Minions (6 page)

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 11.
               
 

Ikel led Devlin outside without a word being spoken. 
Clear of the building, Ikel began to speak casually as he directed Devlin along
the footpath in what appeared to be a random direction away from the office. 
“You’ve got the wrong idea about LastGasp’, and us.”

“Bullshit!” Devlin replied abruptly. 

“Hear me out.  We all want to make a difference, and we
do.  It might not be as glamorous as being a whistle-blower, or as overt as
getting your hands bloody, but it helps.”

“Helps who, Ikel?  Who does this really help?” Devlin
asked angrily, as if he was not to be so easily placated.

“I’ll do better than that.  How about I ‘ken show you.” 
Ikel removed some keys from his pocket and unlocked an adjacent B.M.W. by
remote.  “Get in.  We’re going for a drive.”

Devlin got into the car, as instructed.  The car was
clearly new, but there was a smell that Devlin could not place and he pondered
its source for a moment.  It was a bodily odour of some description that made
him suddenly self-conscious that perhaps he was the source.

Ikel drove with the exuberance of his youth, aggressively
accelerating and braking, and continually searching for spaces in the traffic. 
Despite this, Devlin was surprised to feel relatively safe, albeit with his
seat-belt securely fastened. 

“I ‘ken love this car.  I’ve only had it for a few weeks,
but I still get a buzz every time I get behind the wheel!”  Ikel spoke without
taking his eyes off the road.  “Paid cash of course, and the money was all
clean.”

“Where are we going?” Devlin enquired; the distraction of
the drive having a calming effect.

“Not long after I joined, I read a message.  I knew who it
was straight away.  It was from a dealer I knew from my past life.  I hated
him, but that’s a different story,” Ikel said with a calmness at odds with his
driving.  “As it panned out, he figured that sooner or later he’d get his, but
he wanted to leave some cash to his surviving family and friends, if any.”

“So you flagged it and then what?”

“Let me finish.  The dumb prick figured he could use
LastGasp’ to detail where he’d hidden five hundred thou’, cash.  And why
wouldn’t he?  LastGasp’ is secure, and the messages won’t get sent until after he’s
dead.  What a great use for LastGasp’!”  Ikel braked abruptly and pulled over
to the kerb outside a suburban train-station and pointed to a bank of lockers. 
“24.  Locker 24.  That’s where the money is.”

“You stole it?”

“I’m a lot of things, and in my past I’ve been even more,
or perhaps less, but now at least, I’m not a thief,” Ikel replied.  “There was
nothing special about the message itself, so it didn’t raise the usual red
flags.  Lori and David didn’t flag it, but I knew who it was.  I didn’t flag it
either.”

“So the money’s still there?”

“It could be.  All I know is I didn’t touch it.”

“Why not?”

“Of course I could, but why?”  Ikel looked at Devlin
philosophically.  “It’s only money.  I could steal it probably, and possibly
get away with it, for a while, or forever.  But what if I got caught?  With my
history, I’d get jail time for sure.  More importantly, there’s more at stake
if LastGasp’ got involved, and it would.  Why else would I travel across town
to break into
that
particular locker?  Any half competent investigation
would eventually implicate LastGasp’, thanks to me.  That’s worse, and sooner
or later you’ll understand this.  Respect for the ‘
greater good
’ says I
leave it alone.  Meanwhile, I’m getting paid ‘ken good money.”

“Look me in the face and tell me that all that cash is
nothing, irrespective of what you earn now!”

“What I get out of LastGasp’ is more than money. 
Understand this, and you’ll understand LastGasp’.”

“Ikel, the only thing that I really understand is that you
all appear to be fanatical in your support of Glen.  And for all of his alleged
vision and what LastGasp’ appears to offer, your idea of making a difference
makes little difference to anything except your wallet … but hey, apparently
this is not about money!”

Ikel was quiet for a moment, giving Devlin an opportunity
to calm down.  “Would you be happy if the money was handed in?  Or if Glen had it?”

“At least that might explain things more than this
bullshit ambivalence to money.”  Devlin thought for a moment before asking a
logical question.  “Did Glen take it?”

“God knows.  Glen keeps pretty well to himself and we
rarely see him.  But I did see him here one time.  I come here every now and
then to focus.”

“You saw him at the locker?  And how does coming here
enable you to focus?”

“To be honest, I think that Glen was watching me, and he
just wanted me to see him.  He never said anything to me afterwards.  And for
your other question, you haven’t really experienced it yet, but it can be a
little stressful.  Coming here lets me think a bit.”

“Can we head back now?”

“Not just yet.  I want to make one more stop, but great to
hear that you want to get into it.”  Ikel pulled out into the traffic and
returned to his previous driving style.

Devlin used the opportunity to think.  Cynicism aside,
amid the blur of cars and the erratic driving, he couldn’t help but consider Ikel’s
take on matters.  He lost track of where they were heading.

“Last stop, then we’ll head back.”  Ikel broke his silence
as the car stopped outside a well-kept cemetery.  He slumped forward, draping
his shoulders over the steering wheel.  “I would be here by now if it wasn’t
for Glen.”

“I get it!  You’d be dead.  Glen is a saint.  All praise
to Glen.”

“That’s him, my uncle, over there,” Ikel said, pointing to
a grey haired man tending gardens in what appeared to be the better end of the
cemetery.  “I just wanted and needed to be more.

“Glen’s no saint.  He just understands people better than
most.  He understands what people need, not what they want.”

Devlin ignored the philosophy of Ikel’s comment.  “Can we
go now?”

“OK.  It’s time we headed back anyway.”  Ikel restarted
the car and raced off into the traffic. 

Both Devlin and Ikel were silent for some time.  While the
silence was not uncomfortable, Devlin started to see that there was potential
for this time in the car as an opportunity for good or bad.  He knew that his
provocative attitude would not cast him well to his new work peers and he
accepted that ultimately he’d need to start to foster a friendship of some
kind. 

“Sorry to be a prick,” Devlin started.  “I never used to
be so negative.  I guess I’ve just got a lot to take in.  And despite how great
Glen’s been, this really is a bit odd.”

“It’s OK.  I thought it was all weird too when I started. 
Meet a guy who offers you a job, and a fat wad of cash and it’s all legal.  I
was suspicious too, but gradually I realised that it was OK.  I’m just trying
to save you some time before you come to the same realisation.  Meanwhile,
here’s a tip.”

“What?” replied Devlin humbly.

“Try and get on with people.  It’s easier that way,” Ikel
smiled, even momentarily taking his eyes off the road.

“Ikel, can I ask you a question?”

“Go nuts.”

“Why haven’t you asked about my past?”

“Your past makes you who you are.  Glen taught me that. 
Why do you want to know?”

“Does it matter?  Why didn’t you ask?”

“OK.  Maybe because it’s none of my business or because
we’ll get to talk about it eventually at work.  Happy yet?”

“Not really.  Don’t you care about what I almost went to jail
for?”

“Nope.  I could just as easily have said that I don’t give
a shit, but that isn’t entirely true.  I’d be interested in your take.”

“What do you mean ‘
my
take’?  I’ve been acquitted!”
Devlin said, trying not to take offence.

“Yes, you’ve been acquitted, but someone is still dead. 
The rest is just gravy.”  Ikel lacked subtlety.

Devlin thought about what Ikel had said and how he’d
summed it up perfectly, particularly for as much as the world cared.  “Mind if
I get it off my chest then?”

“Sure.  Traffic’s bad anyway.”

Devlin accepted that sooner or later he’d need to talk
about this.  “He ruined my life.” 

“And you ended his.”

Devlin didn’t bite back.  His anxiety was growing and
suddenly his disclosure was overwhelming.  He writhed in his seat, straining
against his seatbelt.  “Ikel.  Sorry, but I don’t think I’m right to continue.”

“That’s OK,” Ikel said with a shrug. 

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 12.
               
 

Detective Alan Reymond arrived at the address described by
the person at the hospital.  He knew the visit was to be of dubious worth, but
what else could he do?  The young doctor was unwilling to release him into
custody, even just for formal questioning, based on the farcical story that
Venn had described in an attempt to have someone verify his identity.  Presumption
of innocence aside, he’d still made sure that the guy was securely locked in
his room with a uniformed officer posted on the door. 

Gut-feel told Reymond that he’d be back at the hospital
before too long, lobbying another doctor after shift change that the patient was
a crank not deserving of a hospital bed out of the public purse.  Still, he
knew he needed to do a little homework before he could justify any case
against, or theoretically
for
the guy. 

Performance artist indeed,
Detective Reymond
thought to himself
.  
Venn had suggested that the only way for his
identity to be confirmed was by way of a woman named ‘Angie’, the performance
artist no –less.  He’d provided no surname for her, and only a house
description, street name and suburb, which had thus far proven accurate in that
there was no mistaking ‘the worst house on the street’ in this instance.  On a
street of old-money, bluestone residences, there was only one decrepit, single
storey wood and weatherboard.  As Reymond looked over the house from his car, he
reminded himself that the fact the house even existed proved nothing, much less
the identity of Malcolm Venn.  All it really proved was that Venn had ventured
to this part of town.

Now for the fun part
, Detective Reymond sniggered
to himself.  While Venn had not provided a full name for the person who’d be
able to shed light on his identity, he had provided a description of her. 
‘Angie with big tits’.  He re-read his notes purely out of habit, but there was
no way he’d have forgotten
that
description.  He left the comfort of his
car, forgoing his jacket despite the late afternoon chill and headed for the
front door. 

Near on fifty years of Policing had given Detective Alan
Reymond a certain insight.  He could tell when someone was lying just by
looking at him.  It was this particular skill that had made him not write off
Venn’s story.  This time his experience told him that all was not well at
Angie’s house.  He felt it as he approached. 

There was nothing he could describe, but Reymond could still
feel something out of place.  Looking through the window into the lounge room,
he could see that the house appeared comfortably lived-in and he could feel a
draft of warm air from under the front door.  He could hear music, smell food
cooking in the kitchen and it smelled good enough to remind him of his missed
meals.  But there was something else. 

Reymond knocked on the front door and as there was no
reply or sound of any movement from inside his first reaction was of
annoyance.  As much as he doubted he’d gain anything worthwhile from any
meeting with ‘Angie’, if she even existed, he couldn’t rightly justify leaving
such a loose end.  He didn’t want to have to come back later.  He knocked
again, this time a little louder and called out, “Angie?  It’s the police, and
I’d love a quick word if I could.”

There was still no discernable noise or movement from
inside the house, but as he moved towards the lounge room window for a closer
look, he heard a rolling sound.  It sounded like a bowling ball rolling towards
pins, but softer and slightly less determined.  Through the window he was
finally able to confirm what was making the noise as he watched a tall drinking
glass roll along the corridor outside the lounge room.  He marvelled at his
hearing and wondered if he’d have heard anything if it was his right ear close
to the window, largely deaf thanks to years of fruitless practice at the
shooting range without ear plugs.  His insight had been proven right yet again.

Reymond was thankful that he didn’t have to contain an
over-zealous young partner determined to produce his weapon and force open the
door.  Older and wiser, he knew that such a reaction was unlikely to produce
any better result than more reasonable behaviour.  He called out again as he
tried the front door.  Finding it unlocked, he cautiously opened it, announced
himself once more and entered.

Angie was not in good shape when Reymond found her; seated
on the floor with her legs splayed wide, propped into a moderately upright
position against her bed with her head hanging forward.  She wore only
underwear and a partially unbuttoned cream coloured silk top.  Her bruising was
obvious, and Reymond had seen enough domestic violence in his day to understand
that the beatings that she’d suffered had been inflicted over a protracted
period.  Admittedly, had she not been partially undressed, her bruising would have
gone un-noticed.  Whoever had done it to Angie, his first thoughts were of
Venn, had taken care so as to allow her to still exist in public without
drawing attention.  Of immediate concern however, was her apparent overdose. 
There were several medicine bottles open on her bed and bedside table, pills
scattered on the floor and she appeared to be teetering on the verge of
unconsciousness.