“What ya getting at?” James asked.
“Cashless society.”
“Cashless society? Wow. Well this ‘inside world’ research I do may be more real than I’m giving it credit for.”
“What do you mean?”
James reached for his notebook and skimmed though some pages and then paused. “Here we go. It’s from the Bible, from the book of Revelation.”
"Also it causes all, both small and great, both rich and poor, both free and slave, to be marked on the right hand or the forehead, so that no one can buy or sell unless he has the mark, that is, the name of the beast or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom: let the one who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man, and his number is 666."
“Well there was one man in prison who had 666 tattooed on his forehead. But no one else. Now that you mention it, I remember some similar talk when the Apple watch came out, particularly when people would pay for items with their watch. But that’s the wrist, not the hand.”
“Yea, lots of false assumptions. I suppose . . . but an interesting subject.”
“You may be right. But what you just quoted doesn’t say anything about society being cashless. It just says you wouldn’t’ be able to buy anything. Maybe cashless is just the way society is going. You know, striving for efficiency.”
“Maybe. And that’s why we have credit cards, although I don’t use mine much.” James said.
James walked over and grabbed a large coat hanging on the back of the door. He lowered his head. Hermit. Inside world. What does he take me for? He hoped Lucas didn’t pick up his slight resentment. I’m not an idiot, mate.
<°)))><
After the door closed, Lucas sat in silence. He needed to keep a copy of the recordings.
He looked up at the intercom screen near the door. It looked like it needed batteries too—a blank screen with no sign of life, no red indicator saying it was. Things were quiet just the occasional hum of a car going past. The room had a musty smell—water leaking somewhere. He thought of prison—the overriding smell there was disinfectant. That’s what they were doing to the prisoners too, trying to disinfect them.
He was in a pickle now. Things had been moving too fast. It would be nice to be back in his prison cell. No, he needed to help Bella, wherever she was. James did worry him. Why does a man become a hermit? He mentioned his search for peace. Was he seeking insight, or was he running away from something? He didn’t appear to crave the things of the world, wasn’t concerned about his appearance, or where he lived. He didn’t give away much but Lucas had some lingering doubts. He smelled the drugs back in the shack. Unless James had dealt with that issue, Lucas would anticipate problems. Had he dealt with it?
Lucas walked over to the tablet device on the table. He checked the sides. There were some USB ports. Good. Now he needed to find the right cables. He wasn’t going to give away the recordings without keeping a copy.
He looked at James’s notebook and picked it up. He skimmed though the pages. James could draw. But Lucas paused, his fingers tightened around the notebook, and then dropped it on the table.
He stared down at the notebook on the table. A detailed sketch looked up at him. It was the lady. Ava. Now Lucas was concerned.
46 – Back into the rat race
JAMES STOOD ON THE FOOTPATH OUTSIDE THE UNITS. He looked at the clothes he had on. Old jeans with a peace sign patch on one knee and a thick turtle neck jumper that had fallen off the ark. He hunched up his coat and wrapped it around to hide his attire. He looked up towards the main road. Lots of cars shooting by, and he was glad he chose not to drive. Only a few cars when they drove in late yesterday but even that was busy compared to his country retreat. He sighed as he commenced his journey back into the rat race.
He stopped at a small convenience store and looked in the window. The assistant behind the counter looked up at him briefly. James wandered through the store and could not locate any communication facilities, so he continued his walk up to the busy road.
Trams still ran along this road, ancient things. James hopped on one and was thankful for the lady who helped him use the ticket machine, even though the ticket was more like a card. She even told him where the nearest shops were and the ticket zone required to get there, although he had to pay a lot more than he wanted to as he made the mistake of buying a weekly.
He’d always enjoyed the soothing sound of trams from the outside, but once inside he knew it was a different world. Windows rattling, people talking, crackling sounds coming through the speakers. James hadn’t experienced this type of racket for a long time and was apprehensive but it wasn’t as bad as anticipated. They’d improved things but still the noise entertained the travellers. He’d forgotten how noisy cities were—he thought of the tranquillity of the bush, but it was mainly the lack of people that brought that tranquillity.
He looked around at the people. One lady caught his attention—she looked a lot like Ava. Do you really want to put that lady in prison?
An electronic bell sounded.
“Excuse me.”
It was the helpful lady.
“This is your stop coming up.”
James looked to see the tram stop signage. “Thank you so much.”
The Ava lookalike was getting off here as well. James ushered her out before him. Some pulse points warming and activating her perfume. The scent stirred up a desire in James that had long been asleep—the thought of his body next to Ava’s was strong, intoxicating. Do you really want to put that lady in prison?
He entered the shopping centre. More noise. He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the shop windows. No wonder people were looking at him. Two police officers were doing the rounds. They stared at him as they walked past. How should he go about this? He noticed a police shopfront sandwiched between a cafe and some kind of discount drug store.
James was in two minds as he stood outside the police shopfront. He peered in and saw a young boy sitting on a bench. Little boy lost. A lady was rushing through the doors, arms outstretched for the boy. Must be her son. Little boy found. The boy was not overly happy by her appearance.
He moved away from the shopfront and sensed eyes looking at him. A poster of a happy smiling couple displayed on the drug store window looked down at him. Smiling faces, because of the drugs they took—yes, the marketing machine at work on the gullible people. James looked closer and saw the logo: Perdu@. French toast popped into his head but was quickly replaced with the image of Ava.
There stood a phone box, something James thought no longer existed—most probably survived because it was cheaper to use than the other technology. Maybe some kind of marketing gimmick. He stepped into the box. He thought of Dr Who and Superman.
James decided it was time for this hermit to re-enter the world.
47 – Reunited
STILL NO DEVICE BUT THE GIRL WAS OUT OF THE WAY. Although Ava told herself these things, there was a lingering doubt that the girl might still be alive. Ava wondered if the authorities had the recording device. If so, she needed to get out of the country quick smart. Pronto.
Ava had told her husband there had been another accident and it looked like the girl may have been in the car. It looked serious.
“That family don’t have much luck with motor vehicles. Maybe she survived and we can visit her in hospital and you can use your interviewing techniques to find out where the plants are located—where, in this great country of ours, does this secret plant live?” His phone gave off its morbid call.
“Yes.”
Anthony Perdu looked puzzled.
“There’s a call for you dear. It’s come through from reception. Very lucky this person caught us here. Maybe the hospital?” He grinned. “Remember Ava, we make our own future and our own destiny. So we need to ride with whatever this is.”
She tilted her head. Something wasn’t right with her husband. She placed a wireless device on her ear. “Hello.”
“Hello, Ava.”
“Who is this?”
“We met recently”. There was a dry cough. “But you left without saying goodbye.”
Ava’s mind was sprinting. Was it the man from the country? The potato-sack man? How did he get her name?
“You haven’t phoned to continue our discussion on end times, have you?”
“No, don’t be silly.”
Another dry cough. Nervous.
