The Red Men by Matthew De Abaitua Read Free Book Online Page B

others that it was considering the notion, even though
its incredible mind needed no such deliberation. Yes, it would allow Alex Drown’s red man to control a Dr Easy, for one meeting only. As a test case. It would monitor the situation closely.
Alex Drown, suppressing any sign of jubilation, sombrely suggested that customer service send representatives along, to intervene physically if necessary, and to keep an eye on how people react to
its presence. It would mean giving up an evening. Working late. Putting in the extra hours. Out of spite, she suggested Florence and out of love, Raymond insisted upon going too.
    A week later, on an autumn evening that saw Raymond in a short-sleeved cream shirt underneath a brown cashmere tank top and Florence in a summer dress and cardigan, a silver BMW cruised through
the bazaars of Poplar. On the back seat, between Raymond and Florence, sat a large, silent robot, a Dr Easy.
    The driver was a professional, with driving gloves and a Bluetooth headset. Raymond couldn’t be sure if the smell of waxed leather was coming from the freshly vacuumed upholstery or the
robot sitting next to him. Perhaps it had buffed and polished its hide for its big night out. The tall robot sat with its head bowed against the roof, its posture expressing the discomfort of the
two humans on the backseat. Never one to suffer in silence, Raymond fumbled with some small talk.
    ‘It’s a warm night.’
    Florence nodded. ‘We might need to sleep with the windows open tonight.’
    ‘Should I ask the driver to turn up the air conditioning?’
    ‘No, it dries out my skin.’
    If Alex Drown’s red man was the animating intelligence inside the robot, it gave no indication. It blinked. It whirred. It moved when it was asked to. Raymond tried to draw it into
conversation.
    ‘What would you normally be doing tonight?’
    ‘Working,’ replied the robot. It pronounced this single word in Alex Drown’s faded Belfast accent.
    ‘So this is a night off for you?’ ventured Florence.
    Bent crooked, the Dr Easy turned its baleful blue eyes upon her.
    ‘Not really. This is a very important meeting.’
    Raymond tried to be self-effacing.
    ‘We don’t know anything about it. We’re just here to baby-sit you.’
    The robot nodded and closed its eyes as it spoke, communicating a certain exasperation.
    ‘It’s a courtesy meeting. Not that vital. That’s why Alex has allowed me to handle it.’
    ‘Are you enjoying being out?’ asked Florence.
    The robot patted her leg with its enormous paw.
    ‘Shall we not have a conversation?’
    At the restaurant, Raymond and Florence were seated on a table by the toilets. Dr Easy enjoyed roped-off dining with two brothers just in on the flight from Dallas. The light was low. The
waiters moved gingerly down the dark aisles. The ornate calligraphy of the menu was indecipherable. Raymond chose dishes at random only to discover, from the waiter, that the red man had already
ordered for them. It also sent over two bottles of wine. In the gloom, Dr Easy’s hide glistened like black lava rock.
    ‘This is exactly what I wanted,’ said Raymond, when his fish soup arrived.
    ‘You should send it back,’ said Florence. ‘If you eat it, you’ll make the red man even smugger.’
    A plate of spam fritters and a fried egg slid before Florence. The red man knew all about her diet of Blitz cuisine.
    ‘I think we should swap,’ she said.
    The rituals of high dining were unfamiliar to them both. To Raymond, dining out meant snarfing down the cheap eats option at Starburger or something microwaved out of the freezers of
Wetherspoons; this hushed, solemn shrine to food made him want to blaspheme.
    ‘Do you remember Dad’s funeral, when I stuck my hand up your skirt?’
    Florence smiled. ‘It was a gesture of hope.’
    ‘It was what he would have wanted.’
    ‘How do you feel?’
    ‘It hasn’t hit me yet. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Let’s not talk about him.’
    Raymond