Minions

by Addison, Garrett

  “You looked after my car, right?” Ikel asked, barely drawing his eyes from his screen.

  “Yes, and thank-you. It wasn’t my idea, Glen just threw me a set of your keys. And…”

  “It’s not a biggie. I trust you.” Ikel interrupted, saving Devlin from continuing.

  The atmosphere in the bunker was laboured, as if everyone was determined to continue as normal despite David’s death. Despite their best intentions, no-one was convinced.

  Devlin focussed on his reading and within the first few messages, he settled into his rhythm of the day before. He read a message, considered the content and whether a protocol was necessary or appropriate, and then moved onto the next. By the time he’d started the next message he’d largely forgotten the last. He knew it was only early days, but there would be little chance of his stress levels reaching any tangible level if he could continue in this manner. He started keeping statistics in his head. Five messages without flagging any. Six messages without flagging anything, four male, two female. Seven messages, four male, three female, three happy, four sad, none identifiable. Eventually, he realised that the statistics were becoming more of a distraction than their worth and he decided to just keep a running count that he read.

  After twenty messages Devlin remembered the tedium of yesterday. His abstraction from the message content was still present, but his clarity to separate each was starting to wane. Was this one being written by a man or a woman? Married or single? A charmed life or a regrettable one?.

  Devlin’s seventy first message for the day began like the rest. Whoever had written it was obviously finding it difficult to find a context or perspective to writing what was surely a mix of private letter, eulogy and epitaph. It was written awkwardly, but gradually she, Devlin assumed it was a woman, found her rhythm and he prepared to glimpse at what she found important enough to share in a final message. She teetered between the first and third person perspectives and in so doing she shared her name, Angela Clarke, more commonly known as Angie, and implicitly thereby earned her message his first protocol for the day, and first definitive sender identification. This particular message was suddenly more interesting than the others.

  As he started to read and actually concentrate on the message, it seemed to Devlin as that Angie had written her message mindful of her mortality. She knew that she would die sooner or later, but when or how was far from clear. As certain as she was that she would die, she seemed less certain who the recipient of her message would be. There was no familiar hint of who she expected or wanted to read her message after her passing. Devlin read the message aloud in his mind, trying to capture Angie’s tone. He couldn’t help but try to picture her too. She didn’t sound old, nor young and gradually he pictured a nice looking, but not gorgeous, nubile but not emaciated woman about his age, a non-committal brunette with long hair and grey-green eyes. He also saw a short skirt, revealing blouse, sweet smile and more than a little confidence born of happiness.

  Angie shared memories of a reasonably happy but as yet incomplete life featuring family and friends such that she was never on her own, more ‘ups’ than ‘downs’, and money enough to pay the bills without the downside of wealth. While she wasn’t on her deathbed, Devlin pictured her, when that day came, with a contented smile on her face. Devlin shared the smile, content that he’d been allowed to share the joy.

  The tone in Angie’s message turned sour very quickly. No sooner had he started to smile inwardly that Devlin was shaken with Angie’s revelations. There was suddenly a sadness in her message exacerbated by her contrasting memories, and an anger about her inability to do anything about it. He kept reading, fixated, as Angie divulged details of her life clearly not shared with anyone else. She told of her landlord, a man named Nebojsa, though he answered to many names, but whom the title bastard would be an understatement. She described pain and bruising and isolation, and frustration at the inability of the Police to help. Reading between the lines, Devlin could however detect more than a little pride from her that she had stuck it out for as long as she had, but also sensed that her resilience was on the wane.

  Now when Devlin pictured Angie, he focussed less on the look of her face and more on her demeanour. She still looked the same, but now her confidence was gone and the previously imagined sexual fire in her eyes was definitely absent. She no longer wore short skirts, opting instead for something capable of hiding lingering bruising/.

  Devlin was beyond hoping for a happy ending as he neared the end of the message, though he did hope for something to indicate that Angie had not all but given up. Instead, Angie shared that she hoped that ‘Malcolm’ would help, ending her message abruptly and simply with her name and phone number.

  The mention of ‘Malcolm’ caught Devlin’s attention briefly. Had he been identified with his surname then that would have been too much of a co-incidence to be reasonable and Devlin knew it. He wrote off the name as being not worthy of further consideration, particularly the odds of this ‘Malcolm’ being the same guy that Whitely had spoken of.

  Oblivious to a discussion between Lori and Ikel, Devlin sat back in his chair to ponder all that he’d read. He assigned all of the protocols that he considered appropriate, but fell short of adding a suicide protocol. As bad as Angie’s story was, he still felt that enough fire remained to sustain her, though for how long was anyone’s guess. He noted that this message had previously been edited and was actually Angie’s fourth iteration. Clearly Angie thought enough of her future to warrant investing in something other than a free LastGasp’ account.

  The fact that Angie’s message was signed off with a phone number, her phone number presumably, perplexed him. If the message was purely intended to be seen only after her death, then surely the addition of the phone number was pointless. He waited for a lull in the discussion between Ikel and Lori before asking, “Guys, what do I make of a message signed off with a phone number?”

  “Ghost,” Ikel answered succinctly.

  “It’s probably a ghost.” Lori added. “You ring a number known only via a LastGasp’ message and voila, LastGasp’ and its associated privacy concerns are exposed. What was the rest of the message text?”

  “Some abused woman.” Devlin fell short of disclosing that he felt for the woman, opting instead to keep his summary objective. “I’ve already flagged a few protocols.”

  “Do you want us to look over it?” Ikel offered.

  “Don’t worry. I just haven’t seen one like this before, but undoubtedly you would have.”

  “Add the ghost protocol, and move on,” Lori demonstrated the abstraction that was unexpectedly absent in Devlin. “We’ve got a lot to clear today.”

  Devlin did as instructed, but only after making a mental note of Angie’s number . He needed some fresh air.

  Chapter - 48.

  As soon as Devlin was out of the bunker, he began to key Angie’s number into his phone and deliberated actually making the call. The wheels in his mind were spinning, searching for something that could or should be done now that he had shared Angie’s life. He didn’t want to be the one to bring down LastGasp’ for want of proving a message or learning more. It occurred to him too that he might be too late, and that Angie might have met her end at the hands of the bastard she’d described. That thought clicked his mind into overdrive. What if he made the call and it wasn’t too late? Then what would he do?

  Devlin had only just entered the fresh air outside LastGasp’ when his phone rang. He couldn’t get Angie’s message out of his head and he reached for the phone out of conditioning rather than deliberate action. He answered it, suspicious as ever, but was comforted in as much as the calling number was not familiar. Still distracted, he passively listened to a woman’s voice and even though she’d stated her name, Tania Wilson, it still took some time for him to put the name and voice to a face. She spoke, he listened, still miles away. She wanted to meet to talk, now. He agreed, if only to allow him to return to his headspace. It was only after
he’d ended the call that he fully realised who she was and what he’d actually agreed to.

  Ikel offered to drive Devlin back to Tania’s house, but as the offer was accompanied by wisecracks, Devlin declined. Instead, he asked to borrow Ikel’s car, primarily under the pretence of needing some ‘alone time’ after what was, without question, the most stressful message he’d read. His claim had merit and he’d been thrown the car keys without any further questioning.

  * * *

  Devlin had no recollection of anything from their brief talk on the phone, but he’d naïvely expected Tania to be in a mood comparable to how she was after their meeting the previous day. Instead, he could tell from the moment that she answered her door that she was anything but appreciative or happy. She invited him in and essentially instructed him to take a seat on her couch, but at least she offered coffee which he accepted out of habit. The burst of caffeine did wonders to focus him.

  “The message I got yesterday from you was lovely,” Tania began. “But today’s one just makes me think that I’m either being stalked, or perhaps you at LastGasp’ think that I’m ripe to receive spam from you every day. I just thought I’d stop it before it began.” She eased off her tone to add, “I figured that if you were nice enough to hand deliver your message yesterday, then I should at least cite my case to you in person.”

  “I’m sorry Tania, but I don’t know anything about your latest message.” Devlin quickly understood that someone else known to Tania had died. “Would you mind if I read it?”

  Tania handed over a message printed on recycled paper and Devlin accepted that the email issues that had warranted his hand delivery yesterday had been resolved. The message had all the makings of a near anonymous apology similar to many that he’d read in the bunker and he scanned the text accordingly without really concentrating on any of its content. Then it dawned on him that he should be reading this particular message like a concerned friend and not like a LastGasp’ reader. He started to read from the beginning once more.

  On his second read, Devlin failed to understand Tania’s concern. If she’d accepted yesterday’s message without question, then why would today’s message be such a leap of faith? And then it struck him that yesterday’s message was technically from her belated brother, whereas this one was apologising for her brother’s death. There was nothing explicitly confessional in its nature, but there was little doubt that the sender of this particular message felt guilt for the death of one Tim Wilson, brother of Tania. The message ended with a name, David, and his phone number.

  “Do you know who this David is?” Devlin asked.

  “No, but I thought you might.”

  “Why?”

  “No reason, other than the fact that it’s on your letterhead.”

  Devlin nodded. “That’s not how it works,” he started to explain. “LastGasp’ is effectively just a delivery service. Messages get sent after someone dies, on their behalf.”

  “So this isn’t a prank?” Tania asked earnestly.

  “I can’t vouch for the sender or their intent. If it’s a prank, then it certainly isn’t sanctioned by LastGasp’. There’s not a lot more I can say.”

  It took some time for Tania to digest this new information. “So who sent it?”

  “I’ve got no idea of who sent this or any other message.” Speaking to an outsider, Devlin finally understood the purpose of message anonymity. “Have you rung the number for this David?”

  “Yes, but there was no answer. I’d just like to speak to him, whoever he is.”

  Devlin considered correcting Tania in that this David, if he ever existed, was now dead if his message had been sent, but he decided against it. “Would you be offended if I tried his number?” he said, reaching for his phone in his jacket pocket. Acknowledging a nod of approval, he dialled the number. His phone immediately associated the number with a stored name. Yeardley, David. Shaken, he maintained a façade of waiting for the call to be answered, as if he wanted to prove for himself what Tania had reported, but he knew there would be no answer. He returned the phone to his pocket as Tania shrugged approvingly that she’d been proven right.

  Devlin was lost for what to do with this new information. “I don’t know what to say. LastGasp’ really is just the messenger.” Tania said nothing, so he continued. “I can’t think why someone, this David, would send a message like this.”

  “So is there any way that I can track down David?”

  “How would that help?” Devlin replied defiantly but politely. “Sorry, I understand why you’d want to track him down, but perhaps I hadn’t made something clear. LastGasp’ messages are only, can only, be sent posthumously. Whoever wrote the message, in this case this David, is dead.”

  Devlin fidgeted, re-reading the printed message in his hands. “How exactly did your brother die? I mean there’s nothing actually in this message.”

  “Someone, a no-one, killed him. Beat him to death one night.” Tania wiped away an imagined tear before they appeared for real. “The guy heard voices singling out my brother, apparently. Why, I’ll never know.”

  “And the Police got him?” Devlin couldn’t help a doubtful tone.

  “Yes. The Police quite literally followed a trail of bloodied shoe prints once they found my brother’s body, courtesy of him having kicked the shit out of Tim. You know his skull was crushed?” Tania sighed. “They found him, sitting kerbside, crying … and scraping pieces of brain from the welts in his boots. Apparently he was very remorseful.”

  “When was this?”

  “Doesn’t matter now anyway. He’s dead now, the guy who did it. He got his on remand. Eddy Stantoch. Rest in peace, but with stab holes you bastard!” She drifted off and into her mug of coffee.

  “Who got him, this Eddy?”

  “No idea and not that it matters either. It won’t give me back my brother.” Tania relaxed herself into her couch.

  Devlin was silent for a moment in recognition of Tania’s grief. “I don’t know what to say, other than to say that I’m sorry for your loss. Perhaps this David guy got you, or Tim, confused with someone else.”

  “Perhaps,” Tania replied solemnly.

  Devlin felt that he had reclaimed some level ground in his meeting with Tania. He saw that she was no longer braced for an argument and he figured that he should move on. “Do you mind if I take this?” he asked, holding up the printed message from David.

  “Fine,” Tania replied. “I guess if I need another copy I can always print it off.” She nodded a vague indication to her computer on her study desk. The Police didn’t really sound interested either, but someone is coming to have a look anyway.” Tania thought for a moment. “Can you believe that they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give me an email address to forward the email on to! So I have to wait until he comes to pick it up.” She tuned out once more and drank some of her coffee.

  “I guess they know who you are and want to show a personal face to the Police force, for what it’s worth. Can I add that I see a lot of messages at LastGasp’, and before I joined I never realised the subtleties that are hard to explain in words. More than likely they’ll just want to ask you more about your brother and David, and any possible relationship there could be between them that you know of.”

  “You’re right. I’d understand why they wouldn’t be interested. They have their man and they certainly don’t need any more evidence to deal with him.”

  Devlin and Tania both appreciated that their meeting had met its natural conclusion. He stood to say his goodbyes when there was a knock at the door. “That’ll be the Police now,” Tania said, making her way casually to the door and greeting the new arrival.

  “Hi Tania. Is this the kind of personal service you expect from the Police?” Detective Alan Reymond entered with a smile and the ubiquitous small-talk necessary to lighten the mood with the arrival of anyone from his profession. Devlin figured that it would have been one of his standard lines, but it obviously served its’ purpose well.


  Devlin listened to Tania and the Detective’s discussion and managed to piece together the extent of their recent history. They clearly had history, but most recently the Detective had not seen Tania since that initial flurry of Police presence after the death of her brother. He’d been the one to first pass on the news of her brother, and thereafter he had kept in contact with updates on the subsequent investigation, most notably the arrest of Eddy Stantoch and his redundant confession. He apparently also had the dubious honour of advising Tania when justice for Eddy, of sorts, preceded any trial. With Eddy’s demise however, the investigation was abruptly concluded and Detective Reymond’s obligations to maintain contact with Tania also disappeared.

  Reymond then progressed into more human banter, commenting on how he knew how difficult a time Tania had been through. He saw that she looked thinner, but her eyes no longer looked red and puffy from endless tears. He shared some analogy likening her grief to a tunnel and surely she was on her way out of the tunnel. Only then did he scan the room to notice that Tania had company.

  Devlin raised his hand in greeting, but said nothing. He’d said his goodbye and the arrival of anyone did nothing to make him want to stay. That the new arrival was the Police just made him feel uncomfortable. “I’ll be off then Tania.” He moved for the door, naïvely hopeful that Reymond would stop him. When Tania smiled and waved, his confidence grew.

  “Actually, I was heading to speak to you again next,” said the Detective. “Perhaps if you stick around, we could talk a little more over a coffee. There’s a little café over the road. I’m sure that this won’t take too long with Tania, so I’ll meet you there shortly.”

  Chapter - 49.