The Knife Sharpener (41)

41.

‘What are you doing, Nicky?’ asked Bohemian Bob. He still crouched low, one hand resting on his set of keys as he pushed into the door, about a quarter of the way open. Wary of enticing any further attention.

            Helmut stared up at her. Listened to the Biffs pushing their way through the mess of kitchen equipment. The obstacles he had left them.

            Nichola winced. Brushed off a little glass from her shoulder with one hand. She faced the back of the store. Chest rising and falling. Slowed. Then she set her jaw and Helmut saw Rudiger clearly in her features for the first time. The grit and resolve. The decision made after the eloquence. Before the cricket bat flew. A shudder crept through him.

            ‘Nicky?’ asked Bohemian Bob. Finally, a little steady. The head spinning drunkenness had faded. Replaced with just a fat man in footy shorts. Goosepimpled legs in the cold. The hoarse breath slowed. Hair slicked back by perspiration. Considering.

            Helmut examined the same dilemma. To use Nichola’s call as a distraction to flee. Or was he too much an accomplice now to take that path? The Ministry was a failure of nuance. Saw the world in total terms. It may as well have been Helmut who stole the knife. But, if they had the knife, would they care about its thieves? Let them go free. Returned property was returned property, after all. No harm. No foul.

            It was too late. The two Biffs stepped clear of the pit of sinks and stock pots. Helmut knew them for Ministry extremists right away. All crimes against Ministry, were crimes against the good. Anything that sullied the good had forsaken its right to even the suggestion of its presence.

They were tidy people. Neatly attired in the black shirts and black trousers that Biffs always wore in easy displays of casual professionalism. The woman was short. A little stocky. Face pinched like it read the small print. A librarian’s face. The man not much taller. Heavy in a thick, big back, big legs way. His nose was bulbous over pursed lips. Both their eyes flared and reflected in the dim light from Acland St. Overzealous, officious gazes. Accountant cultists with pistols holstered on their hips and assault rifles slung over the shoulders.

Surveyed the three of them. Helmut and Bohemian Bob still on their haunches. Beckoned for them to rise with the point of their guns. Nichola standing. Holding the chef’s bag out in front of her.

‘Are we cleared to execute?’ asked the man.

‘Not until we have confirmation of theft,’ said the woman.

‘Identity?’

‘Theft equals identity.’

‘A neat equation.’

‘Thank you. Ministry rules make it simple.’

They raised their rifles a little. Helmut could hear a low buzz from an electrical box on the street. Something still rolling along the floor further in the store.

‘You have Ministry property?’ asked the man.

‘The Ministry Knife?’ asked the woman.

‘It’s in here,’ said Nichola.

The Biffs fixated on her.

‘The Traitor’s daughter,’ said the man.

‘It would seem so, Hadley,’ said the woman.

‘There does appear to be resemblance, Carol.’

‘Only restricted ways to uncover certain truth, here.’

‘The genetics would need to be laboratory tested to assure clarity.’

‘Generally, this would be the usual protocol.’

‘Does time permit?’

‘I would suggest not, Hadley.’

‘Unfortunate, Carol.’

‘In a sense.’

‘Ministry has no records of progeny.’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘But it does seem to be knowledge, nonetheless.’

‘Rumour.’

‘It is said.’

‘We were instructed to retrieve the Ministry Knife from the Traitor’s daughter.’

‘The appearance strongly suggests her identity.’

‘Therefore, her likely possession of the Ministry Knife.’

‘So, proceed?’

Carol raised her gun at Nichola. ‘You, who we cannot confirm by proper testing, but for the sake of this moment’s convenience will assume to be, the Traitor’s daughter, cede possession of the Ministry Knife,’ she said.

‘I am Rudiger Otwey’s daughter,’ said Nichola. She stepped forward.

‘Do we take the word of a thief, Hadley?’ asked Carol.

‘Regulations dictate that law breakers are inherently dishonest.’

‘Not to be taken by their word.’

‘Does this place us in a bind?’

‘That she may not be who we seek?’

            ‘Circumstance suggests validity, however.’

            ‘Even the extra male?’

            ‘Another thief.’

            ‘They work in packs.’

            ‘Also, think broadly.’

            ‘The presence of the van, for one.’

            ‘Their behaviour.’

            ‘The innocent never flee.’

            ‘They are restrained by the Ministry good.’

            ‘This is true. The regulations write it.’

            ‘Perfect.’

            ‘Then?’

            ‘Shall we?’

            ‘I think so.’

            ‘Agreed.’

            ‘Brilliant.’

            ‘Sumptuous.’

            ‘The Ministry Knife,’ said Hadley, holding out his hand for the chef’s bag.

            Nichola moved forward. As she went past Helmut, he saw the knife tucked awkwardly into the back of her jeans. From his periphery he saw Bohemian Bob nod. An intake of air.

            Carol kept her gun trained on Nichola. Hadley dropped his by his side. Reached out to grab the chef’s bag from Nichola. Bohemian Bob started coughing.

            ‘Sorry, outta breath,’ he said. ‘It was quite the chase. Takes me back.’

            ‘Cease,’ said Carol. Helmut watched her stare drift over to Bohemian Bob who was starting to double over from his hacking expulsions.

            Nichola saw it too. Rudiger had trained her well. In a single, arcing motion, she brought her arm behind her. Slid the knife out of her jeans. Whipped the knife upwards with a sharp twist of her shoulder. A flick of the wrist. A cloud of black specked dust evaporated into the air. An eruption of blood. Hadley’s hand hung only by threads. The white of his eyes paled.

            Wordlessly, Carol moved to fire on Nichola. Helmut jumped. Closed the space and barrelled into her. She released an aimless burst of fire as they tumbled. Sprayed past Nichola and into the roof. The assault rifle spilled off her shoulders. Helmut grabbed for her arms. Tried to pin her. She was compact strength and fought hard for her gun. Taut sinew and low grunt.

            Beside them, Hadley fell. Blood and black dust now pumping out his throat, cut to the trachea.

Carol got an arm free. Short arm punched Helmut in the side of the head. White, translucent spots. Stunned and burnt iron smell. She quickly pushed her hand down towards her pistol. Flicked the release on her holster. Arm tensed as Helmut grabbed at it. Finding his grip slippery and weak. The pistol was loosed and raised.

A heavy bottomed saucepan collected the back of her head. A bone crunching damp thump. Carol went limp. Helmut shoved her off. Bohemian Bob stood over her. Swaying again. His weapon of choice in his hands.

Nichola leaned against a shelving unit. The knife in her hand. Completely clean. The corpse of Hadley at her feet. The same mix of blood and black dust throbbing ever more sparingly out of him. Carol let loose a ragged breath. Eyes closed. Hair damp from the back. Unconscious.

Helmut had felt the knife when he held the thing in the café fridge. The potential and power. A spark of distant recognition. Alien familiarity. Hadley’s sheared body. It could be sharper. It still did that. Released more than life from whoever it cut.

Helmut had once thought, never again. And meant it.

Here he was.

Bohemian Bob grabbed the stunned Nichola. Ran out of the store. Helmut staggered after them. Knee and head both sore.