TUNA LIFE (4 page)

Contrary to Andrew, who started working straight after graduating from University, Ken had just continued on. Instead of specialising, and going for a Ph.D. or something, he had just been floating around, studying a million different subjects. He was now studying medicine of all things.

Andrew sometimes struggled to understand his friend. Andrew had been raised to provide for himself, to always fend for himself, but Ken just didn’t seem to care. It helped, of course, that his family was filthy-rich, and that he had inherited a trust fund from his mum, but still, there just didn’t seem to be any plan behind Ken’s university studies. He just studied something until he got tired of it, and then he simply changed subjects.

Ken squinted through the dark Elektra sunglasses. It appeared he had a headache.

“I don’t understand how you handle it, Ken. I can hardly drink anymore. Sick for a week afterwards,” Andrew said.

Ken took a large drink from his beer. “You’re out of practice, Andrew. But you’re right. It’s getting harder and harder.”

“Harder? You look like you’ve slept under a bus. AIDS patients look healthier. What in hell were you drinking last night?”
“Absinthe.”

“Absinthe? Do they still sell that shit? I thought it was illegal.”

Ken smiled. “I can acquire most things. But enough about my drinking, what’s this exciting new business idea you’ve come up with? Don’t tell me somebody has tricked you into some multi-level marketing shit, and that I have to sit here for the next two hours listening to how I’m going to become a millionaire selling soap and phone plans.”

Andrew laughed. He had been to his share of those meetings. “Relax. This isn’t some pyramid scheme. Did you honestly think I was going to try to trick you into some shit like that? I’m offended.” Andrew smiled before continuing. “I need your skills, Ken. I want to start a company with you.”

“Start a company, with me? Why?” Ken shifted uneasily in his chair.

“Because you are a brilliant designer, Ken. I’ve got no idea why you’ve started studying medicine. We both know you’re never going to work a single day as a doctor,” Andrew said bluntly.

Ken knew Andrew was right. His best time at university had undoubtedly been the two years he studied design. He knew he had a talent for it. But then again he had a talent for many things. He could become whatever he wanted. The world lay wide open for him. The only thing he knew for sure was that he would never be working as a doctor. When he got his diploma he would find something else to study. He enjoyed university. He was in control there.

He liked being in control.

“Maybe you’re right,” Ken said. “But I’ve always wanted to address myself as doctor. And there are way too many pretty girls at med school for you to convince me to quit.” He smiled.

Andrew studied his friend. Ken always bragged about his conquests, but Andrew couldn’t really remember ever having seen him with a girl. He didn’t look bad. In fact he almost looked like a spitting image of Andrew, and they had often been mistaken for each other when they grew up. At one stage Ken had borrowed Andrew’s driver’s licence for an entire year, after he had lost his own for DUI. He had been stopped by the police a few times, but they had never suspected anything. He still used it from time to time when he didn’t want to draw any attention. He did after all come from a well-known family.

“You don’t have to give up your career as an eternal student, Ken. I only need you with me on paper. And if you have time you can help out designing the products I intend to launch. These Venture Capital vultures invest in people, and you are exactly the sort of person they will invest in.” Andrew knew what he was talking about. Even though Ken didn’t have any work experience to speak of, he was an amazingly talented web designer, and he was quite switched on. Andrew guessed he could have aced all the subjects at university if he wanted to, but he seemed to be content just floating by, just hovering above the pass grades. And who could blame him; it wasn’t like he would ever have to work for a living. And that was the second reason for choosing Ken. He came from an impressive family. When his mum died from a drug overdose when he was four, he was taken in by her wealthy brother, John, who adopted him. When John sold his chain of electronics stores in the mid-2000s, and decided to migrate to Hong Kong with his wife and biological daughter for tax reasons, Ken was the only one who stayed back at the Gold Coast. So for the last eight years Ken had been living by himself in their old mansion at Sovereign Island, the place for people with more money than taste on the Gold Coast.

“So what exactly is your product?” Ken asked.

Andrew coughed. “I haven’t really gotten that far yet. I need to put together a team first.”

“Aren’t you starting in the wrong end?” Ken asked, sporting a smug smile.

“This is the new economy, mate. Old rules don’t apply anymore,” Andrew Engels laughed.

“So what’s our next step?”

“Well, apart from needing a good business idea, we need a good programmer, someone who will look good on my PowerPoint presentation.”

“PowerPoint?” Ken repeated.

Andrew smiled. “The most important thing is to have a great team so that we can get some funding in place. We can figure out what we want to do later. Most companies end up with a totally different product than they originally planned anyway.” Andrew had paid attention to every single word Richard Smith had uttered in their lunch meeting. Richard Smith had explained how a long line of the most successful internet companies in the world had started off with totally different product ideas than what they had ended up with. The road was made when you walked, Richard had said. Andrew was in a rush. He only had enough savings to keep going for a few weeks.

The road would have to be made running.

“Yes. Someone who can provide credibility, someone with qualifications and a good CV, someone who will look good on paper.”

It appeared that Ken Speis was pondering for a moment. “I’ve got a few candidates,” he finally said.

“Are they any good?” Andrew asked.

“They are very good. I just don’t know how motivated they are,” he replied.

7

The rubber ball ricocheted from the wall before landing elegantly in Scott Davis’ palm. His relaxation exercise was interrupted by the door being opened and a wax-covered head of hair poking in. It was the head and hair of his colleague Mark Moss.

“Are you using the office?” Mark asked.

Scott Davis gave him a disappointed look, like a father’s gaze when he was disappointed with his son’s achievements in life. Mark Moss apologised and was about to close the door when he seemed to change his mind. He poked his head back in. “Have you got five minutes?”
Scott didn’t really want to talk to anybody. There was a reason he used the meeting room to work. He didn’t function well in an open office where every thought he had was interrupted by a colleague’s well-intended triviality or attempt to be social. He knew there was a lot of dissatisfaction with him permanently occupying one of the meeting rooms to work; they were meant for confidential phone conversations and meetings – that was the reason they were called meeting rooms. They are not called writing rooms, his old boss had said. Well, you should have thought about that before you removed my office and placed me in a fucking call centre, he had snapped back. As usual, his boss had just shook his head and walked away. Scott waved Mark Moss back into the room. He closed the Excel spreadsheet he had open on his laptop so that Mark wouldn’t realise that he was actually organising the training schedule for the rugby team he coached.

“What can I do for you?” Scott asked.

“I heard you were on the crime desk before me?” Mark said.

“Thirty-five years. I was on the crime desk for thirty-five years,” Scott replied, slightly annoyed.

Mark Moss sat down in one of the spare seats. “I’m struggling with this case I’m working on. I was wondering if I could ask you for some advice.”

“Ask me for advice? I thought you were the new hot shit,” Scott snapped. He stared straight at Mark Moss, the kid who had only started in the Gold Coast Times less than a year ago. Twenty-five years old and almost devoid of any relevant work experience before he had been given Scott’s job a few months back.

“I heard what they did to you,” Mark said. “I don’t think it’s fair. I didn’t know that I was getting your job when they offered me a position on the crime desk.” He was fidgeting with his fingers. “You’re a legend there. Everyone knows how good you were.”

“Were?” Scott asked.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Mark apologised. “In my opinion you are the best crime reporter in Queensland, and I don’t understand why they transferred you to the business desk. I didn’t make that decision though. I was just moved around. Just like you.”

“Ok. Let’s cut through the bullshit. What can I help you with?” Scott Davis was starting to get annoyed.

“For the last couple of days I’ve been working on this story about missing persons cases. But there is something odd about it. I think they may be connected.”

“What’s connected? What missing persons cases? People disappear from the Gold Coast every day. It’s called moving, Mark. People move from the Gold Coast to get jobs.”

“I’ve been working on this feature story for our Saturday issue. It is supposed to be a story about people going missing from the Gold Coast over the last twenty years, and where they might be now. I’ve been planning to interview parents and friends, to give the missing persons a face, to give their parents an opportunity to tell their stories.”

Scott studied the young wannabe-crime-reporter. He seemed genuine. He seemed to want to do some proper journalistic work. It was clear he hadn’t been at the paper for very long. “So, which cases do you think are linked?” Scott asked.

“Two young women have disappeared every single year since 2008. Nine young women have disappeared without a trace. And no one seems to care. No one seems to ask any questions.”

“What’s the common denominator? What connects the cases?” Scott asked.

“All the girls look exactly the same,” Mark replied.

Scott couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh. “Let me give you some advice, Mark. You’re on the Gold Coast. All the girls look the same.”

“But…” Mark started before being interrupted by Scott. “No buts. Let me guess: they were all in their early twenties. They all had light blonde hair and silicon tits. They were prostitutes or students who made a bit on the side working in strip clubs. Maybe they had invested in a suitcase with toys and gave private parties for buck nights?” Scott Davis snuffled. “What did you think you had discovered, Mark? A serial killer?” he said in a demeaning way.

“I only wanted you to have a look. Something is not right.”

Scott regretted his comment. He didn’t normally care too much about how people perceived him. But this young kid had walked into his office asking for help. And Scott had ridiculed him. It hadn’t been necessary. “Put what you’ve got in my mailbox, and I’ll have a look at it,” he said, and opened his laptop. Mark Moss uttered a thank-you, but Scott Davis didn’t care to acknowledge it. He was already busy thinking about his conundrum; the match on the twenty-fourth was too close to the State of Origin match being broadcast live on channel ten. Queensland against New South Wales. The highlight of the season. There was no way in hell he would miss that. Not for a junior rugby league match.

8

Andrew and Ken had been unsuccessful in finding a third partner. Ken Speis had organised meetings with three programmers he knew from uni, but none of them was particularly interested. The market was screaming for people with programming skills, and they could all walk straight into well-paid jobs in Sydney and Melbourne.

Unfortunately they were all willing to do exactly that.

“So what do we do now?” Ken asked.

Andrew shrugged his shoulders. To be honest he hadn’t even thought that far ahead. He had always believed that their problem would be to come up with a great business idea – not people. He had been so wound up by witnessing how investors were willing to give sixty grand to that teenager at the Hilton two weeks earlier that he had thought everyone else would see what he saw: That this was the second dotcom wave. It was a window of opportunity that soon would close. Ken’s friends had been walking around on campus for the last few years though, believing they were God’s gift to worklife. They hadn’t spent the last seven years slaving away for a pity of a salary, without any real prospect of ever becoming debt-free before they retired at sixty-five. Oh, yeah, forgot to mention that you wouldn’t be retiring at sixty-five anymore. Generation-X would probably have to work until eighty-five. Longevity came with a price.

Ken’s friends though, they still believed in the old lie that the grass was green in employed life, that they would be headhunted by a company that would appreciate their knowledge and reward their efforts. Andrew knew better. But it had taken him a long time to figure it out. These soon-to-be-graduated computer science geeks would have to learn the hard lessons on their own.

“I don’t know.” Andrew pulled out a crumpled flyer from his left pants pocket. Richard Smith had told him Y-Bator would be chairing a seminar for start-ups later that evening. “We could always try this,” he said, handing Ken the flyer.

Ken skimmed through the information on the flyer, sipping on his beer. “I guess it can’t hurt.”

Ken and Andrew arrived at Y-Bator’s forum for budding entrepreneurs at seven o’clock. It had started at six. Free pizza and mineral water was on the menu, and the event seemed to have been a success. Young kids mingled and the room was buzzing with activity. Andrew and Ken, however, felt like outsiders as they tried to work the room. Most of the other guys were at least ten years younger and wore hoodies and T-shirts. Andrew and Ken had dressed up for the event; nice shirts and dark jeans. It made them stand out like cheerleaders at a Goth party. It was only ten years since Andrew was twenty, but he couldn’t remember ever having looked this young. After a few failed attempts at initiating conversations with some of their fellow aspiring entrepreneurs, Andrew and Ken retreated to one of the safe corners of the room, the corner where the mobile bar was placed.