Impeccable Credentials




Johnny Rockett sang along to the ghetto blaster, ‘Blue eyes, shining at me. Blue eyes crying in the rain.’ He liked a bit of country and western, Hank Williams being one of his particular favourites. He turned the blue Ford Taurus into the driveway, a common enough car and with a change of licence plates and expert removal of all identifying marks very difficult to trace.
Born Arthur John Herrin to a wayward father and alcoholic mother he’d spent much of his life locked in a battle of wits with the Western District, Police Department.
Unfortunately Johnny had got on the wrong side of Detective Harry Frisby, a man with a reputation for getting results. Detective Frisby was now on a personal crusade to nail Johnny by whatever means possible legal or otherwise.
Indicted for dealing in high end, counterfeit auto parts Johnny’s brief had told him to expect between three and five years. Maybe slightly less if he came clean and gave the names of the others involved but whatever else about Johnny he was no rat. No, things didn’t look too good for Johnny, that is not until Ruby Marx showed up.
The right honourable Ruby Marx. A sweet operator who’d really stuck it up to the prosecuting attorney and those dumbass detectives. They’d slipped up and the lovely Ruby had thrown the case out on some obscure procedural technicality. But hey he’d been given a break and wasn’t about to argue.
His brief was as shocked as anyone and Johnny was sharp enough to realise he’d been lucky to walk. One of his contacts commonly known as The History Man in Johnny’s circle had provided all the documents and I.D. cards he needed. Johnny Rockett, a new name for a new life and just like the car untraceable.
He looked forward to starting this new job. A drunk in one of the local bars had tipped him off, bawled into his bourbon as he told Johnny how he’d just been fired after one too many early morning shots of Jack D.
The drunk had insisted on shoving the classified section of The City Tribune in his face for the third or fourth time.
‘See there. They already got the nerve to put my job in the paper.’
Johnny had humoured him and read the ad, ‘Experienced Driver Required: Good rate of pay. Living quarters and all meals included.’
He’d taken the number down when the drunk made one of his frequent bathroom visits and the rest was history.
‘Yes sir, he’d certainly fallen on his feet.’ A handy little driving job, a few extra dollars but more importantly for Johnny a place to lay low for a few months. Things couldn’t have worked out much better if he’d planned it that way.
***
The Old Ministery House was long past its glory days. Built by the founding fathers of the city it was one of the last American Regency houses left standing in the district. The city had declined like so many others located on the rust belt of the east coast. Commerce and industry once the city’s life blood had moved away in search of cheap labour. The once proud neighbourhood had given way to twenty four hour, crime ridden housing projects.
But the cycle continued and now a new optimism prevailed with the regeneration and development of new office blocks and apartments.
The once graceful drawing room of Ministery House had deteriorated into a shabby kind of elegance. Thick green drapes hung at the side of long windows which looked out on to the garden terrace. The gardens stopped abruptly at the red brick boundary wall now overlooked by tower cranes putting together the stainless steel and tinted glass of progress.
‘Welcome to Ministery House, Mr Rockett.’ Mehmet Kobashi, tall and refined in his steel grey suit shook Johnny’s hand.
‘We’re so delighted you could take up the position, particularly at such short notice.’
‘No sweat, Mr Kobashi,’ said Johnny. ‘Only too glad to be here.’
‘Please sit down,’ said Kobashi.
‘And allow me introduce you to my son, Omar. He’ll show you round and show you what’s to be done.’
A tall man came over, bowed solemnly and shook Johnny’s hand.
‘Pleased to meet you Omar,’ said Johnny. I can see the family resemblance, the dark skin, that’s what gives it away.’
‘Quite so Mr Rockett,’ said Kobashi. ‘As we discussed earlier Mr Akenaton has been seriously ill for some considerable time and we are reaching the point ... Well ... I’m afraid we are expecting the worst.’
Johnny nodded and gave back what he hoped was a sympathetic look.
Kobashi continued, ‘Unfortunately your predecessor was unable to continue with his duties. Hence the reason for your appointment. We have much to do and need someone reliable to take care of things.
Johnny felt something brush up against his legs. He looked down to see a small grey cat nuzzle its head against his ankle.
Kobashi laughed, ‘Ah. Mr Rockett, I see Bubastis wants to introduce herself.’
Johnny bent down and tickled the cat’s ear. ‘Hey Bubastis, so that’s your name.’
The cat purred welcoming the attention of the new arrival.
‘I do believe she likes you Mr Rockett,’ said Kobashi.
***
Johnny slipped easily into the routine at Ministery House. A routine punctuated by the hushed comings and goings of what he assumed were doctors and various legal looking people, all ushered discreetly upstairs by Kobashi.
Two or three times a week he drove downtown in Akenaton’s sleek Mercedes to collect the old man’s medication. Bubastis curled up on the passenger seat usually accompanied him, quite oblivious to Hank Williams’ jangling guitar.
And he looked forward to the evenings, usually spent with Omar in the drawing room of Ministery House.
‘Say, Omar that’s a funny looking chess board,’ said Johnny opening the drawers of a small table by the fireplace.
‘Chess board? Omar laughed, ‘That’s not a chess board Johnny, it is Senet. A very old game played on summer evenings in the tea gardens of Cairo. They say it’s the oldest game in the world.’
‘You don’t say? Seems like everything round here has a connection to the olden days.’
‘I’ll tell you what Johnny. Bring it over here and I’ll teach you how to play Senet.’
Omar opened one of the small wooden compartments and started to set out the cones and spools of the game.
‘You’re right in what you say though Johnny, everything in Ministery House has its history. Mr Akenaton can trace his lineage far back to the ancient world. Many years ago his family was forced into exile. They stayed in many different places but always moved on. That is until now. For the Akenaton family this will be the final resting place.’
‘Spooky,’ said Johnny. ‘Hey talking of family, I never showed you a picture of my kid.’
He reached into his wallet and held out a small photograph. ‘Her name’s Rosa. That’s an old picture. She’s a sweet kid. Must be about seven or eight now.’
Omar studied the picture, ‘Indeed a lovely child,’ ‘But you don’t see her anymore?’
‘How did you guess Omar?... No, me and the old woman don’t see eye to eye, been a few years now. I always mean to get in touch but you know how things are? Something always seems to get in the way.’
Omar sighed, ‘That’s too bad my friend.’
‘I guess. But you know what? I plan on straightening things out with Rosa. This place has given me a chance to think straight. Fact is I’m gonna straighten out a lot of things.’
Omar handed the picture back.
‘Hey it’s okay, lighten up Omar. You gonna show me how to play this game or not?’
***
Over the following weeks Johnny noticed that activity in the house seemed to increase. A team of workmen had arrived and spent their time moving the contents of the upper floors down into the basement.
During one of their games of Senet he’d asked Omar what was going on.
‘Just getting ready,’ said Omar, ‘Getting a few things organised, in preparation for ... well ... you know.’
‘Yeah, I think I know what you mean.’
Call it the instinct of an opportunist but Johnny was intrigued. He’d never been down in the basement before, he’d had no reason to. But his curiosity was getting the better of him. And after all no one had actually said he couldn’t go down there.
A wide flight of steps led down to the basement, bright ceiling lights illuminated the stairwell. Very different from the damp, gloomy, cobweb filled cellars of old black and white b - movies. A black mahogany door stood at the bottom. Elaborate figures were carved into its thick wood, human bodies with heads of wolves and ferocious looking wild dogs. Johnny shuddered, ‘Strange people these Arabians.’
The door led on to a plain steel industrial security door, a small opening inserted at eye line. Johnny’s radar was going off the scale. It looked like some kind of cell or strong room. ‘What on earth was in there?’
Johnny whistled softly. He wasn’t far wrong. Ornately decorated book cases, stood against the walls. The shelves filled from top to bottom with figurines, colourful porcelain dishes and jewellery. Hundreds of shining gold and silver bracelets and necklaces, studded with dazzling jewels of all colours. The shelves finished halfway round the room as if the carpenter had finished abruptly. The rest of the room bare, just an empty space.
In front of the shelves were placed two red velvet chairs round a circular table. The table set with a small flagon and two golden wine goblets, prepared as if in anticipation of guests.
Johnny picked up one of the statues, the body of a man with the head of a bird of prey.
‘Horus. The Falcon God and Lord of the Sky.’
‘Bloody hell, Omar. You frightened the crap out of me.’
Omar took the statue from Johnny and placed it carefully on the shelf. ‘I see you have discovered the mysteries of our secret chamber.’
‘I’m sorry Omar. I just wanted to see what was down here.’
Omar smiled, ‘It’s no problem Johnny. I understand. You have an inquisitive nature.’
‘But all this stuff down here Omar? Must be worth a fortune? How come you don’t keep it in the bank?’
‘This is only a place of transit Johnny, before ... before Mr Akenaton moves on. But I must warn you. You must not tell anyone what you have found down here. You are sworn to secrecy.’
‘Don’t say another thing Omar.’ Johnny drew his thumb and finger across his mouth in that time honoured tradition of co - conspirators. ‘You can count on me, my lips are sealed.’
***
The drawing room was filled with the sound of Omar’s low tenor voice. ‘I’m so lonesome, my baby’s left on the midnight train.’
Johnny covered his mouth to suppress a smile. Hank Williams in an Arab accent. He tickled Bubastis, ‘What do you think, Bubastis? This guy’s going straight to the top of the billboard charts.’
He’d heard it all now. Omar was one heck of a funny guy. He rattled the four Senet sticks in his hand and tossed them on the table.
‘Hey, Omar. Escape from the House of Resurrection. Looks like it’s me again.’
Omar looked at the game board, ‘I don’t believe it. I’m beginning to think you’re a bit of a hustler Johnny. Swear to me you’ve never played Senet before?’
Johnny laughed, ‘I swear it Omar just the occasional game of poker. Guess I’m just a natural.’
They were interrupted as Kobashi entered the room with three glasses of amber coloured wine.
Kobashi looked at Omar. ‘It is done.’ He handed a glass to each of them.
‘We must have a drink, a drink to speed Mr Akenaton on his way. One of our many traditions Johnny. A wine straight from the vineyards of The Nile Delta.’
Johnny raised his glass, ‘To Mr Akenaton to send him on his way...’
Kobashi and Omar watched as Johnny drank.
‘Gee, that wine is strong, not that I’m an expert more of a beer drinker.’
Johnny felt light headed, and fell back onto the chair, the window drapes seemed to blur into a sea of green. He could see Omar and Kobashi in front of him. He felt hands grabbing him, holding him steady. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was a face. A vaguely familiar face. That guy, the drunk in the bar. ‘What the hell was he doing here?’
***
Johnny opened his eyes, blue flashes of light momentarily blinding him. He tried to move his arms but found they were stuck, held fast. He looked down his arms were tied to the sides of the chair.
‘Ah! Mr Rockett you are awake,’ said Kobashi, ‘I do hope you aren’t suffering too many ill effects? Please accept my apologies, we had to sedate you. A necessary precaution. I’m sure you’ll understand.’
Johnny shook his head, confused as he watched Bubastis pad across the marble floor towards him. He looked at Kobashi. ‘What on earth did he have in his hand?’
‘What’s going on?’ said Johnny, trying to make sense of it all. ‘What was he doing in the basement? And what the hell was Kobashi doing with an arc welder?’
His mind raced, ‘If it’s about coming down here Mr Kobashi I haven’t said a word, I swear it.’ He began to panic, he’d been in some tight spots before but nothing like this. ‘I told Omar I wouldn’t tell anyone.’
‘No, we know you haven’t said anything Johnny.’ Kobashi smiled and put the welder down. He turned and tapped the steel door.
Johnny looked round something was different, the end of the room. A large stone container now filled the empty space. Pictures the same pictures of wolves and mad dogs carved in to the stone.
It came to him, ‘Akenaton.’ A fearful reality, a vague understanding of what was happening.
Omar’s face appeared at the small opening in the door.
Kobashi held his hand up to the hatch. ‘Well my son. It is time.’
‘Goodbye my father. May all the Gods carry you on your journey.’
Kobashi smiled, ‘Thank you my son. Until we meet again.’
Omar looked over at Johnny, ‘And goodbye, my good friend.’
Johnny heard the wooden door close shut, the noise of the drawn lock final and emphatic.
Kobashi paused and turned to face Johnny. ‘I’m sorry Mr Rockett. Or should I call you Mr Herrin?’
‘Mr Herrin?’ said Johnny. He choked on his words. ‘What are you talking about? Who’s Mr Herrin? Please Mr Kobashi, tell me what’s going on?’
Kobashi raised his hand. It doesn’t really matter Johnny. But the very least I can do is give you an explanation. In a very short time Ministery House will be demolished and we will be covered by twelve feet of concrete. Only a few people will know what lies beneath.’
Kobashi started to unravel the binds around Johnny’s arms.
‘You see Mr Akenaton needs someone to help him.’
Johnny rubbed the skin on his wrists, ‘Help him, what do you mean? How can I help him. He’s dead?’
Kobashi let the nylon cords fall to the floor.
‘What I mean to say is he needs us to assist him. To help him on his journey to the afterlife. I am old and have served him all my life so my future has always been determined. And for the last few months so has your own.’ Kobashi picked up a small jug from the table and poured a little milk into a saucer. ‘Come now Bubastis.’
Bubastis walked over and lapped at the milk.
‘But my wife, my friends, people will know I’m missing they’ll come looking for me.’
Kobashi shook his head. ‘Oh! Johnny. You are very adept at covering his tracks, we both know that no one will come looking for you. In fact that’s the very reason you were selected. You have impeccable credentials for this very important role.’
For the first time in nearly thirty years, tears fell from Johnny’s eyes. The realisation hit him. Kobashi was right. No one would come.
Bubastis finished with the milk climbed on to Johnny’s lap and curled up into his familiar ball.
Kobashi took a flagon and poured wine into the gold goblets.
Johnny held on to Bubastis. The cat’s breathing became slower and slower until finally it stopped.
Kobashi stepped towards him.
‘Come now Johnny, trust me it will be easier this way.’
***
The new headquarters of the Cairo Aesthetic Institute of Technology gleamed in the midday sun. Four walls of blue tinted glass rose to meet at a triumphant point sixteen storeys above the sidewalk.
Conrad B. Brookmeyer, the esteemed mayor of the city finished off his closing address.
‘And finally I’d like to present the honourable Judge Ruby Marx, instrumental in the success of this major project. Please ma’am if you would do us the honour of cutting the tape and opening this magnificent building.’
The crowd applauded enthusiastically as a dark haired woman stepped forward from the row of dignitaries.
‘Thank you Mayor Brookmeyer.’ Her green eyes held the gaze of the man who handed her the gold plated scissors, the faintest of smiles crossing her face.
‘And thank you detective Frisby.’

THE END