Abacus

*
    Randall’s ears were still ringing with the dressing down he had received from his ex-wife. He probably deserved it as he hadn’t thought to call her to tell her he was picking them up. He’d just felt like spending time with them. His children made him feel good, and he did not want his kids to feel unloved and lonely as he had as an orphan.
    When he returned home without the kids, he felt alone again. Thankfully, loyal Arnold was always there for him, wagging his tail and pushing against him for a pat.
    Sitting at the outdoor table, he admired the fragile shell he had assigned to the next target. It was now time to check on her progress. Dialling her number, he sighed when he was directed to her voice mail. He was not too concerned as there was probably an easy explanation for this. A flat battery, poor reception or perhaps she may even be with the target.
    * * *
    It was now three P.M. the following day as Randall sat at his desk with head in his hands. He had an awful feeling. He got out of his seat and closed his office door for some privacy. He tried to phone the bait, but again there was no answer. He was now very concerned. He’d been trying to call her all day. It was now decision time. He had to consider whether she was in trouble or had become hostile towards the organization.
    In any instance, it was time to make a decision whether she lived or died. He picked up the silver phone and punched in the words, Change the bait. He took a deep breath. This was his hell. DL had put him in an appalling position. He pushed the send button, dropped the phone on the desk and leant against the wall with both arms outstretched. He had always been a protector and advocate of women, now he had to kill one.
    He heard a chirp on the desk behind him. He turned and picked up the phone. It was a message that simply read: Too late, your bait is gone. Randall sat down and slumped back into his chair, totally devastated. This meant the bait was already dead.
    His shock soon turned to rage as he launched out of his chair and stormed through the detectives’ office. He thumped the walls along the hall as he went. Bursting out into the car park, he yelled into the sky, “Why, why, why would you send a woman for this?”
    He ran at a number of metal garbage bins and kicked them over, denting their sides as they lost their lids and spilt their contents all over the bitumen. He seethed as he stomped around the complex in tight circles. He was tempted to send a text to DL to tell them to go and fuck themselves, but instead, leant up against a fence and took some deep breaths.
    He ne eded to find out about her death and how it had played out. He was not sure whether her death was as a result of the assignment or a DL decision to terminate. If it was the latter he would feel more comfortable.
    Settling a little, he picked up the bins, replaced their lids, and brushed his trousers clean with his hand. Entering the building, he walked down the hall and soon realised his tantrum in the car park had been captured on closed circuit TV monitors, which were mounted near the counter area. As he walked past the station area, two constables watched him. It was obvious from their reaction that they had witnessed his outburst. “Just some ex-wife issues, boys,” he said casually. “Hopefully you young blokes won’t have to go through the same bullshit I do. Never get married.” The constables seemed to accept his excuse as plausible and kept going about their business.
    As a rule, he never looked up individual bait profiles on the police database. In this case he was sure he could get the information he needed under “Significant events,” which were available to all officers and were routinely checked by most to see what was happening across the city. The headings in most events usually gave a good indication of their content.
    He closed the door to his office and sat in front of his computer. Once in the database, he clicked through the many pages of significant events for the previous twenty-four hours. Towards the very end of the list he found one that caught his eye. HUGHES AND FLANNERY APPARENT O/D SURRY HILLS.
    He thumped the desk with the underside of his fist. “Christ, no. I knew she didn’t have it.” This was the first time he thought DL had got it wrong. He read the detail of the report, which confirmed that both the bait and target had died from what appeared to be overdoses. Forensic officers found injuries to