Broken

Logan adjudged the night to be perfect … cloudy and windy, almost as dark and cold as the mother-in-law’s heart he chuckled, looking over to the sole motorbike in Midhurst Lane’s dimly-lit two-wheel-specific parking area.

“Geez guys, I can’t believe there is another as easy as the last one.  Let me check it out first. I’ll go over and give it nudge to see that there isn’t an alarm on a motion-sensor. If it is good to go, one flash from my torch and you bring the van over, stealthily, side-lights on only.  Same as before, open the back here, stop just past the bike and leave the doors open when you get out, no bloody slamming them, OK?  Quiet and quick … and get the ramp around the right way this time Bruce!“

Stealing bikes was Logan’s forte and he adjudged himself to be a maestro at it.  Dressed in black, silently, and with the confidence of someone going about his lawful business, he made his way across the feeder road to the lane.  What his old nana called ‘brothel creepers’ ensured there was no footfall sound.  Passing the three-year-old Aprilia Shiver, he discretely gave the bars a shove in passing.  There was resistance confirming that the steering lock was engaged but fortunately for his plans, in the straight-ahead position.  No alarm resulted, so 20 m further on, he turned and gave his waiting oppos a quick flash of his Minilite.  It was 2.30 am so there was little likelihood of wandering night owls disturbing them.

Bruce and his younger brother Barry were important to Logan’s nefarious activities.  They were ideal as they seemingly shared just one brain and it lacked a moral compass. They never questioned or thought … they just did.  If Logan said jump, jump they did, if Logan said take … it was taken.  On occasion if Logan said thump, thump they did, with enthusiasm and joy in their hearts.

As instructed, the van drew quietly up ten metres or so ahead of the target bike. The boys quickly positioned a ramp with padded contact points and Bruce slipped back in to the van to ready the tie-down straps while Barry went to the back of the bike as the pusher.  Their modus operandi was proven and simple.  The bike would quickly be moved by Logan into the road the requisite distance, then Barry would lift the back and pivot it on the front wheel through ninety degrees, and together they would push the bike up the ramp for Bruce to attach the tie-downs.  Bruce always stayed with the bike whilst Barry resumed his position as ‘shotgun’ passenger and of course Logan, being the boss, did the drive away.  This whole operation could be carried out in less than a minute if all went to plan.

Unbeknown to Logan, his movements this night were being monitored. 400 m away a slight figure watched through night glasses from the cab of a non-descript light truck.  The white Toyota Dyna with a box body on the back, was like a thousand others in the town.  There was nothing to distinguish or identify it.  It was just a piece of anonymous cityscape.

“Come on big boy, this is my third night watching … and I am ready to go.  Justice awaits.”

Logan was one metre into his push of the bike when simultaneously the brakes locked on and with a snap the ‘bush-bar’ lever-protectors parted, arcing around over the handlebar grips to trap his hands.  It was like two miniature possum traps had been triggered and Logan’s reactive attempts to pull away only embedded his wrists on the sharks-tooth metal jaws now imprisoning him.  He was trapped, standing beside the bike, stretching across the tank.

He hissed at Barry to help him but just as Barry turned, there was the shriek of a siren being activated and from the Toyota Dyna flashing lights lit up the narrow lane. Barry hesitated for just one second, his head yo-yoing from Logan to the approaching truck.

“Hold on Bruce, sorry Logan, we’re outa here!”

Not pausing to even shut the back door or stow the ramp, Barry leapt in the drivers’ seat, engaged drive and with the now silent Dyna still 50 m away, a squeal of tyres accompanied their progress around into Wakefield St and away towards the port. Although their loyalty to Logan was strong, the possibility of incarceration overcame any thoughts of remaining.

Fleeing the scene was in effect premature, and possibly unnecessary, as the Dyna contained not a dozen beefy men-in-blue, but just a solitary slip of a girl.  Furthermore, if they had been more observant they would have spotted that the lights were not flashing the regulation blue and red, but more of a green and purple.  However, flashing lights had never resulted in good outcomes for the Waterford boys and they wouldn’t be seen again tonight.

The driver of the Dyna positioned it so a hydraulically-powered rear loading-platform was just in front of the Aprilia.  She briskly walked to behind Logan and gave him a prod with the point of a walking pole, moving him and the bike forward.  When suitably in place, she operated a remote to lift the bike and would-be thief up and ultimately into the back of the box part of the truck.  There was no attempt to hide her identity, she would introduce herself later.  From the point in time when Logan’s hands first gripped the Aprilia’s bars, until his captor drove off with him still standing beside the bike in the total darkness of the cell-like ‘box’ less than two and a half minutes had elapsed.

A convoluted but deliberate drive followed.  Logan tried to follow where they were going but the numerous turns and stops and starts soon had him confused.  Unbeknown to him the city sounds he did hear, were piped into the back, and all the while they had been travelling out into the nearby countryside, a deliberate subterfuge.   Finally, after a none-to-comfortable drive, Logan sensed the truck stop, then could hear the beep-beep reversing alerts.  Soon after, the back of the box body rolled up and light flooded in, showing them to now be positioned in a loading bay in some sort of industrial workshop.  Again the remote was used to set in motion the unloading of the bike onto the workshop floor.  Clearly there was a spot for the bike because Logan could see there was a front-wheel-stand positioned straight ahead of them.  Another prod with the walking pole encouraged him to slot the bike into place.

Logan could sense his captor behind him but was unable to turn due to still being pinned to the handlebars.  He stamped his left leg as he felt a restraint being fitted.

“Keep still while I hook you up!”

“What are you doing bitch? … Jeesusss!”

A bolt of pain shot through him like nothing he had experienced before.

“Now you are going to listen to me so you know the rules. Then I will release your hands from the Aprilia.  That was an electric shock, and if you follow the cable from your ankle, you can see it is hard-wired to the wall supply … and I can vary the voltage being applied until it is beyond what we would expect a human to endure”

A wall-mounted TV flickered and came on, the screen initially showing nothing of note.  Into the light in front of it stepped an ascetic-looking, young red-haired woman of moderate height with a buzz-cut hair-style more suited to a male.

“I’m Janet Templeton, and I have to say up front that I don’t like, nor respect you.  You tried to steal my bike … and I believe you have stolen my twin brother John’s. However whilst you are here, we will be polite to each other. Before I show you the guidelines, I must tell you that it is said I am on a narrow spectrum and do not understand empathy, sympathy or many other so-called human emotions.  

I am a mechanical technician and my brother is a scientist.  He studies and visualises, while I solve the problems of making all the testing equipment and the like.  I unravel his thoughts and suppositions, making them real.  I understand cause and effect … action and reaction.  My brother is at a conference in Australia, so I am not working at the institute while he is away.  This is because sometimes I need guidance in behavioural matters.  I sense you also lack many emotions because you take things you have not earned.  Now look at the screen!”

Onto the screen came a series of bullet points.

• No yelling or shouting – 55 decibel max

• No disrespectful or blasphemous language – list to follow

• No throwing of objects – 10m/sec will trigger reaction

• No pulling on the power cable – a reverse load-cell will trigger reaction

The list of disrespectful language included all the expected swear words that society highlights and also words that when applied specifically to a person could cause offence.

“I understand from my brother that applying pain to get an answer is considered torture and is not allowable in law.  However, if there is an action that you knowingly choose to do which results in some voltage passing through to you, I see that as outside of that odd societal protocol.  If you choose to swear at me for instance, knowing that you will get 50 volts as a result, I do not see that as a punishment or torture.  You are choosing to receive the consequence.”

She paused, and as Logan was quiet, she released the electronic catch holding his wrists.

“Now we need some sleep.  You can see your bed, the bathroom is over in the corner and the cable attached to your ankle is just long enough for you to use it.  There is a motion-sensor set on a linear plane at 1.5 m above the floor. When the beam is broken the light will come on.  When the zone above 1.5 m has been undisturbed for 30 seconds the light will go off.  I will bring breakfast across at 8.30 am.  Is coffee and fruit toast acceptable for your first morning?”

With a surly look on his face Logan nodded.  Janet gave him a half-smile and left the workshop.

“You’ll get yours, you stupid cow!” Logan muttered.  This got him a belt of electricity which caused him to cry out but not swear further.  Clearly the non-punishment was severity-linked.

On the dot of 8.30 next morning Janet appeared through the side door to the workshop with a tray, on which was a pot of coffee, a stack of fruit toast, butter, some conserves, plates and a couple of generously-sized mugs.

“Good morning, I trust you slept well enough, and are refreshed and ready to help me with my quest.  Firstly I think you should introduce yourself, then we will partake of a civilised brekky before getting under way”

“What quest … I am not even sure I know what a quest is?”

“We have to get John’s bike returned before he gets back from the conference.  It is our birthday in ten days’ time and we always go for a ride together.  So we need his bike back … in good condition, checked over by Moto Central in town, with a new WoF.  You’re staying here with me until Ray at Motos says all is good.”

“Piss off … aarhh … don’t do that!”

“Hey, it is automatic.  The voice-recognition software passes the information across through a micro-switch and ‘wham, bam … thank you Ma’am!’.  This is all in your hands.  You choose to be offensive towards me – as my mother used to say, ‘you reap what you sow’.  I can go through all the details again if you like?  You have not yet introduced yourself.”

Logan remained silent, his eyes betraying his thoughts, vitriol and anger shone from his almost-black irises.

“Well if you are not going to introduce yourself, I will just call you Dick until I know otherwise. An apt name don’t you think … Dick!  

I am going out this morning to do some chores.  I presume that you have your cell phone.  While I am away you can sort out the return of John’s bike.  It was the immaculate old Suzuki Katana taken from the same spot as you tried yesterday.  If you get bored, there is a stack of bike magazines over there, and some NZ Geographics too.  If reading is too cerebral, this remote will work the TV which will default to the sports channels.  I’ll be back about midday and will bring pies for lunch.  Any preferences?”

Logan was desperate to ask for steak and cheese … or anything without mushrooms, but his pride wouldn’t let him be compliant.  He remained resolutely mute.

“All right Dick, you’ll get what you get!  See ya!  Oh, by the way … just in case you think you could stand a quick yank on the cable to pull it from the wall.  There is an accelerometer in the housing of your foot binding and the moment the movement it goes beyond 10m per second, per second, which is more or less the acceleration speed of gravity, the trigger for a ‘tickle-up’ is sent through the copper wire.  You may, or may not know that the speed of electricity through copper is about two hundred thousand km a second.  So I can assure you that you’ll be zapped across the floor long before your brave tug has any effect.  If I hadn’t already decided that you are a Dick, I could have called you Tugger.”

With that Janet left.  Logan managed to stifle his outrage, keeping his words silent but strong in emotion, wondering if ‘effin cee’ would get him a belt.

After a period of contemplation he rang Bruce.

“Boss! … where the fuck are you?”

“Aarhh … don’t swear … a mad woman has got me hooked up to the electricity and if there is swearing I get a shock!”

“Bullshit!”

“Aarhh … please don’t, please don’t.  It is true.  It is unbelievable.  But listen, you have to get that silver Katana back!”

“What?  But boss, you said that was mine cos it was our 50th together.  It is in Hawkes Bay with my cousin on new plates.”

“Listen very carefully, and don’t, don’t swear, not even a little bit … or use any words that you don’t think is swearing but the mad lady and her voltage machine might.  We need that bike back in town and checked over by Ray at Motos within the next week.  You haven’t modified it have you?”

“Cuzzie Brian painted it red for me and took off that stuff around the headlight, and we put a seat from a GSX 1100 on it, so it looks more normal.  Cost me nearly a grand in credits and a bag of herb”

“Well, get it here at all costs and get Moro to paint it back to standard.  This fruit-loop is from another planet and she doesn’t mind hurting me.  She sees it as a personal thing.  She is some sort of freak with no emotion.  She just zaps me for nearly nothing.”

“Where are you Boss?  Can’t we just break you out?  Does she have any muscle?”

“Well, I think I am near the airport because I can hear the planes quite loudly and reckon they are landing over me.  Which way is the wind blowing today because that will tell you which end I am near?”

It was ascertained that from Logan’s reckoning he was being held near the southern end of the airport.  However, they were not to know that again Jane was more than one step ahead of them.  The landing planes were just part of recordings that she included in her meticulous planning.  While Bruce had five associates out scouring the suburb identified, in reality Logan was 45 km away out in the Mason Valley, held in a converted milk factory.

Almost spot-on noon Jane was back.

“Which one Dick?  Chicken and leek, or steak and cheese?”

Logan seethed with anger, a residual result of his captivity and a reaction to Jane’s breezy and nonchalant friendliness.  His stubborn pride stopped him from responding. Reluctantly he pointed to Janes left hand and the steak and cheese pie.

“And the magic word Dick?  Surely you remember it. Only children who say the magic word get their lunch”

Logan felt that compliance was capitulation.  He’d always looked upon himself as an Alpha Male personality and subjugation was what he handed out, not a state he had ever found himself in.  He saw it as weakness.  His only way of showing strength was resistance.  The magic word never passed his lips.

“Oh well, your choice Dick … true to your name.”

Jane sat and ate first the chicken and leek pie, then with no sign from Logan of obedience, she started in on the steak and cheese one.  Stopping after eating half of it she paused then lobbed it over into the rubbish bin.

“Dinner at 6.30 Dick, I am thinking of a lamb curry. You OK with that?”

Again there was no response.  With a shrug of her shoulders, Jane walked from the workshop, pausing only to move the rubbish bin with her foot, out of Logan’s reach.

The evening mealtime was almost a repeat of the lunch fiasco.  Logan was not yet ready to be Jane’s lapdog as he saw it, even though hunger was now gnawing at him.  He knew that his resistance was irrational and probably ineffective, but he felt it was all that he had.  He turned away from the plates of curry laid out on the small table.  The aroma tipped him over the edge of normal behaviour.

“Cun … aaarrghh!, Bastard bitc … aaarghhnnnghhh!”

The shocks took Logan’s breath away and jolted him off his seat.  Jane remained quite emotionless with her arms folded.  She then serenely and slowly ate a generous helping of the curry.  Finally she stood and started tidying away the makings of what could have been a wonderful meal.

“Good night Dick, see you in the morning.”

Sometime later Jane smiled when she heard Logan whimpering and quietly muttering to himself. She could see from the monitor in her adjoining cottage that he was sitting with his head in his hands, shoulders slumped, gently rocking back and forth.

Eleven hours later, yet again Jane had her breakfast tray loaded with aromatic, freshly toasted fruit bread and a French Press of coffee.

“Good morning Dick, how are you today?”

There was a thirty second silence.

“It is Logan”

And so began a realignment of roles.  Slowly, inexorably, the wary relationship became collegial and within a couple of days there was mutual planning and expectations.  

John Templeton returned to the welcoming arms of his sister and the wonderful sight of his beloved 1984 Suzuki Katana 1100, looking better than ever.

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