The Collectors

Chapter 12

Ted Palliser stood slump shouldered beside the short hall leading to the, public only, washrooms. Above his head was a white plastic reindeer trailing a ribbon with the words, Season's Greetings emblazoned in red and gold and on the opposite wall a clone, only the words were, Merry Christmas. Ted was sick and tired of forcing a smile for every person headed into the john and out again. His thoughts exploded like a busted piñata. What the hell was there to smile about? Have a nice crap? Glad you can go? Security wasn't even allowed to use them as they had their own in the security office. Nick had cursed that rule earlier in the month. Connie and her little power game. Wait until Hardy gets back, he thought with vengeance.

Ross did a radio check with the temporary guards—Malcom's office employees—and redeployed them as necessary then he slipped into the security office and helped himself to a beer from the fridge. Connie was upstairs so nobody would be bothering him in here. He'd locked the door; let those other goofs watch for big Russians.

Malcom listened suspiciously as Connie insisted on reporting how she'd organized the security and what each member of the team was doing. She enjoyed Malcom's face scrunch when she described Ted's duty, but he didn't say anything. She wandered to the window and gazed out across the city.

"I love this view," she exclaimed, lifting up on her toes and bending over to peer down to the street.

Malcom agreed, though his attention was elsewhere.

"Maybe the security office should be on one of the upper floors, we could deploy in both directions must faster, don't you think?" She turned and sat her bum on the window ledge.

"There isn't any spare room up here." Malcom said. "Look, I'm very busy right no—"

"There must be some department or office on these upper floors that could perform just as well down where we are now." She continued. "And they'd have their own lockers and showers."

"That would be a problem up here then. Those amenities aren't available." He waved an impatient hand. "Shouldn't you be downstairs where security is needed?"

"Then maybe just the head of security and a secretary or second in command." She went on, ignoring him.

Malcom felt the unease of Connie's badgering. She was angling for more than he'd already foolishly ceded and not about to give up without a full effort. "I suppose it's something we might discuss down the road." He offered, hoping to deflect her. "Now perhaps—"

"Mmmm... something else we might look into as well, Malcom, is my current position becoming permanent."

He'd created a monster! "Hold on now, Connie. Hardy is my chief of security. He's been with me a long time and when he gets out of hospital that job is still his. We talked about that."

"Hardy." She pushed off the window ledge and wandered back beside his desk. "I could tell you some things about Hardy that might give you some second thoughts about his competence."

"I don't think this is very becoming of you, Connie. The man is at a disadvantage right now, unable to answer any- any charges."

"Trust me, Malcom, he couldn't. You could ask Ross or Nick about him, it certainly hasn't been a big secret from us."

He stared at her. At her innocent smirk. At her painted fingers toying with the uniform tie. At her breasts! He caught himself and coughed. "Okay, Connie, what hasn't been a big secret?" He looked deliberately at his watch.

"He's gay." She puckered her mouth and raised her eyebrows.

Malcom stared again. "Gay?" His closed his eyes and when he opened them she was closer. "You uh- you're telling me that Hardy Pinkerton is gay?"