The Knife Sharpener (14)

14.

Of course, the Church of Violentiam Movetur Sidus had surveillance.

That Nichola had never seen any cameras in her month-long stakeout, spoke to the technological habits of the Church’s members, most of whom had inherited from their children a fascination and coexistence with voyeur, televisual technology. Their faces perpetually stared back at them in screen reflections, online Profiles, and Facetime. It had become a part of their epistemology and construction of self. Their source of truth and meaning. A symbiotic relationship, where they made and gave voice to one another, while simultaneously disappearing into each other’s lives. Through their demands, and occasional roles in IT, they contributed to the ongoing advancement of the technologies. The technology – growing ever more complex and refined to meet their wishes – constructed, enhanced, and reinforced their creators’ desired narratives.

In their way, they had gone beyond their children. Their use of these technologies – the spying apparatuses, the online connections, the personalised algorithms giving life to your every keystroked desire – lacked self-aware irony. It was total commitment. To them, it was definitional. A means, they felt, of being properly heard above the racket of all the extremists around them. Of seeing themselves as they believed themselves to be. It let them watch the dangerous world from a distance. And still feel involved in how it was shaped.

So, although the Church members’ attire lacked subtlety, and their lives largely tracked along a circuitous route of ordinary becoming more ordinary, the members of the Church of Violentiam Movetur Sidus were well possessed of their generation’s nonchalant and everyday handling of computers, tablets, and cameras. It was almost an afterthought.

Particularly for Oscar, who owned a chain of failing retail outlets selling electronics and media. De Valle Appliance: For the Valle U Experience. All personalised service. Variety. Bargain deals. For technicians, amateur enthusiasts, and weekend warriors. Pristine showroom conditions. Shop attendants always on hand. Want that installed? Fitted to the specifications of your home? No fuss, no mess. He had guys trained for that request. Won’t see a cord anywhere. And the sound will come at you from every direction. Perfect picture. Fast internet connection. All at a great price. Maybe not as a great as that deal you found online. But you don’t get this kind of service online, do you? Can do it yourself?

That’s retail these days, said Oscar. No old school values of service. Shying away from interactions. Too much focus on the individual. Each man and woman to their own. No community. No service. People – the youth, just don’t want to deal with reality. Forgot about the satisfaction of hard work. Get out of the house, get down to the shops, feel like you’re in the hands of professionals.

He’d rant on his Medias. Change his Profile images to spruik black and white Old School Values graffitied across the image of his semi-professional headshot. Contribute to the culture wars. Worried that no one seemed to be listening and sharing. That is, except for the other members of his Church and their Shared Medias Group – over 2,000 online participants, always rising. Posting images of the world ignoring them. Not getting them. Them telling everyone else like it is. Should be. Long sad tales of it and its people – primarily young – not giving them more of what they wanted.

A meme: On one side, a sensible, well-dressed couple. Above them there is text: Us, bringing the sensible. On the other side, two young people dressed in torn, ‘trendy’ clothes, with hats and beanies, eyes askew, almost falling over. Above them there is text: Them, not bothering to listen to sense.

They were never great at memes.

When Oscar went to find who stole the knife, he had plenty of options. The microscopic GoPro cameras hidden in the blacked-out windows. A series of interconnected tablets carefully planted all around the cellar – that had originally alerted him to Paul’s escape. And a state-of-the-art SpyCam Oscar had grabbed from his own flagship Box Hill store and planted in the gulley, fixated on the drain gate-appearing backdoor where the Sandringham train ran – which composed most of his footage: trains on repeat.

Until Paul escaped and Nichola crept in.

Oscar plugged the SpyCam into his laptop and, first, watched Paul smash the lock with the handcuffs he had managed to break against the stone wall of the cellar. Although it must have taken him a long time to wear down the handcuffs – Oscar had seen welts and bruises on his wrists – it didn’t take him long to work through the cheap, rain sopped padlock. Again, Oscar wondered why Pierre hadn’t bought a proper industrial grade lock.

Because he was surrounded by tightarses. People who too frequently skimped on quality for ease of acquisition, who didn’t part easily with their modest savings. Their attitude was good enough … until it’s not, then we’ll get another one. There was a convenient two-dollar shop over the road from the Church. They have heaps of locks. Oscar swallowed frustration. There were still clumps of orange cream in the webbing of his hand.

In the video, Paul stumbled his way out the backdoor and disappeared off camera. Oscar sped through the footage, until he found what he was looking for. A young woman, all in black, brown hair flat from recent stackhat usage, crept into frame. Initially jerky and overfast from the video. Oscar hit play and it returned to normal speed. She spent a few minutes looking around, a little breathless from climbing down the fence at the rear of the Church’s parking lot and staggering down the steep wall of the gully.

Oscar turned to the two men behind him.

‘Is that her?’ he asked.

One of the bums who Oscar paid to keep lookout for the Church on Chapel St, nodded. Oscar could see shards of glass in his tracksuit and scented acidic cheap Chardonnay on him.

‘Yeah. She’s the one who smashed me bottle on me head. Yep,’ he said.

The other one nodded, too. ‘We tried to stop her, ya know? Saw she was being all sneaky,’ he said. ‘She was in the carpark for a long time. So Jenkies asked her, oi, what was you doing back there?’

‘I did,’ said Jenkins. ‘Loo got it right.’

‘She panicked, but. Walloped me. I went down pretty hard,’ said Liu.

‘And took me wine,’ said Jenkins. ‘Then, ya know, banged me up with it.’

‘I saw her get in that fellas van.’

‘I was out.’

‘Yep, she just yanked the door open. Loud.’

They both looked down at the floor.

‘Sorry, Oz.’

‘Yeah, mate. Sorry. She’s, like, stronger than she looks.’

‘Least we belled ya when that other one snuck out, yeah?’ said Liu waving around the cheap mobile phone Oscar had given them.

Oscar rewound and froze the video. The SpyCam had excellent, crystal quality. Great for the front door and keeping watch on your packages from porch pirates. Necessary security in these days. Could be installed for a little extra fee from a De Valle Appliance tech.

‘Do you recognize her?’ asked Oscar.

‘Nope,’ said Liu.

‘Nah, but I rekin I’ve seen her over the road at that bar,’ said Jenkins. ‘Yeah, nah, definitely there, I rekin. A few times.’

‘Right,’ said Oscar. He screen captured the image and sent it to his phone. Her face looking directly to the camera. Worry and victory playing at the pull of her mouth and wide open eyes.

‘Rekin, we can, like get some monies, Oz?’ asked Jenkins.

‘Yeah,’ said Liu.

‘Gotta replace our wine.’

Oscar stared at the two bums. He had already reviewed the GoPro footage from the blacked-out windows. They had been telling the truth. Though, it was less a matter of the girl’s strength, as it was a simple equation of their drunkenness being an impediment to their motor abilities. Oscar, though, was more interested in the knife she carried in the videos of her leaving the Church. The one she didn’t use to get the bums out of the way when they sloppily tried to get in her way.

For a moment, he was tempted to remove the bums in a more permanent fashion. John stood behind them. An enormous fat shadow in black and silver.

‘Get out,’ he said.

‘But –’

‘Now,’ said Oscar. ‘I don’t have any spare change for you.’

Jenkins and Liu peered at him for a moment. Their hair was oily and mouths loose lipped and cracked dry. The stains on their tracksuits was dirt, urine, wine, cigarette ash. Their fingernails were hard and black.

‘Both of you should get some jobs. Work hard. There’s plenty of opportunities out their if you look for them. Knock on enough doors. Clean up a bit,’ said Oscar and felt good and fatherly.

They eventually left. Still rubbing their heads. Getting glass out of the folds of their clothes and hair.

Oscar switched his phone onto The Other Net – a useful trick shown to him by a store manager, he then sacked for internet trespass and piracy – and logged onto KillingTime. He began posting his request. The image of Nichola and a GoPro-ed shot of the knife sharpener’s van, with the caption: Wanted. Have stolen item. Negotiable reward on completion.

He posted. Sat back and surveyed the latest images and hashtags.

Then edited the caption. Adding: Dead or Alive.