"personal demons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fowler Christopher)

'This place is beyond the jurisdiction of the police,' she explained. In the restaurant there were vegetarian dishes, roasting chickens, trays of ham and beef. They shared a quiet table away from the chatter-filled main section.
'Three weeks ago Matthew Felix walked out of here and never even came back to collect his belongings,' she explained, talking through a mouthful of chicken. 'His car's still in its usual parking space under the building, but he's gone. He was my friend. And your predecessor.'
'What can I do?' Ben shrugged helplessly. 'I just got here.'
'The secretaries are always off sick. They say there's something in the air that makes you ill. At this height the windows can't be opened because of the winds. Then there are the phone lines. They randomly switch themselves around, like they've got poltergeists or something.'
'It's my first day,' he pleaded.
'The staff can sense that there's something wrong even if the management can't, but no-one - NO-ONE - is willing to talk about it.'
'This suit is brand new, Marie. And the tie.'
'I'm trying to find someone who's not just a management sheep.'
'I'm not a sheep!' Ben protested. 'I've been in the business world for four hours! Management must be able to do something. Temple, he's the boss-man.'
Marie speared a piece of asparagus. 'He won't see me. I've already had two official cautions from Clark. One more and I'll lose my job. They all think I like to stir things up.'
Ben grew more exasperated. 'I should stay away from you. I fought hard for this job and I'd really like to keep it.'
'It's not like I'm asking you to do anything illegal, just keep your eyes and ears open, and tell me if you notice anything strange. Do it before the place gets to you and you become like the rest of them.'
Ben lowered his fork. 'Which is what?'
'You know. Corporate.'
'What's wrong with that?'
'You're an individual.'
He thought for a moment. 'Maybe I don't want to be.'
Marie rose to leave. She was frustrated by Ben's attitude. 'Maybe you don't. But I think Matthew Felix is dead. The police found his cat half-starved. Maybe he had a heart attack and it was stress-related so they quietly took him away. Somebody here knows more than they're telling. For God's sake, look at them!'
'Why would they hide something like that?'
'This is a new company. Maybe they're scared of bad publicity. Oh, forget it. Just forget I said anything.' Ben watched helplessly as she rose from the table and left. He looked out of the window at the power lines which passed close to the glass. He could hear their eerie hum beneath the moaning wind. There were dead pigeons all along the window ledge, neatly aligned in a row. He thought, I've entered the Twilight Zone.

Aided by a bank of video monitors running interactive graphic devices, Clark was giving a talk to a group of potential Symax investors. Ben found a chair and watched his new boss in action.
'This is the first fully operational smart building in the United Kingdom. Created by computer to minimise employee error and maximise profit potential.' On the screens behind, Ben could see diagrams of the building's nerve centre, the antiseptic, unmanned sensor room filled with gauges and cylinders. 'A Symax building is designed for every temperature, atmosphere and movement change. In a non-smart building, company staff have to find a way of fitting around the architecture. Symax systems learn from staff habits and adapt to create a unique environment for each company.'
As the meeting ended, Clark walked with the leader of the group, Ben following alongside, listening in.
'I want New York to see this,' said the client. 'I'll need a full presentation on Friday. Can you handle it?'
'I have no problem with that at all,' Clark replied, seeing him into the lift. After the doors had shut, he eyed Ben suspiciously. 'You heard him. Four days to the biggest presentation we've ever had. This place is going to be jumping, and you with it.'

Dusk brought a lurid red glow to the windows, which automatically darkened to reduce the glare. Ben attempted to set up a stack of books on his desk, which appeared to be perfectly level, but each time he balanced them they shifted and fell over. He took a marble from his drawer and set it on the white melamine desktop. The little glass ball rolled first one way, then abruptly another. He tapped his teeth with a pencil and looked back at Marie, thinking. Nothing made sense here. Was that normal in the world of big business? He knew he shouldn't get involved, that it would only lead to trouble, but decided to talk to Swan anyway.
'My predecessor seems to have left very suddenly,' he prompted.
'Mr Clark fired him,' Swan explained. 'They had a terrible row.'
'What about?'
'I don't know. Work, I suppose. They didn't get on.'
'I thought everyone got on here. Isn't that the point?'
'In theory, yes. Did you ever hear of a theory that fully worked in practice? Thought you might like a copy of this. More useful than the office bible.'
Ben accepted the proferred pamphlet and turned it over in his hands. It bore the title GOD IN THE WORKPLACE.
'Er, thanks.'
Swan pointed to the small gold crucifix he wore over his tie. 'The devil and his works are all around us, Mr Harper. Better safe than sorry.'

*

That night, as everyone worked late, an exhausted secretary swept into the office of her supervisor, Mr Meadows, and dumped a stack of papers on to his overflowing desk. The executive argued into his headset while signing papers and returning them: 'I know it was late because I checked with security, and if it doesn't reach me in time my client won't pay so we all get shafted. Well, fuck-you-very-much but an apology isn't recognisable in fiscal terms - you're hovering, what is it?'
'Accounts on 2,' said the secretary. 'Wife on 3 and Mr Clark on the internal.'
'I'll call them all back. Close the door, Norma - close it.'
She reluctantly left, pulling the door shut behind her. Meadows kicked back, yanking off the headset and thumbing the remote on his stereo unit. Classical music began playing, Smetana's Libuse, the volume increasing. He stared at the phone, still trilling, and suddenly yanked it out of the wall. Then he shook the buzz from his ears, locked the door and returned to his desk, slipping off his jacket, removing his tie, kicking off his shoes and unbuckling his trouser belt.
Outside the office, two secretaries noticed him through the glass and started to giggle. Meadows continued to strip until he was completely naked. A crowd gathered as he stood at the picture window behind his desk. Everyone yelled when he raised his chair and hurled it through the glass. They hammered at the locked door as Meadows climbed over the broken shards on to the ledge.
He raised his arms high. It was a hell of a drop. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he executed a graceful swan dive out over the glittering city. The office door caved in seconds too late. The secretary screamed. Bouyed by the crosswinds, Meadows fell slowly through the starry sky - fell and fell - and laughed, until he smashed thunderously through the glass canopy of the station roof amid hordes of homegoing commuters.

*

Ben pulled open the glass doors. Far above him in the sensor room, electronic dials registered the change in temperature and compensated for the sudden fall with a boost. In the reception area, the screens continued to run endless plugs for Symax. Already the words sounded repetitive and hollow. The receptionist was holding her head in her hands. It looked like a bad start to Tuesday.