeling the effects of one too many vodkas. Straightening himself abrubtly, he opened the door. He looked both ways. The hallways were empty. Most of his employees had left hours ago. He walked to the elevator, hitting the button until it obeyed and the doors opened.

He stared into the lift mirrors and the corrsponding images did himself no harm. He was sixty nine now and had aged gracefully. His impressive facial features were matched by a fair body, which was complimented nicely by an expensive pinstripe suit. Not bad old boy, he thought to himself.

The lift came to a sudden halt. He exited and was soon met by his security adviser Jonathon. This was the extent of his protection for tonight. Far from the cloak and dagger situation many percieved to exist.

An awkward moment of silence passed before he spoke.

“How are you sir?” he asked as he had done routinely many times.

“I'm good, Jonathon. Much better after they caught those bastards,” Alex said, trying to muster some anger that didn't really exist.

“Never would have suspected them though. Our background check was pretty extensive, and we never found anything of note about either of them. I'll bet we find something soon but. Probaly ex-military,” he said indifferently.

“Yes, definetly. Say Jonathon, I was hoping for a bit of privacy tonight. Thought you might let me go off on my own,” Alex said, instantly realising he'd be met with more resistance then first thought.

“In light of what's been happening, I don't think that'd be a good idea.”

“Come on, John, they've put them away. Give me a bit of privacy.”

“What exactly do you have planned?”

Alex smiled. “Well now, that wouldn't be any of your business, would it?”

Jonathon was suddenly offended. “Sir, with all due respect, there are certain rules and protocols I'm obliged to abide by.”

The vodka had made Alex belligerent. He wanted to let Jonathon know where he stood in the pecking order, and a stern look overtook his face

“Look, Jonathon, at the end of the day, I'm your employer, and what I say takes precedence over any job manual. So you can let me go, or you can pick a fight with the most important man in Australia. I'd advise you to do what's not only good for our friendship, but your job prospects as well.”

Jonathon hadn't seen this side of his boss and knew that he must have been drinking.

“I'm not sure I can let you drive anywhere after you've been drinking.”

This inflamed Alex, who quickly turned a bright crimson colour.

“I'm going to leave, and if you follow me, consider yourself fired. Do what's best for your family, John. I know you'll make the right choice,” he said, his insolence shocking even himself.

Soon in the car park, he opened the door of his brand new Audi. Ironic that the Prime Minister of Australia drove a European car. He started the car and was soon at the security checkpoint. The guard was clearly bewildered by Alex being on his own, but after a brief moment of indecision realised he had no choice but to let him out.
Driving through the less then salubrious inner city suburbs of Canberra, Alex realised he had no idea where Pauleta lived. He hit her number into his hands free mobile and after three rings her voice filled the interior of the car.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Pauleta, it's Alex. Was just wondering where you lived.”

“Oh, Alex, 3 Ningbol Ct. Should I expect you soon?”

He punched the address into his trusty GPS system.

“Shoudn't be too long now. See you soon.”

He hung up, acutely aware he was now sweating. A part of his brain kicked into gear and negated any apprehension or remorse he might feel over the act he planned to commit.

He drove on, now hitting the outer limit of the CBD, the GPS system giving him a continuing commentary on where to go. Before long he pulled up outside Pauleta's house. He pulled on his designer sunglasses and a nondescript hat he had been given by a charity organisation who's name escaped him. Instead of gaining anonymity, it instead drew attention to the ridiculousness of his mix of fashion.

He moved forward towards Pauleta's quite plain house as a frightening thought occurred to him. What if she had a house mate? He ran out of thinking time as he hit her doorstep and instinctively hit the doorbell, Pauleta soon at the door to greet him.

“Why hello, Prime Minister, do come in,” she said to him as he admired her whole presence, a short dress the only protection for her curvaceous body.

Simply nodding in response, he moved into her house, taking off his cap and glasses in the process.

She led him into her comftorable lounge room.

“Make yourself at home, I'll go get a bottle of cab sav.”

He sat on the lounge, trying to understand why he was here.

She came back in with the opened bottle, placing it with two empty wine glasses close by on a coffee table. She sat on the lounge opposite to Alex, their knees touching. Her big, dark green eyes demanded Alex's attention, mesmerizing him to the point of not being able to concentrate on anything else.

She poured two glasses, making pointless conversation at the same time. And so the same routine continued for the next half hour, the drinking of wine and pointless small talk, before Paulette suddenly stood, taking Alex by the hand.

She led him into what seemed the main bedroom.

“Lay down and make yourself comftorable,” she said before leaving.

Now visibly excited, Alex started to unbutton his shirt. She entered once more, carrying a shoe box.

She removed hand cuffs from the shoe box.

“You've been a bad boy, now let me cuff you up.”

He layed down at once while she cuffed his hands and feet to the corners of the bed. She rummaged through the shoe box again, this time recovering something which she stayed hidden from Alex behind her back. She walked towards him, hands still hidden.

“Want one last surprise?” she asked.

“Why not, sweet heart,” Alex replied, wanting her to get on with it.

It failed to register in Alex's mind as Pauletta revealed a gun, a long silencer noticeably attached to the end.

She held the gun to Alex's forehead and nonchalantly pulled the trigger.

Having replaced the gun back in the shoe box, she stood to take one last look at his listless body. She reached behind her neck, removing her necklace and placing it on Alex's chest, opening the locket to reveal two faded pictures. One was of Alex, perhaps fourty years younger. The other of a pretty baby girl, who's beautiful dark green eyes over took the photo.