Minions

by Addison, Garrett

“Yes. But look at this?” Conrad typed on his keyboard some more and clicked his mouse, and the interface changed slightly, such that a number of the coloured nodes started to flash. “Remember what I said about the blue nodes? Well I know you aren’t one of the flashing blue ones. Wanna’ know how I know?”

  Devlin only shrugged, though he no longer feigned disinterest. He looked at Conrad and waited for the answer.

  “Because the flashing nodes are all dead.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What part of this do you think is bullshit? The contact, or the fact that a surprising number of them are dead?”

  “Both,” said Devlin, interested but not convinced. “It’s not just blue nodes that are flashing. And people die every day!”

  “So? That should make this information more interesting to you. For comparison, look at my matrix.” Conrad typed and clicked once more. The display of the screen changed noticeably, but presented a similar matrix. There were a number of flashing nodes, but not nearly as many as there had been previously.

  “See! You know dead people too, or, sorry, have had contact with dead people,” Devlin commented smugly.

  Conrad was visibly saddened by the comment, but he said nothing.

  On seeing Conrad’s reaction, Devlin was lost as to what he’d said wrong. “What? What did I say? I only pointed out that you’ve contacted people who are now dead too. So what’s the big deal about Glen’s matrix then?”

  “The flashing dots on mine are some of the same dots on Glen’s,” Conrad pushed himself away from his desk. “They were all readers, like you,” he said as he edged past Devlin. “I didn’t convince them and so couldn’t help them, but I can help you.”

  Devlin remained fixated on the screen for a while and reached for the mouse in an effort to use the computer. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at Conrad for some indication of approval or concurrence, but Conrad only reached for the television remote control after briefly locking eyes. Devlin took the passing eye contact as tacit approval, and he started using the mouse. He very quickly worked out that if he moved the mouse cursor over any of the nodes, flashing or otherwise, a name, presumably that of the person that particular node represents, was displayed, along with an array of personal information. He gravitated to the first of the flashing blue nodes, and recognised the name, Casey Lawrence. He knew the names represented by the second, third and fourth flashing nodes subconsciously before he confirmed them.

  “Leon, Casey, Carson, and now David,” said Conrad as he turned off the television.

  Devlin was lost for something to say. “Who are the others?” he asked, pointing to the flashing nodes. He could have found out with his mouse, but after the latest revelation, he felt more inclined to ask.

  “Relax. The others are my uncle, and a guy I knew from the gym. And it doesn’t mean that I killed them.”

  “Well, it doesn’t mean that Glen killed them either.”

  “You don’t think that it’s a little odd that so many readers are dead?” asked Conrad emphatically. “What would convince you? Surveillance video of Glen actually killing them?”

  “Perhaps.” The thought dented his façade of confidence. “How did they all die?”

  “Suicide. Mainly suicide anyway.”

  “Suicide? I thought the important definition of suicide was that the perpetrator killed himself, or herself. So how is it that Glen was, or is, implicated?”

  “That’s still open.”

  “Do you mean that the police investigation is still open, or you haven’t managed to pin it on him?” Buoyed by Conrad’s silence, Devlin continued. “I’ll assume then that the Police don’t think that the suicides were anything out of the ordinary.” He felt his anger rising that he’d allowed himself to be taken into a fairy-tale. “What a waste of time!”

  Conrad found a voice. “You don’t think the suicide rate of those that work for him is even remotely interesting?”

  “It’s a stressful job. Glen and everyone else have been up-front with me about that from the beginning. Based on David and what you’ve been telling me, clearly I need to get out before I burn-out!”

  “Devlin,” Conrad began with a condescending tone. “Futures trader and air traffic controller. They are stressful jobs. You and your reader mates only read emails. You get to sit in your little bombproof box, read emails, and for this you are overpaid. That doesn’t constitute anywhere near enough stress to warrant such a high suicide rate amongst employees! Dumb I can handle, and you wouldn’t be the first to not believe me, but don’t be so naïve!”

  Devlin took a deep breath to begin his retort, but the momentary pause also gave him time to reflect and think. Conrad had a point.

  “I’m deadly serious about this, particularly as I’m not absolutely sure that they were suicides. But I may never prove that much.”

  “David looked like a suicide to me.”

  “Would you know? Whatever your background, I doubt you could tell.”

  “Are you thinking Glen?”

  Conrad smiled. “I’m happy that I’ve at least got you thinking. But as much as I hate the prick, sadly he can’t be responsible for all of them. I know that he was out of the country for at least two reader’s deaths.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. I have access to virtually all Police systems, state and federal, and the systems that each interface with. He was definitely out of the country when at least a few of the bodies were discovered, and also when the coroner’s report confirmed their time of death.”

  Devlin thought some more, his arrogant confidence now absent. “So what now?”

  “I’ve been so fixated on making a convert out of you that I’m not entirely sure. Will you help me?”

  “I can hardly say no can I?” said Devlin. “It sounds like I stand to gain more than you.”

  “Fine. Go now and I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter - 38.

  Too tired to stay awake and too anxious to drift off, Devlin was in that restless no-man’s land between being alert and asleep. He thought about David and his passing for a time, but the law of self-preservation inevitably made him focus on Conrad and what he’d said. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced of only one thing; that he didn’t really know anything for certain.

  When there was a knock at the door, he was both thankful for the distraction and angry for the interruption. It was 5am and only after acknowledging the time did it dawn on him how little sleep he’d actually got. He cautiously opened the door to the hotel manager insistent on entering his room.

  “You might want to look at this,” the manager said, handing over the early morning edition of the newspaper.

  Devlin was about to challenge the necessity for such a personalised delivery service, when he registered his own image on the front page. Crystal clear, the picture showed him crossing the road outside of Tania’s apartment by the looks of things. Had a child’s playground not been clearly visible in the background it wouldn’t have warranted any photo-journalistic merit. But the swings were there, as were several children; at least their faces were hidden or obscured.

  Deep down he knew this would come; that he’d be identified and tracked down. Moving interstate might have bought him time, but it wouldn’t buy him absolution. His acquittal was old news, but his label would persist and apparently follow him for some time to come. Political and geographic boundaries would not stop the transmission of information.

  “The media are waiting in the lobby, so you might want to steer clear,” offered the manager.

  “Does this mean you want me gone?” Devlin asked, expectant of the answer.

  “Not at all. Glen pays me well to look after such matters, and in the meantime, the hotel will make a fortune selling coffee to them.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Reporters, paedophiles. You know they’re not that dissimilar.”

  Devlin ignored the comment. He was too tired to bite.

  “You know, you�
��re not the first,” the manager said, no doubt seeing the disappointment in Devlin. “Glen attracts them, like puppies.”

  “What? Reporters or paedophiles?”

  “Neither. Most of his people have a history that tends to attract media attention, given half the opportunity. Perhaps time with Glen gives them the chance to lie low so they can get on when the heat dies off.”

  “Maybe, but in the meantime I’m trapped here.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We’ve got more than one service entrance for just such a … service.”

  Chapter - 39.

  Albert woke, as ever, to his watch alarm. His watch was his last possession, and not while there was breath in his body would he part with it, even if those breaths were laboured and his body effectively pickled. Waking each night to the alarm was his small ritual of remembrance. It made him remember his friend.

  With each bloodied lung oyster that Albert coughed up and either spat out or swallowed, he thought of his friend. Robert. Rob. They were more than friends, but Rob had a family before they realised it. Closeted for as long as they were, it was never going to happen. Their friendship, he never once called it love, was restricted to stealthy meetings and a casual knowing between them. Moonlighting together gave them extra time, but not really any additional opportunities.

  The night of the fire was cold. They’d taken it in turns to wander the facility then warm themselves in the office, sharing only five minutes or so together watching TV before swapping roles. That was the way it was. This division of time gave them each a balance of companionship and time to think. Rob would get time to think of his family and manage his guilt, while Albert would consider how his life would be shattered if their secret ever surfaced.

  Ten minutes earlier, Albert himself could have been the one killed. Oxidising substances and limited ventilation; the post incident report said it was inevitable, sooner or later. He couldn’t blame foul play or terrorists, it was just fate that took away his friend. Fate is cruel too. It took away his friend and denied a family a father and husband.

  When Albert received a LastGasp’ message from his friend Rob, he was very appreciative. Glen hand delivered it, and when he later read it in private he was even more thankful. That Rob wanted to share what Albert meant to him was special, but he feared for how the message would be received if read by anyone in the force. One of the last bastions of homophobia, the Police force would not take too kindly to him if he was covertly outed. As it was, he’d been completely isolated after the incident. Perhaps they’d worked it out. Perhaps his secret was still a secret.

  The message that Albert received was different to the one that Rob’s wife received. Albert tried to keep in touch with Rob’s family, his wife in particular, but she wasn’t interested. Whether she resented that she was now without a partner while Albert was still alive or some other reason was irrelevant. She did, however, share the message that her Robert sent. Content aside, the tone in her message was different. He expected differences obviously, but when he read them both, it was clear that he could not account for the differences with any simple psychological struggle. He knew in an instant that the two messages had been drafted by two people. He felt confident at least in the authenticity of his message; it was too human, too Rob.

  He raised the matter with Glen immediately. The realist in him understood that Glen would have read his message when he delivered it, and the odds were that he’d have read the other one too. Glen was sombre, and that little bastard Sam, before he changed his name, had that smug look about him. Glen disregarded his concerns, despite Albert’s insistence. As he recalled it, Sam revelled in Albert’s efforts to explain how he knew something wasn’t right. It was hard for him to make a point without drawing attention to his own message for comparison.

  A casual comment from Sam changed everything. “Of course it makes you think which of Rob’s messages are actually from him, doesn’t it?” Albert remembered the knowing way that Sam raised his eyebrows and stared at him, watching for his reaction. Albert understood immediately that Sam knew about Rob’s message. He tried to consider that maybe, just maybe, Sam had simply only read Rob’s messages. He tried to take comfort in what he knew of LastGasp’ security.

  Glen made to silence Sam like a child, but the comment had been made. The damage was done. He asked Sam to repeat what he’d said, as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

  “Don’t you wonder what could be said in your message?” Sam asked.

  It changed everything.

  Chapter - 40.

  Despite being awake the entire night thinking about matters as he understood them, Devlin decided that he needed to be upfront with Glen. Beyond this, he wasn’t entirely clear on what he wanted to know.

  Glen opened the door at LastGasp’ with a friendly smile and “What did Conrad tell you?”

  “I’d like to talk to you about that too,” Devlin replied.

  Glen blanked the bank of televisions in the lounge room and began his own line of questioning, not waiting until Devlin was actually seated. “What did he say?”

  “Aside from the fact that I’m more than a little surprised that you even knew that we’d met, he just wanted to warn me, I guess. And for the record, ‘Yes’ I was going to tell you and talk to you about it. That’s why I’m here so early.”

  “You’re here early because you couldn’t sleep. I can see the fatigue in your eyes.” Glen drank of his coffee, not seeking any confirmatory response. “But I’m not your keeper, and you’re free to meet with him obviously. I’m just interested in what he told you, and more importantly how you responded based on what I told you yesterday.”

  “I met with him because I assumed he was sending me these messages. Ikel said after he approached Conrad the messages magically stopped. So I went to meet him, and he bombarded me with his concern that I was at risk.”

  “So what did he say?”

  “He said life expectancy among readers was a little, limited.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I don’t know what I believe! He might just be one of a sinister horde wanting ‘in’ to LastGasp’, but I don’t see it. He, on the other hand shows me that most readers are dead. I don’t recall you telling me this.”

  “Conrad would never have said most reader’s life expectancy was limited. Tell me what he said and showed you.” He raised his remote control to turn off all of the televisions.

  Devlin paused for moment. He was aware that he was being directly asked to disclose all, and Conrad’s warning sprung to the forefront of his mind. He was implicitly being asked to choose a side. To be anything less than up-front with all of the details with Glen would be paramount to siding with Conrad. It was reasonable thereafter that Conrad’s warning might truly be warranted. Alternatively, why wouldn’t he side with Glen and disclose all about his brief meeting with Conrad? If nothing else, Devlin figured he owed Glen the truth. The man had given him a chance and a job when he had nothing else, and at that moment his gratitude outweighed any concerns for himself that he felt.

  “Can I start with the fact that I went there under the premise that he was sending me the messages. It turned out that he wasn’t,” Devlin started. “I plan to try to trace the messages from the phone company today.” He felt immediately that he’d proven his allegiance.

  “He showed you the matrix? The dots on the screen?”

  “You know about it?”

  “I know a lot. What else?”

  “He thinks you’re involved, or at least to blame, for all the reader’s deaths, apparently.”

  “Do you remember how many flashing dots there were?”

  “I didn’t think to count. Why? Are they dead or what?”

  “Just ask what you want to ask me, Devlin!”

  “Alright. Am I at risk?”

  “I appreciate the candour in your question.” He drank slowly from his coffee, drawing out his reply. “No, you’re not at risk.” He turned on the bank of televisions once more,
teasing Devlin with the distraction.

  “So Conrad is a liar? What about the fact that all of the other readers are dead?”

  “Sadly, some have died. Thus the flashing dots on the screen that you would have seen.”

  “I saw a lot of dots!”

  “Sadly, a small percentage of my high staff turnover over many years.”

  “Conrad said they all killed themselves!”

  “That’s not what he said. Conrad is misguided, but he’s not a liar. I’d suggest he said many, not all, have in fact committed suicide, because it’s true.”

  “Why did they kill themselves?”

  “Stress is sure to be at least a part of it. But it’s just as likely that LastGasp’ was not the source of all their stress.”

  “That’s a joke! Boredom is more likely!” Devlin laughed.

  “I’m glad you’re laughing about it. I’ll keep tabs on your stress levels, just the same. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do to make it interesting.”

  “So what are the rest of the readers doing now? The ones that aren’t dead.”

  Glen presented his total attention to Devlin, albeit without eye contact. “How about if you go and learn about the other readers yourself. I’ll even give you a list of names. You’ll learn something from all of them. I’m sure that Ikel wouldn’t mind if you borrowed his car. Thereafter, you can make up your own mind.”

  * * *

  Glen seconded Ikel’s car with a spare set of keys and sent Devlin off with a manila folder filled with a list of people, their contact details and home addresses. He purchased a latté to go, retrieved the car from Albert’s guard and drove off without any clear plan or having even examined the list. As soon as he was stopped at a traffic light, he returned his focus to the obvious need to formulate a plan, if only to define a route to at least some of the past readers on Glen’s list.

  Just as he was about to close his eyes and randomly point to one of the listed names, he was alerted to the arrival of a message on his phone from Glen.

  TRY WHITELY MASON.