Things Are Different

“Motherfucker”
-Marsellus Wallace, Pulp Fiction


April 27th 2025 – Perth CBD – 2 weeks before Osric Dangerfield is found dead.

The fluorescent lights of the large open planned office level shimmers and saturates every last drop of surface area. The building itself was built mid 10s and it’s once trendy hip design was now betraying its fast, affordable construction. Tarquin sits, imagining the two pens that he is holding horizontally towards each other in the air are actually large airships preparing to do battle in epic naval proportions. Just as his red pen was about to unleash a tide of pain onto the blue opposition Denise caught him in her eye “Are you in idle? Check your time Quin!” her oily face and peroxide blonde and light perm caught the fluorescents and danced in the electric light. “Here’s your weekly report” she said, barely moving her massive lips and slapping down Tarquin’s weekly productivity report. This was the day, the day he was going to walk out of this hive of wasps. There were many reasons for his decision to leave, but the deciding was that he felt that if he didn’t leave soon, he would break his rule of never hitting women. That woman would be Denise; for some reason his manager inspired a rage in him, he wasn’t sure why. Tarquin was always aware of the rage in him, it seemed to sit there like a giant sea creature and upon awakening would lay siege to the city of Tokyo and its denizens. Who knows why the creature came, perhaps because of over fishing or mining had awoken its mighty deep sea slumber. Denise was over fishing Tarquin’s waters and for Tarquin, it was time to move to calmer ones. “You need to pick up your overall call duration”,

July 4th 2025 – Stirling st, North Perth – 2 months and 18 days before Tarquin Dangerfield is found dead.

Tarquin stepped on his cigarette, recently he had taken up smoking; it helped keep him awake and the lighter had come in handy a few times already, plus it made him look cooler. He took a hit from his inhaler and studied the outside of the brothel. This was the last one in the area, Stephanie had hinted that she had a feeling the girl in the Polaroid had worked or was working at a brothel in this area. It turned out that checking every brothel in the area of North Perth was easier said than done, with rope lights and multi-coloured party bulbs strung outside half the houses in each block. The street was littered with idling cars with darkly lit individuals, sitting, waiting, thinking. The police had seen fit to turn a blind eye to this part of town as long as there was order, so the small niche of streets were left dark and alone, as long as they were quiet, dark and alone. Tarquin pushed the door open; a desk, some chairs to wait in, some fake pot plants, the light was all reds, yellows and ambers like a sunset after a bushfire. A portly woman sat at the desk, her face caked in dry, heavy layers of makeup, she had everything, foundation, rouge, eyeliner, blush, mascara, lipstick with the liner on the outside, making her gargantuan lips look filter feeding marine life. There was something about her that made Tarquin uneasy, he smiled as he realised why “Denise?". The clown face looked up in horror "Oh Fuck!" Denise screamed "What the fuck are you doing here you little dipshit?" Tarquin takes out the photo and shoves it in her stupid face "This woman? Who is she?" Denise stops and looks at the photo "I can't help you, now fuck off" she lies. Tarquin saw the look, she was surprised to see Ozzie with her, she knows who it is and she's too stupid to hide it. "Still work in insurance?" Tarquin asks, as she pushes him to the door "None of your business fuck ass I..." Tarquin stops her mid-insult "I know what your thinking. There is no way Quin from First Assist could do anything, but believe me when I tell you that I am not the same man you gave weekly productivity reports to..."

"...now I have a gun"

By Definition, A Crush Must Hurt 7

"...if they take my stapler then I'll set the building on fire..."
- Milton Waddams, Office Space

September 23rd 2025 Perth, Highgate – Ophelia Lang’s Resident – 3:00am

Tarquin breaths, the thick rain pelted on his back, his body like a dog’s, his hands burn, everything burns. He puts his hand on his stomach; it itches to the point of pain. His brings his oily fingers to his eye; it’s dark, black even. “Tarquin!” she yells, through the sound of the fire and rain. “Tarquin!” her hands grab him pushing him off balance, she yells at him, ordering him, Tarquin wonders who she is. Tarquin is so tired; he’s been through a lot. Things you haven’t seen yet. Soon Tarquin will stop feeling the heat of the fire and the cold of the thick rain. He will die. “Tarquin! Somebody! Please! Fuck you Tarquin you can’t...” He can see her. She is crying, she touches him and screams at him, he can no longer hear her words, she lingers then fades. He is dead. She still screams but no one comes.

July 3rd 2025 – Gin Gin – Pine plantation – 3:00am


The flames rose high, nearly reaching the crown of the tall pines. Tarquin stands, a bottle of cheap whiskey in hand, the heat irradiating the thick darkness of the pine plantation. He takes a swig and feels something in his pocket; a photo; the one from Ozzie’s house. Tarquin pulls it out, and has a mouthful as he stares into the frame. Ozzie seemed different than what he remembered growing up; the smarmy mommy’s boy grin had frayed, heavy, sad. The woman looking at the photo, red haired, smiling. “You were the last person to be with Ozric” he whispered to the girl in the photo with the fiery hair. Throwing the bottle into the dying fire Tarquin got back into the car “What do we do now?” she asked, starting the old Chrysler.

To be continued...