Minions

by Addison, Garrett

  “I guess.” Devlin allowed his concerns to be placated for a while. “Time will tell.”

  “Time will tell what?” asked Lori on her arrival, keen to catch up with the current conversation. She had changed her clothes and looked substantially fresher than when they left LastGasp’. Now she was wearing an open necked blouse that revealed more skin and bust, and it had the desired effect. Both Ikel and Devlin were fixated on her.

  “I’m hungry. Let’s eat!” Lori all but demanded. She headed away from the bar to the tables. Ikel and Devlin took the hint and quickly finished their drinks in order to follow.

  Chapter - 16.

  Malcolm waited restlessly for Detective Reymond to return; he knew it was only a matter of time. With the restraints removed, he could move about his bed and the room, but there was no escaping the fact he was idle when he had things to do; his projects were waiting. His scan of the papers however told him that the wait on one such project was nearly at an end. His timing had been almost perfect.

  Reymond returned to Malcolm’s room not long after dark. “We need to talk about Angie,” he announced as he slumped himself on the bed-side chair.

  “So you met her then?” Malcolm said, reclining on his bed, surfing through the channels on the ceiling mounted television. He regretted not giving the Detective any eye contact, but his plan was not about making friends. In the greater scheme of things, Reymond was little more than a spectator, an important spectator admittedly, but really just a bit player without whom his discharge would be delayed.

  “Met her. Saved her.” Malcolm felt Reymond watching him closely. “We need to talk.”

  “What happened?”

  “Aside from the beatings?”

  “Fresh ones?” Malcolm asked curiously but not really surprised.

  “Not that I saw, but I’ll be checking with the doctor after her admission. It’s interesting that there didn’t appear to be any bruising less than about a week old, and you’ve been here in hospital for a few days. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “What’s he done this time?”

  “Thanks for sparing me the denials, but talking in the third person doesn’t convince me.”

  “Detective, I don’t need to convince you of anything. Angie is a friend, and while I can’t vouch for how you treat your friends, I sure don’t treat them that way. Where is she?”

  “You do at least sound concerned,” Detective Reymond persisted.

  Malcolm didn’t need to feign concern. The more that Reymond delayed answering the question, the more he feared for the flaws in his plan. Leaving Angie alone was not ideal, but it was necessary. “Just answer the question. Where is she?”

  “She’s still in emergency, but she’s sure to be admitted. When I got to the address you described, she was not in a good way. Initially I thought it was an overdose. There were pills everywhere, and I called it in like a suicide, until I saw the syringe.”

  “Angie isn’t a junkie.”

  “I never said she was.” Detective Reymond drank from a disposable cup he’d brought in with him. He continued only after unconvincingly staging the savour of a second mouthful. “There was a syringe embedded between her shoulder blades. Thereafter, I considered the overdose to be an assault.”

  As focussed as Malcolm was on his plan, he was not above reflection as to how protecting her could have been managed. Any purist privy to his plan would consider Angie to be inconsequential, but Malcolm wasn’t a purist. After closing his eyes and breathing deeply for several moments, he resigned himself to the greater good of his plan. “How is she?”

  “She’ll live. We’re still waiting for test results to confirm what else was in the syringe, and the actual needle. Blood-work is pending. Of course, the HIV tests will take a while for a conclusive result. She asked after you as soon as she came around.”

  “She was clean, at least.”

  “She was reserved about your relationship too,” the Detective said. “I’ve always been amazed that battered women always slipped back into being half of a relationship, a dysfunctional relationship admittedly, but a relationship nonetheless. You’re only out of the picture for the attack with the syringe. The puncture mark around the needle was clearly very recent, even if there was evidence of some rust at the wound, and the makings of a bruise was not visible until she’d arrived here.”

  Malcolm didn’t say anything. He had a good idea who would have been responsible and what the guy was capable of, but this was not the deal. Clearly the bastard had no intention of letting Angie get away lightly, but obviously he had a soft spot for her. Malcolm could imagine the bastard trying something new, forcibly giving her something to take the edge off her fear. He could picture their confrontation as clearly as if he’d actually been there himself. Angie cowering in the corner, the guy yelling himself into a frenzy before he started to sink the boot in, over and over. Then Angie would do what she always did, offer sexual servitude in order to placate the man. Periodic rape didn’t solve her problem, but it made her immediate concern that this time he might go too far, even for his standards, dissipate somewhat. Malcolm knew that just being with Angie had given her not only physical security, but also a little self-confidence, and he wouldn’t have liked it. Poor Angie. At least in hospital she’d be safe for now, and thereafter his plan would see to her continued safety, or at least get her off the hook for her to chart her own path.

  “You know who did it, don’t you?” Reymond asked. “Is he the same guy who’s responsible for her other injuries?”

  Malcolm considered telling the Detective what he knew, but this information was not part of the plan. He hoped he’d convinced Angie to remain strong for a little while longer.

  It was now time to leave. He knew he wouldn’t see Reymond again, but it was nice to meet him just the same.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, and unless you’ve got something else to talk about Detective, I’d like to get out of here.”

  Chapter - 17.

  Angie was under close observation in the ward. She soon came to realise that this meant that she was to be periodically disturbed by a zealous nurse checking her vitals before leaving to wake another patient. This was different to all of her previous hospital stays where she’d invariably been admitted while unconscious or near comatose. She reasoned that this particular nurse’s routine was no different to those of her past admissions, but being awake, the near continual disruption was annoying. She was exhausted but had been unable, or possibly unwilling, to really sleep, choosing instead to doze with Malcolm sitting at her bedside. She must have fallen asleep more deeply than just a simple doze, and now she was awake only to discover that he was gone. Again.

  A strangely familiar face entered the room. He identified Angie, obviously recognising her, and walked slowly towards her, waving to the nurse scurrying around the room tending to each of the patients in turn.

  “Not too long, Ghoul,” the nurse said softly so as to not wake anyone not already awake. “She needs some rest or I’ll need to sedate her.” She shamelessly spoke about her patient as if Angie wasn’t in the room.

  The guy shrugged off the comment, pulling up a seat at Angie’s bedside. “Hi Angie, do you remember me?”

  “You were the one who called the ambulance. I can’t recall if I thanked you earlier.” Angie rested a moment, labouring to breathe with one less than perfect lung. “I can’t remember your name but I know it wasn’t what that nurse just called you.”

  “Fair enough. My name is Detective Alan Reymond. All of the nurses call me ‘Ghoul’ and I’ve long since given up caring enough to try to stop them!”

  “Why?”

  “Why do they call me ‘Ghoul’, or why haven’t I stopped them?” Reymond replied playfully. “I’ve given up trying to stop them because I’m old and I’m more interested in the fact that they know me well enough to consider me as regular as a piece of furniture here. As for why they actually gave me the name. My primary role is ‘hospital liaison’ and I
also have the dubious honour of being the name at the bottom of many of the city’s police reports of suicides. Some comedian considered it downright ghoulish that I was routinely involved in so many suicides, apparently, and the name has remained with me.” Reymond yawned, hiding his gaping mouth behind a manila folder. “We really need to talk Angie.”

  “There’s not much to talk about.”

  “He’ll do it again,” Reymond said, ambiguous as to whom he was referring to. “I can protect you.” Angie only shrugged. “Malcolm’s not the good guy here.”

  “I sincerely doubt that. But you go ahead and think what you like.”

  “You know you’re not the first victim of domestic violence who’s shunned Police involvement. Will you be so lucky next time?”

  Angie had heard all of this before.

  Chapter - 18.

  Devlin woke not to an alarm, daylight streaming through the glass wall, or a wakeup call from Ikel as planned, but to the unfamiliar sound of his phone indicating the receipt of a message. It was a little after 4am and he considered ignoring it until at least daylight but curiosity got the better of him. It was close to a full moon outside and the moonlight was more than adequate for him to find his phone in his trousers on the floor without having to turn on a light. He grabbed the phone and returned to bed. His new phone was substantially better than the cheap one that had been stolen and it took him a moment to familiarise himself with its menu system until he worked out how to access the new message. Same brand, same menu structure, but just the buttons were different. He read the message.

  Leon Newman is as good as dead.

  This was not what he expected or wanted to read as he woke. He hoped that the dyslexia of his youth had returned or that he’d otherwise misread it, but there was no mistake. He racked his brain to recall if Leon Newman registered any memory. He could not recall anyone by that name and comforted himself that he’d received someone else’s message. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he remembered the message that he’d received the previous day but all but forgotten it amid the enthusiasm of getting started. Now he quickly navigated the menu of the phone to re-read yesterday’s message a second time.

  Casey Lawrence is now dead.

  Devlin suddenly felt the need to be more awake and turned on the bedside light. Again, he couldn’t think of anyone he knew by that name, no matter how distantly, but now he also felt that it was unlikely the messages had been misdirected. They were clearly similar and clearly intended for him. That they were sent to his phone number and not technically to him was a moot point.

  He also discovered that each message had been sent from the same number; his own stolen phone. The likelihood that he’d received these messages by accident or coincidence was suddenly decidedly remote, particularly as he expected only a few people would know his new, unlisted, number.

  Devlin rang his old number, figuring he’d be able to quickly separate truth from conjecture by just speaking to the guy who’d stolen his phone. As he listened to the ringing tone, he thought of what to say, but he never got the chance as his call went unanswered to voicemail. He listened to his own voicemail recording but opted to hang-up rather than leave a message. As soon as he ended the call, he received another message.

  Carson Sullivan is now dead.

  Devlin settled himself and composed a message in reply. He wasn’t concerned about tone or how his question would be received, only that it would be received.

  Who are they?

  Devlin sent his message and waited. A reply came almost immediately.

  Readers.

  Devlin was shaken. An odd thought then struck him and he fumbled for the contacts list in his phone. His was the first name in the list and from this he gathered that each of the numbers were in a formal, ‘Surname, First Name’ format. He scrolled through the names recognising Ikel and Lori only because their particular entries appeared to be in a ‘Surname, First Name (Nickname)’ format. But these were not the names he was looking for.

  When Devlin reached ‘Kendrick, Derrell’ he paused, if only to recall his alphabet. ‘Kopac, Morris (Hotel Manager)’ followed, teasing Devlin and making him wonder how many names there could possibly be between ‘Kendrick’ and ‘Lawrence’. He needn’t have worried; the next name in the list was ‘Lawrence, Casey’. He expected the name, but it still came as a shock. He continued scrolling through the names, passing ‘Newman, Leon’ and inevitably, ‘Sullivan, Carson’.

  Devlin put down the phone and thought a thousand thoughts, but he only said one word. “Fuck.” With his head in his hands, he considered his options. He needed to talk them through, but it was still a few hours until dawn. Initially he thought he’d be able to wait to speak to someone, but even a few restless minutes alone proved difficult. He tried watching television and doing push-ups, but nothing was an adequate distraction. There was nothing on TV and his personal fitness was inadequate to sustain more than a minute of exercise. He considered a shower that he knew would clear his head, until he heard the now familiar sound of the receipt of another message.

  Don’t join them. Be sure you understand the greater good.

  Devlin abandoned social niceties. He quickly dressed and headed for Ikel’s room.

  Ikel was slow to answer the door, but Devlin was persistent. Banging on his door, he eventually convinced Ikel that he really needed to talk, and no, it couldn’t wait until morning. Ikel reluctantly opened his door before returning to bed. Devlin made himself at home in Ikel’s room, turning on lights before sitting on the foot of his bed.

  “Ikel. Who’s Casey Sullivan?” Devlin opened with the first of at least three pressing questions. On seeing that Ikel had fallen asleep again with his head under a pillow, Devlin looked around for his phone. “I just want to check your phone,” he announced as a matter of courtesy, irrespective of whether Ikel was coherent enough to listen. Subconsciously, Devlin wasn’t sure whether he wanted Ikel’s phone purely to verify that it contained the same numbers as his own, or to deny Ikel the ability to claim that he never knew Casey.

  Devlin searched Ikel’s room for his phone without regard to the obvious breach of privacy of a person he’d only just met. Ikel’s room was a mirror image of his own, otherwise it was identical except that it had a definite ‘lived in’ feel. The room was full of clothing and personal effects, but it felt more like an adolescent’s room than a bachelor pad. He found the phone still in Ikel’s discarded jeans from the day before.

  Devlin braced himself for the worst and took a long breath as he prepared for what might be revealed with Ikel’s phone, but it had been turned off for the evening. He switched on the phone and immediately navigated to the contacts list, finding what appeared to be the same list of names and numbers as his own.

  Still in Devlin’s hands, Ikel’s phone then vibrated to indicate the receipt of three messages in rapid succession. Devlin’s first reaction was to read the messages, but even in his stressed state he accepted that reading Ikel’s messages would be, without question, a breach of privacy. While there were some social conventions that were still reasonable and binding, Devlin decided that others were decidedly less applicable under the circumstances. By comparison, the unwritten rule about not waking a new acquaintance, come friend, pre-dawn was more of a guideline.

  “Ikel. Wake up!” Devlin removed Ikel’s bedclothes and pillow and shook him ruthlessly. “You’ve just got a few messages and I need you to compare them to mine.”

  “Fuck off!” Ikel replied eloquently, clearly reluctant to waking. He rolled over, dragging his bottom sheet over himself.

  “Please. I’ve got some messages that have me a little spooked,” Devlin pleaded as he considered emptying a glass of water over Ikel’s head. He then suggested a path of least resistance, “or can I read your messages?”

  “Casey, Carson and Leon. Dead or not, there’s nothing you can do for them. Now turn the ‘ken phone off and let me get back to sleep!”

  “So you’ve read the messages alre
ady? What about these messages? Wake up!” There was no chance that Ikel was going to be allowed to go back to sleep now. With persistence, Devlin encouraged Ikel to sit up.

  “We all used to get the same messages,” Ikel began, yawning. “Sometimes the message text was different, but generally the same. Leon, Carson, Casey. Sometimes others. Generally they come at night, but that might be more because the phones don’t work in the bunker. That’s why I switch off mine at night.” Rubbing his eyes, he added, “I’m assuming that you’ve got some messages too.”

  “Yep, I’ve got them,” Devlin sighed. “Actually, I got the first one not long after I agreed to come on board.”

  “Yup,” said Ikel.

  “You don’t think it’s a little odd that the messages start when I joined you and Glen and co?”

  “Not really. If I remember correctly it was the same with me.”

  “What about the fact that the guy that nicked my phone yesterday, before I joined LastGasp’, is the one who’s sending them?” Devlin said, certain that this would be of interest.

  “Are you sure?”

  “My phone got stolen. I’m sure of that. And now I’m getting messages from the stolen phone’s number,” Devlin replied cynically.

  “It’s easy to send a text message setting any sender number you like, if you know how,” Ikel replied. “It doesn’t mean the guy that took your phone is the one sending them.”

  Devlin understood what Ikel was saying and he felt his anxiety subside a little, but it didn’t answer all of his questions. “So who’s sending them? Who sends your messages, or who allegedly sends them?”

  “Who’s to say it’s not different people? I’ve got my theories.”

  “You’re not interested in finding out? You’re not curious?”

  “Curious? Yes. But I’m also tired,” Ikel yawned.

  “I don’t mean now! But haven’t you checked?”

  “Yes and no. I don’t really care.”