Minions (11 page)

“No point.  She’s less of a morning person than I am, so
you’re best to steer clear of her until lunchtime if you can.  She won’t even
answer her door most nights and mornings, so much so that I’ve wondered if
she’s even in her room.”

*          *          * 

Judging by the volume of coffee on offer and being
consumed on their arrival at LastGasp’, Devlin was sure that falling asleep
would not be a problem.  David was still in yesterday’s clothes but was wired
and Glen was shamelessly pushing double shot lattés. 

After checking his watch, Glen impatiently ushered his staff
to the bunker, but he held Devlin back.  “You’ll have a visitor soon.”

“Who?” asked Devlin, a little surprised to be separated
from the others

The buzzer sounded and Glen checked his CCTV monitors.  He
smiled, “Right on cue.”  He headed for the front door, returning a moment later
with the new arrival, a middle aged Asian man, and flippantly started some
introductions.  “Devlin, this is Conrad.”

Devlin offered his hand, but the newcomer kept his hands
in his pockets. 

“Don’t let Glen make you think this is social.  My name is
Conrad Tran, I’m with the Federal Police.”  He spoke with a thick local accent
that belied his Vietnamese ancestry. 

The mood in the room was very weird, the sum of obvious
hostility from the newly arrived Conrad, Glen seemingly very deliberately
trying to bait him and Devlin just feeling uncomfortable.  Glen delighted in
breaking the silence.  “You’re welcome to do your thing here.  Your call, but
I’ll just leave you to it.”

“You’re a comedian, Glen.  We’ll go elsewhere of course,”
Conrad replied.  Devlin sensed the history between the two of them, and none of
it seemed friendly. 

Devlin looked to Glen for his concurrence or approval. 
“Don’t look at me!” Glen mocked.  “Head off with Conrad here.  He’s not bad,
even if what he wants is, strictly speaking, outside of his area of
responsibility.”

Devlin sensed Conrad’s rising frustration amid Glen’s
continued antagonism.  “Should I have lawyer join me?”

“Relax.  You haven’t done anything wrong, and you don’t
need any lawyer,” Glen calmly answered, ushering Devlin and Conrad out of the
building before closing the door behind them.

“I hate that guy,” Conrad began as soon as they were
outside, continuing into utterances progressively less coherent until Devlin
struggled to understand anything he said.  He waited for Conrad to get what he
had to say off his chest, enjoying the spectacle of a middle aged, lean and
well-dressed guy standing kerbside outside a brothel venting with a passion. 

Conrad composed himself and pointed to a small café across
the road and started walking, clearly expecting Devlin to follow.  They dodged
the early morning traffic heading for the coffee shop that was doing a roaring
trade in takeaways.  Only after brushing past the crowds at the front counter
did Devlin realise that the rest of the café was essentially empty and not that
noisy either.  Conrad held up two fingers to the barista at the counter and
took his seat at a corner table, presumably
his
table. 

Now settled, Conrad began.  “Sorry about that.  I appreciate
that you haven’t known him long, but he really gets on my wick!” 

Devlin was cautious and careful not to demonstrate any
indication, either to confirm or confront Conrad’s opinion.  “So what’s this
all about?”

“
This
is all about coffee.  I’ve ordered you a
latté which I guarantee will be the best that you’ve ever tasted.”  Conrad
smiled, well aware he was not answering the question.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes.  Moira will be along in a sec’ with your coffee. 
I’ll explain my side then.  Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself while
we wait?”

Devlin shrugged, uncomfortable about offering anything to
anyone, particularly the police.  To him, it was oddly reminiscent of being
forced to sit next to his school principal on a high school excursion many
years ago.  To the best of his recollection, he was reluctant to say anything
to anyone in authority then, and the same applied now. 

“Enjoy your job?” Conrad offered another means of seeding a
conversation.

Devlin decided that this question at least was benign. 
“Yes.”  Benign or not, he was not prepared to give too much away too easily.

“I know of several others who used to work with Glen,
for
Glen.  I’m pretty sure they enjoyed their job too.”

“Your point being what?  I wouldn’t have thought job satisfaction
was a significant concern for the police.” 

A waitress, presumably Moira, returned with two steaming
coffees.  Conrad, pushed one cup towards Devlin and immediately started to
enjoy the other.  He sat back, as if confidently expecting accolades to flow. 
“Ahhh, the life of a reader.  Pay and perks.  Wanna’ know how I know so much
about your role?” 

“Not really,” Devlin replied honestly, if not a little
distracted by his coffee.  Conrad’s prediction was correct.

“Casey told me.  Well actually, Casey told me about the
pay, but I didn’t believe him until Carson confirmed it.  Leon told me about
the other aspects of your package.” 

“So we agree that it’s a good job.  Anything else?” 
Devlin tried his best poker face but he doubted whether he was convincing.  He
figured it was unlikely that anyone would reveal details of their package, but
then again this information was surely accessible to the police.  He wondered
if mention of Leon, Casey and Carson constituted confirmation of anything, or
anything significant. 

The two men sat in silence, absorbed in the background hum
of the café counter and the taste of their lattés.  Devlin didn’t give any
suggestion that he was going start communicating freely.

On finishing his coffee, Devlin figured that their casual
meeting was soon to be at a close.  “If you like the sound of working with Glen
so much, why don’t you ask him for a job?” Devlin asked, half in jest. 

Conrad looked up, alert.  “The job would be great, and pay
substantially more than I get now.”  He stared at Devlin, adding, “but it’s not
worth dying over.” 

Devlin was no poker player and he knew that his eyes would
have betrayed him.  There was no point in claiming ignorance.  “What did you
say?”

“It’s just an expression,” Conrad replied confidently. 
“No job is worth dying over, especially a job with Glen and not just because
the guy’s an asshole.”

“How so?” Devlin replied, knowing that his question could
be misinterpreted as divided loyalty.

“Leon and the rest.  How much do you know about them?”

Devlin shrugged.  “Not a lot.” 

“You might like to ask Glen.  I don’t want to be the
bearer of bad news.”  Conrad gave Devlin a knowing look.  “I’ve gotta’ get to
work.”

“Why don’t you tell me now?”

“Ask Glen.  I’ve got to go.”

“Doesn’t
this
count as work?” Devlin recalled what
Glen had said when he’d introduced Conrad.  “Come to think of it, what was it
that Glen said about your job and your area of interest?”

“Glen!”  Conrad closed his eyes in an effort to calm
himself.  “Not technically.  But …”

Devlin interrupted him, incensed.  “Conrad, what exactly
is your job?”

“Technically, I’m a researcher.”

“Are you even with the Federal Police?”

“Yes, and I have contracted to state and overseas Police
forces too.”

“Are you actually a Police officer, or not?”

“Not technically, but…”

“And Glen knows, right?”

“Yes,
he
knows.  He baits me about it as a matter
of routine.”

“Routine?  What kind of an idiot are you?  Why see him at
all, particularly if you have issues.”

Conrad composed himself.  “I’m trying to help.”

“Me or you?” Devlin replied aggressively, suddenly aware
of why Glen had been so un-concerned about Conrad.  “Even I understand how
attractive LastGasp’ would be to a researcher!”  He figured it was time to
leave.

“Me
and
you.  You’re in trouble!” he said, grabbing
Devlin’s arm as he brushed past.  “Take my card.  Call me any time.” 

Devlin accepted the card more out of reflex than
deliberate action.  “Thanks for your concern,” he said cynically.  Conrad’s
innuendo about Leon and the others was all but an acceptance of responsibility
for sending the messages.  He angrily pushed his way past the crowd.

“Please!  I can help!” Conrad called out.  Devlin was
already out of the café, but not out of earshot. 

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 21.
               
 

Devlin returned to LastGasp’ and was buzzed in.  He headed
for the kitchen and only after pouring himself a coffee did he notice Glen
waiting for him in the adjacent lounge. 

“Was Conrad good to you?” Glen asked with a smirk on his
face, offering Devlin a seat.

“You might have told me he wasn’t
really
Police,”
Devlin said taking his seat next to Glen.  “He nearly had me!”

“It’s ok,” Glen replied, unfazed.  “Now’s as good a time
as any to be reminded that there are people who want in.”

“I’m starting to understand the fascination with
security.  I figure it’s to keep people like Conrad out, but I still don’t get
why he’s so keen to get in.  I know you told me yesterday that it wasn’t about
money, but I didn’t and still don’t really believe you.”

“Newcomers always think LastGaspStore is about money.  But
money isn’t everything.”

“I still don’t see the big deal.”

“The problem lies in what they want to use LastGasp for. 
Personal gain, or the greater good.”

“How?”

“Have a think about it. Now go and get some work done.”

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 22.
               
 

Tania Wilson was slowly getting her life back in order. 
The time since the death of her brother had been a blur of emotions and even a
few well-meaning
friends
.  Long forgotten people had come from nowhere
to help in any way that they could and it had been greatly, but not graciously
appreciated.  But gradually these people were giving her more and more space to
process her grief, surely the first stage in leaving her alone.  Who was she
kidding?  These people were abandoning her again.  The reality was that they
were more than likely friends of her brother rather than hers.  He was the good
one, she wasn’t.

She was finding the going difficult, particularly of
late.  No stranger to abandonment, to have a glimpse of positive attention only
to have it dissipate just as quickly left her all the more raw.  Her well-meaning
therapist had naïvely suggested that she was still too angry.  Tania was
persistently keen to point out that the woman was clearly only focussing on her
most recent past. 

The funeral over, her brother’s limited estate settled, there
was now no
real
impediment to her returning to whatever kind of
normality her grief would allow.  The reality of the matter was of course very
different, and she knew she would never approach normal.  It was this that her
therapist seemed unable to understand.

It was time to start to get on with her life though.  Tim
would not have wanted her to dwell on things outside of her control.  The big
brother had always been philosophically smart about such things.  Inspired by
the memory of his strength and understanding, she decided it was time to pick
herself up.  She took a long shower, dressed casually for the day and did her
makeup for the first time in days.  She drew the curtains in every room and
opened every window, much to the appreciation of her scattered indoor plants
who’d suffered for a lack of sunlight as a consequence of her despondency.

Tania was not fastidious.  Had it not been for an older
woman she’d met at a group session, she hated the term ‘sponsor’, she knew that
she’d be deep in accumulated mess and washing by now.  She noticed the woman’s
perpetually close pet cat of course, but not that the woman had kept on top of
her domesticity.  Now she felt a little guilty, particularly when she only knew
her as ‘Cat’.  She knew a brief thank-you note would go a long way to show her
appreciation and offset her guilt.  A handwritten note would be best and more
personal, she reasoned, but this upside was balanced by the fact that she did
have the worst handwriting of anyone that she knew.  The ability for the
recipient to read the message was surely more important than the sincerity
implicit in a handwritten note. 
No time like the present
, she moved to
her computer desk, amazed at her sober initiative.

For reasons which now seemed irrelevant, Tania had named
her computer ‘Simon’.  As Simon started, she smiled with a tear in her eye at
his
nametag which had been a gift from her brother.  Even something as innocuous as
using the computer was not going to be without memories.

Eventually Simon indicated he was ready.  It had been
weeks since she’d accessed her email and she braced herself for the prospect of
many messages.  Slowly her email in-box filled.  She expected nothing from
friends or family of course, but a plethora of spam emails advising of lottery
wins and bargains for Viagra and penile enlargements.  Simon laboured away
during the download.  She’d resisted all efforts to upgrade her computer and as
such her relationship with Simon had been a long one.  The reality of it was
that had Simon actually been worth anything, she would have sold ‘him’ long
before now.  As he chugged along with effort, she considered whether their
relationship had run its course. 
Poor Simon
, she mused.  .