S am was finding that she had very little to do to fill her hours. This was partly because the DefCon4 app continued to schedule a lot of her time for completing the Synergenesis set up, but the office space was now managed by a local facilities management company, all employee matters were handled by in-house Kays, and the training company had left process guidelines and a helpline for any queries about the actual work. By the back end of the week, Synergenesis was ticking along all by itself and Sam found herself in the uncommon position of having time on her hands.
Sam decided to spend that time reflecting on her future.
“Hey Doug, what insights can you offer?” Sam kept her voice low, aware that office banter was not usually directed at cacti, and wary of adding further fuel to the Kays’ suspicions that she was talking into a secret microphone. “How should I rate my DefCon4 tasks?”
She awarded each of the jobs DefCon4 gave her a mark out of ten. There were the fun jobs, like beach clean-ups, which got a solid eight. And there were the more boring ones, like hostel inspections, which deserved nothing more than a two.
The obvious next step was to perhaps work out how she could ensure she was given more of the fun stuff to do.
One of the Kays came to her desk. She had no idea whether it was the same one she’d chatted to briefly in the kitchen. The Kay bent close.
“Some of the girls are worried that you appear to be talking to your spikey plant.”
“Cactus,” said Sam.
The Kay frowned, confused. “Oh. OK. Then I take it all back,” she said and retreated.
At the end of her working day, Sam drove back to the holiday park. She was tired from a less than full day and from insufficient sleep. Maybe she’d commandeer one of the sun loungers by the indoor pool and try to catch up on her sleep poolside. She certainly needed to have a word with Daryl about the crane working into the night.
Daryl was at reception. Sam could hear a bingo caller in the Paloma Blanca Tiki Bar, Pizzeria and Entertainment Centre. The caller appeared to favour the more modern bingo calls, and she heard ‘Amazon Prime! Forty Nine!’ and ‘Eyebrows on fleek! Number eleven!’ as she walked up to the counter.
Daryl was raising his eyes to look at her when the Punch and Judy man, Weenie, half-sprinted, half-staggered in and collided with the desk.
“Whoa there,” said Daryl, displeased, gathering up some papers that had been wafted out of place.
“Joey Pockets,” panted Weenie, breathlessly.
“Are you okay?” said Daryl.
Weenie shook his head and then sort of nodded at the same time. There were clear beads of perspiration on his brow. Sam also noted a twisted and torn strip of silver duct tape wrapped around his wrist.
“He said Joey Pockets,” said Sam helpfully.
Weenie nodded vigorously, still working to get his breath back.
“Are you having a stroke?” Daryl asked the man.
“Someone stole my Joey Pockets,” Weenie managed to say.
“Sounds like he’s having a stroke,” said Daryl, convinced.
“Joey Pockets is a toy kangaroo,” said Sam, who remembered the fleeting craze from a few Christmases back.
Weenie wagged a finger of agreement in her direction.
“You have a lot of toys, don’t you?” she said.
Weenie straightened up. “A Joey Pockets has gone missing from my caravan,” he said. “Maybe it got handed in.”
Daryl made an earnest pretence of looking under his counter, in case a big cuddly toy kangaroo had suddenly appeared there.
“I can check in back,” he said, indicating the store cupboard behind him. “Where did you last have it?”
“It was in the caravan! It was stolen!”
“Is it valuable?” said Daryl.
Weenie White made a noise. Sam couldn’t be sure if it was a tittering laugh or the beginnings of a sob. Weenie looked at the purse in his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“I mean, you can call the police,” said Daryl. “Not sure they’d come out for a kangaroo.”
“No. Not the police,” said Weenie.
“Probably not worth their time,” Daryl agreed.
“But it’s gone,” Weenie insisted. “That Bradley. The cleaner guy.”
“Oh, you think a member of staff took it.” Daryl drew himself up to his not especially tall full height. “That is a serious allegation.” His tone was neither defensive nor dismissive. It had remained professional, but now a certain barrier had come up between them. Daryl Putten had his pride, and wasn’t going to let the Putten brand be sullied by unfounded accusations. “Do you know that a member of staff took it?”
Weenie looked desperate, helpless. “You really haven’t seen it?”
“A kangaroo? No, Mr White. I haven’t.”
The look of helpless desperation deepened for a second and then Weenie ran off out of the building again, still clutching the purse.
Sam and Daryl watched him go in silence. Eventually, Daryl said, “And what can I help you with, Miss Applewhite?”
“Do you know, I’ve completely forgotten,” she replied, honestly.