Insequor

by Richard Murphy

  “Are you okay?”

  He blinked. The two men across his desk looked back at him with concern.

  “You kind of faded out there for a bit,” said one of them.

  “Sorry,” said Daniel. “I’m just quite tired. Carry on.”

  The man to his left, a slim, smug looking thirty something in a suit began to speak. “Basically, we’ll pay twenty million dollars for the next two years as long as we’re guaranteed a certain amount of exposure.”

  Daniel nodded and ran his tongue across his teeth. “Is this it?” He gestured to a small object draped in a cloth on his desk in front of the two.

  The other man, slightly less self-assured and more excited nodded. “Yes, it’s a mock up. We’d appreciate your feedback?” He raised his eyebrows, checked he had the other’s attention before pulling the cloth off with a swish.

  Revealed, underneath, was a small metal replica of the robot. Daniel gazed at it, wondering if this was how an author felt when someone made a film of his book. It was in mid-stride, its arms outstretched, which it never did; they’d clearly tried to make it look more formidable than it was. Were those eyebrows? What stood out most though was the logo for the sports company the two men represented stuck on its chest. It was small, metal, fixed over the heart area – if it had one; exactly like you would get on a polo shirt or sports jersey.

  He looked past the two to the glass wall behind them. The twenty first floor of the Oakenheim Building in New York was now the sole property of Loman Limited; the company Daniel had setup to take care of his affairs and, to an extent, those of the robots. Row upon row of desks were occupied by people on phones and laptops all, in some way or another, managing his…well, his life.

  There were teams handling his money, of which there was a lot; he had a Communications Manager so he didn’t have to speak to the press; several PA’s running errands and anything else he needed; there was a whole room of lawyers next door with their heads buried in sponsorship contracts and copyright infringement cases; there was a logistics team constantly organising his complex travel arrangements so he could get some semblance of a life and, finally, various other people; some of whom he wasn’t quite sure what they did.

  The desks stretched away from him towards windows that commanded views of Central Park. Money had been no object. Once he had got the legal issues overcome and ran a few test cases through the courts all the corporations had stepped into line. Most were more than happy to offer Daniel money for the use of the robot’s image. True, some had shied away whilst others had designed their own robot to slap on the cover of their cereal box. But all in all he had made more than enough money to live comfortably on for the rest of his life. And now the big guns had arrived. The two men in front of him were offering twenty million dollars to have their logo attached to the robot for two years. Attached to something that spent 98% of its time underwater in the Atlantic. He smelled opportunity.

  “Who puts the logo on?” he said, finally, his gaze returning to the pair.

  The smug one straightened in his chair, his eyes narrowing to slits and his mouth grinning beyond likeability. “Part of the contract is that our people will take care of the insertion, as long as you agree to accept maintenance and support.”

  He nodded before tilting his head thoughtfully. “In four weeks I’m due back in France. Can you move within that timeframe?”

  “Absolutely,” said the keen one, nodding hysterically.

  “The army will need to know and the government may want to charge expenses for their time, but they’re usually very reasonable. You do realise that it spends most of its time underwater these days?”

  “We just want our logo associated with its image and any reproduction of that image.” The smug one pushed a piece of paper across the desk. “It’s all in the contract.”

  Daniel looked down at the piece of paper. It was covered from top to bottom in small print, the only space at the end, a white box awaiting his signature.

  “I’ll have to get my legal team to go through this.”

  “Of course,” said the excited one.

  “And you do realise you may not even be able to attach it? The thing’s indestructible. You’re planning to what, weld it?”

  “We have several ideas we’ll be trying. In the event of us being unable to carry out the work we’ll just cancel the deal.”

  “Twenty million dollars is a lot of money,” said Daniel. He brushed a finger across his top lip. He wanted them to think he was a sucker, right up until the last second.

  “It is,” said smug, with more than a sense of self-satisfaction.

  Daniel stood up, drummed his fingers on the desk. Walked about for a moment or two before turning around; Columbo-like. “But it’s not as much as a hundred million dollars, is it?”

  They stared back, pie-eyed. “I beg your pardon?”

  Daniel picked up the contract, folded it into neat quarters and then placed it in the top pocked of the smug guy. “Re-draft it, add a few more zeroes and then we’ll talk again.”

  “A hundred million dollars?” They both stood up now, each looking panicky. The faces were moments ago certain they had sealed the deal. Now he escorted them, dumbfounded, out of his office. He knew they’d be back.

  Sure enough the following week, on a Florida beach, Daniel stood at the edge of the ocean watching the waves amble in and lick the sand. Beside him the two corporate men were making phone calls and communicating orders. Several soldiers stood around, as they always did when the robot left the ocean, looking wary.

  Smug was cool as ever and drooling through his phone to some Director back in the office, the other guy was on a short wave radio speaking to the implementation team a half mile down the beach.

  If you looked in that direction you’d definitely be able to see the flashing lights of the army trucks and possibly make out the soldiers fanned out in a line walking towards you. Perhaps you might also see the small team of scientists in a mobile laboratory carefully monitoring their laptops; Toby, presumably, somewhere calmly overseeing affairs.

  What you probably wouldn’t have been able to make out was the miserable man jogging alongside the robot with a welding kit on wheels desperately trying to attach the logo in question to the robot’s chest. He was not having much luck.

  As the robot took each step he constantly had to adjust the stream of the welding torch, making movements up and down to compensate for its strides. On top of that the welding kit was getting caught in the sand and the two unfortunate helpers pushing it along were scared to death. Furthermore, the robot itself was now covered in a mixture of sand, salt water and encrusted with barnacles and seaweed; it looked like a moving heap of refuse.

  Daniel pictured the scene and smiled inwardly. Everybody wanted a piece of it. He’d managed to get 150 million dollars out of them for just two years. If their sales went up, and his team would closely monitor their stock, he’d be able to double or even treble it.

  Even as he stood here his lawyers were meeting with a breakfast cereal manufacturer, two automobile companies and a Hollywood producer who wanted the rights to his life story. Things were moving at an alarming speed and he had to sometimes stop and take a step away from it all. His latest moment of reflection had made him realise there was still someone he needed. So Detective Jones was meeting him here today on the beach.

  Daniel’s PA trotted up and smiled. “Your guest has arrived, sir. Shall I bring him over here or are you heading back to the plane? Logistics say we’ve only got another 25 minutes.”

  “Have him meet me on the plane, Sarah.” Daniel smiled and the young girl nodded sagely before scurrying off.

  He turned to the two executives. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid our time has run out. What have you got?”

  The wiry one turned, his eyes looking glum. “We’re moving on to the crazy glue.”

  His colleague shot him a look that said, ‘That was between you and me.’ It vanished almost instantaneously and a smooth
grin re-appeared.

  “We’re having technical difficulties but I think everything should be resolved within the next few –“ His phone rang and he made no bones about answering it. “Ah, yes? Ok. Got you. Fantastic.”

  He nodded at his colleague and gave a wink to Daniel. “We’re done.”

  Chapter 25

  As Daniel trotted up the steps he smiled to himself before ducking his head under the doorway and stepping onto the thick cream carpet of his private jet. Relieving a stewardess of a drink he hopped through to the cabin. There, sat at a table reading a magazine, was Jones.

  “Daniel,” he said, looking up from a copy of News Weekly, “How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. How are you detective?”

  They shook hands, and smiled fondly at each other.

  “Please, we’ve known each other long enough now, just call me Jones; everyone else does.” As they both took their seats he couldn’t help noticing the back of the magazine. It was a picture of the robot holding a bottle of beer. ‘It’s here for Miller Time!’

  “Sure,” said Daniel, flopping himself into the soft leather seat; he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh.

  “You sound tired.”

  “I am, but in a good way. Life is busy.”

  “You’ve taken to this whole business pretty well. You seem to be surviving.” Jones laid the journal down on the table. Daniel was on the cover.

  He picked it up and vaguely he recalled the photoshoot sometime last week in New York. The interview had been done in advance over the telephone with his media team sat beside him; often either shaking their heads at questions or writing an answer for him on the whiteboard.

  “You think what I did was wrong?”

  “Not at all”, said Jones, “You’re a man in command of your own destiny now. An entrepreneur.”

  “Things have moved pretty fast; I had to take control. I guess managing all this was always in me, but I never knew. Untapped potential.” Daniel smiled and raised his glass; Jones joined him with a soda.

  For a few brief moments they looked at each other across the small table. The plane’s engines started to whine and the cabin crew shut the door. It felt like they were back there; those first few days after it had arrived. The flights, the journeys in army trucks and cars, helicopter rides. Daniel alone and frightened, but Jones with him. Supporting him.

  “How was the vacation?” said Daniel.

  “It was great,” said Jones, “Thank you, by the way. Here, I got you a little something.” He produced a box from the side of his chair. It was orange with a bright yellow ribbon. Daniel opened it and held out a bottle at arm’s length, his eyes momentarily scanning the label.

  “Champagne. What are we celebrating?”

  “Nothing, yet. It’s for the end. When they finally stop it.”

  He felt a warmth creep across his face. “Thank you.” They caught each other’s gaze again before he turned to place the bottle away.

  “So,” said Jones, “how you doing? Handling it all, I mean.”

  “It’s not too bad.” As if on cue a stewardess brought in a tray of delicacies. He helped himself whilst Jones stared cautiously at the tray of pink and cream treats.

  “It’s tiring,” said Daniel. “More tiring than I thought it would be. All these people, having to move around, never in one place. But I guess that’s how a famous person feels, right?”

  “I guess so,” said Jones, stuffing something down his throat so it didn’t touch the sides. “But they can take a break if they want to.”

  “Maybe,” said Daniel, as he stared out at the clouds floating by.

  “Let’s hope so. Anyway, I have some news.”

  “News?” Daniel sipped at his drink.

  “I’m officially off the case, your case.” Jones gave a half smile and Daniel for a moment felt hurt. This was distressing. Jones had been more than a policeman through all of this, and they both knew it. Now he was being taken away.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You’ve been a real friend to me.” He looked down at his glass as he spoke. The words trickled out but seemed to be frail and lost.

  “Likewise, but this isn’t a police matter anymore; I’m not sure it ever even was. I’ve been re-assigned back to my home town.”

  He continued to stare at his drink. His mind turned over options until he finally settled on something.

  “It’s quiet,” said Jones, “but I’ll be busy. Tell the truth I’m a bit of a celebrity. Everyone knows what I’ve been up to and you know what small towns are like for talk.”

  Daniel stretched and adjusted his posture, bringing himself upright. His fingers carefully spun a phone around on the table in front of him. Things were very different now; decisions could be made, action could be taken. The old Daniel may well have crumped away quietly to reflect on being irked by life’s problems. Maybe that was how everybody felt?

  “Celebrity can be a burden,” he said. They both raised their glasses and drank. “There’s a group calling themselves the ‘Interstellar Church of Truth and Fate.’ They’re building a chapel in the robot’s image and want me to open it. They think it’s some sort of messiah.”

  Jones chuckled and had to wipe his lips. “What are you going to tell them?”

  “Tell them? Nothing. I said I’d do it. I figure it’ll keep them happy and at least a few of them have to be complete psychos so I’ll pop along and cut the ribbon, or whatever they want me to do.”

  Jones, perched on the edge of his seat, looked a little troubled but said nothing. Maybe he wanted to advise him against his course of action; maybe he thought it was not his concern anymore, but part of Daniel wanted to hear something from him. Anything.

  He pressed on with his game plan. “So what about you? Back to catching crooks?”

  “I guess so.” Jones sat back. “But if you ever need anything, any advice or help, or even just a friend. You know you can call me.”

  “That means a lot.” Daniel stared straight at him, a small smile rising at the edge of his mouth. “But how would you like to work for me permanently?”

  “What?”

  “Head of Security.”

  “Head of Security?”

  “You’re a policeman, you can organise security. Review procedures. Tighten things up, make sure I’m safe. I need someone like you.”

  He had to say yes. Somewhere, deep inside him Daniel already knew he would. He just wanted to hear that one word. Everything would be alright then, he’d feel safe.

  “Well, Daniel…”

  “You can organise security, right?” It needed to seem like the thought had just occurred. He wanted him to feel excited, not to really know the desperation behind his words. “Like at this church. Check for snipers, sweeps and all that hand inside the jacket walkie-talkie stuff. I need that. And I need it to be someone I trust. I’ll double your salary, match your pension. Name your terms.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Yes I do,” said Daniel. His face was serious now, harder. “You looked out for me.”

  “I was just doing my job.” Jones gazed down and rubbed his neck; he wasn’t used to being paid compliments. Maybe it was his tough outer shell; that skin of a policeman.

  Daniel extended his hand, “Have we got a deal?”

  Jones was still sat back in the chair. “My Chief will lose his nut.”

  “You’ll have everything you need.”

  Eventually, the face cracked a grin and Jones leaned forward and they shook hands. His, massive and coarse. Daniel’s, soft and thin.

  “Head of Security it is.”

  He felt his shoulders sag. He’d got him. “I run a tight ship,” he said, with no change in tone. “Places, schedules. We have the robot’s details tracked on a computer now, but I need someone to manage my safety. My team need to stay one step ahead. Can you do it, detective?”

  “Yes, but let’s drop the ‘detective.’”

  Chapter 26

  Zak Goldring
had tanned skin and white teeth; Daniel had always seemed to have white skin and tanned teeth. Wealth oozed from every orifice of the man’s body; the expensive suit, the golden shades, the rings, the shoes.

  “It’s an amazing story,” said the producer, “one that needs to be told and we want to tell it. This is possibly the biggest event in human history.”

  He thanked the waiter for his coffee and took a sip. It was early on a hot July afternoon and they were sat in one of Los Angeles’s most fashionable restaurants. Around them people were hustled in pairs doing business; Hollywood business. He’d already spotted a couple of famous stars, one of them cuddling up with someone who was definitely not his wife…or a woman for that matter.

  Zak was the head of one of the biggest studios, Monarch. Daniel had already rejected calls from TV companies and smaller studios who made films like ‘Robot Crocodile versus Monster Octopus’ figuring it wouldn’t be long before one of the big names came along and wanted to do it properly.

  He’d come to accept that the movie of his life with the robot was inevitable. But he wanted to make sure that, if it was done, it wasn’t a low budget affair with a man wrapped in tin foil chasing someone with a golden mullet on their head.

  They didn’t get much bigger than Monarch Studios who regularly created the biggest blockbusters with the biggest stars. The decision had been pretty easy. Now they just had to work through the details; of which there were many.

  Subject matter was the first one. Goldring sought to create a documentary; actually have cameras following Daniel as they documented his life. He instantly refused; it was the last thing he wanted. So they’d settled on a fictional account of his life from his late teens and the death of his parents to the current day – although there was an option to change the ending depending on what happened with the robot during the shoot.