Chapter 21 The Song of Indifference
With a glance at the City limousine, the watchman at the Lethe Estates community gate waved Dignity through; and he drove up winding streets past one mansion-like house after another, all with elaborate landscaping. A dash button that Patience had shown him opened a private security gate, and ascending a long driveway, he approached Mr. Power’s huge home. Patience had decided that Dignity would try the ring-the-doorbell approach, and if that worked, other members of the HIMF team would not be needed at the church or the nightclub.
When he rang and the door was opened, Dignity found himself facing one of Mr. Power’s bodyguards, a typical dark-suited and burly man. When Dignity had told him that he wanted to see Mr. Power about a house demolition order, he was surprised that the man did not turn him away. Instead, after telling him that Power was eating his dinner, he showed him into a parlor and went away, saying he would inquire for him. Dignity concluded that the man must have noticed the limo parked in front and that it was still working its magic.
Before long two people entered. One was a little, red haired fellow in his twenties, wearing a plaid jacket and bow tie. After introducing himself as Grudge, a servant, he sat down at a baby grand in the corner and began to softly play something with a bouncy rhythm. The other person was a beautiful, dark-haired young woman in a china blue dress that matched her eyes. With a slight accent, perhaps French, she identified herself as Miss Indifference, one of Mr. Power’s personal assistants, and how could she help him? He introduced himself and explained that he had come on urgent business about a condemned house that was to be demolished in the morning.
“Your house, of course?”
“Oh, no, it’s my cousin’s.”
“And he hasn’t come himself?” she said with a smile. “You must be an unusually devoted cousin to do his business for him. Where is he this evening?”
“I don’t know. Probably at home.”
“You don’t know. But perhaps he sits at home. Um, Mr. Power is at dinner, but might have a few moments for you after he’s done. Shall we sit down?”
The last words were spoken with a look that told him she had something serious to say to him. When they sat facing each other in leather chairs, she looked him in the eye and sighed.
“If you could only see yourself, Mr. Dignity, how uncomfortable you look, how out of place. I understand, I assure you. Sometimes one finds oneself, out of some vague sense of obligation, pleading another’s cause to a high authority. Of course, if you and your cousin are very close? Perhaps like brothers? No? Oh, my, and yet here you are. How very Christian. But if I may be allowed to give you some advice, the sort of thing you’re doing never leads to any good. Mr. Power is not going to be impressed by an appeal from a cousin, now is he? He is liable to ask you the somewhat embarrassing question: what business is it of yours? Mr. Dignity, with all the goodwill in the world, may I ask you that question myself?”
Dignity thought. “Only that he’s a relative, really. But then, also I don’t want to see anyone Relocated.”
“No, of course not, no one does.” She paused. “But it happens all the time, doesn’t it? Nothing certain but that and taxes, don’t they say? May I point out that people get Relocated daily, and that almost every time it’s just a notice in the newspaper and of no concern to you or to me? And really, if your cousin’s house is condemned, then it’s his time, isn’t it? Why interfere in a natural process? And that’s especially so if you’re intending an interview with Mr. Power, because once you’re in there talking with him, well, you’re in, you know? He may listen patiently, or he may get angry. He may let you go from here with no personal inconvenience to you, or leaving may get complicated. You are, after all, calling his judgment into question. Is that conducive to a safe and quiet life? So if I were you, I’d ask myself whether this is what I really want to do.”
When he did not answer at once, she rose and approached the piano. “Grudge, play a little louder, won’t you? While he considers, I want to sing something for our guest.”
Like someone in a movie musical, she struck a pose with one hand on the piano top and began to sing to the bouncy beat. Her voice was pleasant and well-trained.
The so-called saints are burdened and balked at every turn,
Bewildered by temptations, perhaps compelled to learn
Too late the price of gambling for stakes that never end:
The shock and chill of waters too deep for you, my friend;
If not the burning pain of a desert’s scorching wind.
Be wise and choose the middle, the tepid and the tame,
The cool that never freezes, the warmth that never flames.
Haven’t you guessed that questing may be no more than fuss?
Won’t such insistence make you appear ridiculous?
For some have aimed for power, some fought for gems and gold,
But nothing is worth half so much as comfort when you’re old;
A little house and garden to keep you from the cold.
With this eternal gospel, I shield you from despair:
Why stand and search for something when you can sit and stare?
And what is half so irksome as that which calls us out:
The bawling of a baby, a neighbor’s frantic shout?
You would be rearranging the pillows on a bed,
Or turning to a novel, the best you’ve ever read,
When some odd thing or someone claims all your time instead.
Resist that shrill insistence or touching, tearful plight;
Let no false dawn of duty disturb your rest tonight.
When the song was over, Indifference came to him, took him by the hand, and before he knew quite what was happening, had led him to the hall and back toward the front door. This seemed perfectly natural to him, for he felt now that his coming here had been a silly but understandable mistake, the kind of thing a well meaning person does when carried well beyond a healthy goodwill toward others into actions comically angelic.
“Thank you for coming,” she was saying. “I think you’ll find that your friend can plead his own cause far more eloquently than you, which no doubt you’ll tell him.” The bodyguard opened the front door. “Now drive carefully and watch out for rain; it’s forecast as a twenty percent chance. Good evening.”
He was standing outside the closed door, feeling so peaceful that he could hardly call what had just happened being ‘shown out.’ Surely there must be a politer phrase for it. How kind she had been.
Inside, Indifference had stridden quickly back to the parlor. “Grudge,” she said crisply, “he’s gone and won’t be back. We’ll leave the bodyguards in charge here now. I’m leaving for my second assignment, and I want you to drive me. Here’s the address; it’s 1398 Sandhill Street, the place he was talking about.”
Mr. Power had finished his dinner and had returned to his study and his easy chair. He sat down with a sigh and flipped open his cell phone, hoping for no messages. There was one, labeled urgent.
“Mr. Power,” said the cheerful, recorded voice of his secretary Prolong, “the Mayor has a favor to ask of you. He’s not going to be able to make it to a very important appearance at the Mammon Mart Community Church this evening at seven. He says it’s urgent that you go in his place and say a few words to the congregation. They’re unveiling one of his 3-D images. That’s all, sir. See you tomorrow.”
“Hell,” said Power, but he got up and called for his bodyguards. He would have to hurry to make it by seven.
Outside, Dignity stood by the limo looking up at the clear sky and wishing he had an umbrella, for he had been warned of a chance of rain. He got into the car and stared at the fancy dashboard for a few minutes before it fully sank in that his friends and relations were probably going to say that he had muffed it. No one had absolutely told him to leave without seeing Power, and yet he had left. He had not been firm, he had not insisted. He had not
even remembered the letter from Captain Mercy that was in his pocket. But then, if he had, it probably would not have persuaded Power.
Not wanting to be questioned in any detail by Patience, he decided not to report back directly to him. Instead he took out his phone and called Grace House, intending to tell the Ambassador the discreditable story.
Honesty’s jarring voice answered. “Yo, Dig. What’s up?”
“Uh, can you put Grace on?”
“Not here. How’s the mission going?”
It annoyed him that she even knew about this supposedly secret mission, but the little house detective always knew everything.
“It’s fine, it’s OK.”
“Doesn’t sound fine by your tone of voice. If it’s really OK, then you must have seen Power and he’s agreeable, right? Hmm? You did see him, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t see him! Will you tell Grace that?”
“I told you he’s not here. So you muffed it? Did you even get in the door? How about past the security gate? Say something. Car break down?”
“Will you stop it? Just tell Grace that… Wait, I mean tell Patience…”
“Why don’t you call Patience yourself? Is it because you muffed it?”
“Just call Patience, all right? And then…uh, my second job tonight is to be the surveillance person outside Leasing House and to report from there about anything that happens. Will you stand in for me?”
“So why don’t you do it?”
Dignity paused long enough to let his annoyance leak away. “You want to know why, old friend? Because I muffed it, that’s why. I feel deflated. Grace was counting on me to give it my best and I let myself be talked out of even trying. Some assistant of Power’s talked me out of it. She’s pretty smooth.”
“She!” Honesty crowed. “Good looking, right?”
“Please, give me a break here,” he said. “Just say you’ll do me a favor.”
“Oh, all right, I’ll go over to Hope House and keep a watch out one of their windows. But first I’ll call Patience.”
“Thanks. He has to know right away.”
When he was off the phone, he started the limo and, while exiting the Powers’ driveway, noticed headlights behind him. He pulled over and soon saw another City limo emerge and pass him. This, he knew, must be Mr. Power on his way to the Mammon Church. He wondered whether he could partially redeem himself by following. He could provide a report to Patience if, for any reason, Power were to go somewhere else or be slowed down.
He followed discreetly during the two miles to the Mammon Mart and, when he saw Power’s car parking, parked his own well out in the huge Mart lot and watched Power go in the church entrance accompanied by three bodyguards. Dignity would not go in, for as a former member of the church and one on record as having been at odds with the pastor, his appearance there would be much remarked. It would alert Sordid’s agents that something was up.
Sordid’s agents! It suddenly occurred to him that Patience had said enemy agents would be at all three of the mission’s objectives this evening. He drooped into the leather cushions. What would a personal assistant be doing at Power’s home in the evening? Wasn’t it obvious that Indifference was one of the agents he was supposed to have been on the alert for? Probably the piano player too!
His only consolation was that he had not talked directly to Patience about this.
Grudge drove Indifference in her BMW straight to Guiles Leasing’s house, where they found that a tall wooden barrier had been erected around the front yard. This, Indifference knew, was intended to prevent the Hopes or anyone else from interfering with the rescheduled demolition. Her task now was to prevent a veteran Heavenite agent from taking part in this evening’s clash of spies and, if possible, to eliminate her completely.
Grudge remained in the car. A few of the neighborhood watchmen were on duty but allowed her past the barrier after she showed them her ID. She went to the door, rang the bell, and after a long wait was admitted by Guiles’ wife Oblivia. Introducing herself as Miss Trustworthy, she told Mrs. Leasing in her pleasantest manner that she worked with the City’s Department of Homeless Persons and was interested in identifying a transient said to be living in Leasing House, a certain woman of color going by the name of Prayer.
Though plainly miserable with fear about the coming Relocation, Oblivia did her best to help. She invited her visitor in and led her to the finished basement that was the true living area of the house, all the time explaining that her husband was indisposed, her daughter gone out she knew not where, and her sons off watching TV or something in their shared bedroom.
When they were seated in the living room, Oblivia’s homely face took on a look of acute discomfort, as if she were about to discuss something polite people avoid.
“We don’t talk about her,” she said in a whisper, “and certainly never with her, because Guiles said not to, but there is a woman who slips in and out. Guiles can’t seem to keep her properly locked out. But I suppose it makes no difference now. They say we’ll be Relocated in the morning.”
“Mrs. Leasing, you do recognize that I have nothing to do with that? My only concern is to take this Prayer to a homeless shelter. Is she here now?”
“I—I think she is. I saw her in the den as I was passing the door. You know, for the longest time, I couldn’t see her or just barely, but lately I can in good light. Guiles and the children can see her too, though they don’t say so. Actually, I was going to make a little tea for her and me before long. Will you join us?”
Indifference took a moment to digest this and decided to proceed as if it were the most natural thing in the word. It appeared that Guiles Leasing had forbidden his family to talk with or about Prayer, but he had not specifically forbidden sitting down with her to a cozy tea time. Oblivia, she had already noticed, was not of the brightest and probably thought a little Heavenite companionship in her loneliness ought to be easily overlooked.
“I’ll join you,” she said with a smile. “I’ll just wait here while you get the tea.”
When Oblivia had gone out toward whatever makeshift kitchen the Leasings maintained in their basement existence, Indifference took from her handbag a tiny plastic container filled with a powder and held it opened and ready in her closed hand. After some minutes, Oblivia returned with a large tray and laid out tea for three.
“Heavens!” the older woman then said out loud in a voice of exaggerated concern. “I’ve gone and brought an extra cup for tea that we don’t need. Silly me, I must be more careful about that. It’ll be wasted if somebody doesn’t drink it!”
She then sat down and looked toward a doorway leading to the hall. Anticipating the result of this charade, Indifference pointed to a piece of amateur artwork taped to a far wall.
“Did one of your children do that?” she asked.
Oblivia’s brow creased. “I’m just not sure,” she said, rising and approaching it. She peered at it as if it were a hitherto unobserved crack in the wall. “Oh, yes, it’s signed by Rage. He and Plausible are always bringing school drawings home and expecting me to pay attention to them.”
While her back was turned, Indifference poured the powder of apathy into the empty teacup.
Prayer must have heard Oblivia’s vocal remorse about the extra cup, for presently she appeared in the room and silently joined them at the little table by the couch. Before she had seated herself, Indifference was pouring tea into her cup.
Now was the time to wait confidently. Prayer was a sipper, which took time. Prayer was silent too, which meant it was difficult to tell when the drug was at full effect. Indifference waited fifteen minutes and then waited some more, all the time listening to Oblivia’s chatter of complaints and worries. At last, when the enemy agent’s stare became fixed, she asked Oblivia to leave her alone with Prayer so she could properly interview her for the Department of Homeless Persons.
Oblivia cheerfully
departed with the tea things, and when she was out the door, Indifference took both of Prayer’s hands and held them in hers. She began to lead her in a sort of hypnotic chant.
“What am I doing here?” she said quietly to the HIA agent.
“What am I doing here?” Prayer replied emotionlessly.
“What are these people to me?”
“What are these people to me?”
“I care only about myself.”
“I care… I care…”
“Never mind, dear. We’ll come back to that one. Why should I try so hard?”
“Why should I try so hard?”
“People are so ungrateful.”
“People are so ungrateful.”
“What am I doing here?”
“What am I doing here?”
Indifference was never happier than when engaged in this sort of work, and she was thorough. Time did not matter. Indeed nearly half an hour passed in this fashion, so very pleasantly, before the CRISP agent’s phone rang in her purse. She removed her hands from Prayer’s and answered.
It was Sordid and he sounded very tense. “We have an emergency at Numb’s Place. Get yourself there as fast as possible. Run red lights. Whatever you have to do.”
“I’m coming,” she said calmly and put away her phone.
But some things can’t be rushed. It was necessary to find out from Mrs. Leasing where Prayer usually slept and to lead the drugged agent there—into a space in the furnace room. She tucked her away on a mattress the Heavenite agent had somehow brought in, explaining to Oblivia that the homeless shelter was full up today but that they would come to pick up Prayer at the time of tomorrow’s Relocation. Then she said her polite goodbyes and finally got out of the house. Fortunately, Grudge could be counted on to cross town fast.
As they pulled away in the BMV, Honesty turned from a second floor window in Hope House and spoke to Wittily Hope.
“Still don’t recognize her?”
“Nope,” said Wittily. “Never saw her before.”
“Neither have I. Dig didn’t say what exactly to report on, but that chick didn’t look too threatening. I’m not going to bother Patience about her.”