Enslaved by the Bonus Whores:
A Corporate Man Adventure Serial
The events
masterfully described in the following story are entirely fictitious and should
in no way be attributed to, or suspected to be about, any person or persons
living or dead. Any resemblance to real
life persons, places, or things should be considered entirely
coincidental. The following story
concerns the events of an economically themed superhero. That should have been your first clue as to
the fictionality of its nature. The use
of the word fictionality should be further evidence of the madeupedness of the
following. However, if you should feel
that your actions and or attitudes align with some of the more deplorable
characters described in the following story, especially where business
practices are concerned, perhaps it is time to reevaluate yourself and consider
making a few changes. Just what sort of
horrible person are you anyway?
Addendum 1.
He stumbled
into his office that night, tired, and more than a little sore. The case of the Corporate Mind Hive had ended
badly and all he wanted was a hot meal and some sleep. He would get neither.
There was a woman at his desk,
sitting in the dark, back-lit by the street lamp outside. Her body silhouetted against the horizontal
blinds, her hair an orange volcano pouring down her shoulders.
“This is a little cliché isn’t it?”
he said, walking past the desk toward the small refrigerator in the corner. There was no beer in the fridge. There should be beer, he thought, if only to
maintain the overused formula of this particular type of meeting. But he didn’t like beer. He was a juice man. And besides, you weren’t supposed to drink at
the office these days and he was always working. He was the epitome of an office worker.
The
business executive.
The Corporate Man.
“Your secretary told me you needed
a break from corporate intrigue and thought a little economic mystery might
help,” she said.
He flipped on the lights.
“Well, it won’t,” he said lifting a
carton of milk from the refrigerator.
“What I need is a break. Period. By law I am entitled to those.”
“Every couple of hours or so, I am
told.”
Behind thick, black-rim glasses, his
eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He
was on the verge of saying something, but after a long moment he simply turned,
opened a cupboard door, fished out bowl, set it on the narrow counter of the
impossibly small kitchenette, opened another cupboard door, and grabbed a box
of cereal. Cap’Tal Gains. A high fiber, multigrain cereal, in a variety
of fun, currency shapes. On the box an
explosive, text-filled, star shape advertised, “Look inside for a chance to win
a real gold bar!”
He shook the cereal into the
bowl. A mix of shapes – circular,
rectangular and dollar-signed – fell in a cascade of wholesome browns ranging
from tan to umber. He poured milk over
the cereal and then hunted around for a spoon.
Not just any spoon. The spoon. The silver
spoon. It was difficult amongst the
stainless steel flatware but he found it.
He took a bite and crunched noisily through the first mouthful.
Then he took another.
“Alright,” he said once that second
bite was down, “what can I do for you?”
The woman took a deep breath, tears
wet her eyes, and she began.
Addendum 2.
“I work for
a relatively small company,” she said, “I’m currently in the accounting
department of the home office, but I started out at the branch level.”
“What’s
your name?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry,
Corporate Man. I’m Tess Adams.”
“Call me
Don, Miss Adams. So this company you
work for, is that why you’re here to see me?”
“Yes.”
“Is there
some sort of trouble there? Some fiscal
misconduct?”
“I’m not
sure,” Tess said wiping tears from her eyes.
“I’ve been with the company a long time.
We started out very local and slowly expanded into a regional
powerhouse. That region is admittedly
small, and our growth was always slow, but it was unshakably steady. Recently though…”
Corporate
Man waited patiently for her to finish.
“It’s just
different now,” she said.
“In what
way?”
“We’ve been
getting a lot of new people. Executives
from competing businesses. They
don’t… They don’t… I know people say that when your company gets
big things become more corporate, but why does that always seem like a
justification for short sighted greed and callous behavior? We lost our former CEO a few years ago. You would have liked Jack. He was the kind of guy who always knew
everyone’s name. If there was extra work
to do, he’d be right in there with you. Getting his hands dirty in a manner of
speaking. The company picnics were huge,
and fun, and made you feel… like coworkers instead of subordinates. Like family.”
Corporate Man grabbed a juice from
the fridge, unscrewed the cap, and passed it to Tess. He sat down in chair by the desk, his cereal
bowl left on the counter, unfinished.
“Jack earned a huge salary, but he
was always generous with his money. If
he saw you out at a restaurant he paid your bill. If he got wind that your had fallen on hard
times, he’d cut you a personal check.”
“He does sound like that kind of
man I would respect,” Corporate Man said.
“So once he left, I take it that’s when the company began to
falter.”
“I don’t know if the line was as
fine as that,” Tess said. “He was pretty
old when he retired. As our company grew
our competitors shrank and people from their organization would apply for
positions with us. We hired from within
when we could, but, as we grew, more and more corporate types wormed their way
into our organization. Jack got tired of
fending them off I think. He stepped
down as CEO but stayed on with the company for a long time after that. I think he was trying to keep his successor on
the right path, so to say. Anyway, we’ve
continued to grow, but our work force seems to shrink.”
“Expand on that,” Corporate Man said.
“Well, a small branch office used
to have a minimum of twenty-five employees.
They now run with about ten or eleven, eight if the manager’s a real
ass. The excuse is always that things
are so much more automated these days that you don’t need as many people. But that’s crap. Branches typically have three or four times
the number of accounts than they used to.
There is no less work now then before.
In fact, there is more to do than ever.”
Tess took a drink of her
juice. She was trembling.
“So what happened?” Corporate Man
asked. “What changed?”
“Well that’s the problem. No one wants to talk about it. I mean, people talk, but that’s just
speculation and grumbling. It’s been
happening at the head office since Jack left.
Slowly at first, but the same pattern.
I have a cousin that got fired a couple of years ago. He was a branch manager when he got the ax
and he said there was this new incentive program being rolled out. It had something to do with trimming employee
wages, thinning out the payroll. I
couldn’t get him to talk about it. I
don’t know if he actually understood it or if the whole situation just
disgusted him so much. He says they
fired him because he wouldn’t get on board with the program.”
Corporate Man stood up, walked over
to the counter, and took a bite of his Cap’Tal Gains. The crunch was just as resolute as when he’d
first poured milk into the bowl. He
slowly ground the cereal into swallowable bits.
“I wish I
could say I haven’t seen this kind of thing before,” Corporate Man said. “It’s
all too common in the Corporate World.”
He took a
few more bites. Tess sipped from the
bottle of juice.
“Miss
Adams,” he said, “I need to get hired on at your company. Are there any positions available at
present?”
Addendum 3.
“Tess. I need to see you in my office,” the bosslady
said as she drifted by the cubicle of the hard working Miss Adams. As usual, she did not dirty her eyes with an
actual glance into the cubicle, suffering her peripherals the unwanted task of
verifying whether or not Miss Adams was at her desk.
She was
there, of course. Where else would she
be? The bosslady had not given permission
for, nor set a task that would require, her to leave the area. Still, you couldn’t leave it chance. These lowlifes were always trying to filch
extra breaks. Getting water to drink,
going to the bathroom. Doing it all on
company time. If the bosslady had it her
way, all cubicles would be equipped with giant water bottles hooked over their
carpeted walls with stainless steel nozzles jutting out from the bottom, located
somewhere near the computer monitors so these vermin could rat-lick the tube
without the need to saunter down the hall to the water cooler. That damned water cooler where they chatted
like hens, clucking about her and the rest of the executives. Not that she cared if they talked about
her. She liked to think that their
discussions revolved solely around her in fact.
It was just that they were stealing company money when they did it on
the clock like that. Giant hamster
bottles would end that water cooler crap real quick.
And each
desk would come with a special chair. A
toilet seat. Except the plumbing would
be rather expensive. A Port A Potty. Yes, that was better. That way they had no excuse to leave the desk
unless they were on their unpaid lunch breaks.
Or diapers. That might be more
economical. In a fiscal year, how many
diapers could one of them go through?
What would the overall cost be in comparison to the initial investment
of a Port A Potty? She’d have to figure
in the cost of service calls to empty the portable toilets. If the first diaper was issued for free and
all subsequent diapers had to be ordered from a company catalog… That would create an entirely new revenue
stream!
The bosslady
sat at her desk and began typing up the diaper proposal.
“You wanted
to see me,” Tess said from the doorway.
“Not now!”
the bosslady shouted. “I’m onto
something!”
Tess
flinched and then slunk from the door.
“Oh wait!”
the bosslady called out. She did not
stop typing but multitasked her fingers and her mouth. “I do have something I
need to discuss with you. Please sit
down.”
Tess
sat. The bosslady typed. Tess fidgeted. The bosslady giggled, low and impish. A few minutes later her fingers stopped
moving and she looked up at Miss Adams.
“Tess,” she
said and paused for an uncomfortably long time.
“You’ve been with the company for a long while now.”
“Seventeen
years.”
“Yes. I haven’t been with the company as long as
you have–”
“Less than two
years,” said Tess.
“Right. I know we like to hire from within and I know
you really wanted the supervisor position, but sometimes another applicant
comes along and we just can’t afford to pass on him or her. Their talents are such that should we fail to
add them to our team it could be detrimental in the long run.”
Miss Adams
lowered her head. Good. This was good. The bosslady loved it when subordinates were
subservient.
“I know
you’re disappointed, but this man, Donald Jackson, will be a pleasure to work
for. He’ll do good things at this
company. He’s just the sort of person
this corporation needs.”
Addendum 4.
“Thank you for the cover ID, Miss
Pension.”
“Not a problem, Corporate
Man.
That Donald Jackson person you had me cook up is a real piece of work.”
“He had to be or they wouldn’t have
noticed my resume.”
“I suppose. Half of his financial credits are for
companies he bankrupted and the other half for corporate giants who laid off
half their workforce during their most profitable years. It’s sick, if you ask me. And if what you suspect is true… I mean, it
sounds like The Greed all over again.”
“I’m not so sure,” Corporate Man
said. He set a file folder in a black
briefcase and snapped the hasps closed.
Then he walked over to the Coffee Maker in The Breakroom at The Office (the
secret mountain base of The Union) and poured himself a cup of efficient
black. “This is something new. Something a little different.”
“What’s the name of this place
you’ll be working?”
“Great American Business Company.”
“Never heard of them,” Miss Pension
said. She picked at her lunch. A battered paperback lie, unopened, beside her
plate.
“Nationally, they’re invisible, but
they’re number one in their region, and for all the right reasons. But now…”
“The Greed. Gotta be.
We’ve seen it before.”
Corporate Man shook his head and
sat down at the small break room table.
He sipped his coffee.
“I don’t like it that you’re going
in alone.”
“Can’t be helped. Business Woman is working the international
market. John Q Public is still off grid
after that business with The Crash.
Normally I’d send Junior in ahead of me but–”
“That matter with the Corporate
Mind Hive. Yes. Junior Executive is still recovering. I wish you’d wait for back up.”
“I don’t think we have time. Something’s insinuated itself within the
walls of Great American Business Company and, from what I gather, it’s
spreading fast.”
“You’ll check in daily, yes?” Miss
Pension said.
“You know I will.”
Addendum 5.
A quick
report with basic facts concerning The Union and The Office.
Corporate
Man belonged to a group of economically themed superheroes called: The
Union. Members have included such names
as Business Woman, Junior Executive, The Dollar Man, Miss Pension, the twins
Supply and Demand, John Q Public, Captain Credit, Donkey, and The
Elephant. Each member had his or her own
unique business related talent. The purpose of the group was to identify
dangers to the economy and combat fiscal irresponsibility wherever it appeared.
The group
fought against the likes of The Greed, Professor Inflation, Deal Breaker Dan,
Mr. Outsource, The Crash, and many others.
They
eventually established a secret mountain base called The Office. It was a refuge away from the city where they
could meet, make plans, rest, balance their books, and hold office parties.
To this
day, members remain tight lipped about what really happened with the copy
machine.
Addendum 6.
The bosslady
was smiling. Not that forced smile she
usually used on her subordinates, but one of genuine pleasure. She loved doing this. She loved serving them what was basically a
shit sandwich and presenting it as though she was doing them a favor.
She
gathered them in her office to introduce their new supervisor. A man who would probably eliminate the
positions of more than a few of them.
“Everyone. I’m very excited to introduce you to your new
supervisor, Donald Jackson,” she said.
Then she clapped and encouraged applause from the vermin as well. When they reluctantly joined her she cut back
in. “He’s going to do great things here
at Good American Business Company. We’re
growing and he’s just the man to get us through the coming transition from a small
regional business to a national corporation.”
She
instigated more applause and then said, “Donald?”
Donald
Jackson cleared his throat, huge white-toothed grin on his face, and said,
“What a great place. Just awesome. It really feels like a family here. Everyone seems to care about everyone. And that’s the most important thing, I think. That’s what I want to preserve as we grow and
that’s part of what I’ve been hired to do.
The other part of my job is to take advantage of growth opportunities
and take this place national. We’ve got
a chance to crush it, people. And I
think we can. No. I’m confident… that we will.”
The bosslady
led the claps again.
“I hope
you’ll bear with me in the coming weeks as I settle in. I’m going to sit with each of you so I can
see what it is you do and, together, we’ll look for ways you can do it better. I’m really excited. I hope you are too.”
Inside, the
bosslady was giddy. Her rats, these
vermin, these absolute parasites were eating it up. They were eating up the shit Donald was
shoveling. All but a few at least. She glanced around and took note of the
lowlife workers who were smiling, but not with their eyes. They were the ones she’d set Mr. Jackson on
first.
“Alright,”
she said. “Meeting over. Feel free to visit with Donald for few
minutes and then get back to your stations.
If you need me, I’ll be in my office.
I’ve got a lot of work to do, but as you know, my door is always open.”
She loved
saying that. The open door thing. She made it a habit to close her door
frequently to confuse them.
When she
got back to her desk there was an e-mail waiting for her. The subject line read: re: Employee Diaper
Proposal.
The body of
the e-mail had a two line response: Sounds great. Double check the numbers and submit them for
final approval.
Addendum 7.
“Take me
through your week, Tess,” Corporate Man (aka Donald Jackson, also known as Corporate
Man without the glasses) said. She was
the third employee that he’d sat with today and, like the others, he had his
legal pad open, ready to jot down notes.
“Remember, you don’t know me. In
fact, when you talk to the others you should probably express suspicion in
regards to my motives. Gather info from
the others and report back to that number I gave you.”
“So the
first thing I do when I get here everyday is…” Tess started in a normal, if
slightly louder than usual, voice. In
between her audible-to-the-public sentences she whispered covertly to Corporate
Man.
“There are two or three girls were can probably trust, but I haven’t
told anyone what’s going on, and I don’t plan to.”
“That’s
good. And this is the last time we
should chance talking like this. Any
information you need to get to me can go through Miss Pension.”
He spent
another forty-five minutes at her desk and then moved on. From what he could gather, there hadn’t been
cuts, exactly. No one had been laid off
or fired. But there hadn’t been any new
positions created either. With the
amount of growth Great American Business Company had experienced in the last
five years alone, he figured a minimum of three new positions should have been
created in this office alone.
That night
he made the first of his nightly reports to Miss Pension.
“I need you
to arrange something for me,” he said.
“I want to see what happens when someone in the office leaves the
company. I want one of them offered a
job that is too good to pass up. A
courier will have all the employee files to you in the morning. Use them to make a selection.”
“Shouldn’t
be a problem,” Miss Pension said. “Tess
reported in. Seems like your cubicle
visits panicked some and excited others.”
“That was
the intention.”
“I’ll focus
on the panicky ones. Should be simple to
get one of them to abandon ship.”
Two days
later Tess reported that Gladys had stumbled upon a job listing and was tidying
up her resume. The following Monday
Gladys announced that she was taking a position with another company. There were tears and heartfelt moments.
And cake. These things always required cake.
Thursday
morning Donald Jackson received an e-mail from the bosslady. Subject Line: My Office ASAP. There was no text in the body of the e-mail.
Corporate
Man smiled. He sauntered out of his
office and walked over to hers ten minutes later.
“You wanted
to see me,” he said poking his head in the office door.
“Yes,
Donald. I wanted to discuss the Gladys
situation with you.”
Corporate
Man sat down. Other than her desk, a
file cabinet, and a couple of chairs, there wasn’t much in there. No framed photos of tropical locales, no
family portraits, no office plant. There
was a door on the back wall. A
closet? No, probably a private
bathroom.
“Right. A shame really. She was a real asset to the team. It will be difficult to replace her,”
Corporate Man said.
The bosslady
grinned and said, “I agree. In fact, we
probably shouldn’t even try.”
Corporate
Man shrugged and said, “She was kind enough to give us three weeks. If we hire from within it shouldn’t be a
problem. If we go outside the company, I
think we can still manage our workload while we bring the new person up to
speed.”
“Oh? You think we might be able to… redistribute
her work around while find the right person?”
“Sure. Not an issue.”
“How long
do you think they could manage?”
“Well, I’m
new here, but I’ve been around the block a few times,” Corporate Man said. He paused for a moment, and then continued, “If
we work these people to capacity, I don’t see why they couldn’t manage
indefinitely.”
There was a
flash in the bosslady’s eyes and the grin became a predatory smile. She blinked a few times and the spark was
gone. After a few steady breaths she
said, “Tomorrow’s payday.”
Corporate
Man made no response to this non sequitur.
He knew she was leading into something and so would a man like Donald
Jackson. So he let her come to it in her
own time.
“When you
interviewed, when you were hired, were you made aware of the bonus structure?”
she finally said.
Corporate
Man nodded his head nonchalantly. “I
was. Nothing too specific, but I’m
familiar with the concept.”
“Company
policy states that you won’t be eligible for bonuses until after a probationary
period of three to six months. The time
frame to be determined by upper executives.”
“I’m fairly
confident that I’ll be earning bonuses after three months.”
“And I
would tell you that you are wrong in your assumption,” she said, that gleam
returning to her eyes. Again, Corporate
Man made no reply. “Your recommendation
in the Gladys matter will put you in the bonus category far sooner than you
think.”
“And how
soon will that be?”
“How about
tomorrow’s paycheck?”
“Impossible. Those checks have already run.”
“Yes. Technically, you won’t see anything official
on your pay stub until the next cycle.
But there will be something on your paycheck tomorrow, I can assure
you.”
Addendum 8.
“Hello and
thanks for calling. No one can come to
the phone right now, so please wait for the tone. Then leave your name, phone number and
message. Deet-do-deet-do-deet.”
“Made huge
progress today,” Corporate Man said.
“They’re approving me for the managerial bonus program. I don’t have any additional information on
that, but I’m pretty sure it’s the root of what’s gone wrong at Great American
Business Company. I had some face time
with the bosslady today and I gleaned a bit of information from her while we
were talking. I could’ve sensed more if
I’d managed physical contact, but her lust for this bonus that she’s so eager
to dangle in front of me is off the chart.
I had no problem picking up the broad strokes of it. She’s raking in at least fifteen percent of
her wage from these bonuses. There’s
potential for an even twenty-five percent if she cuts the departments staffing
enough. Anyway, now that I’m part of the
program I should be getting the details soon.
You know, if I can keep this pace up, I’ll be back at the Office by the
end of next week. If you get a chance to
visit Junior, tell that I wish him well.”
Addendum 9.
Corporate
Man knocked on the door to the bosslady’s office. It was already open, but he always gave a
courtesy knock. She looked up, her grim,
sallow expression morphing into a something not quite pleasant but far more
amiable.
“Yes,
Donald,” she said.
“Told you
so,” Corporate Man said and smiled.
“Told me so
what?”
“That it
was too late to affect this check.”
“What do
you mean?”
“You said there would be something on this
paycheck relating to my newly acquired bonus.”
She took a
moment to look perplexed, almost pained.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. Nothing,” Corporate Man said, gesturing
toward his pay-stub.”
“And there
was nothing else in the envelope?”
Corporate
Man tipped the enveloped upside down, stuffed a few fingers inside, and flared
them wide. A sift of white paper-dust
drifted over his hand, but nothing of monetary value fell out. The bosslady held her practiced expression
and then shrugged.
“I’ll check
with payroll,” she said.
“No need to
bother. I was just having a little fun.”
“Oh? Oh!”
she feigned surprise, and the laugh that followed was not a comfortable
thing. The feeling that that sound
inspired in all those who heard it was something akin to placing a well
traveled quarter on one’s tongue. “Funny
stuff. Well then, back to work.”
Corporate
Man walked back to his desk. Apparently
efforts to employ humor as method to gain further information about the bonus
would not work with this one. He sat at
his desk, intending to fire off a couple of e-mails, but when he reached for
his mouse, a strange tingling sensation skittered down his fingers. He balled
his hand into a fist and the flexed his fingers. His whole hand when numb. He shook it.
Pins and needles raced up his forearm.
Corporate
Man gripped his elbow as if he could stop the sensation from making its way up
into his shoulder. Prickly pain flared
at the area of contact and Corporate Man sucked air through his teeth.
And then it
was gone.
He flexed
the fingers again. All seemed fine. So he took a couple of deep breaths, reached
for his mouse, but did not open up an e-mail window. There was a new icon on his desktop.
Managerial
Bonus Program.
His whole
body ignited. His pulse quickened. He licked his lips. And he clicked on the icon.
He read
through the document and scanned the attached spreadsheets. The hairs on his neck prickled. This was insane. There was no way this kind of bonus program
could be healthy for a company. It would
be far too easy for employees to fall victim to The Greed with incentives such
as these. He ran some numbers in his head
and calculated the increases that the elimination of Gladys’s hours would
yield. It was staggering.
Corporate
Man pulled up a spreadsheet listing the allotted hours for his department. Were there other positions he could dispense
with? He considered some methods that
could be employed. Things that might
urge an employee or two to transfer to another department.
He blinked,
a little shocked at the line of thinking.
It was so insensitive, so heartless.
It sickened him. But he felt
compelled to continue along this selfish path.
For research purposes only, of course.
He needed to discover the possible moves his opponents would make, and
to do that he’d need to think like them.
Also, there was this crazy competitive urge to dream up the most
effective plans, the most underhanded schemes.
Addendum 10.
“Thanks,
Tess,” said Miss Pension. “Just hang in
there, okay?”
“I
will. And tell Corporate Man that I hope
he’s feeling better.”
“Wait What?”
“He wasn’t
in today. I assumed he was out on some
sort of reconnaissance, using that flu that’s going around the office as
cover.”
“No,” said
Miss Pension. “He’s there to gather
intel and infiltrate Great American Business Company. If he was out of the office today then he’s
either sick, or something’s gone wrong.”
Addendum 11.
Corporate
Man’s fever broke in the middle of the afternoon resulting in a tremendous puddle
of sweat. He didn’t have time to relax
in the salty pool, however, and quickly found himself racing to the toilet,
wracked with violent heaves, donating the partially digested contents of his
stomach to a porcelain charity.
A long moan
rumbled from his throat as one hand searched weakly for the toilet’s
handle. Something was wrong. And not just common cold or shared flu
sweeping through the cubicle Petri dish that is the office environment kind of
wrong. This was something more. He never got sick. He was the ultimate employee. He was the perfect executive. He was… throwing up again.
His fingers
were shaking.
His whole body was shaking.
Corporate Man rinsed his mouth out
and crawled back to bed. His skin was
gooseflesh and his teeth chattered like rattling change. He buried himself in blankets and endured the
chills for quarter hour; for a fiscal year.
And then he was on fire again.
Apparently his fever hadn’t broken.
A sickly sweat ran from his pores, thin and acrid, like gasoline or some
backwoods distilled spirit.
After that it was all fever
dreams. Repetitions of hourly employee
profiles and job descriptions. Operating
hours and percentages and increased efficiency programs.
Over and over and over again.
Addendum 12.
“Where have
you been?” Tess asked, her voice a hushed whisper.
Corporate
Man hadn’t even settled into his chair yet, his computer was still loading
programs. He shrugged. “I was sick.”
“You’ve
been out of the office for two days.”
“Yeah. Would’ve been nice if someone had brought me
chicken soup. Or cleaned up the mess.”
“Miss Pen–”
Corporate
Man held up a hand to silence her. He
shook his head minutely. Not here, the
gesture implied. Tess nodded. “Well, I was worried about you.”
“We all
were,” said the bosslady, appearing suddenly at Tess’s side. “You never called in. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned your
post.”
“Sorry about that,” said Corporate
Man.
“I couldn’t find the number in my day planner and, apparently, our
offices aren’t listed in the phone book.
I didn’t look until this morning.
I was too sick to comprehend what was happening to me the last couple of
days and ‘calling in’ never actually entered my mind.”
“We’ll let it go this time,” the bosslady
said. Then she glanced coolly at
Tess. “Miss Adams I’m sure Donald
appreciates your concern, but he does have a lot to catch up on. As, I imagine, do you.”
Tess scampered off, eyes cast
downward.
The bosslady stepped into Coporate
Man’s office and shut the door. “Don’t worry. It happens to us all.”
Corporate Man shrugged.
The bosslady tossed a legal-sized
envelope on his desk.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Your first bonus,” she said.
“Payday’s not until the end of next
week.”
“For them,” the bosslady said,
casting a dismissive head gesture toward the outer office. “We at the executive level like to calculate
our bonuses on a more immediate basis.
Instant gratification and all that.
The decision to eliminate Gladys’s position and redistribute all her
work has been implemented. Done. The fruits of your labor await. If you have any questions, stop by my office.”
She crept to the door, opened it
quickly as though she were trying to catch eavesdroppers on the other side, and
slid out of the room.
Corporate Man picked up the
envelope. There was more than a check
inside. It was thick with papers and
there was some sort of object in the bottom.
He opened a desk drawer, retrieved a letter opener, and slid it along
the top of the envelope, splitting it open revealing an unmistakable shade of
green.
Cash.
And quite a bit of it.
He pulled the bills from the
package and started counting, though he instinctively knew the exact amount as
soon as he saw the stack. It was
mesmerizing. His fingers tingled as the
bills passed from one hand to the other.
He was halfway through the stack when he remembered the object at the
bottom of the envelope. He set the cash
on his desk and pulled the envelope open.
Inside was a syringe.
It was cold to the touch; metal and
glass. He picked it up by the cylinder
and held it in front of him. The metal
was golden, the glass like crystal. There
was a runny, oily liquid inside. A translucent
but familiar shade of green.
Addendum 13.
Corporate
Man walked into the bosslady’s office and closed the door behind him.
“I’m a
little busy just now,” the bosslady said.
She seemed to be opening and closing programs at random.
“What is
this?” Corporate Man asked, gesturing with the bonus envelope.
“Your
bonus. Like I said.”
“Not the
cash,” Corporate Man hissed. He pulled
the syringe from the envelope and said, “This.”
The bosslady
never dropped her gaze and said, monotone and slow, as if repeating herself to
a stupid child, “Your bonus.”
“What is
it?”
“Are you
going to make me say it third time?”
“Is it a
drug?”
“It’s not a
vaccine or a vitamin shot.”
“I don’t do
drugs.”
The bosslady
shrugged. “You do now.”
“No. I don’t,” said Corporate
Man.
His heart was racing and it felt like time was passing a little slower,
or perhaps his mind was operating in overdrive.
“That’s
odd. Your eyes are dilated and–”
“They
aren’t dilated you crazy–”
“How are
you feeling? Pretty good?” she said
cocking her head slightly. “Elevated
heart rate, slight sense of euphoria? Is
the light behaving… unusually?”
Corporate
Man froze. The light was more sparkly
than usual. And the colors a bit more
vivid.
“I’ll bet
the colors, especially the greens, seem a little more… well, a little
more. And there’s a sense of confidence,
almost an arrogant, unstoppable feeling that’s setting in. Am I right?”
Corporate
Man took a step back. The world…
tilted. Slightly, but it was there. Everything was askew. “What have you done?”
“Oh it’s not
me, it’s the bonus,” she said.
“I
haven’t–”
“You have.”
No. Had he?
Corporate Man looked at the syringe.
It was still full of greenish fluid.
An impressively attractive green fluid.
“Oh, that’s
for later,” the bosslady said. She
opened a desk drawer and removed a small emerald colored vial. She unscrewed the cap, shook a small pile of
powder onto her finger tips, and rubbed them together in that instantly
recognizable sign for money. The powder
was almost white, veering in hue toward that familiar money green.
Corporate
Man looked at the package of cash. He
pulled the bills out, and shook the envelope.
A light dust sifted to the floor.
“You can
snort it too, and it’s designed to absorb quickly through the fingertips,” the bosslady
said. “Quite effective in its powder
form, but the liquid state is the truer variety. And it is wickedly addictive.”
“I wasn’t
sick.”
“Nope. You were unknowingly kicking your new
habit. It’s harder the second time. Next to impossible now that you know about it
and have access to the cure.”
Corporate
Man sat down. “What is it? Cocaine? Heroin?”
“It’s
called Bonus,” the bosslady said. “It’s
the future of capitalism.”
Addendum 14.
Every cell
in his body felt alive. His blood felt
like liquid rubies and his mind of molten gold, racing with crazy, lucrative
ideas and inventive corporate strategies.
He could not seem to focus on his predicament though. Nothing practical or clever, unless it was
fiscally strategic.
The bosslady
continued, “You’ll receive your supply of Bonus with every paycheck. Today’s unscheduled payday was unique. Think of it as inaugural, an initiation if
you will. It won’t happen again unless
you exceed expectations and create new financially advantageous opportunities
for the company. As your monetary
bonuses increase, so does your supply.”
“I won’t do
this.”
“Sure you
will. It’s got a hold on you now. It’s in your blood. And you’ll get another taste of what it’s like
to be without it. You might be able to
portion that syringe into two, maybe three doses, and the cash has enough
powder on it that you could triple-count the bills and get another one that
way. I assure you though, that by the
time payday rolls around again, you will be in terrible need of a fix.”
Corporate
Man stood up. The room jittered and
slight tracers blurred the lines of everything.
He closed his eyes. That proved
to be a big mistake. Dollar signs and
graphs and P&L reports swam at him through the dark and he staggered. When he opened his eyes it took a moment for
the room to stop moving. He shook his
head. This did nothing to clear his
mind. Everything went rubbery for a
moment and the sound of commerce rang in his ears.
“I won’t
let you get away with this?”
“Oh
no? And who are you? Donald Jackson, guardian angel of business
ethics and fiscal morality? No, I’ve
seen your resume. I know what you’ve
done. You might be angry at being
tricked, but that won’t last. There are
other benefits to Bonus that you have yet to discover. Think of it as a business super serum.”
“I’ll barricade
myself in a hotel room somewhere and kick this junk and then report you to the
Better Business Bureau,” Corporate Man said.
The thought of another two days of chills and body aches and fever and
vomiting and diarrhea was not encouraging.
The bosslady
laughed. “Oh! That’s rich.
The BBB. Impotent weaklings!”
“Maybe,”
Corporate Man said. “But it would be
enough to cause in depth inquiries.
Disrupt your Bonus supply, maybe.”
The smile slipped
from her face like a stock market crash.
Her cheeks reddened and her brow pinched in a severe scowl. A slight
tremor shook her upper lip. And then she
took a breath and her demeanor relaxed.
“I have
contingencies,” she said and pressed a button on her phone. A blinking, rose colored light, throbbed from
beneath it.
The door at
the back of the office, the one Corporate Man thought was a private bathroom,
creaked open. A pink light poured out
and filled the bosslady’s office. A
woman, dressed in skin-tight hot-pink vinyl, matching gloves and stiletto
heels, and a domino mask stepped over the threshold. In one had she held a black clipboard and in
the other, a leather whip.
Corporate
Man recognized her and almost said her name.
Pink Slip.
Addendum 15.
In the
archives of the Union , stored in the file cabinets at
The Office, there is a dossier on Pink Slip.
It makes for some interesting, if unpleasant, reading. She’s responsible for a number of economic
atrocities including but not limited to:
termination, intimidation through threat of termination, destruction of personal
financial security of millions of families due to termination.
Where she
walks there are tears and panic sweats and hastily cleaned out desks. She is the eager pet of crooked tycoons; a
Doberman Pincer in pink. Bankers lust
for her and fat cat Wall Street types casually toss her around like a flirty
hand grenade. She is ruthless and
emotionless; like broken glass.
She is
terribly attractive and this makes her all the more deadly.
Addendum 16.
“Don’t run,” the bosslady said. “You wouldn’t even get the door open before
she cut you down.”
Corporate
Man had no intention of running. He knew
what Pink Slip was capable of. He also
knew that he wasn’t prepared for a physical confrontation either. He’d only faced her on his own once before
and he was still surprised that he’d survived the confrontation.
“Who are
you? What is all this?” Corporate Man
said.
“This… is
Pink Slip,” the bosslady said. “She’s
insurance.”
“And you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Who are you?
You’re not just some small time executive for Great American Business
Company. You’re something more.”
“Ah… How
refreshing. A man recognizes my worth,”
the bosslady said. She sifted some more
powder onto her hand and sniffed. “I’m
something new. There will be more like
me, you can be sure about that. Male and
female. In vast multitudes as the
conglomerates continue to grow. But I am
the first. I’m Corporate Whore.”
“Not the
most flattering of names.”
“No? The oldest profession? That’s not notable? Not respectable?”
“I
wouldn’t–”
“Of course
you wouldn’t, man-ling. How dare a mere
female enter the boy’s club of corporate finance. Women belong in the home. Let’s forget that the first business, that
oldest of all professions, was started by woman.”
“You’ve no
proof that–”
“And that
business is still thriving today!” she shouted over him. Then she paused for a moment, allowing the
silence to stand as evidence of her victory.
“Now. You will go back to your
office and spend the rest of the morning working on strategies to maximize our
bonuses. You may have the afternoon off
to struggle with your new addiction.”
Corporate
Whore raised her chin. Her head cocked
to the side almost imperceptibly. Pink
Slip’s whip cracked out, the tip popping inches in front of Corporate Man’s
face. He stood up, obediently, and walked
out of the office.
The bonus
envelope and its shady contents gripped tightly in his hands.
Addendum 17.
Corporate
Man sat at the desk in his Donald Jackson office, mind whirring like a cash
counting machine. It had been over an
hour since the bosslady sent him out of her office. In that time he should have been able to come
up with a clear strategy to take her, and that butcher Pink Slip, down.
So far…
nothing.
So far the
only things he’d been able to keep his overly active mind focused on were ways
to trim hours in his department.
So far the
best he’d come up with netted only a three percent increase in four weeks. Would that be enough?
He slapped
his face and shook his head. Focus! He needed to alert Miss Pension about the
situation. Maybe get the Union
in here to clean up this mess. No. He had time.
If he could just focus on this Corporate Whore situation he’d have it
fixed by the end of his shift today.
What if he
told Tess that he needed her to resign?
Told her that it was all part of his plan for Great American Business
Company. It would free up another forty
hours. What kind of increase would that generate
in the bonus structure? His fingers flew
across the ten key, receipt tape clacking out the callous percentages.
He ripped
the paper from the machine, crumpled it quickly, and tossed it into the
trash. Why was he wasting time with such
thoughts?
Focus! Come on!
Focus.
If Tess left the company then all
her work would be dumped on the others.
One of them would surely crumple under the strain. He or she might ask for a reduction in hours,
or quit outright. That would–
ARRRGH! Focus!
He stood up, grabbed his jacket,
and left the office.
He would go back to his
apartment. He would place a call to Miss
Pension ahead of schedule. He’d get all
available Union members on this.
As he walked to his car the
euphoria of the drug called Bonus noticeably diminished. It was like the moment when prolonged hunger
finally turns to nauseous pain. He
patted the pocket of his suit jacket, almost absentmindedly.
The pouch of money was there. And the syringe.
He felt comfort in this.
Twenty-five minutes later he was
home, phone in hand, knuckles white, several digits of Miss Pension’s special
line dialed in. His breath was ragged in
his chest and cold sweats appeared on his brow, his palms, his feet. Even his upper lip.
He put the
hand set back in the cradle, walked to the bathroom, splashed water on his face,
and rubbed the back of his neck. His
hands started to shake and a chill set in.
He needed to call someone. To get
some help.
This was
going to be rough.
And gross.
This was
going to be worse than last time. This
might kill him.
This was
entirely avoidable.
He needn’t
shoot up. All he had to do was finger
the money in that envelope. Direct
contact with the powder that laced those bills would set him right. Then he could focus on the task at hand. Get a call in to Miss Pension.
No. He couldn’t do that. Couldn’t let her see him like this. Addicted.
No he needed to suffer through this by himself. The indignities he was about to face were all
but unbearable. And super gross.
And he
needn’t face them at all. Just one
little touch. Simply run a fingertip
across one of those powdered bills. That
would fix him up. That would stop the
nausea, the pain, the shakes. All of
it.
But it
would start again later. He knew
that. Might as well get it over with
now, right? Suffer the withdrawal. Get clean.
But there was Pink Slip to consider.
He would be too weakened to fend her off. What if she came when he was bent over the
toilet retching? His head might end up in
the bowl. Drowned or decapitated.
He sat on
the toilet seat and rubbed his eyes and tried to think.
When he
opened his eyes again he was on the couch, syringe in hand. Light glinting seductively off the greenish
fluid inside the glass cylinder.
Corporate Man was so shocked by the sudden switch that he nearly dropped
it.
He rolled
the syringe back and forth between his fingers.
This was stupid. He didn’t even
know how to do this properly. How hard
could it be? Just find a vein and go for
it. He shook his head. No. He
was no junkie. He was Corporate
Man.
Cramps
doubled him over and his bowels nearly let go of their festering contents. He itched and he ached and, above all else,
he yearned for that greenish fluid.
Just this
once. Just use it to get well and take
that whore out. Just find a vein and
slip it in and–
A prick of
pain flared in his arm, just below the elbow.
And the needle was in. His thumb
pressed on the plunger and a few milliliters of Bonus scorched his veins. It felt like fire, like electricity, racing
up and down his arm. He nearly screamed,
but the pain was gone almost as soon as it had come.
The
ecstasy, the absolute dirty pleasure of it, raced to every extremity of his
body. It was as if all his cells were
humming, were vibrating like crystals.
His vision blurred, replaced by unlimited golden light.
Addendum 18.
Golden
light glinted off champagne flutes. This
was the day of the announcement. The
celebration of the merger. All the
employees were excited and all the decorations were gold, from the place
settings and serving platters to the bowties of the wait staff. Even the light bulbs had been changed out for
special imported jobs that cast a golden glow over everything.
Corporate
Man stood at the back of the room. He
was the only one not smiling. Something
about this merger hadn’t sat well with him.
There’d been far too many signs. Evidence of The Greed and other fiscal
villains. And the numbers he’d seen for
this deal were far too perfect. He
didn’t trust such boastful figures.
A golden
knife clinked against a champagne glass and the owner of the company mounted a
small stage for the obligatory hurrah-speech.
Corporate Man felt a lurch in his stomach.
A whine of
feedback cut through the room as the owner picked up a golden microphone. When he spoke his voice was nasally and
asthmatic.
“Well, it
final. All wrapped up,” he said. A
chorus of cheers erupted from the crowd.
“And I think this will go down as the most lucrative merger in the
history of finance.”
Another
round of deafening cheers.
“Unfortunately
for most of you, the benefits will not be quite as mutual as we led you to
believe.”
Uneasy
silence gripped the room.
“In fact,”
he said with a raspy chuckle. “Come
tomorrow I’ll be soaking up sunshine on my private beach while you’ll find yourself
among the unemployed.”
A few of
the quicker ones in the room shouted, or wailed, or cried. The owner waived them off and said, “Consider
this your notice. With a Pink Slip to come.”
The lights
went out
Panicked
shrieks followed.
Then a pink spotlight picked out a
woman in the far corner of the room. She
wore a short skin-tight pink dress with tall, pink leather boots. A pink mask, part domino and part bandana,
obscured her face. She tapped a
clipboard with a pink pen and when total silence fell on the room she said, “It
looks like… we have to make a few cuts.”
She dropped the clipboard and
unsheathed a pink katana. Before the
first screams escaped the throats of the jumpiest of them, several former
employees were relieved of extraneous limbs and superfluous blood supply.
Pink Slip went through the
unemployed congregation like a lawnmower through tall, plump grass. Men and women in business casual were turned
to mulch. Fingers, hands, arms, legs,
and heads fell wetly to the floor, piling up like so much lawn clippings.
Corporate Man dropped down in front
of the pink dervish, his well polished shoe delivering a well placed kick to
her midsection. Pink Slip stumbled back. Corporate Man’s necktie fluttered over his
shoulder and he adjusted his glasses.
Pink Slip drew herself up, her
sword held slack at her side rather than in front and at the ready. Red fluid dribbled down the pink blade.
“Now listen here–”
The stroke came so quickly that
Corporate Man didn’t flinch until the blade had already flicked past his
throat. A streamer of red fluttered to
the ground and came to rest in a scarlet pool at his feet.
“That was my favorite necktie!”
Corporate Man said, the first syllables cracking and the rest of his sentence a
higher pitch than he would have liked.
Pink Slip raised her katana and pointed the tip at Corporate Man’s
face. They stood there, neither of them
moving, awash in the horrible pink light.
Addendum 19.
The light
flashed from pink to one-hundred watt white as Corporate Man’s eyes snapped
open. He was staring directly at the
bulb of his desk lamp. Other than the
painfully bright light he felt wonderful.
Confident. Ready to take on the
financial world.
He sat
up. His head didn’t even ache and his
mind was clear; razor sharp. On his desk
was a yellow legal pad. Frantic notes
and tables scratched across line after line.
He flipped through the pad. There
were dozens and dozens of pages filled with his handwriting. An overly excited version of his handwriting,
but his handwriting nonetheless.
His hope
that these notes might contain some brilliant plan, some strategy he could use
to take down Corporate Whore, faded quickly.
The word “bonus” appeared frequently and several graphs and tables
looked like percentage calculations based on decreasing payroll hours.
Corporate
Man read through them. What he found
both sickened and delighted him. The
unscrupulous nature of the work was distasteful, but the wily innovation was
admirable. The ideas would not only
work, but many of them could be implemented within the next or two. The Bonus increase on his next check would–
What was he
doing? He needed to get out of this
situation. He needed to take down
Corporate Whore. He needed some more
Bonus. The cravings wouldn’t stop. He understood that now. What he needed to do was build up tolerance
to the stuff. That would work
right? Just get used to it and then he
could function better. And if he could
build up a supply then he wouldn’t be reliant on his paycheck. In order to do this he’d have to increase his
bonus percentage.
And fast.
Addendum 20.
“No Tess, I
haven’t heard from him,” Miss Pension said.
Tess
twirled her fingers in the chord of her phone.
“He asked me to resign today.
Said it was part of some plan he had.
I can’t just quit. Do you realize
what I’d lose if I did that? Did he
mention this plan to you?”
“No, but
like I said, I haven’t heard from him.”
“Something’s
wrong.”
“You can’t
know that, Tess.”
“I can feel
it. And there’s something wrong with
him. He was… jittery and his eyes, I
swear they were dilated or something.”
“And he was
out sick before,” Miss Pension said.
“Corporate Man is never sick.”
“I need
some help out here. He needs some help.”
“There’s no
one available.”
“No
one? Don’t you guys have a bunch of
members?”
“Yeah, but
the Union is stretched pretty thin right now. Our last campaign hospitalized a few of our
members. Hang in there, Tess. I’ll try to think of something.”
Addendum 21.
He had his
pants around his ankles, to throw off anyone who came into the bathroom and
peeked under the stall door. He had a
needle in his arm, the plunger pushed all the way down. This was the last of his supply. Hot wet bliss washed over him and he writhed
on the toilet seat, hands clawing at the stall walls. He would regain his senses momentarily, but
for now there was no time, there was no place, there was no Corporate Man.
There was only Bonus.
Sweet luxurious Bonus.
His head
lolled back and his feet twitched. And
then it was over. He pulled up his pants
and went back to his desk. He called
Betty into his office and informed her that, with Tess leaving, he was going to
have to increase her work load, almost double it in fact. She didn’t cry. Not yet.
He admired her for that. She
would save those tears for her cubicle.
She didn’t protest either and for that he detested her. No spine.
Perhaps she deserved this. And
maybe it would help her in the long run.
Make her stronger. Yes. Despite everything, he was still doing good
work.
The itch
came upon him near the end of the day, followed by slight tremors. His mouth went tangy and his spit went
thick. Payday was three days away. There was no way he could make it that
long.
He paced
his office for twenty horrible minutes.
He chewed his nails and scratched at his neck. Several times he took his shoes off. His socks were damp. Things were wiggling between his toes. He was sure of it. But when he took his socks off there were no
worms, no beetles, no fleas.
He blinked
at the light and at the sweat trying to run into his eyes.
He blinked
and his office was gone. He was in
cubicle land, marching toward the bosslady’s office. Toward Corporate Whore. He didn’t bother knocking when he
arrived. Part of him hoped that she would
jump a little when he burst in on her.
She did not. She was behind her
desk, arms crossed, staring at the door.
As if she expected him.
“I was
expecting you,” she said. “You lasted a
lot longer than I thought you would, actually.
Where are you shoes?”
“In my
office. With the sock worms.”
“The what?”
“Fleas,
spiders, whatever. Don’t try to confuse
the issue.”
“And what
issue would that be?”
“Bonus.”
“Yes, I
meant to commend you on your work. This
paycheck should see our largest bonus yet.
Thanks largely to you.”
“I’m out.”
“Pity.”
“Look, I’ve
done my job. I need you to front me a
little to get me by.”
“So let’s
negotiate terms. What’s a reasonable
rate of payback? Two to one?”
“That
robbery.”
“That’s
capitalism. The law of supply and
demand.”
“Right. What I wouldn’t give for their help right
now,” Corporate Man muttered.
“I’m sorry,
what?”
“Nothing. Two for one.
It’s a deal.”
Corporate
Whore smiled and slid open the top drawer of her desk. She produced a small green bottle between her
thumb and index finger. “There are ten
doses in here. You owe me twenty on
payday. Which shouldn’t be a
problem. I’ve seen the figures. Even after you pay me back you’ll have more
than enough for the next two weeks.”
Corporate
Man grabbed the bottle and stormed back to his office.
Addendum 22.
Payday.
He still
had two doses left when Corporate Whore handed him his pay packet.
“I’ve
already appropriated the twenty you owe me,” she said. “You can run the numbers and double check
me. No doubt it will be the second thing
you do.”
She turned,
not waiting for a reply, and walked out.
Corporate
Man shut his door and ripped open the package.
Several vials and small bottles spilled across his desk, glittering like
emeralds. His heart sang at the
sight. Then he gathered them greedily,
tucking them away in secure locations.
Once this was done he sat in his chair, got out his syringe, and stabbed
the needle into the rubbery cap of the green bottle measuring out one of the
remaining two doses.
He stuck
his arm, injecting the Bonus, and quivered as it raced through him. He lost track of his body feeling instead
like a jellyfish electrified by its own stinging tendrils. Spasms tossed him about like eddies in a tide
pool. When it was over he collapsed in
his ergonomic office chair, arms spread wide, neck practically pouring over the
back of the seat.
The office
door clicked open and he sat up with a start.
“Oh. So
sorry, Mr. Jackson. Just here for the
trash,” said a vague blur of a man standing in the doorway. “I can come back later.”
“No. No, Uh…”
“Hector.”
“Hector. Yes.
That’s probably right,” said Corporate Man slowly regaining focus. “Been a long week. Just catching a little cat nap.”
“I
understand, Mr. Jackson,” Hector said, approaching the desk. “You work so hard and it’s Friday. Time to relax a little.”
“Boy you
said it.”
Hector’s
face came into focus. In the instant
before the chemical-damp cloth clamped over Corporate Man’s nose and mouth, he
thought he recognized that face.
Addendum 23.
There was
something about the Executive Lounge that Corporate Whore found distasteful. Even after the expensive remodel with the
elaborate columns and waterfall walls, an air of judgment still clung to
place. It was like Jack’s ghost hovered
around in here, repulsed by the shady business tactics on display and the
voracious corporate greed that gripped the entirety of Great American Business
Company’s executive team.
The
Waterfall Walls were her idea, parenthetically.
Dual paned, tempered glass, with rivulets of a slightly azure water
endlessly cascading down from the ceiling to the floor. She’d argued for drainage leading to the sewer,
but lost that fight to the recycler-pump pussies. True, the amount they saved on water had a
slight effect on her bonus, but she still felt that the added expense was
worthwhile. Perhaps that Jack-specter
wouldn’t have lingered in a space so blatantly wasteful.
“Is that
you, Whore?” one of the man-zecutives asked from the other side of the
water-blurred glass. They knew she
despised the truncation of her name. She
thought she’d trained them better than that.
Perhaps this one was new. Or
maybe someone felt the need to be made an example of.
“So, what
do you think?” she asked the room as she stepped into the lounge area. There was Mr. Truncator, in the love seat. Young and smug, obviously
overcompensating. “Has the subtle blue
lost its appeal?”
Conversations
in the room halted. The young one looked
around, trying to mask that jittery electric feeling that just lit up his
nerves. When no one spoke up, she
continued, “I think we need a change.
Something to invigorate us.
Something a bit more vivid.”
She slid
between couches and excessively comfortable chairs, oozing indirectly toward the
love seat, toward the young one.
“Perhaps a
shade of sapphire?” one of the older executives suggested.
“That would
be pretty,” she said, settling into the love seat. “Though I was hoping something more symbolic. Something to better illustrate the cutthroat
nature of the business world.”
Somewhere
between the words cut and throat, a literal example of their combination
occurred as Corporate Whore flicked her diamond card beneath the young one’s
chin. A spray of arterial red fanned
across a waterfall wall and ran in red rivulets down the smooth glass.
“Hmm. That does look nice, don’t you think?”
Corporate Whore asked, her gaze fixed ponderously on the dribbling fluid. The young one spasmed on the love seat, waves
of scarlet draining over his expensive suit, mimicking the waterfall walls
quite nicely.
“I think
you may be on to something,” the older executive said, sipping a something dark
and long legged from a brand snifter.
“Though, honestly, I come here for the tranquility. In the board room, perhaps?”
“I think
you’re right,” Corporate Whore said, turning away from the spattered glass
wall. A low gurgle rattled around in the
young one’s throat. All those present
associated the sound with the bonus increase that Corporate Whore had just
netted them. The young one’s portion would be divided amongst them.
Not equally, of course, but it
would be divvied.
“So…” said another executive. “Las Vegas .”
“That’s what they tell me,” the
older executive said.
Corporate Whore had no idea what
they were talking about. Perhaps she’d
missed a memorandum. She hated be
uninformed. Still, she was not shy about
asking the ignorant question. Better
than cowering under the pretense of foreknowledge.
“I’ve been away from my desk,” she
said. “Bring me up to speed on this Las Vegas
situation.” How about that? Not even a question. More like a requisition.
“A retreat,” the older executive
said.
Corporate Whore said nothing. He was obviously fishing for a question about
the nature of the retreat. After her
power play requisition, she was not going to lower herself to subordinate
inquiries.
“Go on,” she said and thought she
detected a slight grimace on the older executive’s face. Nothing overt, just hint about the eyes and
the corners of his sagging mouth.
Another executive chimed in, “It’s
basically a full blown party weekend, plenty of Bonus to keep us lit for a
week, but it’s being organized as a memorial to Jack. Honoring his legacy and such.”
Who organized it, she
wondered. One of these twerpy
suits? Shareholders? She shivered at the thought.
“We’ll also be singling out your
new recruit,” the older executive said.
“Donald Jackson was a real find.
I take it he’s one of us now.”
Corporate Whore nodded, “Hooked and
fully on board.”
“The numbers do attest for his
endorsement of the bonus structure.”
“And the two sick days should illustrate
his chemical initiation.”
“True.”
“We heard he was quite upset.”
“That Pink Slip intervened.”
“What would you expect from a
strong minded business man?” she said.
“Well, if he’s not one hundred
percent convinced yet, he will be after Las Vegas .”
Addendum 24.
There was
nothing left except for the dry heaves.
Corporate
Man was chained to a toilet, which was good in one respect since he’d spent
most of his conscious hours puking into it.
Unfortunately, his captor had not left sufficient slack in the chain
which would have allowed him to assume a seated position and account for the
ample losses he was enduring on the other end.
This bathroom was not equipped with a tub, but the shower stall was
close enough that he could maneuver his lower half inside. The idea was to make use of the drain. This was only partially effective since he
couldn’t reach the fixtures and turn the water on.
And now,
dry heaves. At least three hours of
them. It was almost as though his body
would not desist until it managed to turn him inside out.
“Knock,
knock,” a voice chimed in unison with a cheerful rap on the door. There was no pause for reply. The door opened. “You hungry?”
Corporate
Man responded with more dry heaves.
“Didn’t think
so. You think we can get some water in
you?”
Corporate
Man gingerly shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“Stinks
pretty bad in here,” the voice said.
“How about I rinse out the shower?”
More dry
heaves. These lasted through the entire
rinsing process.
“Who…”
Corporate Man tried when the retching subsided.
“I’m a
friend,” the man said.
Corporate
Man shook the chain. It rattled loudly
against the porcelain and he thought his head might explode.
“That was
for your own good. They’ve got you on
some serious junk. This seemed like the
only way to ensure–”
Another
bout of serious gagging interrupted this last bit. When it passed the man squatted down and put
his hand on Corporate Man’s shoulder.
“It’s almost over. You’ve been
here since Friday night. Tomorrow’s
Monday. But I don’t think you’ll be
ready to go in to work.”
Corporate
Man’s eyes finally focused on the man’s face.
The custodian. What was his
name? Hector? But no, this man was no custodian. He was something more, something far
more. And Corporate Man recognized that
face. It was quite familiar. Through cracked lips and with a dry tongue he
spoke the name associated with that face.
“Junior.”
Las
Vegas .
Addendum 25.
He was not at
his desk. This was an outrage. An outrage!
Corporate
Whore slammed her office door. She
wanted to break something. Where was
he? Could he have used the weekend to
kick the Bonus? Impossible. She glared at the bare walls. She needed some artwork in here. Something that would shatter into thousands
of satisfying pieces.
She dialed
Donald Jackson’s home number again. It
rang and rang and rang. She slammed the
phone back in the cradle. That felt
good. Perhaps she’d call him again in a
minute or so to give her an excuse to repeat the exercise. She picked up the phone and hammered it
against the desk a few times, to hell with the pretense, and then returned it
to the cradle in the same cathartic method as before.
She took a
deep breath, checked her hair in a pocket mirror, and then pressed the special
button on her phone. The one that
blinked with powerful pink light.
The door at
the back of the office whispered open casting a rosy glow into the room. Corporate Whore did not bother to look
back. She said, “Can you track him
down?”
“Of course,”
Pink Slip said.
“Do it.”
“Am I
bringing him back?”
Corporate
Whore hesitated for a moment. She bit
her lip and then said, “Yes.”
“All of
him?”
This
brought a hint of a smile to Corporate Whore’s lips, and diamonds twinkled in
her eyes. Then the smile slipped from
her face and the light ceased its iris dance.
Corporate Whore said nothing for a long while. Then, ever so slightly, she nodded.
Seconds
later she turned to make sure her affirmation was understood.
Pink Slip
was already gone.
Addendum 26.
Junior
Executive removed the chains from the toilet late Sunday evening. He managed to get some water into Corporate
Man and in the early hours of Monday morning a few crackers went in and stayed down.
Corporate
Man slept on the bed, all but dead to the world. Junior Executive shackled Corporate Man’s
foot to the bed, just to be sure, though he really doubted that his mentor would
be waking up any time soon.
At some
point, before the sun came up, Junior Executive fell asleep on the couch.
The thing
that brought him out of his dreams of financial uncertainty was barely
perceptible. It was like a whisper of
silence cutting though the soft, ever present, background noise. His eyes flicked opened. A second sound cue, something not quite a
whistle and little more than a sigh, triggered a reflex reaction that ejected him
from the couch. The final thudding noise
that followed was the result of a black throwing axe lodging into the wooden
frame of the couch, precisely where Junior’s blissful, sleeping face had been
only seconds before.
Pink Slip
stood in front of the bedroom’s open door.
A second black axe gripped in her left hand. Was she coming from Corporate Man’s
room? Had she just killed him? There was no blood on the axe she was holding. But the axe sticking out of the couch
cushions could’ve been used to do the job.
“Hmmmm,”
she purred. “You move well.”
Junior
Executive did not acknowledge the compliment.
“Too bad
I’m on the job or I’d make time to play with you.”
There was
no hint in her body language that the assault was coming. No twitch in her fingers or flare of her
eyes. And when she moved there wasn’t
even a noticeable weight shift in her musculature. She’d covered half the distance between them,
which wasn’t much to begin with, before his brain even registered the
change. And the axe no longer dangled at
her thigh. It sliced down at his face.
Junior
Executive flinched away and thrust his arms up defensively. The axe struck his forearm. The force of the blow slammed his wrist into his
face. Blood sprayed from his nose and
stars burst in his eyes. There was no
blood where the axe had struck. No
chunking sound as blade buried into bone.
Instead there was a metallic clang.
Pink Slip
did not seem to notice. She was already
three moves ahead in her mind. While her
left hand dealt damage to Junior Executive’s arm and face, her right hand
snagged the handle of the axe imbedded in the couch. As the left-hand-wielded blade rebounded off
the defensive forearm with the incongruous metallic clang, the right hand swung
the recently retrieved couch-stuck axe into Junior Executive’s upper ribs.
The sound
this time was hollow and thudding.
Pink Slip’s
lips curled like spooning lovers. And
that’s when the metallic clang registered and her eyes shifted to Junior
Executives forearm. Most of the shirt
fabric of his custodial uniform was shredded from wrist to elbow. The protective gauntlet underneath was almost
fully uncovered. Her eyes had only
strayed for a moment, but before they could flick back to her opponent’s face,
his forehead slammed into the bridge of her nose. As she stumbled back his wrist gauntlets
smashed together, her ears and temples caught in between. Something rammed into her stomach and another
something hammered into back, just below her neck.
If there
were subsequent blows, Pink Slip was far too unconscious to feel them.
Junior
Executive yanked the axe from his side.
For a moment he considered dropping it to the floor. He also considered returning it to its owner
in a very direct manner. Finally, he
settled on holding it at the ready as he unzipped his uniform down past his
stomach and pulled something from an inside pocket.
It was a
small book, nearly cleaved in two. On
the cover were the words:
THE UNION
BYLAWS
Below this
was a rounded graphic that incorporated the scales of justice, a briefcase,
dollar signs, percentage symbols and the words:
International
Association of Economic Superheroes.
Addendum 27.
Corporate
Man’s mouth felt and tasted like it was full of copy machine toner. Every part of his body ached. If someone told him that he’d been up all
night using dirty dollar bills to paper-cut his own eyes, he would have
believed them. And there was something
so wrong with ass that his mind simply would not permit it much attention.
Someone
groaned. The sound was like a vibrating pager
on a conference table. After a few
moments he realized that the sound was coming from his own throat. He stopped groaning because it hurt to groan.
“Don’t try
to move too much,” Junior Executive whispered.
“I’m going to put a straw to your lips.
Take small sips. Then go back to
sleep.”
“Groan-ah-roan-a-rah.”
“We’ll talk
later. It’s early evening. Monday.
When you wake again we’ll get you showered and fed. Then I’ll fill you in on the details. Pink Slip’s in custody. Business Woman stopped by with a small
committee and took charge.”
“Brah-roan-roan?”
“She had to
fly back out. Said for me to tell you
she’s sorry she couldn’t stay, but things are about to split on this case she’s
working. I’ve put together a plan on the
Corporate Whore thing, but I’d like your input.
Anyway, sleep for now. You need
to regain your strength.”
Corporate
Man, never having opened his eyes, needed to carry out no further action in
order to slip back into unconsciousness.
Addendum 28.
Thursday evening.
Corporate
Whore paced her hotel suite. Her hand
was powdered white and her pupils danced around in a manner which they were not
biologically intended to. Her heart
rate, if she could be bothered to check such a thing, was dangerously
high. If not for the euphoria dazzling
every circuit in her brain she might be uncontrollably homicidal.
Pink Slip
had not only failed to bring her Donald Jackson, but she hadn’t reported back
at all. She’d disappeared. Unprecedented! Unfathomable!
And lots of other exclamatory un-words her brain might be able to
produce were it not so amped up on Bonus.
The
weekend’s festivities were scheduled to begin in a few hours. Executive weekends often began on Thursdays
and ended late on Monday night. The
board would expect Donald Jackson. The Shareholders
too.
There was a
soft knock at the door.
Good. That would be room service with her
breakables. She’d ordered several
bottles of champagne and dozens of glasses.
If that did not sate her urges she would ask for plates.
Addendum 29.
A cheer
rose up, spreading across the floor of the casino. Jack had arrived. Good ole Jack. Everyone loved Jack. He was scheduled to make a speech in ten
minutes. It would take him twenty-five
just to reach the podium with all the handshaking and pleasantries and easy
conversation.
Jack knew everyone and everyone
knew Jack.
As he mounted the steps to the
little stage he waved and pointed and smiled.
Lights from slot machines twinkled off his thick silver hair and danced
in his warm, caring eyes.
He had to ask for silence several
times before the attendees gave it to him.
“Wow. That… That was an amazing reception. Does Great American Business Company have the
best people or what?”
A roar of
applause.
“I see some
new faces out there. New faces in some
very nice suits. Well, welcome to
family. Just remember that this is a
family. We look out for each other. That’s why we’re successful. Individuals don’t make a company great. It’s cooperative effort. Everyone working toward a common goal. All of us helping each other succeed.”
Jack paused
again and let the fervent cheers settle.
“They tell
me that this party is in honor of me and my so called legacy. I’m not really comfortable with that so let’s
use this opportunity to honor everyone who has ever contributed to our growth
and our accomplishments.”
Everyone loudly honored themselves.
“I know I’m technically retired,
but I’m always glad to lend a hand.
Don’t hesitate to call upon me if there is something I can help
with. And that brings us to another
bullet point. They’ve tasked me with the
privilege of introducing one of our newest employees. A real find I’m told. A wise investment for our company’s
future. Donald Jackson. Don, would you please come up here and join
me on stage?”
The crowd clapped and
whistled. Slowly this clamor gave off to
an uncomfortable silence. Corporate
Whore strode up to the microphone.
Everyone shifted awkwardly, wondering why anyone would fail to come to
Jack’s call.
“I apologize,” said Corporate
Whore. “It’s seems as though our–”
“There he
is!” someone shouted.
A spotlight
shifted away from the stage and scanned about until it secured the person in
question. Donald Jackson lifted his hand
as if to wave. He shrugged as he walked
toward the stage then he shook Jack’s hand and went to the microphone.
A glare, so
intense and so full of rage, threatened to spontaneous combust Corporate
Whore’s eyeballs. The heat that might
have resulted from such an ignition would’ve been on par with an especially
malevolent laser, one that could easily reduce Donald Jackson to an
embarrassing briquette.
“Sorry, I
missed the cue, Jack. I was in the
middle of some lucrative negotiations,” Donald Jackson said. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t be working right
now. I promise I’ll delay any further
deals until Monday. I’m just so excited
to be a part of this company, so eager to further its growth.”
A chorus of
cheers filled the room.
“I won’t
keep you from your revelry, but before we dive into the festivities, let’s
remember why we’re all here. Jack. An individual might not be responsible for a
company’s success, but one man, this man, set the course. One man, this man, was resolute that a
business where the entire group works together to ensure the achievements of
all, is a healthy, profitable business.
One man, this man, took the time to get to know everyone here, and to
care about all of us. Like a family.”
It was
uncertain whether Donald Jackson, Corporate Man, would be able to quiet the
crowd after that. He never really
did. Instead, the decibels came down to
a level where his shout of, “Let the celebration commence!” could be heard over
the din.
The executives,
managers, and supervisors broke like a stormy sea onto the blackjack tables and
the slot machines. In the tumult,
Corporate Whore gripped Donald Jackson’s arm and hissed, “For now, I don’t care
where you’ve been. We’ll sort that out
later. Right now, you are accompanying
me to a conference room for a little meeting with the board of directors and
the upper executives.”
She flashed
a liquid smile at Jack and said, “We’ll be back momentarily, Jack. Just a couple of last minutes to sort out
before we can indulge.”
Addendum 30.
A white
powder, tinted a slight shade of dirty, desirous green, disappeared up the nose
of man in a suit so expensive that its cost would easily match the monthly
income of all of the man’s subordinates.
“Tear it
up!” another similarly dressed man shouted.
A roar of approval from all the other well-attired executives filled the
room. One woman slid a needle into her arm
and injected a heavy dose of Bonus. She
slumped in her chair and shuddered; bass-heavy trance music pulsed from
top-of-the-line speakers. Two men were
dancing on the conference table in front of her. One could not perceive the room and thought
he was dancing in a shower of gold. The
second man was grinding on the first man’s leg in a way that was a little bit
professional stripper, and a whole lot labrador retriever.
There were stacks of cash everywhere, golden
plates piled with powder, and ampoules of Bonus filled Dublin Crystal buckets.
No one
heard the metallic click as a key unlocked the door, but when it opened they
all turned to holler a greeting to Corporate Whore and her new recruit, Donald
Jackson.
It took a
few moments for those in the room to realize that two men had walked in. The less inebriated were shocked to see that
one of these men was Jack. That he was among
them, strolling around, and all this Bonus was lying out. The others giggled and thought it was extremely
cool of Hallucination Jack to join the party.
He really was the best, wasn’t he?
Jack shook
his head.
Half the
party trembled. The others thought that
cool guy Jack was doing some sort of dance.
Jack turned
and said, “Lock the door.”
The man
that had come in with Jack did as he was asked.
“Good idea,
Jack,” one of the overly inebriated men said.
“Keep out all the riff-raff. So
they can’t get to our Bonus.”
“Everyone,
please take a seat,” Jack said.
Those
furthest from sobriety eagerly sat. Not
all of these individuals believed that Jack was going to show them a really
trippy video, but a majority of them did.
Those who had yet to overindulge, and those already settling back into
normal mind space, took their seats in terror.
“Thank you.
I hope you don’t mind this little interruption, but I felt that an intercession
was vital to the company’s future. This is my new associate,” Jack said,
gesturing toward the man he’d come in with.
“He’s called Junior Executive.”
Junior
Executive nodded toward the conference table.
“Hey! That was my promotion! Did you hire outside the company?” a twitchy
executive said. Jack ignored him and
seconds later the twitchy man was distracted by his own fingers.
“Junior
helped me set this up,” Jack continued.
“The special chairs…” Restraints snapped into place on the armrests of
all the chairs, locking the executives to their seats. “The reinforced doors and windows that will
prevent your escape. The cameras, hidden
in the walls to document everything that goes on in this room for the next
several days.”
Shrieks
escaped the throats of those sober enough to comprehend Jack’s words. Those who remained silent wondered when Jack
was gonna start the movie already.
“You can’t
do this!” a suit shouted.
“Why not?”
“It’s… It’s
illegal.”
Other suits
backed up the first. “Yeah. Against the law, Jack.”
“And
unfair!”
Jack
shrugged and said, “Should the authorities visit this room, whom do you think
they’d accuse of wrong doing?”
“We did
nothing wrong.”
“Really? All these drugs, all this cash?”
“All we did
was make money,” one of them said.
“Yeah,” chimed
another. “Like good Americans.”
“You made
money by exploiting your subordinates,” Junior Executive said.
“That’s
what bosses do. They leverage those
beneath them for financial gain.”
“No,” said
Jack. “That’s what short sighted money grubbers do. Any manager or executive worth anything takes
care of his or her workers. Treats them
well, helps them succeed. Those workers
will come to the job motivated. You
idiots are asking them to do extra work with no additional compensation.”
“You make
their work-lives worse,” said Junior Executive.
“Who would possibly be motivated to work harder if the only reward was
more work? Upper management reaps the
benefits of the extra effort in the form of big fat bonuses. Only you bonus junkies could possibly believe
that anyone would want to work harder so you could accumulate more.”
“That’s
just what happens when companies get big,” one of them said.
Jack shook
his head, “No. It happens because shitbags like you get greedy.”
“Hey, if it’s
possible, then you should do it. Nothing
wrong with making big money.”
“You’re
almost right,” said Jack. “I’m a very
wealthy man. I made, and still make, an
obscene amount of money. But I don’t
have to be subhuman to do it. There’s a
point where you do not need any more money.
And far beyond that is a point where it’s simply monstrous to continue
to horde wealth while others are scraping by.
While people are sick, and starving, and dying.”
“It’s not
our fault that some people choose to be poor.”
“Choose?”
Junior Executive said. “You think they
chose to have people like you steal money from them? For big businesses to buy politicians and get
laws passed that further benefit the wealthy?”
“Not my
fault if they aren’t smart enough to earn money. That they keep popping out kids and smoking
crack.”
Jack
smiled. “You think it’s easy to just
pull yourself out of squalor? Simply get
yourself educated when you come from nothing?
To kick a habit and rebuild your life without anyone to help you?”
Up until
the final sentence, the seated executives were nodding their heads. But this last question rang a little
differently in their ears. Perhaps it
was the piles of highly addictive powder, or the ampoules of habit forming
narcotics, or that earlier mention of cameras in the walls. Whatever it was, things began to click into
place for most of the men and women strapped to the chairs.
Jack nodded
at Junior Executive. Junior walked to
the door, unlocked it, and held it open.
“There’s a
sink in here,” said Jack. “So you won’t
die of dehydration. Unfortunately I can
make no assurances, especially with a crop of individuals such as yourselves,
that you will all survive what is to come.
For those of you who do make it through, you will have a chance to
rebuild your lives. You will be given
new identities. Criminal backgrounds,
low credit scores, poor work histories. Then
you’ll see how easy it is to make something of yourself when the cards are
stacked against you.”
Jack turned
and walked out of the room. Junior
Executive followed.
All exits
were then barricaded and the restraints on the chairs released.
It took
some time for the howling to begin.
It took
even longer for it to stop.
Addendum 31.
“This is
the wrong floor,” Corporate Whore said when the elevator door opened.
Corporate
Man stepped out and said, “No. I think
this is right.”
“How would
you know? You don’t even know where I’m
taking you.” She reached for his arm and
tried to pull him back to the elevator.
He took another step back and said,
“I’m pretty sure I want nothing to do with that conference of yours.”
“How did you…” she trailed off into
silence. Then her jaw flexed and a blast
of air rushed from her nose like a bull.
She stepped into the corridor.
The elevator door eventually slid shut behind her. “I take it we’re not here to discuss the
bonus structure.”
“That would be accurate.”
“And I assume that I am being
forced to move to Plan B. To activate my
contingencies.”
“I’d find it completely acceptable
if you didn’t.”
“I also assume that you are not who
you say you are.”
“Correct.”
“And who are you?”
“I’m Corporate Man,” he said, and
slid on a pair of thick, black frame glasses.
“Oh,” she said, almost taken aback.
“What?”
“No. It’s nothing.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s just… Corporate Man, Corporate
Whore. A coincidence is all. I wasn’t copying you or–”
She slashed out with her diamond
card. Corporate Man flinched back. A white line gouged across the lens of his glasses
and he stumbled against an inconvenient potted plant.
Corporate Whore sprinted down the
hall. She reached into her purse and
pulled out a gray, bulky device with a blackish stick, the width of a pencil,
jutting from one end. She pressed
numeric keys along the length of the portable phone as she sped around the corner.
Corporate Man chased after
her. He could hear her screaming
something into the phone but couldn’t make out all the words. He was fairly certain that one of the words
was contingency. When he rounded the
corner Corporate Whore was halfway down a long corridor. He ran faster. His red tie flapped over his shoulder and
billowed like a triumphant banner.
Addendum 32
Corporate
Whore entered a large auditorium. She
hated plays. She had to find a way out
of this monument to artistry. She hated
music. She ran down the center aisle
toward the stage. She hated debate
teams. When she reached the stage she
jump-rolled up onto it and sped toward a door just behind the curtain on
left. She hated stage-left.
Corporate
Man dropped down from above, red tie flittering over his shoulder. She’d like to choke him with that tie. Unfortunately his outstretched arm was balled
into a fist and that fist was introducing itself to her face in a most impolite
manner.
Corporate Whore’s feet betrayed her
next by going out from under her at a very inopportune moment. When she hit the stage all of her air abandoned
her lungs. Her hands slapped the floor
and her diamond card deserted her like a skittering little bitch of a thing.
These treacheries enflamed her anger to a white hot peak and she sprang to her
feet and was lunging at Corporate Man’s throat before she’d even managed a gasp
for breath.
Her thumbs squeezed his stupid
man-apple and her fingers clawed his neck-flesh. She opened her mouth to scream a scathing
disparagement. “Gwaaahhh!” is all she
managed as she sucked involuntarily for air.
This biological need caught her off guard and her grip around Corporate
Man’s throat slackened. He pivoted,
grabbed her wrists, and flung her away.
It was a prosperous turn. He’d flung her directly towards the stairs
she’d been running toward. She let the
momentum carry her through the door and up the first few steps before she really
poured it on, fully committing to the climb.
Addendum 33.
Corporate
Man slowed as he near the top of the stairs.
There was a door up there. A sign
proclaimed that it lead to the roof.
Corporate Man sighed. The problem
with the top was that there was only ever one direction to go once you’d made
it there. He did not foresee a pleasant
ending to this business.
He opened
the door.
Corporate
Lackeys, mindless human drones in cheap suits, grabbed his arms and yanked him
through the door. They flung him across
the roof to another pair of Lackeys.
These had their hands locked together and were attempting a clothesline
maneuver that was ridiculously avoidable when telegraphed in a two man
team. Corporate Man slid beneath the
attack, grabbed hold of his bumbling attacker’s forearms, and used them as a
makeshift parallel bar to reverse his direction.
The effects
of this tactic were unorthodox, but ultimately successful. Corporate Man cast himself up and over the
clothesliners, heading feet first into the original two Lackeys. The clothesliners were pulled together with
tremendous force and slammed face first into each other. The result was four unconscious Lackeys.
Corporate
Man kept his footing and strode forward as the four settled to the ground in a
chorus of “oof”s.
“You truly are everything they say
you are, Corporate Man. ”
Corporate Whore stood against the
edge at the far side of the roof, brushing her hands together.
“I figured it out, you know?” she
said. “When you failed to show up for
work, and Pink Slip disappeared, I retraced the events that led up to your
employment. It was Tess.”
Corporate Man continued to advance
toward her, saying nothing.
“She recruited you in an effort to
take me down.” said Corporate Whore.
“She was my Plan B.
Unfortunately, you can’t count on Corporate Lackeys to do a job right.”
Corporate man paused. “What are you talking about?”
Corporate Whore shrugged and
grinned, as though what she were about to tell him was just the darndest thing.
“I ordered them to bring Miss Adams up here, tie her up with some rope, and
hang her over the side of the building.
I wanted to use her as leverage against you. A sort of ‘back off or I drop her’ kind of
arrangement.”
Corporate Whore shrugged again but
did not continue.
“And?” asked Corporate
Man.
“They hung her. She’s dead.
On top of that they fastened her to the building with some sort of slip
knot and she dropped to the pavement when I tried to pull her up. She’s down on the street right now. Causing a big fuss it seems.”
He wanted to scream but would not
give her the satisfaction. Then he screamed anyway and ran at her. He covered the distance moments, shoved
Corporate Whore aside, and peered over the edge.
On the street, thirty stories
below, a crowd gathered around something.
He couldn’t see the body, but there was a lot of blood. He screamed again and turned toward Corporate
Whore, intent on killing her. She was
quicker at implementing her plan and slammed into him from behind yelling,
“Bypassing Plan C. This is Plan D.”
Corporate pitched over the side of
the building and plummeted toward the pavement.
Addendum 34.
Corporate
Whore ran toward the stairwell. Her
Lackeys were writhing on the ground and still nowhere near upright. Her blood was sour, diminishing the thrill of
killing Corporate Man. She needed to get to the conference room. To the piles of Bonus stashed there.
Corporate
Man dropped down from above, red tie fluttering over his shoulder.
He kicked
her. Hard. A few ribs splintered.
Corporate
Whore flew back, rolled across the rooftop, and sprang forward before Corporate
Man could register that she’d regained her feet. Her attack was wild though, undirected, and
he sidestepped easily. As she rushed
past him he slammed his hand down between her shoulder blades and she hit the
gravely surface in a vicious, skidding belly flop.
All the air
went out of her and something horrible happened in the area of her fractured
ribs.
Corporate
Man grabbed her wrist and picked her up.
It was slick with chemical sweat and he nearly lost his grip.
“I should
kill you,” he said. “But I wouldn’t want
you to miss out on your big withdrawal.”
This put
some fight back into her and she twisted and scratched, trying to free herself
from his grip. Her glance flicked toward
the stairwell door.
“It’s all
you can think about, isn’t it? Your
bonus?” Corporate Man said. He shook his
head and wrenched Corporate Whore’s arm behind her back. “A short term gain at the expense of decent,
hardworking employees. You not only
sully your name, but that of your company.
Employees resent you and clients eventually abandon you over
inconsistencies and downright service failures.
And for what? Nothing. You really are nothing but a junkie whore.”
Corporate
Whore snarled and spit blood. A gurgling
ripped through her midsection and she howled.
The sound was cut off by a horrible retching vomit that stank like a
portable toilet and sprayed like a pressure hose.
“There goes
your dignity,” Corporate Man said. “What
are you left with now?”
Corporate
Whore sucked in a few hoarse breaths and wheezed something inaudible.
“What was
that?” asked Corporate Man.
“Plan E.”
There was a
loud popping sound behind Corporate Man. He jerked his head around in time to see what
looked like four gleaming red serpents twisting across the rooftop. It took a moment for his mind to grasp what
his eyes were actually witnessing.
Explosive devices had detonated inside the Corporate Lackeys ejecting
their skulls in four separate squirming directions, blood geysers chasing
ping-ponging heads.
Only one of
these heads traveled in a direction that was vaguely towards Corporate Man, but
the distraction was enough for Corporate Whore to make her move. She stomped down on his foot and then threw her
head back, catching Corporate Man’s chin as he bent forward. She spun around and tried to knee him in the
groin, but he was stumbling backward and her blow glanced off his inner thigh.
She raced
toward the stairwell door and yelled, “I’ve got plans within plans, Corporate
Man! Deathtraps everywhere! I take no chances.”
She flung it open and raced
inside. Corporate Man chased after her,
fighting through the pain that flared with every footfall of his left leg. He hesitated at the door, poking his head inside
and then yanking it right back out, just in case she was there. She was not.
She was at the elevator door at the end of the corridor. And it was opening.
“Stop!” Corporate Man yelled and he
charged toward her.
Corporate Whore spun around, eyes
wild, vomit trailing down her chin and chest.
She smirked, tossed a mock salute in Corporate Man’s direction, then backed
into the elevator.
And disappeared.
The scream, when it came, was
delayed, and then truncated by a deep, meaty thud. There was a quiet moment; a
heartbeat or more. Then the elevator
doors whispered closed.
Corporate Man stood frozen in the
hallway, his face betraying the overwhelming confusion he felt. He walked up to the elevator doors, pressed
the down button, and the doors slid open.
There was no car waiting inside, just an open chute, with some greasy
cables trailing down into blackness.
On the wall across from him, spray
painted in that ever familiar shade of green, were the words: Plan C.
Addendum 35
“You sure
you’re going to be okay,” said Business Woman.
Corporate
Man nodded and took a deep breath.
The two of
them stood at the back of a large gathering of black clad mourners. Jack stood next to a simple casket and was
finishing up the eulogy for Tess Adams.
The sun was out and the surrounding grounds were full of green. A far more wholesome green than Corporate Man
was used to seeing.
“I’m sorry
I couldn’t be there to help you,” Business Woman said. “There are some international entities
forming that are cause for fiscal concern.
I... I should have made time.”
“Oh, don’t
do that, Tanya. None of us could have
known.”
Business
Woman nodded then looked away.
“…have
purchased the land adjacent to our home office and will build a park upon the
site,” Jack was saying, “The Tess Adams Memorial Park. It will serve as playground to our daycare
facilities and be the future site of the annual company picnic, which will be
reinstated to its former glory. We will
also gather there…”
Business
Woman turned back to Corporate Man and asked. “So what happened to all those
executives locked in that conference room?”
“Not
sure. Junior won’t tell me. He admits that not all of them survived and
he assures me that none of them will be a problem in the future. Apparently,
the video tapes are really horrifying.”
“And
Corporate Whore? What happened there?”
Corporate
Man sighed and said, “What always happens with these money hungry types that
plot and scheme for dirty dollars instead of working for the benefit of the
team. She lost track of all her plots
and plans and became a victim to her own machinations.”
They stood
in silence for a moment and then Business Woman said, “Do you think we’ll see
more like her?”
“I’m not
sure. I hope not. Could you imagine what the world would be
like if the market was overrun with bonus junkies and corporate whores?”
THE END