Corporate Man is called in to investigate reports of vile, unethical business practices at Great American Business Company. What he finds there just might destroy him (except we all know the ending to The Tragic Death of Corporate Man so it should be fairly obvious that it can't really destroy him, though it can come close).

Enslaved by the Bonus Whores is an all new Corporate Man Adventure Serial. Chapters will post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

After nearly a decade of imprisonment, Corporate Man returns to find the economy in ruins and his deadliest enemies in control of all but a fraction of society's wealth. He embarks upon a quest to set right the wrongs of the business world; a task that will ultimately destroy him.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Chapter 87


3.b.i
He was a small, runty man with a pencil-thin moustache, small bottle-cap glasses, and a very dedicated comb-over.  He walked through the airport with an irritated determination.  It was years since he’d been called back to the States and he wasn’t happy about the urgent summons from the Big Bossman.
What did the USA have to offer?  There was no business here anymore, he’d seen to that.  And what was with that name?  Mr. Outsource?  He hadn’t used that codename since 1990.  He was the Outsourcer now and the Big Bossman knew it.
“Sir, would you please remove your shoes?” a pleasant voice at the security checkpoint asked.
“Not for you or any of the thousands of women I’ve bedded in my time,” he said.
The woman rolled her eyes and stifled a gag and ignored the spreading warmth invading her southern regions.
“I’m sorry.  It’s policy,” she said.
“Well, I’m sorry.  I refuse,” said the Outsourcer.
“I’ll have to alert security,” she said, squeezing her thighs together.
“Go for it,” said the Outsourcer.  “I’ll tell them the same thing.”
The woman pressed an alert button then fanned herself with a clipboard and said, “They’ll be with you shortly.”
The Outsourcer cringed at the use of the word shortly.  Then his eyes narrowed and he asked, “Aren’t you security?”
The woman ignored the question and pretended to sort some papers.  Soon, two large men sporting muscles that strained the stitching of their uniforms approached the Outsourcer.
“You need to remove your shoes.  Sir,” one of them said.
“Not going to happen.  Not for you or any of the thousands of women I’ve bedded in my time,” the Outsourcer repeated.
The two men shook their heads, stifled laughter, and ignored the spreading warmth invading their southern regions.
“You’ll have to come with us then,” they said and each took a hold of one of the Outsourcers wrists as they escorted him to a secure room.
Forty minutes later the door opened and the Outsourcer stumbled out.  His mood had worsened.  Sweat covered his brow and his steadfast comb-over was now a wispy tangle of stray plumage.  His shirt was untucked, his glasses askew, and his shoes were in his hands.
Someone would pay dearly for this.
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