The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  Kate didn't answer. It was quite unusual for Dietrich, but compliments are always welcome, so she gladly took them. Dietrich spent many minutes making allusions to career paths and professional growth, giving the impression he was referring to her, listing some of the most significant opportunities which could open up in a company like Leigh Madison Enterprise. If there was one thing Kate didn't think of at the moment, it was that of trying to make a career. She was not that young anymore and had now adapted to that lifestyle: she had her space and established habits. Having more money would be certainly nice, but she was no longer willing to bear the surplus of stress, responsibility, mental and physical commitment. Among other things, it was clear that Dietrich was trying to shift the conversation to other matters, so the whole speech about promotions could even be just a lie made up on the spot.

  Kate was persuading herself that she could not go on trying to get blood from a stone: whatever mystery or intrigue was behind those messages - and she couldn't state with certainty there was one - Malcolm Dietrich proved very able to divert the topic, without appearing too reticent. A perfect strategy, she had to admit to herself the Secretariat's manager.

  Having verified that it would make no sense to insist, Kate Ramos gave up and make up an excuse for leaving, apologizing to her boss for wasting his time. Malcolm Dietrich just replied with a generic you can call me anytime, Ramos and mimed a gesture of chivalry, getting up from his armchair. She had not approached the door yet, when a thought suddenly struck her and she stopped. She realized that the most obvious question was yet to be asked.

  «Who's Clive Hebert?»

  «Who?», Malcolm Dietrich replied, raising his eyebrows.

  «Clive Hebert», Kate repeated, spelling out the words. «The correspondence I was talking about is addressed to him too.»

  «I do not know him. You're the one who takes care of these things, it's you who should tell me», Dietrich barked, in a visibly darker mood.

  «Of course, excuse me Sir. You know, it's just curiosity», Kate justified herself, turning pale. «I've never heard of him and...»

  «I don't know all damn Evendorf's employees!», Dietrich interrupted her. «If you really care, call them and ask for explanations!»

  Kate was puzzled by that sudden change of mood and so much aggression and thought she had better get out fast. She began to fear she had uncovered a pot full of shady deals, though she had no concrete proofs at that moment. While opening the door, she had another flash and stopped once again. Evendorf? How did he know that Clive Hebert worked for Evendorf? She had certainly not specified it. She rephrased that question out loud, as she could not contain the wonder. She turned back again, determined to clarify the matter with Dietrich once and for all, but her boss anticipated her move, going towards her. Kate opened her mouth, ready to grill him with questions, but was struck by a strange and sudden aphonia. She instinctively touched her throat - not knowing what else to do - and made a new useless effort: she could not speak. Panicked, she tried to cough, hoping that would help expelling a possible foreign body stuck in her throat, and it was at that point that she realized she couldn't even do that. She felt a tightening in her throat and her ears clogged, the only thing she distinctly perceived was Malcolm Dietrich's voice asking her if she was okay. Kate made gestures to signal to him that she could not speak and needed help, but the manager did not get agitated and did nothing but repeating several times: «Ramos, are you not feeling well? You need to sit down?»

  A few seconds later, everything became muffled. Kate felt like a burst of electricity on her chest, followed by a strong glow and a metallic taste in her mouth. Then nothing more.

  Chapter XI

  William Deveux had always found the ritual of blowing out candles very childish. All the more reason having arrived at a certain age, he found it absolutely inappropriate. Nevertheless his father Dominic and his sweet Caroline wanted to preserve the tradition and, for the birthday number 27, they made him find a small cake (six inches in diameter) with strawberries and cream, his favorite taste. «Come on, let's make this effort», his dad Dominic urged him, pointing to the cake with the palm of his hand. Caroline smiled when she saw William snorting, a little surprised for that little party, a little bored by those practices – from his point of view - so puerile. He reluctantly consented to the ritual blowing, which was followed by the equally usual cutting of the cake. To conclude the celebration, Caroline pulled his beard and the two started to pretend to slap each other.

  The evening passed in great intimacy, laughing and joking, with hearts full of joy. Dominic Deveux told them that they would have to celebrate again on the occasion of William's first paycheck. His son had been recently hired at a computer company, Leigh Madison Enterprise. «Maybe a trip all together», William suggested. «When I get a paid vacation, of course.» Dominic Deveux smiled, thinking that his son had just started working steadily and was already dreaming of a vacation. The youth of today, he thought to himself. Dominic pulled a small rectangular box out of a large, dusty beige suitcase. He placed it triumphantly on the table and made an announcement to the small audience.

  «My grandfather enjoyed this, back in the good old days. Kids these days have it all and are never satisfied.»

  He took out a cardboard sheet, also rectangular, with lots of colored boxes all in a row, followed by a little bunch of pieces, like those of chess, which he scattered on the table.

  «It's called board game. It's healthy for mind.»

  «Yeah. Healthy for old minds», William remarked. Caroline put her hand on her mouth to keep from laughing.

  «Umpf. You young people can't even count to four. You let all those... neural networks do the work for you...», his dad Dominic replied.

  «What's that got to do with it?», said William, giving up arguing. The three looked at each other, then burst out laughing together.

  «I can't play!», Caroline complained.

  «Don't worry. Neither can Billy, for that matter. But you learn quickly. Come on, darling, roll the dice, I'm going to teach you the rules!»

  And between a roll of the dice and some light beer, they played a lot of rounds, also losing track of the score count and laughing out loud with every wrong move. William heroically tried to escape the game in more than one circumstance, but Dominic ordered him to remain seated and stay quiet like a good little boy, as the round had not yet ended and the night was still young.

  When it was about two o'clock in the morning, they were all falling asleep and decided to raise the white flag. William proposed to Caroline to stay and sleep there, also because he had no intention of driving her home.

  The next day William wouldn't have to work, so Dominic asked him if he would like to be woken up before he left the house. He noticed only after that his son was already sleeping and could no longer hear him. Caroline, abandoned by her sleepy boyfriend, said good night to William's father and settled in a little room for the guests she had already used in the past, yet she hardly consider as her own because of her shyness.

  The alarm, for Dominic Deveux, sounded inexorable at 6.30. He made a vigorous leap from the bed and headed for the bathroom, mumbling a song from his childhood; then he checked the rooms of the two young men and smiled as he watched them still sleeping peacefully. Once put on his work uniform, he entered William's room, leaned slowly over him to avoid frightening him and whispered, «I'm going to buy you some croissants», getting just animal grunts in return.

  Delighted by the warm temperature of that June day, Dominic Deveux left DeClerk Avenue and turned to Lush Street at a fast pace, heading for Fred's pastry shop, one of the few shops which still sold home-made products. Dominic Deveux also liked the fact that they welcomed customers as friends, particularly Wally, Fred's son. Even on that occasion the kid didn't fail to appear ceremonious.

  «Good morning Mr. Dominic, always an early bird, eh? You look in pretty good shape!»

  «Thanks Wally, you're a terrible liar, but thanks anyway.»
They both laughed.

  «Hot croissants with hazelnut cream, want some?»

  Dominic Deveux couldn't say no and had five of them. He thought he would look a little stingy if he bought just a pair. They would save leftovers for the next day. He asked the guy to wrap them in paper to keep them warm. Wally did as requested, then invited him to come back soon and Dominic blew him a kiss. After leaving the shop, he checked the time and hurried home to drop off the load of delicacies. He did not want to risk being late for work, so he chose to walk Lowell Street to shorten the path. He crossed the street without using the crosswalk, looking both ways to make sure no one saw him commit that small infraction. After about ten steps he heard someone screaming, turned his head but saw no one, so he did not pay too much attention to that thing. The thud was tremendous. The croissants were thrown many steps away and scattered almost everywhere on the asphalt. Tommy, a young homeless man, ran towards him shouting SEE? YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME! Arriving near the body, the boy was seized by an uncontrollable shudder, he began to vigorously scratch one hand with the other and shake his head up and down. Then he sat down on the ground, crossed his legs and started to repeat continuously and loudly YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME, IT'S NOT FINE, IT'S NOT FINE.

  The gray car, which had run over Dominic Deveux, stopped about thirty steps from the body, as if waiting for some confirmation. A few minutes after the episode, a man in a dark jacket, purple tie and sunglasses came out. The man placed his left elbow on the roof of the car and stared at the scene from afar. He looked at the guy sitting next to the body: he did not look well, seemed to be in a daze. He was shouting something but, given the distance, he could not intercept its contents. He examined his gestures for some time and found them chaotic, random: in short, as an eyewitness he would surely be unreliable. Feeling somehow satisfied, the man in a suit and tie got back in the car and rocketed away.

  A few moments later, another vehicle arrived on the scene, going to position itself on the opposite end of the road with respect to that of the previous gray car. Two militiamen emerged from the cockpit, one plump and of medium height, the other taller and thin. The two members of the patrol calmly approached the site of the accident, investigating the surroundings, inch by inch. As they got to the spot where the incident had happened, the taller one urged Tommy to leave the area swiftly, but with little success because the boy seemed not to listen, continuing to lower and raise his head rhythmically. So the taller militiaman motioned to his colleague to help him remove that obstacle and together they lifted him by the armpits. Tommy moaned in an unintelligible way, but let them do without protest.

  «Citizen, are you ready?», the taller militiaman asked the boy, receiving no reply. Then they both stepped back, as if they prepared to run, and hurled Tommy several yards away, making him tumble on the asphalt. The boy shrieked again, then, once he had settled to the ground, he began to complain much more obsessively. IT'S NOT FINE, IT'S NOT FINE, I TOLD YOU!, he started repeating nonstop. The plump militiaman pulled out his service laser gun and pointed it at Tommy, but his colleague stopped him, shaking his head.

  After eliminating the disturbing element, the two concentrated on the body of Dominic Deveux. They picked up the main personal effects, the cards, the communicator, even an old pendant watch, which the two inspected carefully, not being 100% sure what it was for. The taller militiaman, then, took the victim's communicator in hand and made a call.

  Caroline was in the bathroom having a shower. She heard the communicator ringing and urged William to answer, but her boyfriend had no intention of getting out of the bed, so she barely dried herself and ran to answer, even bumping a knee against a kitchen chair. The Caller ID said “Dad”.

  «Dominic, what did you forget?», the girl asked. After a few seconds of silence, she heard an unfamiliar voice.

  «William Deveux?»

  «What? Who's speaking?», Caroline replied, astonished.

  «Miss, you must tell William Deveux to report at once to 27 Lowell Street, for investigation.»

  «Investigation? But, what's it about? Where's Dominic?»

  «Hurry up», the taller militiaman commanded, then he disconnected. Caroline hurried to wake up William and inform him about that weird phone call, but the young man was already up and he met her halfway. He had a puzzled look on his face, having sensed that the tenor of the conversation was rather strange. So Caroline reported the request just received and said that it was probably Militia, although the man had not formally introduced himself. A strange feeling came over William. He ran into his bedroom and dressed quickly, frightening Caroline who tried in vain to ask him what was happening. A few seconds later, the two were already on their way, running wildly towards Lowell Street.

  The plump militiaman noticed the young couple approaching with long strides, and virtually blocked them by spreading his arms as if to warn them to slow down.

  «What's going on?», Caroline protested.

  «It's all under control, Miss, don't worry», the overweight militiaman answered in a detached manner.

  «But...»

  Caroline stopped when she saw a man on the ground a little further on. She shifted her head to better frame him, but the militiaman did his best to prevent her from seeing well, using his size to obstruct her view.

  «Calm down, calm down», the officer insisted, «there's no danger anymore, leave it to us.»

  The reassurance didn't have the intended effect, Caroline had just realized that the man lying on the asphalt was William's father and let herself fall to her knees, bursting into tears. For his part, William had remained impassive all the time, stunned, like a kitchen utensil deprived of electricity. All he did was to focus his attention on his father's lifeless body, waiting to see him get up at any moment.

  In the meantime, many inhabitants of the area crowded the sidewalks along both sides of the street, keeping cautiously at a safe distance. The two militiamen were forced to divert attention from the meager audience composed of a subject standing, one on her knees and one lying on the ground, and take care of too many unwanted spectators, who flocked to watch the macabre entertainment. Citizens who meanwhile had even started to mumble and throw looks of disdain at the two officers. The militiamen realized that they had to hurry and drive them back, therefore they shared the tasks to save time, focusing, each of them, on one side of the street. They wildly waved their arms, mimicking the beating of wings to attract their attention, and once obtained, they lashed out at them and used aggressive manners to order them to disperse. It did not take very long to achieve the desired result: just a few seconds and the road was deserted again, so the two militiamen could return to the matter left open.

  Caroline continued to sob, while William found the strength to approach his father's body, without bending over him. There was not much blood on the ground, no obvious laceration. Although it was not a verifiable hypothesis at that moment, William tried to believe he had not suffered.

  The taller militiaman noticed that the young man had taken advantage of their momentary absence to approach the body and so he rushed to the spot, preaching to him in a paternalistic way.

  «Deveux, for the mercy of Our Most Excellent Institute, what are you doing?! You risk of ruining everything, of destroying our painstaking work!»

  The taller militiaman took William by the arm, trying not to be too rough, and asked him to retreat. Caroline got to her feet and, with her voice still choked with tears, implored them to let William wail over the body of his parent who had just passed away.

  «Come on», said the militiaman, «I know this is a difficult time, but there's no reason to give in to hysteria. It is precisely in situations like this that we need to keep our heads clear and cool.»

  None of them dared to add anything else to those words as cold as ice: William put his head in his hands and leaned forward, Caroline approached him from behind and gently put her arms around his waist; the other militiaman, the bigger one, seemed very busy tinker
ing with his communicator, not caring about anything else.

  «Mr. Deveux, we have to formally report you the passing of Deveux Dominic», the taller militiaman announced. «We'll take care of everything, you're in good hands, believe me. When our task is completed, we will inform you as soon as possible. Take our advice, go back home and have a nice shower. We guarantee you that you will see things in a different perspective», he then concluded, and it sounded like a farewell.

  That said, the two militiamen turned their backs and concentrated on the body of Dominic Deveux, leaving the young couple to their despair. Despite the invitation to leave, William did not move an inch and perpetuated his tenacious vigil from afar. Caroline put her arm under his armpit and held him close, urging him to back off. «They won't tell us anything else. If we stay, we'll only make them nervous», the young woman regretted. Then they slowly walked their way home, avoiding the glances of passersby who, despite being expelled, had not stopped snooping on what had happened. The militiamen remained at the scene several more minutes, making a lot of calls, until a health vehicle appeared and took away the lifeless body of William's father. The few blood stains and shreds of the victim's pants would be removed later; personal belongings returned to family members only after a careful examination.

  Tommy the homeless had continued raving all the time, even after being violently pushed by the militiamen. He rubbed his aching arm, which absorbed some of the impact, and kept reciting the same lines over and over again. As soon as Lowell Street was clear, he raised his voice and intoned a brand new refrain: THE GRAY CAR IS NICE, IT COMES TO SEE ME OFTEN, BUT NEVER SAYS HELLO. He said the same thing uninterruptedly for ten minutes, then stretched out on the ground on his right side, resting his head on his forearm. The bruises and emotional stress made him lose consciousness: his eyes slowly closed and he began to mumble, until he fainted. He finished the ramblings by adding TODAY THE CAR HAS BEEN VERY NAUGHTY, IT'S NOT FINE, IT'S NOT FINE AT ALL!, then he turned the switch off and fell asleep.