Blurred Vision
I was absolutely, positively sure the fourth number on the security panel was seven. ‘You can see Vince’s hand move down to the bottom corner of the panel,’ I said. ‘I’d say four,’ said Topps, his finger tracing Vince’s pixillated, ghost-like hand on the computer monitor. ‘Oh man, if only he’d stayed still a second longer.’
It was late Tuesday afternoon. We were sitting in Topps’ awesomely large bedroom. My entire bedroom could fit into his walk-in wardrobe. His computer desk was as big as my bed, and it was filled with enough gadgets to make a computer geek drool: a desk top computer, a lap top, flash drives, wireless router, an iPod, a digital Skype phone…I didn’t even know what half the stuff did.
Ray Knipe sat on Topps’ bed reading a PC Gamer magazine and drinking a cup of red cordial. He was ignoring us. He kept cleaning out his ear with his right index finger and clearing his throat. He’s a bit of a strange guy. Very smart, but never studies. He says he doesn’t have much time for school work. He’s arrogant and serious. He has thick eyebrows and long dark hair that flops over his forehead that makes him look very intense. He likes computer games and stereo music equipment – and karaoke. He has the best stereo in year ten, actually. A Kenwood he’s modified himself that could shatter glass if played at maximum volume, according to Topps. He listens to hip hop and electronica music that gives me a headache. Topps thinks he’ll be way rich when he’s older. He makes everything look so easy, without even trying. Except sport. He’s hopeless at sport. So he definitely has something in common with Topps and me.
Will Phillips sat next to Ray. He was reading a Mad magazine he’d borrowed from the library and also drinking red cordial. Every few minutes he’d laugh with his high pitched squeal. The worst laugh in year ten. It made him sound like he was choking. He’s funny, but always stressed out and disorganised and panicking about forgetting permission slips the morning of an excursion or answers to science tests. He must have left his flash drive in the computer room at school at least eight or nine times. He’s clumsy and tall with a bewildered look on his face as if to say: “What am I doing here?” He likes long fantasy novels and YouTube and playing the piano, even though after eight years of lessons he’s not very good. I get on with Will better than Ray, because you could boss Will around. Ray just doesn’t listen to you. They’re good friends of Topps, even though Topps always complains about them being ubergeeks, which is why he prefers to spend more time with Skye and me.
The TV was on, but Will and Ray didn’t seem to be giving too much attention to the DVD that was playing.
Topps told them about what happened to me at the Video Saloon. I didn’t want him too, but he did. He can’t keep a secret for long. Anyway, he claimed they kept pestering him when he asked them to come down to the Video Saloon the night before. ‘Renting a video at 9.45 at night during a school week and then sitting in Ray’s brother’s car for an hour isn’t something I regularly do,’ Topps had told me at school this morning. ‘Ray and Will, not to mention Justin, were going to be pretty suspicious sitting in a car with me, a laptop and a camera receiver. I had to tell them.’
‘Are you stupid?’ I said angrily. ‘If one of them blabs then the whole school will know we’re trying to set Crass and Vince up. It’ll be a disaster. Crass has friends in this school. We’d get taken out in the change rooms for sure.’
‘Hey, credit please Mr Music,’ said Topps. ‘I didn’t tell them everything. Just enough to let them know why I was setting up a surveillance camera in the store. I didn’t even hardly mention the piracy.’
‘Hardly?’
‘Yeah, just a few excerpts. The funny bits. Besides, I got the new security code, didn’t I?’
I had to give him that.
He’d given me a blow-by-blow account what had happened: After Topps, Ray and Ray’s older brother Justin had driven to pick Will up, and Will had eventually come up with a story to convince his parents he should be let out of the house at almost nine-thirty at night, they’d driven to the Video Saloon. Ray and Will had borrowed a bunch of weeklies, and even had an argument over an old Japanese anime called Bubblegum Crisis (Ray doesn’t like anime). There were a couple of other customers there too, which was good for Topps as he had more of a diversion – as long as none of them ventured into the children’s section.
Vince had gone out the back to get the DVDs, allowing Topps to set up the camera. It fitted in perfectly on the top corner of the shelf, aiming right at the security panel. ‘It clipped right onto the shelf, and I wedged it between a couple of old Scooby Doo and Rugrats discs. No-one will borrow those, for sure,’ said Topps.
‘What’ve happened if Vince had seen you?’ I said.
‘I’d have done a runner and left Will and Ray to sort it out,’ Topps had grinned.
It had taken less than a minute. Topps made sure it was working as best he could and then got out of the store before Vince had even returned to the counter with the five DVDs. Then they’d all piled in to Justin’s car, which was parked on the other side of the road, as Topps was sure it would still be in range, armed with the receiver and laptop.
Then, this morning Topps and Ray had braved missing a double period of English to return a couple of the DVDs. Crass was in. Topps had headed straight for the children’s section, is heart in his school shoes. The camera was still there. In the light of a warm Melbourne morning it was far more visible than the previous night. ‘I don’t know how Crass could have missed it,’ Topps had said. ‘You could spot it a mile away. I didn’t realise it was so visible.’
I said, ‘He probably had a hangover and couldn’t focus. It was ten o’clock in the morning, after all.’
Now we were sitting in Topps’ room after school trying to figure out what the security code was. Ray and Will had insisted in coming along, although they’d lost interest fairly quickly. We were watching the digital video. I found the image on the PC too dark.
‘The signal’s not great,’ Topps said. ‘Everytime a car passed us it broke up.’
I saw Vince move into camera range. The key pad was a bit fuzzy and out of focus, but I could make it out more-or-less.
‘I thought the picture would be clearer,’ I said, as static washed over the picture.
‘Considering I’m using a receiver that’s trying to pick up a signal from a thumb sized wireless camera on the other side of a brick wall, I think it’s pretty good,’ said Topps, defensively. ‘Anyway, you’ll see the real problem soon.’
Vince stood to the left of the panel. Topps zoomed the picture in, pixillating the numbers of the panel even more, but we could still make them out. He pushed the first three numbers that I recognised as: 3-6-6… Then Vince moved slightly to the right and even with the camera on a tight angle we couldn’t see the last digit. It was definitely on the left side of the panel, as the 3, 6 and 9 were still visible.
‘You can see his hand drop,’ I said. ‘I reckon he pushed seven.’
‘That’s the problem we had last night. We all agreed on the first three numbers. But look closely,’ said Topps, ‘his hand is right next to the five key. It’s definitely a four.’
Ray jumped off the bed and walked over the computer and peered closely at the screen. ‘I told you last night, it’s a one. For sure.’
‘What do you know, numbnuts?’ growled Topps. ‘His hand is too low. A one? As if.’
Ray shrugged and went back to the TV. ‘It’s a one,’ he said, lying down.
We tried replaying the scene, zooming in as close as we could, but Vince’s jacket covered the panel, blocking out the far left numbers on the pad. The static didn’t help things.
‘Well,’ said Topps, ‘we know it’s a four or a seven. We’ve got a good chance.’
‘We get three shots at this,’ I said. ‘If that alarm goes off again, that’s it, revenge or no revenge, that’s the end. I’m forgetting about it.’
‘Oh man!’ cried Will, in disgust.
‘I don’t know what you’re worried about Will,’ I said. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’
‘What?’ said Will, the familiar look of bewilderment crossing his face. ‘I’m talking about Bubblegum Crisis. Ray was right, it is lame!’
Ray shrugged and emptied his glass. He was always right.