3.c.iii
Donkey was in
his cramped office. Sweating. How pathetic.
Over the years he’d developed several nervous ticks, all of which were
employed at present. He was obsessed
with the movements of The Elephant and tracked them incessantly, keeping tabs
on many of The Elephant’s upper party members as well.
Over the years
Donkey had found himself on the losing end of more than one of their
schemes. This had shattered his self
confidence. Sadly, he had yet to
understand that The Elephant blundered into success more often than not and
that second guessing his own actions, and failing to act when necessary, had
contributed to a large portion of the opposition’s victories as well.
And so here he
was, huddled in this embarrassing office space, so consumed with his pachyderm
nemesis that he’d failed to notice the figure in the doorway.
The Big
Bossman was watching him, had been watching him for several minutes, allowing
his disgust and contempt for the nervous ass to build.
He fingered the
obsidian cufflink on his white suit jacket and then adjusted his black tie with
his black gloved hands.
He should
strangle Donkey. Punch him in the face a
couple of times, except that might get blood on his pristine white slacks. He stroked his luscious moustache and
considered all the sinister options.
