Minions (39 page)

“Where are they going?” Devlin asked of Glen incredulously. 
“I’m no wiser now, and they’re not going to help now that they’re gone, are
they?”

Glen beckoned the waitress over again.  “Whitely and the
Detective are every bit the reason why you needed to be here, to learn.  You
didn’t need to speak to Malcolm.”  He ordered more coffees, knowing full well
that Devlin was drinking Coke.  “I want you to figure it out and understand.” 

Devlin kept his mouth shut for no other reason than he
didn’t know what to say. 

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 86.
               
 

Sun on his face, Malcolm sat in a child’s swing in the
playground looking at the bank of windows, one of which was surely Tania’s
living room.  Exactly which window was Tania’s was not important.  He knew she
was inside and he didn’t need to see her face at the window to confirm the
fact.

Malcolm smiled and sighed for a job well done. 
Thereafter, the culmination of this particular project was something of an
anti-climax, much like the rest.  He couldn’t share in any celebratory drinks,
he wouldn’t receive any pats on the back, and he knew he’d never hear an
appreciative word from anyone.  His efforts would go un-rewarded, but they
would not go un-noticed.  Not that he undertook this project for anyone but
himself, but selected people would sleep better for his efforts, regardless of
whether they understood or cared for the role that he had played.  It didn’t
matter.  He could look at himself in the mirror with pride for what he did, but
it was just unfortunate that others couldn’t share his pride and were on the
main oblivious to what he did.

There were few regrets in Malcolm’s memory.  His mother
never had any time for thoughts or emotions that weren’t implicitly positive. 
Just as he didn’t allow his bad days to interfere with his good, he didn’t let
bad thoughts drag down his plans.  He focussed on a greater good.  Doing so
allowed him to feel pride, even if he couldn’t share it.

There was one notable exception.  To make a point to Glen
he had done one thing of which he was not proud.  Admittedly, there were
actions which he recalled with ambivalence, neither positively nor negatively,
but only one thing that made him feel what others would describe as ‘regret’. 

His mood on the turn, he wasn’t thinking clearly when he
felt backed into a corner after an ongoing discussion with Glen.  The mistake
was his and his alone; he couldn’t blame anyone but himself.  For what he’d
deemed naive arrogance, Glen was not prepared to listen to his concerns and so
Malcolm decided to show him.  With the impetuousness of a child, he stormed out
of LastGasp’ and into the first internet café.  There he’d watched a live news
feed, waiting for someone to die, like the angel of death himself. 

It was the middle of the night, and Malcolm waited for
many hours before it happened.  Sirens and fire engines coincided with a flurry
of news traffic; the media alerted to a fire at a little known suburban
chemical facility.  Two Police officers working out of hours to legally
supplement their incomes were injured and the first news crews couldn’t help
themselves in a rush to identify them.

Malcolm did not play any odds to make his point.  He
prepared two messages.  He knew what to do, it just required a little homework
to get right.

For the officer with family, ‘
his
’ message was a
simple, heartfelt stream of words much as he imagined his own mother would have
said on her last night.  Perhaps she did say them, but he never heard them. 
His brief research indicated that while the officer, Robert Duffton, and his
wife were having more than their share of marital issues, ‘
his
’ message
focussed only on the upside and potential for a complete reconciliation.  He
didn’t think there was anything to be gained in any mention of any of the
negatives.  He included an anecdote for each of his children and an earnest
request that they grow to live and love and know that they were loved.  It
seemed appropriate, particularly when he was already a LastGasp’ member.

The other police officer, sadly, was known to him. 
Malcolm understood their history following long discussions on the matter with
Glen.  Albert Fenton.  Glen owed him a debt for the role that he’d played in
the Leon Newman debacle, but Glen’s persistent scepticism with police interest
forced him to keep Albert largely at arm’s length.  When Malcolm thought about
what message was necessary or appropriate for Albert, he struggled.  The guy
was alone and with a dubious sexual orientation it was unlikely that he’d ever
father any children to justify the need to pass on any endearing message.  It
struck him that most of Albert’s adult life had been spent with his friend,
right down to the fact that they were both now injured together.  Malcolm
decided it was time that Alert was outed.

It was a spiteful thing to do.  Malcolm knew it at the
time but he did it anyway.  He now understood that some things can’t be undone
and some secrets are better kept.  Albert’s determination proved it.  Not one
to fear, he did sometimes worry if Albert himself would eventually be able to
see the greater good of
this
episode.

In the meantime, Malcolm looked forward and focussed on
the future, his next project.  Nebojsa’s time had come.

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 87.
               
 

The coffee had not improved in the 24 hours since Devlin
last sampled some from the café.  Yesterday, he was oblivious to how bad it
would be, but today even though he was expecting it, he was too distracted to
brace himself fully.  Glen appeared to be content to flit through any of a pile
of magazines and Devlin found the guy’s smugness intolerable.  Between the
coffee and the look on Glen’s face, he found it hard to even think coherently.

“Are you comfortable with things yet?” asked Glen.

“Not really.  Perhaps if it was Malcolm who appeared
before Whitely and the Detective left, then maybe I might have put it together
by now.”

“But it wasn’t,” Glen said nonchalantly.

Devlin continued thinking, but there was nothing logical
in the manner that he thought.  As confused as he was, his thoughts darted
randomly and spasmodically between what he’d heard, what he’d seen, what he’d
read, and who he’d met over the preceding days.  He thought about the list of
names, as apparently incomplete as it was, and how Glen had been so
disinterested himself in what it represented, but how he’d been so supportive
for related discovery.  He thought about Tania and how his initial sadness for
her recent loss had evolved through suspicion when David’s message entered the
mix.  When he learnt of her role in the death of Whitely’s wife, Alan’s
daughter, he couldn’t help but soften his sadness, as if her loss was offset,
even lessened, by the loss that she’d caused to someone else.  He didn’t allow
himself to dwell on whether she deserved it, but that made him ponder David’s
references to ‘karma’.  If karma was really at play, or divine intervention as
he might have described it, then it did beg the question as to how some degree
of balance might be achieved. 

Devlin tried not to think about David’s death.  He didn’t
really know David, and if he was honest, he didn’t like him either.  With
enough time, the simple fact that he was gone would not rate a mention in his
memory, except for the way that he’d been found, or more importantly that
Devlin himself had found him.  He could have done without
that
picture
on his mind.  A mass of pallid skin spinning centrally around the room on a
fast cycle above a suite full of blood covered furniture.  He avoided any
consideration as to why David might have done it to himself, primarily because
he wasn’t certain that he had actually done it to himself.  That the Police or
the coroner would inevitably make their decision on that front was
justification enough for him to think about ‘why’ rather than ‘who’.  Perhaps
David was carrying a volume of baggage and stress from his past that caught up
with him or wouldn’t leave him.  Perhaps the guy found the stress at LastGasp’
too much.  Perhaps these stresses were one and the same.  Devlin felt as if he
had made progress.

That David would join LastGasp’ with some stresses,
regardless of his background or history was a reasonable assumption.  The guy
was human.  Everyone has a history.  Glen and all his disciples had told him
that.  The hotel manager had even said that all of Glen’s employees attracted
media attention which was sure to be a sign that they came to LastGasp’ with at
least some history.  Thereafter surely media attention would have to be
directed squarely at LastGasp’ itself, rather than individual employees … and
that couldn’t happen.  So David joined and LastGasp’ didn’t make his problems
go away.  Maybe LastGasp’ even made his problems worse or wouldn’t allow him to
move on. 

“If you won’t answer my question of why David died, can
you at least tell me why he joined?”

“You’re the first to ask that.  I put up with no end of
innuendo about why people leave and perhaps what they do afterwards, but no-one
ever gives me credit for why people join.”

“So his joining wasn’t a result of some
random
meeting on a train?”

“Well yes.  There was nothing
co-incidental
that
led to him joining LastGaspStore, just like the rest of my employees.  You
included, but you’d worked that out obviously.” 

Devlin shrugged, a little wary of the fact that he’d
needed Whitely’s assistance to understand even that detail.  Looking back it
was probably blatantly obvious, but at the time he was so prepared to accept
that an opportunity would have to appear from out of the blue that when it
actually came, he didn’t question it. 

“I extended the opportunity to David, just as to you, for
largely the same reason.  He wanted to reclaim his life, just like you.”

“So where does Malcolm fit in then?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Others disagree.”

“Others are wrong.  I’m trying to show you something.”

“So this
is
about Malcolm?”

“No,” Glen replied, sloshing the last of his coffee in his
cup before pushing it aside.  “When I told you about Malcolm, Sampson, I said
we had a parting of ways.  But in reality I do keep loose tabs on what he’s
doing.”

“So what are we doing here then, right now?”

“We could be here for the coffee, but clearly that’s a
lie.  Or we could be here, now, because at
this
time, in
this
place, because this is the single best place to understand.

“You think a little Devlin.  I sense you are close.”

Devlin did not have the heart to quash Glen’s confidence. 
He felt no closer to any epiphany.  Minutes passed while he retraced his
thoughts, hoping that perhaps he might identify something that he’d missed the
last time, but nothing revealed itself.  He tried something else.  “So who was
that guy?”

“What guy?” Glen replied teasingly.

“The guy who made you all sit up and take notice, and then
when he left you all had a group hug.

“He’s no-one particularly special.  You’ll read about him,
or those like him, every day.”

“In the papers or at LastGasp’?”

“Both.”

“So what protocol would apply to him then?” Devlin asked. 
“Would I know him from a LastGasp’ message?”

“All of the bastard protocols have applied to him at some
time.”

“So you knew and you did nothing?”

“Not at all.  We’re here aren’t we.”

“Based on what you said the other day about that woman at
the café getting dragged into the taxi, I wouldn’t have thought that would be
enough.”

“When
you
lie in bed at night,
you
can
contemplate whether this is enough.”

“Does that mean that you sleep well at night?”

“Not particularly, but that doesn’t mean that
you
can’t,
Devlin.”

“And Malcolm?  Does he make it harder or easier to have a
clear conscience?

“He does.  For me.  And he should for you too.”

“So Malcolm does your dirty work?” Devlin asked without
any confidence.  “His abstraction protects LastGasp’, I guess.”

“Malcolm’s hands are clean.  He’s just an observer.”

Devlin picked up on a similarity with what the Detective
had said before he left.  “So does this mean that Malcolm is an
active
observer
?” 

Glen only smiled.

“So why didn’t he help Angie then?”

“He did, or he will.”

“You know she accused me of attacking her.”

“She’ll get over it, just give her time.  I’m sure Malcolm
put in a good word for you.”  Glen tried his best to sound reassuring.

“But who is she?”

“Angie?  She’s just some victim that Malcolm found.  They’re
everywhere if you care to look.”

“And you’re not going to do anything to help her?”

“Her life is about to significantly improve.  Chances are
I’ll offer her job and give her the same opportunity that I gave you.”

Devlin thought a little, content that he’d scored a minor
victory.  “So what about Tania?”

“Alright.  Based on what you know, are you likely to be
more compassionate for the Detective or Tania, or Whitely for that matter?”

“If I had to choose, I’d say the Detective, though it’s a
line call with Whitely.”

“You’ve read Tania’s history.  You don’t think that she’s
been through enough?”  Glen allowed Devlin a little time to think. 

“But did she deserve all she’s got?”

“I try to distance myself from such debate, but it’s
interesting that
you’d
ask that question. 
You
think someone
deserved to die just because of some groundless innuendo about you.”