John Brady - Poachers Road

It went well at the start. The little ones were suitably awed. Most got passionately involved with the welfare of Helpless Hans, the cartoon character. Hans was thoughtless near traffic, stupidly did what his sneaky peers wanted of him. There he was drinking from bottles whose contents he did not know. Next he was distracting a shopkeeper while his so-called mates rifled chocolate from a shelf. He was then telling whoppers at home to cover for himself and others.

The false friends all had eyebrows that arched, Felix noticed.

Felix himself had done pretty well all these things in varying degrees. Now his work was to urge others not to follow in the miscreant’s way. The colouring sheet and word puzzles were a hit.

There were no men teachers at these ages apparently, and, so busy and keen were the little ones, that he had time to chat with a few teachers about the Internet, about burglaries, about a first cousin stationed in Judenburg name of Rudi, and about other matters. He had a little time to stroll the hallway. It wasn’t Helpless Hans he was thinking of then for a moment, but a different Hans, the unshaven Hansi Himmelfarb. He distracted himself by paying attention to the wild improbability of the art on the walls. He liked the serious intent on the kids’ faces, and the cheerful teachers. The tiny chairs, and the huge toys made him smile. Some kids picked their noses fearlessly.

He heard at least one fart.

Fortified by not-bad coffee in the staffroom where he saw but two men amongst a dozen teachers, he had forgotten what the older kids could be like. His guide was a talkative, bespectacled nerd in the senior class. He kept asking Felix how fast he had ever driven “chasing the bad guys” while he unhelpfully guided the trolley with the TV and video, and Felix’s charts and handouts, down the terrazzo hallways.

They had congregated two classes for the presentation. The teacher who remained was a defeated-looking guy with a finely trimmed beard. He expected to be left to mark things and after a few perfunctory remarks, retired to a desk and began writing things.

The kids had that X-ray vision and a feral instinct for new teachers, visiting teachers, and it transferred well to the probationary Gendarme.

Questions started early. Felix heard himself say “Good question” too many times and for a while he was unable to stop. He managed to improvise, however: “Let’s take that after you see the video.” One dickschadel, a short fellow with a smile that was more of a leer, a ringleader no doubt, kept going, of course. He wanted to know about drugs, parties, and if you had to say even one word to a policeman who wanted to talk to you. And had he ever shot someone, by the way? And why? And had he been shot?

By the end of the hour Felix was close to the edge. He wanted to walk over to Teacher Man and tap him on the head so he’d look up. Then he wanted to tell Junior Lawyer of the Year that a little pisser like him would last about a nanosecond on the street with a mouth like that.

It was recess when he left the room. A smartass followed him down the hall and told him about Rohypnol, MSN house party lists, and how a kid he knew had to go to the hospital last Christmas with alcohol poisoning.

“Thanks,” said Felix. “I think it’s recess, isn’t it?”

“They know so much,” said the useless Teacher Man, safely behind his glasses and with a vacant look to him. “But they understood so little.”

Felix, who had badly wanted overpaid Teacher Man to wade in a half-dozen times so the big mouths could be shut up, nodded. He even offered a sympathetic shrug when Teacher Man droned on about the perils of unsupervised Internet access at home and the American video games that were so violent. And the movies and TV, Mein Gott!

But as he passed by the doorway, Felix heard the shouts from the schoolyard. Recess was definitely his best subject at that age. It was a breezy, sunny day now. Kids were on swings, playing soccer.

The winter was gone. This wasn’t the time or place for thoughts of two dead men in the woods. He and Giuliana would be making their escape tomorrow, and they’d head down to the beaches on the Adriatic side. Soon, there’d be time to bum around the Hofgasse to take a day at the hot springs in Waltersdorf.

He caught sight of the kid who’d been the pain in the ass in the senior class Mr. Rohypnol, he would call him calling out something that his friends laughed at. Felix didn’t see the victim of his wit, but Mr. Rohypnol caught his eye. Felix nodded. Mr. Rohypnol mimed smoking a joint to his friends.

Felix turned away and strolled down the hallway. He rehearsed a conversation with Gebhart, one he would never have, while he waited for recess to end:

Felix: Gebi, this is going to be hard on you. It’s about our work.

Prepare yourself.

Gebhart: You’re a Gendarme for five months and suddenly you’re a genius?

Felix: Listen, it came to me today, in school. I was actually conflicted.

Gebhart: Get married. That fixes all that psychological stuff.

Felix: Here it is: we’re actually inciting kids to do things that we warn them against. It’s the old forbidden fruit thing!

Gebhart: That’s you. I wish I could forbid you from talking.

Felix: Kids want to be trouble; they want to do the naughty stuff.

Gebhart: What a colossal idiot you are. Unbelievable.

Felix: It’s evolution, Gebi. There’s nothing we can do.

Gebhart: Absolute shit. That’s nihilism, and nothing but. And you learned that at the Uni? Sue them for your fees back. You were robbed, I say.

Felix: You’re in denial. That’s how I know I’m right, my friend.

Gebhart: I’m not your friend. I don’t make friends with bullshitters.

Felix: They want danger. They want to trespass. It’s arousing.

Gebhart: Are you on medication? Too much? Too little?

Felix: The uniform, the school, the rules and signs they cannot stamp out human nature. If we only took a look down through the levels of consciousness more, instead of lectures and rules Gebhart: I know it’s a democracy. But maybe it’s time for laws against blode talk like this. Especially from a cop.

Felix: Did you ever wonder if, maybe some cops are people without the courage to be criminal?

Gebhart: Really? Your dad would be delighted to hear you talk this way. I don’t think.

Felix: One must suffer sometimes for the truth, Gebi The door to the office opened. It was the secretary he had been introduced to first thing this morning. Her glasses hung almost on her nostrils.

“Gruss Gott, Inspektor can you take a telephone?”

“For me?”

Then he remembered: he had switched off the walkie-talkie.

Gebi had reminded him to do it.

He pulled his trolley back to the door of the office.

“Kimmel, Felix?” the secretary asked, eyeing him over the rim of her glasses.

“Yes.”

“Well, I went to school with your father,” she said. “God rest his soul. Felix.”

“He had many friends.”

“‘Ein bisschen Kummel,’” she said. “‘A little caraway goes with everything.’”

Felix did not tell her he had never heard that one before. He smiled and he followed her through to a small room with a table and a phone, and a small window that looked out over the schoolyard.

It was Gebhart.

“You’re just about finished your arduous duties there?”

“I am.”

“Okay. Me I’m going to lunch but I wanted to get in touch with you before I left. It’s so as you can prepare yourself. A two o’clock meeting, with you involved.”

“Just me? What for?”

“It’s the KD from Graz, some of the ones who came out to the site yesterday.”

“Himmelfarbs?”

“You remember them?”

“A weird-looking guy with shades, who said nothing. A big guy, moustache, Speckbauer?”