Estimated reading time: 6 minutes
“Spare some change bud?”
It’s not until there’s a tug on his trouser cuff that Jessy Christianson becomes aware of the man slumped on the ground. Tucked within the alcove of a shop entrance, the thin arm shoots back to its hiding place within an oversized sleeping bag. Hopeful eyes peer up through a wiry nest of gray-black beard. A hood fails to cover the sores on the face – splotched in various shades of purple. The man repeats his request.
Jessy sighs, uncups the Beats headphones off the side of his head, letting it slide down his neck. As he reaches into the front pocket of his cargo pants, the beggar slides himself up into a seated position. Within the sea of blankets, the man surfaces a dented coffee cup and props it on the ground between them.
“Ah, you’re very good,” he says, adding moisture to his scabbed lips. He watches as the standing man pulls a palm-sized rounded object from his pocket, holding it against his thigh. “Just some change for a hostel. Somewhere warm for the night.”
There’s a heavy sigh from the standing man. The street is busy with the lunchbreak crowd, milling around groups of tourists huddled over phones and those eagerly waiting for buses, worried glances cast skyward at the oncoming leaden grey clouds.
“What’s that? A mouse?” A nod from Jessy. “You work in computers or something?” Another nod, with the standing man’s eyes narrowed on a point far ahead. Jessy’s hand moves the mouse incrementally along his thigh.
“My sister’s husband works as one of them coders,” the beggar remarks, warming to the task and sitting up straighter. “Lotta money in that, I bet,” he says, licking his lips again. “I never got the chance to go to school. I was—”
Click.
Jessy’s body stiffens. The beggar screens the overhead sun with one hand, and looks up at the man.
“You OK, bud?”
Jessy’s mouth opens and closes frantically, and the curious beggar climbs to his feet. Inching closer, he is alarmed to see the eyes of the young man open, whites exposed. Large pupils fully dilated.
“Mate, you don’t look the best. Want me to call someone?”
“View source. Inspect…”
“What?”
“Elements. Identify Element. Coffee Cup. Value Empty. Select Element. Div class.”
“Who’s a div?”
“View Properties. Add Property. Value…”
“Help!” The beggar shouts. “Your man is having some sorta fit.”
Those waiting nearby for their bus edge further away from the bedraggled man. Others walk past, giving a wide berth.
“Help! He’s not—”
“Bart.” Jessy’s eyes have cleared, looking into the face of the beggar. “It’s OK.”
The beggar watches as the man pockets his device again.
“How did you know my…”
“Faith,” Jessy says, cupping the headphones around his ears again before walking off.
The beggar, who is about to call after him, has his throat constricted, seeing his coffee cup stuffed with euro notes.
A few minutes later as the rain begins to fall, the music on Jerry’s device is interrupted by an incoming call. He taps a button on his watch.
“Another one?” The voice on the other end is calm and slow.
“You saw that?”
There’s a grunt of affirmation on the other end. “I see everything.”
“I’m working around the clock.”
“I know you are, which is why I wanted to let you know that I’ve given it more thought.”
“And?” Jessy says, pausing in the middle of the street. Shoppers and commuters flow around him like a rock in a stream, eager to find shelter from the rainfall.
“I think you’re right.” Jessy punches the air, almost colliding with a tourist, before ushering a silent apology. “But, we start slow.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Initially, I’ll set up a tech support layer across a few select countries. Department heads of state. Then from there, a layer of middle management. That should take the load off and we can look to replicate the model across other regions. Start small and scale.”
“Sounds like you’ve given it a lot of thought.”
“I’ll update the existing chain of command structure, so you’re not bombarded night and day. How’s your call load?”
Jessy clicks a button on his watch. A number flashes on the display screen and it scrolls horizontally. After several seconds, it still hasn’t returned the full number.
“OK,” the calm voice said. “I get the picture. No more freebies, though. You can’t save everyone.”
“Alone, no. But maybe with a team.”
“Hmph.” Jessy can’t tell if it is a note of scepticism or resignation. Either way, he is optimistic that the new structure could prove fruitful.
“You’ll continue to report to me. But now, you’ll have your own tech support underneath you whose job it will be to carry out your – OUR – wishes. They’ll need training of course, and our mission statement, organisational objectives and policies will be passed down to middle management. It is this layer that will interact with and address all concerns from users directly.”
“So I’m no longer in the field. Works for me. So who reports to me?”
“The heads of state. Let’s call them bishops for now. We can work on the naming convention later.”
“OK,” Jessy said, beginning to walk again, now with a stride that felt joyfully light. “What do you need from me?”
“Just bring your hardware into head office. You won’t need it anymore. I’ll share the most recent version of our handbook so there’s no confusion. It’s had a few revisions since you last saw it.”
“Got it.”
“And Jessy?” The voice was suddenly very close to his ear now. The cancelling headphones had blocked out all other sounds. “There’s a lot of new products on the market, and we want to make this the best. Are you with me?”
Jessy paused, looked around at his congregation and smiled.
This story was written for the ambitious creative project, ‘The Weekly Kook’, where I release a brand new short story every week for a year, totalling…yep, you guessed it – 52 stories.
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