“A very dramatic rescue this morning, Bercu.”
Minkin Bercu, a Level 5 Guardian Angel, licked creamy icing off his fingers as he popped the final bite of a grande Cinnabon roll into his mouth. He nodded at his co-workers, smiling around the gooey brioche.
“Too bad you couldn’t save everyone.”
A group of lower angels had gathered in the break room, milling around and gossiping about Minkin’s latest intervention.
With a dainty wipe with a linen handkerchief, Minkin removed any lingering cream and crumbs from his chin.
“I saved who I needed to save,” he said, shaking the kerchief, then neatly folding it. “Besides, she didn’t need the roll. Her blood sugar was elevated, and her cholesterol numbers are criminal. I couldn’t leave the pastry to go to waste.”
“Go to your waist…”
Minkin rolled his eyes at the gibe, marking it down to jealousy over his exemplary success rate.
“Don’t you have escalator duty today, Jonas?” Minkin tucked the linen square into his coat breast pocket, fanning out the corners, just so.
A juvenile buzz spread through the other angels, goading Jonas into sounding with more insults toward the conceited Guardian.
The petulant youth stepped forward, looking to his crew for support, then took a deep breath ready to let loose another insult.
“Don’t embarrass yourself any further, Jonas,” Minkin said. “If you put as much effort into your job, you’d move up the ranks, instead of being delegated to the most mundane tasks.”
The younger crew made a quick exit from the break room leaving Jonas to fend for himself, realizing the discord between Minkin and Jonas was about to reach critical mass.
“I don’t know why you’re such a hard-ass about all this,” Jonas shoved several chairs out of his way, moving toward the elder angel.
“We have a job to do,” Minkin said, standing his ground. “If we don’t take it seriously, people die.”
“Everybody dies,” Jonas said. “What difference does what we do really make?”
“The only reason you’re here, right now,” Minkin said, “is because your guardian didn’t do his job. He’s on the housekeeping staff now.”
Jonas stared at Minkin, confusion and disbelief warring with his emotions.
“You aren’t supposed to be here yet,” Minkin continued. “There were plans for you, but because your guardian didn’t take his work seriously… well, here you are.”
Sitting down hard in one of the askew chairs, Jonas shook his head.
“What plans?” He said.
“We’re never told,” Minkin said. “It could have been something a future generation did, not just you personally. The woman this morning? Plans may involve her future child, or a grandchild. Because I was there, that future is still viable.”
Minkin left Jonas pouting in the break room. He had another crisis to avert. His charge was on the move again. Today was going to be busy. He thought about arranging a stomach bug for her, just to keep her home, but that would be the lazy way out.