Jack thought about the unicorn. ‘More than you know.’
‘What will all those people know about this?’
‘Not much,’ admitted Jack. The rest of the Torchwood team had swung into action in the Stadium aftermath. The football players got Retcon added to their team-room drinks. And the recuperating TV crews and stewards received particular treatment from a special ambulance crew made up of Ianto, Gwen and Owen.
Brigstocke wasn’t convinced. ‘How do you explain the wreck of the Stadium?’
‘Nasty bit of vandalism,’ suggested Jack. ‘Freak winds.’
‘And that light show in the night sky?’
‘Good idea,’ smiled Jack. ‘Light show. Hadn’t thought of that.’
Brigstocke scowled. ‘You’re just giving them a pack of lies.’
‘People want to believe it,’ Jack said. ‘They wouldn’t believe the truth. There’s no point having the facts if you can’t process them and stay sane.’ He contemplated the water in his glass as he swirled it around. ‘Knowledge isn’t the same as wisdom.’
‘Why? What’s the difference?’
Jack smiled. ‘Knowledge is when you can tell that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is when you leave it out of a fruit salad.’
The journalist blinked slowly, unsure about this.
‘I know you want to join Torchwood.’ Jack was pleased to see that Brigstocke’s pupils dilated at this. ‘But would that be wise?’
Brigstocke clearly took this as encouragement. ‘I want to be a proper part of it. Not just because I’m chasing down what happened to Rhodri-’
‘But because you got a taste of it today, yeah.’ Jack looked out through the café window, into the evening. The pavement tables were occupied by a hardy bunch of inveterate smokers, huddled against the cold, suffering for their addiction. ‘Torchwood work hard to protect these people. And just as hard to prevent them knowing they’re being protected. We can’t always save everyone.’ He stared back at Brigstocke. ‘We couldn’t save Rhodri.’
And Jack explained how Brigstocke’s friend had been a victim of a Weevil attack. Who Torchwood were. Why they’d covered up the death. Brigstocke seemed to relax into his seat, as though the revelations had confirmed everything he’d always believed. To conclude his explanation, Jack stuck his leg out beside the table and performed an ankle rotation with his completely healed foot.
‘Do you still want to join Torchwood?’
Brigstocke was good. He gave the impression that he was thinking carefully before he said: ‘Yes, Jack. Yes, I do.’
‘Your turn, David,’ Jack murmured. ‘Tell me what you already know. How you discovered it. Who told you.’
Brigstocke did just that. Jack listened openly, uncritically, for nearly an hour while the Italian table cleared and Rico brought them more drinks. Sometimes Jack peered at things through the big glass window beside them – the straggling remnants of the international, staggering through the town centre and in danger of missing their last train home. Or giggling kids in lurid Halloween costumes, toting bags of booty from their trick-or-treating. But mostly he looked candidly into Brigstocke’s earnest, pleading eyes, gauging the journalist’s pain and passion.
‘OK,’ Jack concluded. He gulped down the dregs of his latest glass of water. ‘I’m gonna talk to the others.’
The last of the Halloween kids brushed past the café window, squeaking the plastic tip of his devil’s pitchfork along the glass.
Trick or treat, Jack thought.
‘Let me sleep on it, David. And I’ll contact you again tomorrow.’
By then, the Retcon in the journalist’s last Morreti beer would have done the trick. David would forget he’d ever been interested in Torchwood. Jack knew it was so much easier to hide the truth than have to tell Brigstocke a pack of lies.
Acknowledgements
Albert DePetrillo, for the opportunity.
Steve Tribe and Gary Russell, for knowledge and wisdom.
James Goss and Phil Ford, for the company.
Lee Binding, for the cover.
Michael Stevens, Joe Lidster, John Barrowman and Anna Lea, for the audiobook of Another Life.
Anne Summerfield, for always.
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Document creation date: 30.06.2011
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Pack Animals t-7 Page 20