Two hours later,
Jim slipped a menu under his nose.
'I thought you
might like something to eat,' Jim explained as Barkus blinked and
rubbed his eyes.
'You have a
kitchen here?' he asked. He blinked again at the menu. 'Smoked
burgers?'
'Chefs Special,'
Jim confirmed with a dreamy grin. 'They're good.'
'Are you the
chef?'
'Nope, its
Turner's Spot just down the road. They bring it on a real plate cos I
always make sure they get it back.'
'Well, I'll take
the Chefs Special then please. And' another beer was plopped onto the
coaster. 'Thanks.'
'Just doin' my
job,' Jim replied with a grin and, retrieving the menu and empty beer bottle, went back to his buddies at the bar.
Barkus was sure
that he had eaten the meal, because the plate was wiped clean and
there was no longer a hollow feeling in his belly. But, besides that,
he wasn't entirely aware of haven eaten. More to the point, he wasn't
entirely aware of anything other than the spread of paper in front of
him. Sectors and swales and zones, oh my! It was like a revelation,
only second-hand. All the issues that had been plaguing him, all the
stress and worry and confusion disappeared as he followed Sheryl
Monroe's design through all the layers of inputs and outputs,
intricate simplicities and common-sense mysteries. There was nothing
that she had not thought of, nothing that was not backed up by
references, diagrams, cost analysis', glossaries. At every point
where Barkus felt his knowledge was not enough to understand her, he
found the pages in her books that explained it to the minutiae and he
was off again.
Finally, after
another 2 hours and when Jim was sweeping up the floor, he emerged,
blinking, from the avalanche of knowledge and staggered to the
bathrooms. When he returned, Jim had paused by the table and was
scanning a diagram of Sheryl's.
'She always was an
artist,' Jim commented as Barkus drew nearer. 'I remember her
lobbying the school to change the colours in the classrooms. She
reckoned that the bland, boring beige was sending students to sleep
and having more vibrant, energetic colours would help increase
scores.'
'Did it?'
'Maybe it would
have, if they had listened to her.' At Barkus' motion, he slid into
the other side of the booth, sweeping forgotten.
'She said that she
had submitted this basic design last time the common ground was
done.'
'I don't know
about that, though it wouldn't surprise me if she did. She's always
trying to improve things for people,' Jim picked up
another diagram, this one a view of the park that looked towards
Jim's Place. The signage for Jim's was obscured by foliage, but a
signpost featured an eye-catching sign that made up for it. 'See?'
Jim smiled as he tapped the signpost. 'She thinks of everyone.'
'How come she
didn't get the contract last time?'
'You'll have to
ask Lynn's cousin that one. Though the fact that Paul Taylor got it
when literally half of the council are his family was not a
surprise.'
'Nepotism?'
'Its a family
business.' Jim sighed and got to his feet again. 'Well I gotta get
this place cleaned up and sitting here aint doing it. Oh, good
evening Mike, George.' Barkus twisted in his seat to look at the
door and saw that the Police Officers who had "explained" his situation to him had entered.
'Good evening Jim.
Orange juice please.' The staff sergeant scanned the almost empty bar and
his eye alighted on Barkus. 'Well well, it doesn't usually take long
for people to find this place but it's rare to find them surrounded
by paper.' He paid for his juice and wandered over while George went to have a quiet chat with the other resident of the bar.
Without waiting to be invited, he slid into the booth opposite and
looked for a clear spot to put his glass.
'Here,' Barkus
said, automatically handing his coaster over, his latest beer was
long empty and the condensation had disappeared. 'Sheryl will kill me
if I damage these, and I couldn't blame her.' The officer paused in
the act of putting the glass down.
'Sheryl Monroe?'
Barkus nodded. 'Sheryl Monroe gave you her design.'
'And some of her
books.' The shock on the sergeant's face was brief, but strangely
satisfying. Then, he reached over and carefully lifted the cover of
one of the books. 'Sheryl Monroe' was on the flyleaf in an elegant
hand.
'Well I'll be,' he
grunted eventually, letting the cover fall back. 'I'll admit to not
expecting that.' He stared at Barkus while he sipped at his juice and
Barkus could see the readjusting of assumption and expectation.
'Officer,' he
paused. The staff sergeant was staring at him in that special policeman's
way. 'What would be your particular need for this area?' It wasn't
what he was originally going to ask and he got the feeling that the other man knew it.
'My particular
need as a police officer or as a resident of the town?' he asked at last.
'First one and
then other,' Barkus turned to a new page on the pad, automatically
noting the date, time, location and... 'I'm sorry officer, I've
forgotten your name.'
'Stewards, Mike
Stewards.' Mike smiled slightly as Barkus jotted this down. He
didn't ask why Barkus was making a note of this kind of thing, most
people asked, but he already knew. 'And to answer your question,' he
took a sip of juice to arrange his answer. 'As a resident I'd really
like to have an open air, recreational zone for a variety of uses and
age-groups. As a police officer I need that space to be safe, and completely
age-friendly. Jim's is one of the better bars I know, despite its
appearance. But its still a bar and in order for Jim to hold a
family-friendly event in here he needs to go through more red tape
than its worth. In fact,' his voice dropped conspiratorially.' I know
for a fact that Jim deliberately keeps the place looking Stone Age
honkey-tonk to keep the ambiance but he's ruthless when it comes to
codes.' Barkus glanced at the stained walls, the rickety stage, the
leaning bar, and raised an eyebrow. 'When Jim got the place, he
shelled it,' Mike continued. 'Ripped her down to the bare
bone, replaced any bit of wood that looked the slightest bit dodgy,
and rebuilt her from the inside out. Nothing that you see here is
older than 10 years, besides the bottles at the top of the bar and
the pool table. That one was a nice find, he did replace the baize
though.' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the stage that looked
as safe as walking barefoot on glass. 'That stage was deliberately
built like that and Jim maintains it by getting his buddies to jump
up and down on it once a month and replacing it whenever he aint
happy. You ever seen
300 lb men leaping about like kids on a bouncing castle?' He grinned
at Barkus' disbelief. ' You wait another week and you can see it for yourself.
Trust me, you will never get the image out of your head.'
'So, this is all
deliberate?'
'Yep, peeling
posters, speckled mirrors, stained walls, the works.' The background
music of a lost 50's rock star crooning about the stars started
skipping. Barkus watched as Jim left his broom at a run and tried to
leap over the bar for the kill-switch. George got there before
him and the start of the high-pitched electronic screech was abruptly
cut off. 'Except for that,' Mike admitted. 'No-one has a
sainted clue about that.'
'I find myself
wondering if anything in this town is what it seems,' Barkus
admitted, looking again at the design on the table. The sheriff
grinned.
'It'd be a damn
boring world if everything did what it said on
the tin.' He chuckled at Barkus' surprise. 'F'rinstance, when you
showed up and destroyed the beds the other day, I had you pegged for
a drunken fool who was looking to spend some time in a cold cell.
When you got your sentence delivered, I took you for an arrogant
so-and-so who'd do a quarter-assed job so he could get shot of this
place as fast as possible.' Barkus shifted uneasily. 'Instead, I find
you shoulder-deep in work and questioning my needs for the public
space that you're in charge of designing.' He drained the juice as
Barkus stared at him. 'See what I mean? The world might be a lot
simpler if everything went the way people expected, but it sure as
hell wouldn't be as interesting.' Barkus stared at the glass in Mike's hand, as his thoughts went wild.
Suddenly, without even realizing it, he thrust his hand out just in
time to catch the fat bead of condensation that would have fallen
onto the papers on the table. They both stared at the water, then at
the diagram it would have landed on. 'See?' The sergeant said
eventually, getting back to his feet and automatically adjusting his
belt. 'Surprises everywhere.' He patted Barkus companionably on the
back and returned the glass to the bar. George tossed a set of
keys to Jim as they both strolled out the door, just ahead of the
drunk who was now definitely walking home.
'Yeah,' Barkus
murmured, staring through the beautifully and painstakingly sketched
diagram of the completed design that had just avoided disaster.
'Everywhere.'
'Hey, Barkus!' He
looked around to see Lynn and Arthur along with a woman he hadn't met
yet. He waved and saw that they were coming over to meet him, so he
reluctantly left his spot and retreated to the footpath, to avoid ruining Lynn's
heels in the grass.
When's the last
time you thought of something like that? An inner voice accused.
You've made clients climb over everything to get to you,
regardless of wardrobe!
'Good morning
Lynn,' he greeted her warmly, ignoring the too-true voice. 'And
Arthur of course.' the spaniel had already done his flop onto the
grass beside the path and wagged his tail in acknowledgement.
'Good morning
Barkus,' Lynn answered with a grin. 'I'd like you to meet my cousin,
Annie Williams.' The woman beside her was a good foot taller, had a
mass of brown hair, minimal, elegant jewellery and a broad smile as
she extended a hand.
'Pleased to meet
you at last,' she said.
'At last?' Barkus
replied with a grin as he shook her hand. 'I've only been here 3
days, if you count this morning.'
'Has it only been 3 days?' she asked. 'I swear I've spent more time than that just in
Town Council Meetings. You've created a lot of work for me, Mr.
Barkus.' The tone was mock-serious and Barkus could definitely see
the familial resemblance. Then she sighed. 'I just really hope that
you're able to come up with something to replace the beds, cos that's
all I've been hearing about and frankly, I have many more things on
my plate.'
'Well,' he paused.
Now that he had the time to look properly, both women showed signs of
stress and fatigue. His father loomed in the back of his head. 'How
about we go and get a coffee and I show you what I have.'
Annie leafed
through the pile again, her coffee growing colder by her elbow. 'This
is, way, way beyond what I could have possibly dreamed of. How did
you?' She looked sharply at him. 'Where did this design come from?'
'Sheryl Monroe.'
She nodded slightly, he could tell that she had already arrived at
that conclusion. 'She gave me the whole thing last night and I've
barely slept a wink since. When you found me I was trying to
orientate it on the ground.' Both women stared at him, then at each
other.
'I've checked you
out, John Barkus,' Annie said slowly. 'You're a top level architect,
worldwide projects, international fame. Why are you here?' He was
subjected to twin searching gazes as the unspoken part of the
question hung in the air.
'Personal issues,'
the cliched phrase slid easily off his tongue now. The stares did not
deviate. 'I didn't know how badly, certain recent episodes were
affecting me until I was convinced to go on sabbatical.' He shifted,
uncomfortable as the half-truth rang in his ears. 'I chose driving
around the country as my initial plan and I wound up here. You know
the rest,' he finished a tad defensively, but they didn't seem to
notice it. They did, however turn off the searchlights and looked
sympathetic.
'Okay, well, I
don't know how else to put this, so I'll say it flat out. In your
professional opinion, do you think this,' the word and gesture took
in all of Sheryl's meticulous plans. 'Will actually work for this
town? Will this be a good investment of our money and our time?' The
stare she turned on him this time pinned him to the seat. He had a
sudden flash of why she was Chairperson. There was no way of lying,
fudging or slipping under that gaze without getting fried.
'In my
professional opinion,' he paused. 'There's very little that needs to
be altered. And the only reason I say that is because Sheryl doesn't
know that the codes are due to change in the next couple of years.'
They waited. 'In practical terms related to this design, these
changes are extremely minor and can be done before I even present it
to the Council.' The stare intensified. 'In my professional opinion,
this design is practical, useful, easy to maintain and will cater to
the needs of every age group in the community.' The relieved sigh
that that statement released sent pages scattering.
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