The Shift of Numbers (9 page)

*

On autopilot, Tim couldn’t remember firing the last 4 shots. Gazing down the range
, he could see that
the target’s head had several neat holes in its centre. A hand lightly touched Tim’s shoulder; he removed his ear protectors and holstered his gun before turning round to face the man who touched him.

“Well done
, sir.
A perfect score.”

“I thought I would be out of practice
,” s
aid Tim
,
modestly.

“It’s
just like riding a bike. Y
ou never lose the knack. I just wish they were all as competent as you.”

“Are
there any
more tests?”

“That was the last 1.
I will send a copy of your renewed gun licence upstairs to personnel. Excuse me
,
sir
.
I think I hear the telephone.”

While Tim admired his paper target with its neat cluster of bullet holes
,
the range master came back out of his office and walked quickly over to Tim.
“That was the
Director’
s office on the phone
, sir. T
hey want you up there as soon as possible.”

Tim nodded and swiftly walked to the elevator. He hated talking to the
Director
but it did mean he was getting a new case, and that meant getting out of the office. 

The elevator ride took Tim from basement level 2, the gun range
,
upwards past basement level 1. Only 2 people worked on this f
loor:
the engineers who looked after the computer containing the 2 most important numbers in the country. To the best of Tim’s knowledge the number had never been wrong since the system was put online about 20 years ago, when he had first joined the MSD and
, with
security laxer
,
he had snuck down to catch a glimpse of the computer. It was a shock; he had expected a whol
e floor filled with computers. I
n reality
,
it was just a large computer monitor attached to a wall in a smallish office. He watched the numbers for a while
,
mesmeri
sed, expecting them to change. T
he larger number did, but not
by
much.

The 1
st
floor contained
the financial records of almost everyone in the country, either electronically stored or
,
for the older records
,
on paper
.
Every transaction, every tax receipt and more
,
stored for use in analysis and investigations. The majority of the MSD
workforce
were
housed
in this vast library, human ants stacking and restacking, collating and sorting vast quantities of numbers. The 2
nd
floor held a
ll the staff recreation facilities
, the canteen, swimming pool and gym
, etc. T
he MSD didn’t want a high turnover of
staff
as t
hat would encourage incompetenc
e, so they paid well and had good benefits. The 3
rd
and 4
th
floor were given over to the Investigations Department. I
t looked like a cross between a police station and a bank
,
only with better carpet. The 5
th
floor
,
where Tim was heading
,
contained the offices of the direc
tors of each Sub-Department.
He had no idea what was on the t
op 2 floors of the MSD building.
People
worked up there but
no-
one
he knew
had any clue as to what they did.

Tim departed the lift and made his way to the office of the director of investigation
s. A
fter speaking bri
efly to her secretary, he entered
her office. The
Director
was a bit of a running joke in the MSD for her terrible sense of dress. She
,
of
course, knew nothing of this, as
no-
one
would be stupid enough to tell her. Today
,
Tim noted that she was wearing a bright blue al
most ball-
gown a
ffair with a green silk scarf. H
e smiled inside
,
careful not to let it show on his face.

“Ahh
, Tim,” t
he Director exclaimed in her shrill voice. “Sit down.” Once Tim was sat down the Director stood up.
“I take it you have
seen
the news today?”

“Ye
s, ma’am, I have,
” Tim replied militarily.

“The ma
t
ter will
need immediate investigation. I
t has been designated the highest priority. I want you to drop anything you a
re

currently
working on. Here.” She handed Tim a dossier. “We are in the process of arresting all the directors of Shure Stock. The one that is of most interest to us is subject 6741. Open to page 16.” Another
of her quirks, Tim had noticed, was
that she never used
the full name of anyone who was
to be interrogated. Page 16 contained a photo of Richard.

“I want you t
o arrest him and question him. H
e is in a medical facility at the moment but I’ve just got off the phone with his doctor and convinced him that it was in his best interests to release him with a clean bill of mental health.” Tim inwardly shud
dered at the ruthlessness beneath
the
Director’s
badly-
clothed
exterior.

“I will get to
it
at once
,
ma
’am,
” Tim stated, readying
himself
to leave.

“1 more thing. Y
ou won’t be working alone on this case. I have brought in Carl from upstairs.” She pointed to the ceiling when she said this and a thin malicious
-
looking smile played on her lips.

“Is that truly necessary?” a
sked Tim, made bold by the fact he had worked with Carl before and truly hated him.

“Do you have a problem with hi
m?” s
he smiled
,
thinly.

“No
,
ma
’am. I
t
’
s just that thi
s investigation may require a ce
rtain amount of…delicacy, for want of a better word.”

“I can be delicate,” c
ame a rough
deep voice from just behind Tim.
Tim jumped and looked instinctively around.

“Hello
,
C
arl,” s
aid Tim
,
in his most neutral voice.
       

“Now you 2 run along. Y
ou have a lot of work to do
,
”
said the Director.
As if dismissed by the headmistress
, the 2 men stood
up wordlessly and left the office.

*

Tim and Carl didn’t speak
1 word to each
other all the way to Dullstand Psychiatric H
ospital
.
T
he silence
was
broken occasionall
y by Carl sniggering to himself
;
it was
a strange high-pitched noise that Tim figured was an uncontrollable
phonic tic
of some kind. Once inside
,
Carl followed Tim until they had located a doctor and then
Richard’s room. H
e then turned to Tim and said, “I will deal with the posh boy
,
” and swiftly walked into
Richard’s
room and dragged him out by 1 of his legs.

“EASY! C
an’t you see he’s doped up to the e
yeballs? Stand him up over here,” Tim ordered Carl, p
ointing to a nearby desk. Carl roughly hoisted Richard up by his shirt and le
a
nt him up against the desk
,
keeping 1 firm hand on his shoulder.

“Get him cuffed and read him his rights - i
f you can do that witho
ut causing him any physical harm,
” Tim sarcastically told Carl in a superior tone.

“Rig
hts?” c
ame the response
,
after another high-pitched snigger. As he manhandled Richard into the handcuffs
,
the loud clattering
sound of high heels on a marble-
effect floor
crescendoed
from
a distant corr
idor. Both men turned as an out-of-breath young woma
n ran
up to them
. 

“What’s going
on? Where are you taking him?” asked the woma
n
, breathlessly. She looked past
both of them to Richard and motioned with her head. Tim glanced in
Richard’s
direction, the cogs in his head shifting gears.

“Who are you?” Tim asked
,
inquisitively.

“I’m his fiancé
e,” c
ame the breathless reply.

“We
’
re taking him to the MSD for questioning.” Tim looked over to Carl and pointed in the direction of the car outside and
,
to his
surprise
,
Carl just walked his prisoner outside to the car without any mafia theatrics.
Tim looked back to the woman. H
is investigating eyes
told him she was in her late 20s. Her salon-
styled hair and expensive attire alerted him
to the fact
that she was no stranger to spending her fiancé
’
s money. He thought that she must be the corporate equivalent of a footballer
’
s wife.

“You can contact
the MSD for further information,
” Tim said, handing her his card just before a large man in a lab coat grabbed her and twisted her around. The man said something to her and forcefully but gently escorted her from the room. Tim watched her thoughtfully as they left, thinking that he may need to question her further.

“Bugger
,
”
he thought suddenly,
“
I’ve left Carl alone with the prisoner.
”

“When we hang the capitalists they will sell us the rope we use.”

Joseph Stalin

It was getting dark as Tim and Carl made the
ir
way back to the MSD building and
,
after a brief argument in the lobby
,
it was decided to question Richard in Tim’s office and not in the cells. Tim figured it would help put Richard at ease; Carl
,
on the other hand
,
had no such issue with prisoner welfare.

*

Richard’s fiancée got off the bus and made her way to the MSD building. Shuddering from the cold, she stepped quickly inside, missing Tim and Carl’s entrance by at least half an hour. The interior lobby was
well-lit
but not in the least bit welcoming. After giving her details to the desk sergeant, she was instructed to take a seat and wait, but for how long she wouldn’t say.

*

For everyone else on the farm it was a day like any other apart from Bill had promised to buy everyone a drink in the local to celebrate the first ever advert for the Carrot Corporation™ on national television, sta
r
ring Bill himself. As the workers wearily made their way
s
out of the main gate
, a sad-
looking middle-aged man was waiting, apparently for Bill.

“Hello there. W
hat can I do for you?” asked Bill cheerily as the man approached
.

“Erm…I don’t really know w
h
ere to start wit
h all this…W
ell
, my name is Pete. M
y wife invested a l
ot of money into your farm...” s
aid Pete shakily.

“Good for you
, sonny. A sound investment,
I can tell you that much.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,
” Pete started waving his hands.
“We lost a lot of money in your farm.”

“I don’t understand. T
he farm is doing good busine
ss. The share price is going up,” s
tated Bill
,
puzzled.

“We invested it through the Shure Stock Company.”

“So?”
Bill was
still puzzled

“Do you not watch the news?”

“Nope. I
t
’
s always bad…” Bill turned to the workers
. “C
ome on
,
lads.”

“WAIT! W
e lost everything. Is there nothing you can do about it?”

“GORDON
!” shouted Bill.
Gordon walked over to the 2 men.
“What’s this gent talking about - Shure Stock and losing money? Y
ou know how I am with that type of thing.”

“It’s been on the news.
All the investors lost the
ir money. D
id you use Shure Stock to
invest?” asked Gordon to Pete. A
ll the while
,
Bill
was scratching
his head.

“Yes, we invested in this farm and
lost all our money and home,” said Pete, S
aying it ou
t loud made it seem more real. H
e sighed.

“The farm has not
hing to do with the investors. The stock can be b
ought by anyone. There’s nothing Bill can do about it
,
I’m sure…sorry
,
” said Gordon feeling
pity for the sad-
looking man. The 3 of them stood in silence for a couple of seconds until the cogs in Bill
’
s brain understood the situation from his practical point of view.

“Do you have a job?” asked Bill.

A
tear ran down Pete’s cheek as he looked at the only man who had offered him any hope for a while.
“I’m no
t sure that it will help much. All is lost I think,
” Pete said
,
sadly
,
but in no small way grateful.

“Come on
, squire. L
et me buy you a
drink and we can talk it over. Good honest work can’t hurt, can it?
My advert
’
s on the television later as wel
l.
L
et
’
s go
.
” Bill pronounced television, tele-vis-ee-on, like it was a new invention. He put his arm around Pete roughly and marched him to the pub.

*

“Richard, RICHARD! Look at me…” s
aid Tim for the 10
th
time in the interview, “…do you even remember working for Shure Stock?”

“I thought I could see it all, but I can’t, I can’t see anything.”
Richard’s
head slumped again, his voice deflated.

“You were a stockbroker. D
o you remember that?” asked Tim gently
.

“Do you know where my glasses are?” replied Richard almost in tears.

“I don’t know where they are
,
Richard. Do you have any idea w
h
ere you are?”

“I’m not at home
, am
I?” he answered slowly
with a puzzled look on his face. “W
hat happened to the green animals and the nice man?”

*

Pete
,
unused to drinking anything but tea for the last 30 years
,
had found the experience of Topshire’s local bitter a real eye opener. In the pub
,
the excitement of Bill’
s television debut was growing.
Bill kept checking the TV on the wall t
o see if it was still working. I
t was. In the enthusiasm
,
no-
one
noticed
that
Pete had disappeared.
He found himself in a grubby-
looking toilet
,
then outside in
the darkness of the car park. Before long, and as if observing himself from some third person perspective, he noticed his body was
walking unste
adily back towards
the farm.

*

Richard’s f
iancé
e
walked back up to
the desk in the MSD building. S
he decided to use guile
,
as waiting
around seemed a waste of time. S
he figured they
may
not even let her see Richard.

“Hello, I have a meeting
with Tim from investigations,” s
he told the man behind the desk in her most
confident
tone.

“Tim Cord
er
o
?”

“That
’s
him, yes
,
”
she said,
looking the man directly in the eye.

“Wait one moment
.” T
he man dialled a number on the phone next to him
,
then
replaced the handset.

“He’s busy at the moment. Y
ou will have to wait.”

“I know he is busy. H
e’s interrogating a suspect in the Shure Stock case. I have the information he asked for.”

“I see,” said the man, less sure of himself.

“I can wait if you want.
I’m just not sure how happy Tim will be about it.”

“
Okay,
I’ll buzz you through.”

“What’s Tim’s new office number?”

“16, floor 3
.
”

“Thank you
.
”

*

“We are not getting anywhere,” Tim sighed. “L
et
’
s leave him to rest for a bit, at least till the drugs start to w
ear
off.
” He gazed over the table at
Richard,
his head slumped forwards into his chest. Another high-pitched snigger came from Carl’s direction and then he exploded.

Before Tim could react
,
the chair Carl was sitting on slammed noisily into the wall behind them as he stood up rapidly, his left hand grabbing a fist full of Richard
’
s hair and pulling him upright. In the same fluid motion
, his right hand slapped Richard
fearsomely across the face.

“TELL US WHAT WE NEED
, YOU MAGGOT,” shouted the red face of Carl,
covering the prisoner’s terrified face in spit. Now Tim reacted, jumping out of his chair and grabbing Carl
’
s right wrist and twisting it around in a kung fu style move until he had let go of
Richard’s
hair and a look of pain appeared on his face. Tim twisted some more and pushed him roughly to the floor, standing over him as if daring Carl to get up.

“WHAT the hell do you think you
’
r
e
doing?” stated Tim slowly and loudly, full of suppressed anger. Carl chuckled quietly to himself holding his wrist, but didn’t reply.

“Right. That’s the end of the interview. We
will take him back to his cell, then we
’
re going to speak to the
Director
…Get up
,
you idiot.”

Carl got up
,
all the while staring at Tim, the violence and malice palpable in the recycled air. He walked out of the interrogation room and slowly into the corridor. Tim helped the t
errified-
looking Richard up from u
nder the table where he had begu
n to sob and babble incoherently.

“Come on. I
t
’
s all over now
, Dicky. Follow me,
” said Tim reassuringly as he led his prisoner into the corridor.

*

Pete
had made his way as far as
the driveway to the farm; somewhere on his drunken journey he had found a pickaxe that was
now
slung over his shoulder in a business
-
like fashion. He had no idea what he was going to do with it un
til he reached a big grey box. He could just about make out
some b
ig yellow words:
‘DANGER OF ELECTRICAL DEATH’. Something clicked in his mind and he started swinging at the box with all his might. After a few clumsy strokes
,
the tip of the pickaxe pierced the box accompanied by a loud bang and a flash. If Pete hadn’t been thrown 10 feet in
to
the air and knocked unconscious he would have seen all the lights in the valley to his right blink off, like a blanket had been thrown over the city.

*

In the pub an excited and slightly drunk
en
crowd were surrounding the television set
awaiting the big advert. T
hen it happened. Bill’s rosy
,
weathered cheeks and bushy grey
sideboards filled the screen. T
he camera zoomed out quickly t
o see Bill holding a bucketful
of
carrots. Then the power went. A
loud ‘BOO’ went around the darkened pub followed by stifled laughter. Bill
’s
voice could be heard above the noise sayin
g, “Would you adam-and-eve it? J
ust my bloody luck.”

“You looked beautiful
,
Bill!” and “They d
o say the camera adds 10 pounds,” w
ere some of the slightly slurred responses.

*

The next 30 seconds happened far too quickly for Tim. He and Carl were standing behind Richard walking down the corridor when the light above them explod
ed plunging them into darkness and
showering them with glass. The emergency lights, attempting to come on for the first time in years
,
flicker
ed on and off creating a strobe-
like effect. Short-lived s
till images filled Tim’s eyes. T
he first may have saved his life. It
was of Richard wielding a heavy-
looking ornamental
vase above his petrified face. I
t was aimed directly at Tim’s head. He ducked instinctively as th
e darkness engulfed him again. He sensed
a rush of air close to his
ear as the vase flew past him, t
hen a flash of light ac
companied by a deafening roar f
ollowed a second later by a high-pitched scream. As Tim stood up quickly, ears ringing, the strobe painted a picture of Carl, his gun pointed at the floor, the smoke surrounding his feet almost obscuring the blood splatter.