Minions (38 page)

She reached for her handbag that was, gratefully, within
reach, but didn’t bother to check its contents.  There was nothing in it
yesterday, and there was sure to be nothing of any value in there now.  Tampons
and cheap makeup were never the subject of any robbery, and if she had any
money to begin with she wouldn’t be feeling the after effects of god knows how
many penetrations now.  She was not up to seeing if any or all of the condoms
that she always kept at hand had been used, but judging by the squelching in
her loins she was not hopeful.

She rose to her feet, grabbing the adjacent dumpster bin
for support.  Once upright, she was happy that her mobility was not impeded. 
Being off the ground allowed her to get a better grasp on where she was, and
she recognised the back-side of the bar across the road from her flat.  Even in
her still clouded mental state she could smile that at least she didn’t have
far to go home.

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 82.
               
 

True to his word, Devlin kept his mouth shut and mind open
for the drive.  He had no idea where he was going, and Glen seemed content to
keep him in the dark.  Glen seemed generally contented, even bordering on being
exuberant as he drove.

“Are you going to talk to me at all?” Devlin asked.

“There’s not a great deal to say.  You’ll know more soon
enough.”

“But if I want to understand now.  What harm could it do
for me to know more.”

“Knowledge is a powerful thing.”

“Whitely said knowledge isn’t truth.”

“Very true,” Glen replied succinctly.

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 83.
               
 

Once again Tania exercised her oft repeated plan to wash
away the past, hopeful.  Standing under the shower, her face pressed against
the perpetually cool tiles and her back to the soothing heat of the water,
memories flooded into her now sobering state.  If only the memories would
disappear down the drain like the residue of a cheap hair colour.  As ever, she
knew she’d run out of hot water long before that happened.

She was thankful that her memory of last night was lost
forever, more than likely blacked out in a wash of spirits and never to return,
rather than just suppressed.  The body would heal, it always did, but her
mind’s wounds were accumulating faster than she could expect to recover.  Each
painful memory just made those before it worse, and no matter how much she
drank, she would always sober up eventually.

In some ways, she figured that Tim understood to some
extent.  No matter what happened, no matter how many times she’d fallen off the
wagon, he’d always stayed as close as she’d allow.  Unlike the rest, her so
called ‘friends’ who’d distanced themselves gradually or ritually broken
contact.    

Family was another matter entirely.  That Tim had been her
sole surviving relative was an isolating thought, but in retrospect, as each of
her other family members had passed she’d grown progressively ambivalent to how
they each had actually died.  Whether they’d died before their time, like the
question of ‘how’, was largely irrelevant.  They were dead now and nothing
would bring them back.  Even just thinking about it, she felt the usual anger
that her family never understood her pain, so whether they were alive or dead
was of no great benefit to her.  In any case, she knew that she’d long since
used up all the favours and goodwill on offer from friends and family.

No matter how much she expected it, Tania was always
surprised when the hot water did eventually run out.  The jolt of cold and the
subsequent frantic rush to extricate herself from the freezing water had a
tendency to awaken her from her delirium.  She’d be aroused in the middle of a
memory, and with the randomness of a roulette wheel she’d hope that the house
would show some pity and some luck would come her way.  The reality, however, was
that the wheel was loaded and she didn’t even have a bet on the table.  There
was no upside to her memories.

She marvelled too that it was high time for her to be
given a break.  For what seemed an eternity now her life had been going from
bad to worse.  Friends were long gone, family were gone, career was gone.  If
there was any justice in this life, she was sure that she’d more than paid for
anything and everything that she’d done. 

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 84.
               
 

Devlin was surprised to arrive at the café near Tania’s
house.  While Glen had taken a completely different route and even parked in a
back laneway several streets away, Devlin recognised the smell of bad coffee
before he could even see the café.  Even more surprising was the fact that both
Whitely and the Detective were waiting for them. 

There was no sense of reunion from either Whitely or the
Detective, and barely any acknowledgement other than for them each to check
their watches simultaneously.  Instead, they just edged around their table, as
if to allow Glen to occupy a position of seniority between them. 

Devlin remained standing for a time, but eventually seated
himself at the opposite side of the table facing the others.

Glen beckoned the waitress, who reacted at first as if
such customer service was significantly outside her job description.  She
looked as if she was prepared to stare down Glen while she made some obscene
gestures under the counter, out of sight of any of the customers.  It was
unclear whether she responded to Glen’s reciprocated stare, or if she just felt
an odd need to interact with a customer, but in any case she sauntered to the
table.  Glen placed an order for himself and deferred to the others for
anything that they too might like.  Devlin steered clear of the coffees, but
didn’t feel like sharing any warning.  He smiled, somewhat relaxed by the fact
that he knew something that Glen didn’t.  Glen thanked the attendant cum
waitress cynically for her ‘above and beyond commitment to customer service’
and paid up front for the table’s order and included a sizeable tip.  She
trudged her way back to her domain at the counter, either oblivious or ignorant
to Glen’s comment.  Devlin was all the more appreciative that his order, a
simple can of coke, couldn’t be tampered with, if she suddenly understood what
Glen had said.

By the time that the order arrived, Devlin was comfortable
in his seat, but unsettled by the fact that no-one was talking to him.  There
was an easy, bordering on jovial mood between the Detective, Glen and Whitely,
but they seemed content to continue their banter between themselves without
making any effort to include him in their discussion.  He put up with it for a
few minutes, but eventually he felt an overwhelming need for his subtle
isolation to end.  “I’ve kept an open mind for long enough, Glen.  It’s about
to snap shut.”

“Relax Devlin.  Just a little longer,” Glen appeased.

“Haven’t I waited long enough?”

Whitely laughed heartily, much to the amusement of the
Detective before turning serious as the laughter subsided.  “What the fuck do
you know about waiting?”

“So what am I waiting for?”

“You’re waiting to round out your understanding,” offered
Glen as he rested a placative, calming hand on Whitely’s shoulder.  “What
Whitely and Alan here could have said was that they’ve waited substantially
longer than you.”

“So we’re here to see Tania?”

“Of sorts,” replied Glen.  “I’ll let them answer more
fully.”  He slid his chair backwards away from the table, as if to leave centre
stage.

“You know Devlin, I’ve spent years loathing that woman on
a personal level, and until relatively recently I’ve had little to do with her
professionally,” Detective Reymond began.  “Of course, with the death of her
brother, I’d be lying if there wasn’t something bittersweet in seeing her in
pain.  But it’s an abstract kind of feeling, just sitting back and effectively
revelling in someone else’s misfortune.  There’s nothing
legally
wrong
with it, and probably nothing
morally
wrong with it.  So should I feel
bad that the bitch who took away my life should experience a little loss?”

Pending silence suggested that the Detective actually
wanted a reply.  “Probably not,” said Devlin.  “I’m assuming of course that you
weren’t directly implicated in what happened to her brother, but on the surface
at least I see what you’re saying.”

“The question is whether I’m an active or a passive
observer.  How close do I have to be to causing that misfortune before I hit
your moral speed-bump?  Before I’ve done the wrong thing?”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to be more specific,”
suggested Devlin.

“Fair enough.”  Reymond drank from his coffee, his face
shrivelling up like a prune at the bitterness of the brew.  He looked to
Whitely, as if warning of disclosure.  “You know over the years I’ve sat back
and waited, appalled at my own inaction, but too gutless, or possibly smart, to
do something about it.  Unlike some of us, I couldn’t act on my own suppressed
want for revenge for fear of the implications, which in itself is comical given
that I had, have, nothing left.  Unlike some of us, I couldn’t bring myself to
partake of petty, or more serious, acts of revenge.  I couldn’t leave the
contents of sharps or other biohazard containers in soap.  I couldn’t break
into her home only to stick toothbrushes in my ass and leave without any
indication that I’d even been there.  Unlike others.”  Whitely took a
protracted drink from his mug.

“You haven’t explained why we’re here,” Devlin said dismissively. 
“And Glen, you still owe me where Malcolm fits into this.”

“Relax Devlin.  It won’t be too long now.”

Glen’s comment did nothing to settle Devlin’s anxiety, but
it was apparent after looking at the others that he was the only one who was
not relaxed.  Whitely was struggling a smile in between long periods where he
appeared to observe the other café patrons.  The Detective was similarly
settled as he rhythmically and continually stirred his cup.  Glen himself
seemed more interested in checking his watch.  Periodically, someone would look
to the street or scan the other patrons of the café, and doing so seemed to
alert the others to something.  In a weird kind of way, Devlin felt like he was
watching a wildlife documentary where one animal’s heightened anxiety alerted
all those around.  The thought made Devlin look at Reymond’s ears the next time
his eyes drifted from his cup, as if they would be furry and erect, listening
for an approaching lion.

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 85.
               
 

Devlin’s wait dragged on, but he seemed to be the only one
in any way perturbed.  Eventually, he asked, “Can we talk about Malcolm then?”

At first, Devlin assumed that it was his question that
made Glen, Whitely and the Detective sit up and take notice.  They stopped what
they were doing, and Devlin hoped that at last his question hit a chord such
that he’d finally get the answers he craved.  When a reply did not come
immediately, he wasn’t too surprised.  Being seated across the table from the
others, Devlin felt the heat of their stares.  He saw the Detective’s tired
eyes brighten and Whitely even removed his sunglasses to reveal his battered
face made moderately presentable by probably a hint of makeup.  Even Glen was
breaking his own golden rule, staring right through him so brazenly that his
eyes could not have been focussed.  It was then that it occurred to Devlin that
no-one was actually looking at him.

Devlin turned to see a lone male at the counter.  The guy
was well dressed; good cut of a suit and re-soled expensive looking black
leather shoes, but Devlin couldn’t tell much more about him until he turned
around.  He figured that it was Malcolm, and the quiet fixation from the others
was paramount to a ‘
he’s here, ask him yourself’
.  But then as he
watched, the guy pivoted a turn away from the counter and left.  It wasn’t
Malcolm.  In the few steps it took him to cross from the counter to the entry
the guy had managed to look down on everyone present with disdain, which at
least gave Devlin the opportunity to see the guy’s face for a fraction of a
second.  The electronic chime of the door sensor marked his exit.

As if hearing the chime was a cue to continue any pending
conversation, Devlin turned again to the front, expecting that someone would
recover from the distraction of the visitor.  Assuming of course that Malcolm’s
arrival had been anticipated, he expected to see perhaps a little
disappointment or even inconvenience at having their wait extended.  Instead,
he saw and felt smiles.  The Detective wore a warm glow, and even his eyes
being closed couldn’t hide the contentment that he obviously felt.  Whitely was
beaming such that a few of his wounds were starting to weep, if not bleed
outright.  Glen himself was more subdued, sitting with a knowing grin and his
arms folded. 

Devlin was about to re-ask his question about Malcolm, or
possibly to ask about the change in the mood at the table when Whitely stood
and put on his jacket from the back of his chair.  It was only then that Devlin
noticed that Whitely had clearly gone to some effort for the morning and was
out of his dressing gown, and the smell of his house had not followed him. 
Devlin wondered how much showering that took.  Whitely rested his hand on
Glen’s shoulder while he walked to the Detective.  The Detective too stood and
received Whitely’s protracted embrace.  Whitely then nodded in passing to
Devlin as he headed for the door.  The Detective was more formal, opting to
shake Glen’s hand before he too sauntered from the table into daylight.