“Did you?” Ikel asked.
“Yep, and even now I’m glad he’s dead. In retrospect, things might have been different had I lied, but I didn’t. I was honest and naive and I told them as much. This really just set the ball rolling, and I was going to be held responsible for his death.”
“But you said you blacked out?”
“I did. But with a finger print or two on the knife, and my admission, they had enough, particularly with nothing conclusive that I was actually knocked out.”
“Then what?”
“They called it manslaughter, and the only reason that they didn’t try for murder, particularly with my intent, was that the knife wasn’t mine. It went to trial. I had some piss-ant, freshly graduated lawyer on my side, courtesy of the state, against an admittedly pretty reasonable case. I was gone even before the media got on board.”
“How’s that?”
“It made for good copy. ‘Nice guy killed by bitter and twisted long-time friend’. The guy was played up as a saint. Father of two, his kids now father-less. Once happy wife, now a widow. And I was played as the quintessential bastard. And my family being who they are, or were, you can’t imagine what that caused. Until then, my father was the poster-boy for family values, out-spoken social reformer, being groomed for all manner of politics, state and federal. There was even talk of interest from overseas, like the U.N.. My predicament forced him to pick a side, which was pointless really because there was no future for him whichever way he swung. But he chose. Cut me adrift for the abomination that I am. So there I was. I’ve got no family and no friends able and willing to contradict anything being said about me.”
“So what happened?”
“I was about to be hung out to dry. And then it just stopped. My snot-faced little lawyer noticed something in the medical examiners’ report. Yes, there was a knife in the guy’s heart, but that isn’t what killed him. It seems that a second lightning strike got him, possibly at the exact moment that the knife was set to pierce his skin, straight into his heart. Despite calls of irrelevance, it was brought to the attention of the court and the jury found me not guilty. That’s the short version anyway.
“It’s funny how media hype of a killer is page one stuff, but an acquittal of someone who is technically innocent until proven guilty is relegated to page seven.”
“And then what?”
“Then I was released, theoretically with a clean record. I moved interstate immediately, met Glen on a train and the rest you know. Somewhere in the detail is the fact that the few friends I thought I had aren’t there for me now, and I remain an outcast from my family.”
“But why?”
“Stuff came up in the Police investigation and then the media got on board. It changed everything.” Devlin went quiet, drifting away into his thoughts.
“What came up? Why’d you need to speak to the guy in the first place?”
Devlin thought long and hard about whether to say any more. So far he’d explained more to Ikel about that entire episode of his life than he had to anyone else since it all began. But what he’d covered so far was the easy stuff, but to say more would be to potentially re-open a very recent and deep wound. He considered whether he was strong enough to say more. More importantly, he needed to assess whether Ikel was capable of hearing it.
“The guy called me a paedophile,” Devlin said at last. To him, this would explain many things, but he’d since learnt that the rest of the world would require further explanation. He waited for the volley of questions in reply.
“That explains your outburst at that message yesterday,” Ikel commented, adding, “but it doesn’t explain why you killed him.”
“I didn’t intend to kill him.”
“So, if I called you a paed, would you assault me, kill me?” Ikel teased, only half in jest.
“Fuck off, Ikel!”
“Sticks and stones, Dev’. What’s the problem?”
Devlin expected questions, but answering meant raking over warm coals. He breathed deeply, composed himself and began. “It changed everything, Ikel. Get called a murderer, and there’s an expectation that you can do the time in jail for it, get out and then resume a normal kind of life. Admittedly as an ex-con, but still a relatively normal life. True, ex-cons might never really get a truly ‘fair go’, but the point is that you can get on with your life.
“Get called a paedophile though, and nothing is the same. There’s no such thing as an assumption of innocence, and the entire legal system will be corrupted just to appropriately deal with you. The greater community at large wants you dead, and castrated, but they’ll invariably settle with you just being dead. Friends don’t exist, and opportunities don’t exist. Who cares that there were no grounds for the accusation in the first place. If I say anything in my defence, then I attract a wider audience. Say nothing and the silence says it all. Where there’s smoke there’s fire.”
“So why’d he say it then?”
“I don’t know. The fact that he’s dead hurt me more than anyone else. If I knew where he got the thought in his head, then I might have some recourse, or maybe even get to the root of it all. That’s what I went to talk to him about. But once the Police did their investigation, they learnt about his accusation, and from there it was very easy to make a case for revenge. And the media? My favourite headline was ‘Paedophile’s revenge kills family man’. There’s no future after that.”
“You still glad he’s dead?”
“Close. I don’t care he’s dead. As unfortunate as it is that he’s left behind a widow and kids, I didn’t mean to kill him. That’s been proven. Whether or not his family or the world at large actually believe it is another matter. I’d still love to know where it all started, but as I’m persona non grata, the chances of me ever finding out are virtually zero anyway. Who would care if the truth actually did come out?”
It occurred to Devlin that Ikel hadn’t exactly supported his quest for the truth. He couldn’t let the thought rest. “Do you believe me?”
“What’s to believe? And what do you care if I believe you or not?”
Devlin considered whether he’d be reduced to convincing the world one person at a time. “Do you believe what I’m saying is the truth?”
“For what it’s worth, yes. But the truth doesn’t prove or accomplish anything. I’ve seen a thousand messages of secrets that would have been better left to die with the sender. I always wonder what good those messages will do when they are received. You’ll see this soon enough.”
“Perhaps, Ikel. Perhaps.” Devlin drifted into deep, silent thought. He thought about what Ikel had said, but also about how his little outburst must have appeared. He didn’t want to appear obsessed, but the fact was that he held only a thin veneer of calm to suppress his anger about that entire episode. He knew that this would be something he’d learn to live with, but in the meantime, he’d have to get a better grip on his emotions. As he calmed, the more he focussed on Ikel’s last comment and immediately his curiosity about LastGasp’ returned with a vengeance.
Ikel broke the silence. “See how you feel about truth in a week’s time.”
Chapter - 27.
Nebojsa Kendic was anxious. He always called this time of waiting, ‘lay’ time, and no matter how many times he’d waited through a lay period, it never got any easier. If he made it through the first day, lay time would be over, but that still meant a long wait until this evening. He couldn’t help but mull over the root of his concern. That whore, Angie, was currently off-limits and in hospital, and god knows what she’d say to people without his calming influence. He wasn’t really concerned for what she’d say, but rather for how it would be heard. He knew he was untouchable, but Police interest, if it came, was an annoyance and a distraction in what was sure to be a busy day.
Every other time there had been Police involvement it had cost him time he could ill afford. Conceivably, his ability to come away cleanly as he’d done in the past would be compromised if any
amount of background checking had been done. He thought for a moment how much of his ‘lay time stress’ was not attributed to actual Police involvement, but rather concern that the seeds he’d planted to provide for his continued security would be adequate, or whether he’d need to sow more widely. Nebojsa likened his contacts, or more specifically those indebted to him, to seeds from which something beneficial would grow. His seeds had variously afforded him whatever he’d required for as long as he could remember, but he was mindful that there would always be new people worthy of knowing, new seeds. Different people could serve him in their own special ways, beit exoneration from guilt, the timely provision of information, anonymity from most media, and importantly what amounted to ‘untouchability’. Ultimately he knew that this time would be no different, but it did make him think what new contacts were worth discovering. He sighed deeply and poured himself another shot of Vodka and drank.
There was no point worrying right now anyway, it wouldn’t help, but he hated being so reactive as to wait for what might happen. He wouldn’t tolerate anything but pro-activity in his professional life, and it was frustrating that his personal life could be so different. At work, he had an uncanny ability to anticipate people’s reactions, and combined with his domineering personality, he’d been on the corporate fast-track, despite a distinct lack of qualifications. As his realm of responsibility increased, so too did the number of staff at his disposal, each dedicated solely to turning his intent into a reality. Often his minions would struggle between themselves in an effort to impress him, and the result of this was that every conceivable detail would be dealt with. His private life was a different matter. He knew that all he’d need to do was mention a personal distraction and a well-meaning but essentially self-serving subordinate would take matters into their own hands, all in the name of demonstrating devotion or something equally nauseating. But he wasn’t interested in their assistance, in just the same way that he wasn’t interested in their sycophancy. Instead, he liked to deal with his personal matters by himself. As frustrating as the duality between his personal and professional life was, the fact remained that he enjoyed dealing with personal matters. Corporate power could not compare with the power he could wield in his private life.
Angie was Nebojsa’s latest experiment and it was through Angie and her predecessors that he’d learnt a lot about himself, and about others. He’d learnt that he had a way over people, a way that drew them in to do his bidding, no matter what it was, and largely for essentially nothing in return. He’d learnt that in dealing with all people, the key was to find what drove them, and when this was found, they would invariably fall into line. To some, all it took was a glimmer of respect, or emotional attachment, or even banal friendship before they were but putty in his hands. To others, perhaps they needed just a little more physical encouragement.
Nebojsa hated the word ‘threat’ on principle. ‘Threat’ implied that he’d state his request at least twice; before expecting it to be carried out. ‘Do this or I will …’ was invariably followed by ‘do this now!’. Nebojsa never asked twice. Nor did he need to. He found that his actions spoke more forcibly than he could ever shout. Rape with a promise of a return visit would encourage compliance far more simply than anything he could say prefixed with ‘do this or I will…’. As much as Nebojsa could have enlisted a staff, he kept focused on his actions as being primarily for his personal development. As such, delegation to a subordinate would deny him an opportunity to learn, just as much as it would deny him some enjoyment.
Nebojsa had experienced a number of side effects from his self-education. Aside from considerable pleasure and the obvious professional upside of his burgeoning self-confidence, he’d also amassed a sizeable fortune. But above all else, he’d fostered a remarkable understanding of many things, some tangible, others less so. He understood the true value of money from what people would give him, and he only ever needed to ask once. He understood a virtual sliding scale of the concept of value in general. People would value pain, or more importantly, a lack thereof, higher than any possession or chattel that was theirs to give. People would value their own pain, or lack thereof, below a promise of pain for a loved one, particularly children or spouse. He understood that people would always believe that things would return to normal after any hint of short term pain or emotional anguish.
By far the most important thing that Nebojsa Kendic had learnt was that everyone had something to give. The rich could give him riches. The powerful could give him power. Those in the know could give him information. Even people with what others might describe as having ‘nothing to give’ could in fact give him something, even if it was as simple as a boost in his esteem after an otherwise uneventful day. In return, Kendic would always give something in return, some kind of reasonable exchange for what he himself had been given: something to share his understanding. To the wealthy, he would give them an understanding of poverty. To the powerful, he would return an understanding of humility. To the wise, he would teach them how little they understood of themselves. To those with less to give, he would grant them the opportunity to learn from his experience, as well as reward them with a sizeable portion of his wealth. As a result he’d found a certain equilibrium in his net worth. His wealth would come and go in ebbs and flows, but his understanding would always grow.
Angie though was somewhat of an anomaly. She had nothing except spirit, and Kendic found this more intoxicating than even his continual pursuit of understanding. She’d shunned his gifts and rejected all of the wisdom that he’d been willing to share. And she had neither shared nor parted with her spirit, despite his best efforts, and this is what interested him the most in her. Where others might, initially at least, resist, enlist assistance from friends or authorities, or even fight back, Angie would calmly accept the inevitability of the immediate situation. But she would not concede. As he yelled, so would Angie respond with promises of vengeance. As he beat her, so would Angie try to fight back with all of the physicality of her diminutive frame. As he tried to impose his will with merely his presence, so too would Angie stand, a defiant spark in her eyes indicative of a fire in her belly.
For the time being however, all Nebojsa could do was wait.
Chapter - 28.
“Is that it?” Devlin asked the others after an hour of reading messages in the bunker. He’d been content to listen to the banter among the other readers sparked by the various messages that each read. Sometimes it was a message that struck a particular personal chord. Perhaps the sender seemed to be identifiable, the text comical and worthy of sharing, or sometimes it was a matter of which of Glen’s protocols were in order.
“Pretty much,” Ikel replied. “Why? What’s the problem?”
“No problem, I guess. It’s just that there’s been amazingly few confessionals from sexual predators, rapists and murderers. I’m wondering if the others left out of boredom.”
“Surely you’ve seen other confessions though,” Lori contributed. “And remember that these messages would be sure to go unsaid if not for LastGasp’.”
“Yes, but personal failures and sob stories aren’t anywhere near as interesting.”
“If it gets too much, you can always head outside for a chat with Albert,” said Lori. “It’s not exactly ‘fresh air’, but you’ll get used to the smell. He’s removed just enough from LastGasp’ to understand.”
“It’s not too much, I just figured there’d be more. The vast majority of what I’ve read I’ve just rubber stamped.”
“And you didn’t find it interesting?” asked David.
“Well yes. Just because they’re inconsequential to LastGasp’ doesn’t mean completely un-interesting. I just feel like I’m sharing in the highs or lows of total strangers.”
“That shouldn’t be too surprising. That’s exactly what they are,” David said dryly. “This job is not for everyone. Some find it hard to read personal details, and others find a lack of identifying information in the messages frust
rating.”
“It can get a little monotonous too,” said Lori. “It’s hard to not be affected by the message content, particularly for the imbalance between the good and the bad. You’ll learn that uplifting recollections are so much harder to convey unspoken with a stranger than painful memories.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Pain, anger, regret and sorrow aren’t more powerful than joy, pride and happiness, but shared in print, it’s easier to feel for anguish,” said David. “You’ll see.”
“Just keep your abstraction, said Lori. “Keep distant from what you’re reading.”
“It’s harder than you’d think when you know so much about people you’ve never met,” David commented, rubbing his brow above his sunglasses. “I’m getting out of here.” He rolled his seat forcefully away from the table until the wheels crunched into the wall, then stood for the door.
“Does this make it any more interesting?” Ikel pushed an envelope across the table as soon as David closed the door behind himself. “It’s today’s pay.”
Devlin cautiously reached for the envelope and flitted through its’ contents using the table to hide his actions. He kept composed as his quick count of the cash inside passed into the thousands. “How often is payday?”
“Most days we get ten or twenty thousand,” said Ikel. “Today there’s only fifteen.”
“You’re kidding?” questioned Devlin. “And it’s all above board?”
“Of course,” said Lori, as if there was no doubt. “It’s all fine.”
“Forgive the suspicion, but it doesn’t seem reasonable for the work.”
“Stressful work always pays well,” said Lori. “I’d recommend using the Research Interface to break up your reading. Have you even tried it?”
Minions Page 10