Minions (14 page)

Nebojsa Kendic was anxious.  He always called this time of
waiting, ‘lay’ time, and no matter how many times he’d waited through a lay
period, it never got any easier.  If he made it through the first day, lay time
would be over, but that still meant a long wait until this evening.  He
couldn’t help but mull over the root of his concern.  That whore, Angie, was
currently off-limits and in hospital, and god knows what she’d say to people
without his
calming
influence.  He wasn’t really concerned for what
she’d say, but rather for how it would be heard.  He knew he was untouchable,
but Police interest, if it came, was an annoyance and a distraction in what was
sure to be a busy day. 

Every other time there had been Police involvement it had
cost him time he could ill afford.  Conceivably, his ability to come away cleanly
as he’d done in the past would be compromised if any amount of background
checking had been done.  He thought for a moment how much of his ‘
lay time
stress’
was not attributed to actual Police involvement, but rather concern
that the
seeds
he’d planted to provide for his continued security would
be adequate, or whether he’d need to sow more widely.  Nebojsa likened his
contacts, or more specifically those indebted to him, to seeds from which
something beneficial would grow.  His seeds had variously afforded him whatever
he’d required for as long as he could remember, but he was mindful that there
would always be new people worthy of knowing, new seeds.  Different people
could serve him in their own special ways, beit exoneration from guilt, the
timely provision of information, anonymity from most media, and importantly
what amounted to ‘untouchability’.  Ultimately he knew that this time would be
no different, but it did make him think what new contacts were worth
discovering.  He sighed deeply and poured himself another shot of Vodka and
drank. 

There was no point worrying right now anyway, it wouldn’t
help, but he hated being so reactive as to wait for what might happen.  He
wouldn’t tolerate anything but pro-activity in his professional life, and it
was frustrating that his personal life could be so different.  At work, he had
an uncanny ability to anticipate people’s reactions, and combined with his domineering
personality, he’d been on the corporate fast-track, despite a distinct lack of
qualifications.  As his realm of responsibility increased, so too did the
number of staff at his disposal, each dedicated solely to turning his intent
into a reality.  Often his minions would struggle between themselves in an
effort to impress him, and the result of this was that every conceivable detail
would be dealt with.  His private life was a different matter.  He knew that
all he’d need to do was mention a personal distraction and a well-meaning but
essentially self-serving subordinate would take matters into their own hands,
all in the name of demonstrating devotion or something equally nauseating.  But
he wasn’t interested in their assistance, in just the same way that he wasn’t
interested in their sycophancy.  Instead, he liked to deal with his personal
matters by himself.  As frustrating as the duality between his personal and
professional life was, the fact remained that he enjoyed dealing with personal
matters.  Corporate power could not compare with the power he could wield in
his private life.

Angie was Nebojsa’s latest experiment and it was through
Angie and her predecessors that he’d learnt a lot about himself, and about
others.  He’d learnt that he had a way over people, a way that drew them in to
do his bidding, no matter what it was, and largely for essentially nothing in
return.  He’d learnt that in dealing with all people, the key was to find what
drove them, and when this was found, they would invariably fall into line.  To
some, all it took was a glimmer of respect, or emotional attachment, or even
banal friendship before they were but putty in his hands.  To others, perhaps
they needed just a little more
physical
encouragement. 

Nebojsa hated the word ‘
threat
’ on principle. 
‘Threat’ implied that he’d state his request at least twice; before expecting
it to be carried out.  ‘Do this or I will …’ was invariably followed by ‘do
this now!’.  Nebojsa never asked twice.  Nor did he need to.  He found that his
actions spoke more forcibly than he could ever shout.  Rape with a promise of a
return visit would encourage compliance far more simply than anything he could
say prefixed with ‘do this or I will…’.  As much as Nebojsa could have enlisted
a staff, he kept focused on his actions as being primarily for his personal
development.  As such, delegation to a subordinate would deny him an
opportunity to learn, just as much as it would deny him some enjoyment. 

Nebojsa had experienced a number of side effects from his
self-education.  Aside from considerable pleasure and the obvious professional
upside of his burgeoning self-confidence, he’d also amassed a sizeable
fortune.  But above all else, he’d fostered a remarkable understanding of many
things, some tangible, others less so.  He understood the true value of money
from what people would give him, and he only ever needed to ask once.  He
understood a virtual sliding scale of the concept of value in general.  People
would value pain, or more importantly, a lack thereof, higher than any
possession or chattel that was theirs to give.  People would value their own
pain, or lack thereof, below a promise of pain for a loved one, particularly
children or spouse.  He understood that people would
always
believe that
things would return to normal after any hint of short term pain or emotional
anguish. 

By far the most important thing that Nebojsa Kendic had
learnt was that everyone had something to give.  The rich could give him
riches.  The powerful could give him power.  Those in the know could give him
information.  Even people with what others might describe as having ‘nothing to
give’ could in fact give him something, even if it was as simple as a boost in
his esteem after an otherwise uneventful day.  In return, Kendic would always
give something in return, some kind of reasonable exchange for what he himself
had been given: something to share his understanding.  To the wealthy, he would
give them an understanding of poverty.  To the powerful, he would return an understanding
of humility.  To the wise, he would teach them how little they understood of
themselves.  To those with less to give, he would grant them the opportunity to
learn from his experience, as well as reward them with a sizeable portion of
his wealth.  As a result he’d found a certain equilibrium in his net worth. 
His wealth would come and go in ebbs and flows, but his understanding would always
grow.

Angie though was somewhat of an anomaly.  She had nothing
except spirit, and Kendic found this more intoxicating than even his continual
pursuit of understanding.  She’d shunned his gifts and rejected all of the
wisdom that he’d been willing to share.  And she had neither shared nor parted
with her spirit, despite his best efforts, and this is what interested him the
most in her.  Where others might, initially at least, resist, enlist assistance
from friends or authorities, or even fight back, Angie would calmly accept the
inevitability of the immediate situation.  But she would not concede.  As he
yelled, so would Angie respond with promises of vengeance.  As he beat her, so
would Angie try to fight back with all of the physicality of her diminutive
frame.  As he tried to impose his will with merely his presence, so too would
Angie stand, a defiant spark in her eyes indicative of a fire in her belly. 

For the time being however, all Nebojsa could do was
wait. 

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 28.
               
 

“Is that it?” Devlin asked the others after an hour of
reading messages in the bunker.  He’d been content to listen to the banter
among the other readers sparked by the various messages that each read. 
Sometimes it was a message that struck a particular personal chord.  Perhaps
the sender seemed to be identifiable, the text comical and worthy of sharing,
or sometimes it was a matter of which of Glen’s protocols were in order. 

“Pretty much,” Ikel replied.  “Why?  What’s the problem?”

“No problem, I guess.  It’s just that there’s been
amazingly few confessionals from sexual predators, rapists and murderers.  I’m
wondering if the others left out of boredom.”

“Surely you’ve seen other confessions though,” Lori
contributed.  “And remember that these messages would be sure to go unsaid if
not for LastGasp’.” 

“Yes, but personal failures and sob stories aren’t
anywhere near as interesting.”

“If it gets too much, you can always head outside for a
chat with Albert,” said Lori.  “It’s not exactly ‘fresh air’, but you’ll get
used to the smell.  He’s removed just enough from LastGasp’ to understand.”

“It’s not too much, I just figured there’d be more.  The vast
majority of what I’ve read I’ve just rubber stamped.”

“And you didn’t find it interesting?” asked David. 

“Well yes.  Just because they’re inconsequential to
LastGasp’ doesn’t mean completely un-interesting.  I just feel like I’m sharing
in the highs or lows of total strangers.”   

“That shouldn’t be too surprising.  That’s exactly what
they are,” David said dryly.  “This job is not for everyone.  Some find it hard
to read personal details, and others find a lack of identifying information in
the messages frustrating.”

“It can get a little monotonous too,” said Lori.  “It’s
hard to not be affected by the message content, particularly for the imbalance
between the good and the bad.  You’ll learn that uplifting recollections are so
much harder to convey unspoken with a stranger than painful memories.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Pain, anger, regret and sorrow aren’t more powerful than
joy, pride and happiness, but shared in print, it’s easier to feel for anguish,”
said David.  “You’ll see.”

“Just keep your abstraction, said Lori.  “Keep distant
from what you’re reading.” 

“It’s harder than you’d think when you know so much about
people you’ve never met,” David commented, rubbing his brow above his
sunglasses.  “I’m getting out of here.”  He rolled his seat forcefully away
from the table until the wheels crunched into the wall, then stood for the
door.

“Does this make it any more interesting?”  Ikel pushed an
envelope across the table as soon as David closed the door behind himself. 
“It’s today’s pay.”

Devlin cautiously reached for the envelope and flitted
through its’ contents using the table to hide his actions.  He kept composed as
his quick count of the cash inside passed into the thousands.  “How often is
payday?”

“Most days we get ten or twenty thousand,” said Ikel. 
“Today there’s
only
fifteen.”

“You’re kidding?” questioned Devlin.  “And it’s all above
board?”

“Of course,” said Lori, as if there was no doubt.  “It’s
all fine.”

“Forgive the suspicion, but it doesn’t seem reasonable for
the work.”

“Stressful work always pays well,” said Lori.  “I’d
recommend using the Research Interface to break up your reading.  Have you even
tried it?”

“I did.  I researched myself, and that only compounded my
concern that this mightn’t be entirely legal.”

“What’s wrong?” said Lori.  “All that information’s
available somewhere.  This just brings it all together.”

“But financial records and conversation transcripts?  Come
on.”

“It’s all legal, end of story,” said Lori.  “Perhaps one
day I’ll help you prove it.”

Devlin accepted the rebuke and settled in for more reading,
but the next message was
from a man who’d lost his family to a drunk driver. 
The man held no regrets and he was confident that his wife and young children
knew he loved them, but how he longed for another hour, another day, another
family embrace.  Devlin entered this man’s sorrow and noted a distinct air of
finality in the message.  After discussing it with Lori, he flagged the message
with a suicide protocol.  While Lori didn’t even reach for another tissue,
Devlin temporarily found himself lost in this man’s sadness and decided a
little fresh air might help. 

What began as a short stroll on the street became a lap of
the block after deliberately changing direction to avoid Conrad, hovering
outside LastGasp’.  Curious about Albert, he decided to pay him a quick visit. 

It had been a warm sunny day and evaporation had removed
the puddles of urine, but the smell remained just as strong as ever.  Albert
sat on a milk crate looking as if tranced by an afternoon sunbeam and he stood
as he heard Devlin approach.  “I hope you brought the coffee.”

“Hi Albert, remember me?”  Despite what Ikel had said, he couldn’t
help but speak in a slightly condescending manner.  He couldn’t shift his
belief that the old man could not possibly be sober and tolerate the smell.

“Of course I remember.  The new guy’s come to chat with
Albert,” he said mockingly.  “What do you want?”

Both Lori and Ikel had painted Albert as a ‘salt of the
earth’, but likeable, if not aromatic, old guy.  Devlin had assumed that
friendliness
would be part of the package, but immediately he felt he’d made a bad
assumption.  He floundered to recover ground.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean it like
that!  I just thought…”

“Don’t worry about it.  I’m just fucking with you,” Albert
snickered to himself.  “Ikel’s already told me all about you.  So is this a
social call, or do you want something?”

“Well actually I just came out for some fresh air and to
say hello.  Ikel and Lori said you were good for a chat, so I guess I came to
see for myself.”