Minions

by Addison, Garrett

  “But why me? Why do you receive them? And incidentally, who are they, Leon, Carson and Casey?”

  “Dunno. Don’t care. Ask Glen if you like,” Ikel replied with disinterest. “I asked him ages ago, but he wasn’t worried. He said they used to work with him, but they moved on. Maybe he’ll give you a better answer.”

  “You could’ve told me!” Devlin sniped. He considered that there was little else to be done at this hour, and the thought had a calming effect. “Ok then. Go back to sleep and we’ll hook up later for breakfast.”

  “I’m awake now, so we might as well have an early one,” Ikel reluctantly suggested. “I’ll even lend you some clothes. Lori said you didn’t have any more.”

  Chapter - 19.

  Angie was happy to see Malcolm when he visited her in the hospital ward. She felt terrible as a result of the anti-retroviral medication that she’d been given following what had been written up as just a ‘regular’ needle-stick assault, but seeing him grounded her and made her smile just the same. He obviously didn’t come to talk, or stay, but the fact that he even came at all meant a lot. It was just like him really, she reasoned. Malcolm had appeared in her life not long ago, and she’d become used to the way that he seemed to just want to co-exist. More than once, he’d been in the right place at the right time when Nebojsa had made another of his visits, and just Malcolm being there seemed to prevent the guy from inflicting his usual sordid misery.

  Nebojsa had gradually scared off all of her friends and potential mates. However, Malcolm was not so easily perturbed, even though he lacked the physical presence that would be necessary if he ever came face to face with Nebojsa when he was in one of his moods. Angie felt that this day would come, but she selfishly resisted the urge to warn Malcolm away, opting instead to offer anything to encourage him to stay. Malcolm wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship, or even a physical friendship, but he liked having a room to call his own when he needed it.

  “Feeling better?” Malcolm asked as he sat himself by her bedside.

  “He sends his best wishes. He asked after you by name.” Angie tried a little dark humour, but then regretted it. She knew that Malcolm would understand but she was in no mood for his preaching. He meant well, but he seemed to be incapable of believing her when she’d said she’d tried everything. She’d moved countless times, even interstate, but Nebojsa had enough contacts to track her down, and his ‘business interests’ seemed to give him the ways and means to travel to visit her wherever she’d attempted to put down some roots. She’d gone to the Police as a matter of routine, but their interest had waned considerably after she’d retracted her complaints the first dozen or so times. Of course the fact that Nebojsa was so well connected and Angie wasn’t, made the accusations appear all the more vexatious.

  Malcolm reached for her hand. “Just a little longer, Angie.”

  Chapter - 20.

  Devlin was well into his second plate of food before Ikel joined him. They both ate socially but quietly, not unlike a couple comfortable enough with each other to not need to talk. He was beginning to relax, and he no longer felt the compulsion to be guarded in everything that he said.

  “So what’s on today?” Devlin asked.

  “We’ll go to work, and we’ll take it from there,” Ikel replied. “We’ll read a lot of messages, sure, but no two days are the same. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to get out of the office for a bit. Glen will probably want you to stay with me.”

  Devlin received another text message on his phone. Ikel had explained away his immediate concerns but still he couldn’t bring himself to read the message. Noting Devlin’s apprehension, Ikel grabbed Devlin’s phone and read it for him.

  “Relax. It’s from Glen. He wants you there by seven.”

  “Are we going to chase up Lori?” Devlin asked.

  “No point. She’s less of a morning person than I am, so you’re best to steer clear of her until lunchtime if you can. She won’t even answer her door most nights and mornings, so much so that I’ve wondered if she’s even in her room.”

  * * *

  Judging by the volume of coffee on offer and being consumed on their arrival at LastGasp’, Devlin was sure that falling asleep would not be a problem. David was still in yesterday’s clothes but was wired and Glen was shamelessly pushing double shot lattés.

  After checking his watch, Glen impatiently ushered his staff to the bunker, but he held Devlin back. “You’ll have a visitor soon.”

  “Who?” asked Devlin, a little surprised to be separated from the others

  The buzzer sounded and Glen checked his CCTV monitors. He smiled, “Right on cue.” He headed for the front door, returning a moment later with the new arrival, a middle aged Asian man, and flippantly started some introductions. “Devlin, this is Conrad.”

  Devlin offered his hand, but the newcomer kept his hands in his pockets.

  “Don’t let Glen make you think this is social. My name is Conrad Tran, I’m with the Federal Police.” He spoke with a thick local accent that belied his Vietnamese ancestry.

  The mood in the room was very weird, the sum of obvious hostility from the newly arrived Conrad, Glen seemingly very deliberately trying to bait him and Devlin just feeling uncomfortable. Glen delighted in breaking the silence. “You’re welcome to do your thing here. Your call, but I’ll just leave you to it.”

  “You’re a comedian, Glen. We’ll go elsewhere of course,” Conrad replied. Devlin sensed the history between the two of them, and none of it seemed friendly.

  Devlin looked to Glen for his concurrence or approval. “Don’t look at me!” Glen mocked. “Head off with Conrad here. He’s not bad, even if what he wants is, strictly speaking, outside of his area of responsibility.”

  Devlin sensed Conrad’s rising frustration amid Glen’s continued antagonism. “Should I have lawyer join me?”

  “Relax. You haven’t done anything wrong, and you don’t need any lawyer,” Glen calmly answered, ushering Devlin and Conrad out of the building before closing the door behind them.

  “I hate that guy,” Conrad began as soon as they were outside, continuing into utterances progressively less coherent until Devlin struggled to understand anything he said. He waited for Conrad to get what he had to say off his chest, enjoying the spectacle of a middle aged, lean and well-dressed guy standing kerbside outside a brothel venting with a passion.

  Conrad composed himself and pointed to a small café across the road and started walking, clearly expecting Devlin to follow. They dodged the early morning traffic heading for the coffee shop that was doing a roaring trade in takeaways. Only after brushing past the crowds at the front counter did Devlin realise that the rest of the café was essentially empty and not that noisy either. Conrad held up two fingers to the barista at the counter and took his seat at a corner table, presumably his table.

  Now settled, Conrad began. “Sorry about that. I appreciate that you haven’t known him long, but he really gets on my wick!”

  Devlin was cautious and careful not to demonstrate any indication, either to confirm or confront Conrad’s opinion. “So what’s this all about?”

  “This is all about coffee. I’ve ordered you a latté which I guarantee will be the best that you’ve ever tasted.” Conrad smiled, well aware he was not answering the question.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes. Moira will be along in a sec’ with your coffee. I’ll explain my side then. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself while we wait?”

  Devlin shrugged, uncomfortable about offering anything to anyone, particularly the police. To him, it was oddly reminiscent of being forced to sit next to his school principal on a high school excursion many years ago. To the best of his recollection, he was reluctant to say anything to anyone in authority then, and the same applied now.

  “Enjoy your job?” Conrad offered another means of seeding a conversation.

  Devlin decided that this question at least was benign. “
Yes.” Benign or not, he was not prepared to give too much away too easily.

  “I know of several others who used to work with Glen, for Glen. I’m pretty sure they enjoyed their job too.”

  “Your point being what? I wouldn’t have thought job satisfaction was a significant concern for the police.”

  A waitress, presumably Moira, returned with two steaming coffees. Conrad, pushed one cup towards Devlin and immediately started to enjoy the other. He sat back, as if confidently expecting accolades to flow. “Ahhh, the life of a reader. Pay and perks. Wanna’ know how I know so much about your role?”

  “Not really,” Devlin replied honestly, if not a little distracted by his coffee. Conrad’s prediction was correct.

  “Casey told me. Well actually, Casey told me about the pay, but I didn’t believe him until Carson confirmed it. Leon told me about the other aspects of your package.”

  “So we agree that it’s a good job. Anything else?” Devlin tried his best poker face but he doubted whether he was convincing. He figured it was unlikely that anyone would reveal details of their package, but then again this information was surely accessible to the police. He wondered if mention of Leon, Casey and Carson constituted confirmation of anything, or anything significant.

  The two men sat in silence, absorbed in the background hum of the café counter and the taste of their lattés. Devlin didn’t give any suggestion that he was going start communicating freely.

  On finishing his coffee, Devlin figured that their casual meeting was soon to be at a close. “If you like the sound of working with Glen so much, why don’t you ask him for a job?” Devlin asked, half in jest.

  Conrad looked up, alert. “The job would be great, and pay substantially more than I get now.” He stared at Devlin, adding, “but it’s not worth dying over.”

  Devlin was no poker player and he knew that his eyes would have betrayed him. There was no point in claiming ignorance. “What did you say?”

  “It’s just an expression,” Conrad replied confidently. “No job is worth dying over, especially a job with Glen and not just because the guy’s an asshole.”

  “How so?” Devlin replied, knowing that his question could be misinterpreted as divided loyalty.

  “Leon and the rest. How much do you know about them?”

  Devlin shrugged. “Not a lot.”

  “You might like to ask Glen. I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news.” Conrad gave Devlin a knowing look. “I’ve gotta’ get to work.”

  “Why don’t you tell me now?”

  “Ask Glen. I’ve got to go.”

  “Doesn’t this count as work?” Devlin recalled what Glen had said when he’d introduced Conrad. “Come to think of it, what was it that Glen said about your job and your area of interest?”

  “Glen!” Conrad closed his eyes in an effort to calm himself. “Not technically. But …”

  Devlin interrupted him, incensed. “Conrad, what exactly is your job?”

  “Technically, I’m a researcher.”

  “Are you even with the Federal Police?”

  “Yes, and I have contracted to state and overseas Police forces too.”

  “Are you actually a Police officer, or not?”

  “Not technically, but…”

  “And Glen knows, right?”

  “Yes, he knows. He baits me about it as a matter of routine.”

  “Routine? What kind of an idiot are you? Why see him at all, particularly if you have issues.”

  Conrad composed himself. “I’m trying to help.”

  “Me or you?” Devlin replied aggressively, suddenly aware of why Glen had been so un-concerned about Conrad. “Even I understand how attractive LastGasp’ would be to a researcher!” He figured it was time to leave.

  “Me and you. You’re in trouble!” he said, grabbing Devlin’s arm as he brushed past. “Take my card. Call me any time.”

  Devlin accepted the card more out of reflex than deliberate action. “Thanks for your concern,” he said cynically. Conrad’s innuendo about Leon and the others was all but an acceptance of responsibility for sending the messages. He angrily pushed his way past the crowd.

  “Please! I can help!” Conrad called out. Devlin was already out of the café, but not out of earshot.

  Chapter - 21.

  Devlin returned to LastGasp’ and was buzzed in. He headed for the kitchen and only after pouring himself a coffee did he notice Glen waiting for him in the adjacent lounge.

  “Was Conrad good to you?” Glen asked with a smirk on his face, offering Devlin a seat.

  “You might have told me he wasn’t really Police,” Devlin said taking his seat next to Glen. “He nearly had me!”

  “It’s ok,” Glen replied, unfazed. “Now’s as good a time as any to be reminded that there are people who want in.”

  “I’m starting to understand the fascination with security. I figure it’s to keep people like Conrad out, but I still don’t get why he’s so keen to get in. I know you told me yesterday that it wasn’t about money, but I didn’t and still don’t really believe you.”

  “Newcomers always think LastGaspStore is about money. But money isn’t everything.”

  “I still don’t see the big deal.”

  “The problem lies in what they want to use LastGasp for. Personal gain, or the greater good.”

  “How?”

  “Have a think about it. Now go and get some work done.”

  Chapter - 22.

  Tania Wilson was slowly getting her life back in order. The time since the death of her brother had been a blur of emotions and even a few well-meaning friends. Long forgotten people had come from nowhere to help in any way that they could and it had been greatly, but not graciously appreciated. But gradually these people were giving her more and more space to process her grief, surely the first stage in leaving her alone. Who was she kidding? These people were abandoning her again. The reality was that they were more than likely friends of her brother rather than hers. He was the good one, she wasn’t.

  She was finding the going difficult, particularly of late. No stranger to abandonment, to have a glimpse of positive attention only to have it dissipate just as quickly left her all the more raw. Her well-meaning therapist had naïvely suggested that she was still too angry. Tania was persistently keen to point out that the woman was clearly only focussing on her most recent past.

  The funeral over, her brother’s limited estate settled, there was now no real impediment to her returning to whatever kind of normality her grief would allow. The reality of the matter was of course very different, and she knew she would never approach normal. It was this that her therapist seemed unable to understand.

  It was time to start to get on with her life though. Tim would not have wanted her to dwell on things outside of her control. The big brother had always been philosophically smart about such things. Inspired by the memory of his strength and understanding, she decided it was time to pick herself up. She took a long shower, dressed casually for the day and did her makeup for the first time in days. She drew the curtains in every room and opened every window, much to the appreciation of her scattered indoor plants who’d suffered for a lack of sunlight as a consequence of her despondency.

  Tania was not fastidious. Had it not been for an older woman she’d met at a group session, she hated the term ‘sponsor’, she knew that she’d be deep in accumulated mess and washing by now. She noticed the woman’s perpetually close pet cat of course, but not that the woman had kept on top of her domesticity. Now she felt a little guilty, particularly when she only knew her as ‘Cat’. She knew a brief thank-you note would go a long way to show her appreciation and offset her guilt. A handwritten note would be best and more personal, she reasoned, but this upside was balanced by the fact that she did have the worst handwriting of anyone that she knew. The ability for the recipient to read the message was surely more important than the sincerity implicit in a handwritten note. No time like the present, she moved to her
computer desk, amazed at her sober initiative.

  For reasons which now seemed irrelevant, Tania had named her computer ‘Simon’. As Simon started, she smiled with a tear in her eye at his nametag which had been a gift from her brother. Even something as innocuous as using the computer was not going to be without memories.

  Eventually Simon indicated he was ready. It had been weeks since she’d accessed her email and she braced herself for the prospect of many messages. Slowly her email in-box filled. She expected nothing from friends or family of course, but a plethora of spam emails advising of lottery wins and bargains for Viagra and penile enlargements. Simon laboured away during the download. She’d resisted all efforts to upgrade her computer and as such her relationship with Simon had been a long one. The reality of it was that had Simon actually been worth anything, she would have sold ‘him’ long before now. As he chugged along with effort, she considered whether their relationship had run its course. Poor Simon, she mused. .

  Simon sat on a large desk overlooking the park on the other side of the street. With the window open, the morning sun was glorious and Tania allowed herself to be distracted until she noticed that Simon was no-longer making sounds of hyperactivity. There was nowhere near as much new email as she expected and it didn’t take long to work out what had happened. It seemed that she’d received so much spam that she’d exceeded some limit imposed by her service provider. The result was that in the last ten days, all she’d received was daily reminders that her mailbox was full. Dammit. She wondered what the senders of those emails would think when they received the obligatory bounce message as if she’d disappeared off the face of the earth. She wondered if anyone would care.

  The more she thought about it, the more she accepted that few of them, if any, would change the way she felt. Notwithstanding the fact that it would have been nice to see who had emailed her, the fact remained that they would invariably have contained the same general thing. ‘Sorry to hear of your loss’, ‘he was a lovely man’, ‘a kind friend’. All about him, not about her. Even dead, Tim was the good one, and she wasn’t.