New Reality 2: Justice (24 page)

Oblivious to Marie's thoughts, despite its advanced-intelligence chip, it asked, "Herbal tea? I think the stuff's for
heathens
, but I can make it for you if you like?"

Marie didn't reply.
 

"You'll come back to coffee one day, won't you?"

As Marie left the room, the machine called after her, "Marie. Marie, please don't leave me."

Without breaking stride, Marie raised her middle finger behind her, undoing her corset with her other hand. "Fuck you and your shitty coffee."

Although she slammed her bedroom door behind herself, it wasn't in time to cut off the gasp of indignation from the kitchen.

***

When Marie cut into her Kiev, garlic butter spilled from it, and a pocket of steam rose into the air. The seat opposite her was still empty. She lifted the phone again and checked the callback settings for what must have been the tenth time. It was still programmed correctly; when Frankie accessed his phone, it would ring so Marie knew to call him. Nothing so far.

Although the food was always cooked to perfection, Marie couldn't taste anything tonight—not even the strong garlic. What a waste! She didn't get the pleasure of eating it, but she sure as hell would smell it on herself for days to come. The way pregnancy had messed with her meant she could practically smell water days after she'd drunk it.

Another glance down at her stomach and Marie held her belly. "Where's your daddy tonight?"

A soft kick responded.

"You think he's working hard? I'm sure he is. He's a grafter, your dad, and he'll make sure we don't have to worry about a thing. You're going to have the
best
life ever because of that man. I know it."

Another kick pushed against her hand.

She took another bite of Kiev and roast potato.

"Who are you talking to?" the coffee machine asked.

Marie didn't answer.
 

"
Please
have a coffee."

The coffee machine had now spun around to face her. The plate she was eating her dinner from was heavy enough to destroy the little shit with a well-aimed shot. "Why did the landlord install you?"

"I
beg
your pardon? The coffee mate forty-two thousand is the best machine currently on the market!"

"What went so wrong with you then? Have you got a personality defect or something?"

"I take offence to that!"

"You're
meant
to."

The machine slowly turned around until its back was facing Marie. Were it to have arms, it would have folded them across its own chest by now.

***

It didn't matter how long she stared at the empty chair—Frankie wasn't going to appear. "Where
is
he?"

Not even the coffee machine responded. It was hardly surprising; asking the same thing over and over wasn't going to yield different results—the definition of stupidity and all that.

The chair screeched against the tiled floor when Marie pushed herself away from the table.
 

Clap! Clap!

"Dishwasher!"

The surface of the circular table shifted in several places and the independent pieces of tabletop guided the plates and cups into the middle before pulling them down through the centre of it. The sides then lifted up so it resembled a giant taco. The loose crumbs and Marie's pudding spoon followed everything else into the centre.
 

A chemical smell of disinfectant ran a sharp kick to Marie's nose, and a spinning cloth emerged. The cloth twirled at high speed and danced as if guided by a magnet on the underside, before disappearing into the middle like everything else.
 

The table finally levelled out, and everything slid back into place until it was impossible to see the joins.

Marie grabbed the armrests of her chair and pushed herself to her feet. Aches gripped her pelvis, hips, and knees. While gently rocking from side to side, she groaned.

***

When she got to the living room, Marie put her glass of iced water on the coffee table, flopped down on the sofa, picked up the remote, and flicked the channel over.

The close up of Jezza Kuntz made her flinch. His nostrils were flared, his piggy blue eyes were wide, and a vein ran across his temple. If Satan had an agent on earth, it was this man. Bent over at the waist, he was screaming at a person from the estate. There was so much noise that Marie couldn't hear the words coming out of his poisonous mouth. All she saw was a flapping chin and monstrous eyes.

The transmission was suddenly interrupted. Hank Manifesto was a welcome sight compared to that idiot. Marie leant over and grabbed her iced water from the side.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is Hank Manifesto coming
live
to your homes." The usual shit-eating grin dominated his fat, orange face. "It's not often we broadcast as it happens, so sorry if there are any unsavoury words, but we feel what's currently occurring needs to be seen
live
."

Marie had the glass to her lips when she saw Frankie's face. She lost her grip on it and it fell to the floor.

What the fuck?

Chapter Thirty-Six

Crash!
 

The glass shattered, sending ice and shards splaying away from the point of impact. Despite the cold water pooling around her bare feet, Marie didn't move. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen as her world crashed around her. "What the fuck, Frankie?"
 

The footage showed the main building at Frankie's school. Frankie was on the roof with a child in front of him. He had a knife to the boy's throat as he addressed the crowd gathered below. "As teachers, we get paid fuck all!"

When Frankie leaned forwards, holding the kid over the lip of the building, the crowd gasped.
 

"What are you doing, Frank?" Marie said to the television.

"I spend my day looking after these spoiled little fuckers and I can barely afford to put food on the table at home."

The Kiev rolled in Marie's guts;
now
she could taste the rich garlic.
 

The camera turned on Hank, who had a megaphone pressed to his lips. "Frankie Jackson, please come down and let the kid go."

While retaining his tight grip on the child, Frankie showed the camera the back of his raised middle finger.

It was stupid to talk to the television, but Marie did it all the same. "What are you trying to achieve, Frankie?"
Why hadn't he spoken to her about it?

Before Hank could speak again, he pressed his finger into his ear. The clear, curly cable of his earpiece ran down the side of his neck. When he looked back at the camera, he smiled. "I've just been told that we have the father of the child here and he wants to make a public statement."

A cold rush of dread gripped Marie when Doug's round head filled the screen. "Oh no. Fuck no."

Despite the look of exhaustion on his face, Doug's voice was level. This was a man who knew how to speak in front of a crowd of people. "I've been told to follow a script, but you know what? I don't want to." He pointed up at Frankie. "I have a message for you. Do you know who I am?"

When the camera zoomed in on Frankie, Marie saw the heavy bags beneath his eyes.
Why hadn't he shaved that morning?
Strung out and feral, he looked like the lunatic the media would portray him to be, and who could blame them?

Flipping the bird at him again, Frankie spat over the side of the building. "You're an overpaid, obnoxious prick!"

"I'm the
boss
of Rixon. I run New Reality. I know how effective it is and I know that when you're sentenced you'll be spending a
long
time in there. It won't be about how little you get paid then. It won't be about your precious little life because no one will care. You'll be locked away with all of the other reprobates and you'll be forgotten about."

Although the camera focused on Frankie, it was Hank's voice that came through the speakers. "Frankie Jackson is a former estate rat. If you want evidence as to why they should be kept on the estate, surely this is it."
 

It was another gut punch and Marie fell back into the sofa, her eyes still locked on the television. "How did they find that out?"

When the screen showed Hank's face, he had his finger pressed into his ear again. "Oh, I've just received word that the rat has something to say."

The word rat made Marie flinch every time.

With the knife still tight on the kid's neck, Frankie shouted at the crowd. "Just take a look at this world for a minute. Those who run it are fat men in suits like this spoiled little c—
beep—
t's father."

An image of the porcine Doug popped up on the screen.
 

"They're obnoxious brats that have never grown up. They think they've arrived at their lofty positions through their own merit. Most of them are where they are because Daddy hooked them up with a job; not because they have anything to add to this world."

The camera cut to Hank, who took the megaphone from Doug. "Thanks for the lesson, teach. You've made your point, now let go of the boy."

But Frankie wasn't done. "This world is run by men who make policies that serve their own agenda. The elitist arseholes want to do everything they can to maintain their position, which means crushing everyone else in their way." Frankie pointed at the crowd. "Even the middle classes. Take a look at yourself; there's no chance you're changing your situation. Despite the lies they tell you, there's no room at the top. All they're doing is keeping you busy so you don't get bored enough to realise the futility of your
pathetic
existences."

Something shifted in the shadows behind Frankie.

"What kind of world do we live in where you get paid more money for the profit you can deliver to a man's bank account than the education you can provide for their children?" Frankie shook Doug's son. "Even when you interviewed that idiot over there, he talked about his business, not about how much he loves his kid. Seriously? What's
wrong
with you, fat man?"

The camera turned to Doug, who stood staring at Frankie, his jaw locked tight.

The megaphone in Hank's hand sprung to life again with a loud hiss. "Okay, okay, you've made your point now, Frankie. So what do you want from us?"

A shadow moved behind Frankie again. It was a man dressed entirely in black. Marie leaned forwards and pointed at the screen. "Look behind you."
Like he could hear her.

Frankie threw his arms up, releasing his grip on the boy. "There's nothing you can give me. I thought I would be able to get something. Some money to support my family or something, but I've taken it too far. Even if I do get away today, it'll never end until I'm punished."

Marie's stomach lurched again. "
This
was your plan?"

"I now see that time on air is as good as it's going to get for me. I'm fucked after this. We both know that."

The silhouette behind Frankie raised a baton and Marie pulled her legs up onto the couch, her wet feet from her spilled drink pressing against the back of her thighs. Tears stung her eyes as she covered her mouth and watched.

Frankie stared into the camera. "I want the people close to me to know I love them. I want them to know that I didn–"

The baton hit the back of Frankie's head and he crumpled, shoving the boy forwards as he fell.
 

As her future boss tumbled from the roof, Marie bit her knuckles.

The camera panned out to show a huge inflatable crash mat on the ground below. The boy hit it like a marble hitting a cushion.

The ridiculous image of Doug running over in a suit filled the screen. He pulled his boy from the crash mat and held him close.

The camera moved away from the reunion and found Frankie again, zooming in on his face as it was being pressed against the roof by his attacker's large, black boot. Blood dripped from his nose, and his eyes were glazed.
Would this be the last time Marie saw him? Was he dead or just unconscious?

Tears dampened Marie's cheeks and before she could get any answers, the screen turned black.
 

The silence in the flat closed in from every side. Marie shivered as she hugged herself on the couch, her stomach churning. Seconds later, a hot surge rushed forwards and she vomited into her lap.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

It was hard to operate her console with shaking hands. The entirety of the previous night had been spent staring into the dark and crying, so Marie was clumsy with exhaustion. The burn in her eyes didn't help, and her repeated blinking did little to clear the murky film through which she was viewing the world.
 

Several more blinks and a hard rub of her eyes did enough for her to see the screen clearly. The footage in front of her was of a man sitting on a beach. In his hands was a book and he was soaking up the sunshine. That was all. Today wasn't the day for rapists and murderers. A scene of brutality would likely send her over the edge.
What had gone through Frankie's mind to make him think kidnapping Doug's kid was a good idea? What a fucking idiot!

Although Marie had her headphones turned down to the lowest setting, the sloshing waves pulled on her frayed nerves. Tension snapped through her back as the whoosh of the sliding door sounded behind her and a waft of fried food rode in with the click of Cuban heels.

It was hard to hold onto her fluttering heart in Doug's presence, especially as she hadn't seen him for a few days, and the last time she had, she'd well overstepped the mark. She tapped on her keyboard and pulled up the identity of the man on the screen in front of her. All she could do was to continue with her job as normal.

Click!

Click!

Click!
 

Doug paced the length of the control room.
 

Clang!

A bin shot across the floor, jangling Marie's nerves as it crashed into a wall.
 

"Fuck!" Doug said. "Fucking fuck. I'm guessing you all saw the footage last night?"