Chapter 92

3.b.vi

A red light blinked on the vibrating mobile device attached to his hip.  He knew without looking, that the Big Bossman was summoning.  After enjoying the motion of the device for a few heartbeats he turned it off and went about his business.

Currently, he was in a sweatshop, but not one on foreign soil.  There were many like it all across the country, taking advantage of a willing, immigrant workforce.  No one seemed to care about the working condition of these “illegals.”  In fact, the “Made in the USA” brand which adorned the products they slaved over, was seen as something of renown; a great good.

And should his workforce be discovered by some pious organization or individual, little protest will be made of the substandard working conditions of his employees, so great will the uproar be over their non-citizen status.

In the old days he was a strong presence in the business community.  Out in the open and even lauded.  Recently, with all the outcry for human rights in this nation, his persona found the underground better suited to his business.

They called him Apathy.  Able to exploit employees caring not for their health or insignificant lives.  He’d been a captain of industry and they’d titled him appropriately.  Captain Apathy.  Though not as outwardly prevalent these days, his method and moniker had become more general, and of higher rank.

Perhaps now, with this summons from the Big Bossman, a man he not only knew quite well but had played a part in his rise to power, Apathy would once more find himself in the public eye.  

Chapter 91

3.b.v.

Tanya sat at the table in the corner of the room designated: The Breakroom.  It had been decades since she’d been inside the secret hideout of Corporate Man.  She’d stayed many nights at The Office during the sixties and seventies and not in the guest room exclusively.

She reminisced on all the wild Christmas parties they’d held in this place and she smiled as she looked across the room to the staircase that climbed to the lookout tower.  John Q Public and some unexpected photocopies crept into her mind.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Corporate Man said as he walked into the room. 

He was in uniform now; collared shirt, black suit jacket, slacks, and expensive, polished shoes.  Around his neck hung his special necktie/cape and concealing his face was a pair of black, thick rimmed glasses.  He also carried a briefcase, essential to any man of business.

“Can’t buy anything with a penny anymore, Jonesy,” she said.

“Ah ah,” he said, “You promised to call me Corporate Man once I was properly attired.”

Tanya looked him up and down and smiled.  He was Corporate Man now, there was no doubt, and she found that the sight of him filled her full of hope and eagerness for enterprise.

“You’re right.  Corporate Man.  So what’s our next move?”

“Well, I though we’d put out a call to all of our old Union allies and then make every attempt to reclaim market share for the good guys.”

Tanya retained her smile though a bleak sadness tugged away inside her.  Not many of their former teammates were in a position to answer the call.  Most were immobilized.  More than a few were dead.

Corporate Man, as if reading this in her face, said, “I know that in my absence there are some positions that have become… vacant.  So I think I’ll endeavor to make a few promotions if I’m able.  In the meantime, you have full reign of The Office.  If you need me, I’ll be in the tower.”

He nodded and then turned to the staircase and went up.

Tanya bit her lip and tapped her foot, the movements rapid and impatient.  She stood and then sat back down with a muttering sigh.  A moment later her fingers were drumming on the table, her head shaking back and forth, trying to rid herself of the idea.  Finally, she let her shoulders slump and stood again.  She walked out into the hallway, turned toward the master bedroom, and walked to the second door on the right.

The Union store room.

She looked herself over, ran her hands over her bust and hips, and took a deep breath before she walked inside. 

Chapter 90

3.b.iv

Should he wear the cape he wondered as he looked himself over in the wardrobe mirror, should he wear a costume at all?  Did anyone wear costumes anymore?

Professor Inflation had been too busy this past decade to consider a change in his attire.  In the seventies he’d worn a stuffy sweater, thick glasses, beard, and corduroy pants.  The palette of which he kept warm and natural.  In the eighties he’d donned a white lab jacket, safety goggles, and a host of neon undershirts.  This failed to portray the sort of professor he was, but it was the eighties and accuracy and depth were not in fashion.  Back in the sixties he’d gotten away with a cape and tight, form fitting clothes.  He had even managed to pull off wearing pinks and purples and mauves. 

Retro was back in wasn’t it?

Perhaps he should break out the cape.  For nearly two decades he’d been in expensive suits.  Wasn’t it time for a change?  Shouldn’t he try to bring some of the flash, some of the fun, back to inflation?

Professor Inflation picked up a white suit jacket and considered a pink undershirt, but just for a moment.  He quickly cast them aside and continued rummaging through his closet for something perfect to wear.

Chapter 89

3.b.iii

It was called The Office and it served as the secret headquarters for Corporate Man, as well as frequent meeting place/weekend getaway of The Union, for a number of decades.   

As previously mentioned, there were four doors off the main hallway, five if you counted the door coming from the entranceway.  All the doors were swing hinge instead of the much desired, and space efficient, pocket doors.  There was a practical reason for this.  An open door provided a simple but effective way to hide a secret access to an escape tunnel and there were two such passageways in The Office.  To the immediate left of the entrance door, obscured dim light, dull wall color, and left inswing was a square panel affixed with magnets for easy entry and speedy replacement.  The other escape tunnel was tucked behind the door leading into the walk in closet off the master suite.

These tunnels were employed on numerous occasions during financial downturns, economic instability, and interoffice romance terminations.

The first door on the right side of the hallway led into a spare room complete with bed, nightstand, and closet for the occasional guest.  A slim door in the far corner accessed the utility room where, among other things, the generator, furnace, and massive computer data bank were housed. 

Door number two in the main hall went into a large storage area of Union supplies.  Spare costumes, gadgets, and various paper products consumed the bulk of the space.

At the very end of the hall was the door to the master suite.  Corporate Man’s bedroom away from home.  His bed and aforementioned walk in closet were to one side and the master bath, complete with deep soaker tub, on the other.

The final door of the main hallway, the one centered along the left hand wall, led to The Breakroom.  A kitchenette sat along the far wall with tables and chairs to one side.  On the other was a spiral staircase a small bathroom with shower stall.  The staircase climbed up to the tower where the telescope and infamous copy machine awaited.  The plumbing in the bathroom suffered terribly during The Elephant’s tenure as did those trying to eat their lunch in the next room.  This begs the question: Why are toilets always installed in spaces adjacent to those designated for employee rest and food consumption?

Chapter 88

3.b.ii

Mr. Jones stood unmoving.  This time, though, he had not slipped into another trance.  Instead, he was both surveying the state and inventory of his secret hideout and basking in a warm nostalgia of fond experiences.

In the small room was a desk console featuring an old computer screen sunken into a slanted panel with dozens of glowing, blinking, or otherwise brightly colored buttons arranged on a vertical strip alongside the monitor.  A round speaker was embedded below, its black metal cover popping upward like a bowl sized tea strainer.

Mr. Jones reached forward, turned a small whirring crank for a few moments to charge the computer battery, and slid open a panel at the bottom of the slanted console revealing an odd keyboard with chunky, tan-colored keys.  He touched the escape button and a loud ratcheting sound purred beneath the contraption.  After a minute or two a blinking green square appeared in the upper left corner of the black screen.

After a brief pause Mr. Jones typed: CLOCK IN

A scroll of green characters, a mix of letters, numbers, and punctuation marks, rolled up the screen.  Then a series of prompts appeared, each displaying a code and a percentage that began with one percent and climbed steadily to one hundred.

Tanya shook her head and muttered, “God, Jonesy, how about an upgrade?”

“Hey, this stuff was state of the art,” he said.

“Yeah, in nineteen-eighty whatever.  That outdated PDA thing you bought is lightyears ahead of this technology.”  She slumped against the wall and then sat on the floor.

Twenty minutes later the computer program was up and running.  Mr. Jones typed c: and pressed enter.  The flashing prompt moved down a couple of lines and resumed blinking at the end of a list of characters.

C:/>

Mr. Jones keyed in opening procedures at the prompt and the screen displayed a few lines of code and another prompt.

C:/OPEN>

He typed d:security and the prompt changed again.

D:/SECURITY>

Then he typed unlock doors.  This sort of computer work went on for a long while with Mr. Jones eventually powering up the generator, turning on the lights, opening the water pipes, testing the plumbing that fed the sink, toilet, and showers, and conducting power to various electrical appliances housed within the secret base.

Tanya was more than forthright with her opinions about his antiquated system during this time.

Mr. Jones ignored the snide remarks, focusing on his keystrokes.  Eventually he opened a small door at the back of the security/entrance room.  It led into a narrow hallway with one door at the far end, another centered on the left, and two more on the right.

“The toilets should be working,” Mr. Jones said as he walked toward the door at the end of the hallway.  Eager to relieve her strained bladder, Tanya jumped up, raced into the hallway, and went to the door on the left.

Chapter 87

3.b.i

He was a small, runty man with a pencil-thin moustache, small bottle-cap glasses, and a very dedicated comb-over.  He walked through the airport with an irritated determination.  It was years since he’d been called back to the States and he wasn’t happy about the urgent summons from the Big Bossman.

What did the USA have to offer?  There was no business here anymore, he’d seen to that.  And what was with that name?  Mr. Outsource?  He hadn’t used that codename since 1990.  He was the Outsourcer now and the Big Bossman knew it.

“Sir, would you please remove your shoes?” a pleasant voice at the security checkpoint asked.

“Not for you or any of the thousands of women I’ve bedded in my time,” he said.

The woman rolled her eyes and stifled a gag and ignored the spreading warmth invading her southern regions.

“I’m sorry.  It’s policy,” she said.

“Well, I’m sorry.  I refuse,” said the Outsourcer.

“I’ll have to alert security,” she said, squeezing her thighs together.

“Go for it,” said the Outsourcer.  “I’ll tell them the same thing.”

The woman pressed an alert button then fanned herself with a clipboard and said, “They’ll be with you shortly.”

The Outsourcer cringed at the use of the word shortly.  Then his eyes narrowed and he asked, “Aren’t you security?”

The woman ignored the question and pretended to sort some papers.  Soon, two large men sporting muscles that strained the stitching of their uniforms approached the Outsourcer.

“You need to remove your shoes.  Sir,” one of them said.

“Not going to happen.  Not for you or any of the thousands of women I’ve bedded in my time,” the Outsourcer repeated.

The two men shook their heads, stifled laughter, and ignored the spreading warmth invading their southern regions.

“You’ll have to come with us then,” they said and each took a hold of one of the Outsourcers wrists as they escorted him to a secure room.

Forty minutes later the door opened and the Outsourcer stumbled out.  His mood had worsened.  Sweat covered his brow and his steadfast comb-over was now a wispy tangle of stray plumage.  His shirt was untucked, his glasses askew, and his shoes were in his hands.

Someone would pay dearly for this.

Chapter 86

3.a.xi

Mr. Jones started from his sleep.  He massaged a knot in his neck that had formed while sleeping upright against the seatbelt in the moving vehicle. 

“We’re about three miles away,” said Tanya from the driver’s seat.

Mr. Jones nodded and tried to shake off the grogginess and the unpleasant after images of the dream; of the memory.  He pulled his PDA from his pocket, accessed the internet, and checked his newly purchased stocks.

“There’s been a two percent growth in my portfolio already,” he said.  Then he clicked a few buttons, bought some more stocks, and put the PDA away.

Tanya pulled the car off the highway and into a scenic turn out.  They were fifteen miles north of the city.  The countryside was rugged and mountainous.  A river cut between the jagged faces and the road mimicked its path, occasionally crossing from one side to the other via bridge.

“I never understood why you kept your hideout way up here,” Tanya said as they got out of the car.  The steady sound of rushing water echoed between the gorge walls.

“Simple.  Why would anyone look for ‘corporate man’ out in the countryside?  They’d expect a downtown office or something.”

“Would’ve been more convenient,” said Tanya.

“Yeah.  I was a little arrogant and over confident about my abilities back then.  I didn’t think my necktie-cape would falter and assumed I could always fly right into town whenever I needed.”

“Sucked against The Crash as I recall.”

“Which you eagerly pointed out to me back then,” Mr. Jones said.  Then his eyes squinted.  “It’s funny you mention him.  I was just dreaming about 1987.”

“Oh god,” Tanya said.

“Yeah I know.  That was a bad one.  When he tore off–”

“No.  My outfit.  Those shoulder pads.”

Mr. Jones smiled and shook his head.  “Did you ever wear anything that wasn’t embarrassing a decade later?”

“I liked my first outfit, back in the forties.  It had a classic, clean look to it. Or maybe I’m just being nostalgic for that era since it was all so new for me.  With so many women entering the workforce because of the war, it was only natural that a counterpart to the great Corporate Man manifest herself.  The early sixties also had some charm to it, fashion wise.”

They made their way down a narrow dirt path that dropped rapidly through the rocky terrain toward the river.  It culminated at a cluster of jagged slabs about thirty feet above the water.  From their they climbed over the sharp stones to some large boulders near the river’s edge.  Beneath an outcropping, visible only when standing a few yards away, was the opening to an abandoned mine shaft.  Six inches of water obscured the floor of the entrance.  In the spring, during heavy run off, it might be completely submerged.

Tanya and Mr. Jones crept into the mine shaft, forced to duck low as it was only four feet in height at its tallest.  Once inside, the shaft rose sharply and climbed into the darkness.  Tanya pulled out her cell phone and used the illuminated display to light the way.

The corridor eventually leveled off and then bored directly into the mountainside.  Wooden support beams jutted into the path at uneven intervals.  After several hundred feet the corridor stopped at a wooden door with wrought iron hinges and plating.  Absent, though, was anything resembling a door knob.

Mr. Jones felt along the wall until his fingers found a slight lip in the stone.  He pushed forward and the rock depressed.  He then slid the false panel to the side revealing a green, spherical button.  The button flared with a brilliant glow as soon as the rock panel locked into an open position.

Mr. Jones pressed the button.

It blinked off and on and then a loud click sounded deep within the granite followed by a steaming hiss.  The stout wooden door fell away and a series of lights sputtered to life inside the doorway revealing a small room within.

Tanya and Mr. Jones went inside.

Chapter 85

3.a.x

Everything looked grainy, like footage from a cheap camcorder in the early days of video technology.  Harsh shadows dominated the urban landscape and there was a squealing hiss and a hollowness to the air.

A huge, hulking form lurched into view, disturbing the static stillness and a barrage of battle sounds erupted like heavy thunder as the hulking form was surrounded by smaller, scuttling forms.  Bursts of light snapped and popped around the large man-shape as a small man wearing olive green and a black beret flung some sort of small objects.

The other scuttling people wore brightly colored costumes though something dulled the hue, like a set of grade-school watercolor paints mixed with dirty black water.

The hulking man thing knocked the scuttling forms away with a sweep of his giant arm.  Then he pounced, clamping a beefy hand around the small olive green man’s chest.  The beast yanked on one of the small man’s arms until the shoulder dislocated.  The small man screamed and the huge behemoth roared and yanked harder, unrooting the small man’s arm, tearing it from the joint.   The hulking form tossed the broken man aside and bludgeoned the other scuttling man-creatures with the dismembered appendage.

A man wearing a fedora and a black domino mask swung down from a fire escape and called out, “Donkey!  Elephant!  Formation six.  Miss Pension get Two Cents out of there, he’s getting pummeled.  Ben, put a tourniquet on Commander Credit’s arm!”

Donkey and The Elephant took up positions on opposite sides of the behemoth as Miss Pension darted into the fray and grabbed Two Cents before he was struck with the bloody arm again.  The Elephant charge the giant man-thing head on while Donkey rushed the thing’s blindspot and kicked.  The Elephant took a couple of rough shots, but Donkey’s kicked succeeded in unbalancing the hulking creature.

“Bull Market, Fair Wage!  Now!” the man in the fedora called out.

Two more scampering brightly clad men rushed in toward the massive man-beast.  Fair Wage swung a hefty plank of wood, connecting squarely on the big thing’s nose as Bull Market punched its midsection. 

At first the hulking brute seemed stunned, but when Fair Wage pressed for another attack the thing struck out at blinding speed, knocked the smaller man to the ground, and stomped on him.  Bull Market doubled over and bellowed.  His blunted teeth cracked and thick hair sprouted through his skin like deadly grass.  Beneath the hulking beast’s foot came the sounds of grinding bones and Fair Wage’s muffled screams.

 “I’ve got him, John,” a voice rang out as Corporate Man jumped down from a building near the man in the fedora.  “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but whenever The Crash is on the scene, my necktie cape seems to malfunction.”

Corporate Man charged forward and slammed into the massive leg of The Crash, toppling the hulking man-form and freeing a very broken Fair Wage.  The Crash rolled up and slammed a giant fist into Corporate Man.

From the fire escape the man in the fedora called out a few more orders and then spoke into a wrist watch, “John Q Public to Business Woman, do you copy?”  Business Woman, where are you?”

“Right here,” a crackling voice came through the right watch.  In the street a woman with bold slacks and noticeable shoulder pads in her dress jacket round house kicked The Crash in the face.  Before he could shrug off the attack, Business Woman dealt another snap kick to its sternum and then to its knee. 

The Crash fell hard.

Miss Pension distributed a flurry of solid punches to the thing’s face and Ben Buck the Dollar Man leapt on top of The Crash and battered its midsection.

“Let’s wrap it up people,” John Q Public said.  “I want a–”

A hairy bear shaped thing slashed Ben Buck’s side open and turned on Miss Pension, snarling and gnashing.  The Crash rolled up onto its feet and grabbed Corporate Man by the necktie.

“What’s going on down there?  Report!” John Q Public shouted. 

“It’s Bull Market,” Business Woman said, rushing to aid Miss Pension.  “I don’t know what happened to him.  I think he’s gone Bear!”

Chapter 84

3.a.ix

He stood in the shadows, his body stoic and rigid, silhouetted against the lights of the city outside the tall triangular window at the end of the expansive room on the top floor of the towering building.  His building.  Dark and ominous.  It wasn’t the tallest of the skyscrapers in the city.  Not officially.  If underground floors were counted, however, it would dwarf all others.

Word of The Greed’s recent encounter with Corporate Man had reached him and, had there been anyone in the room with him at the time, they may have seen a flash of white in the darkness as he smiled.

He moved to a console that jutted from the wall.  It activated in response to his proximity.  All of the buttons and lights and screens glowed a deep, evil red.

It was time.

He fingered a black toggle switch that stood in a red, illuminated circle.  The clacking sound it made was deep and echoed throughout the room.  The amount of money he had paid to get that sound just right was staggering.  Large red letters flashed across a man-sized display screen.

ALERT.  ALERT.  ALERT.

And then smaller letters appeared beneath.

The Crash.  Confirmed.

Mr. Outsource.  Confirmed.

Professor Inflation. Confirmed.

Before long they would all confirm.  He moved away from the console to an imposing, black office-chair.  It looked like some sort gigantic, wicked beetle, mounted not like a hunting trophy, but like an insect specimen skewered on a sharp needle.  He sat, wriggled into the chair’s squishy interior, stroked his luscious moustache, and tugged at the tuft beneath his bottom lip.

The Big Bossman was pleased.

Chapter 83

3.a.viii

Tanya and Mr. Jones were in the checkout lane of the Shepley’s electronics department waiting to buy the toy raygun and PDA that Mr. Jones had selected.  He held the baggy of greed-links up to his face and said, “Well, they’ve stopped twitching.”

Tanya reached up and yanked his hands down, then looked about to see if anyone had seen.

“Dude, did you turd in a bag?” a moppy-haired, never-seen-an-actual-ocean surfer guy said.  He brushed his bleached locks out of his eyes, leaned down, and peered into the bag.  After a moment he said, “Dude.  You did.  Oh man.  Totally sick.  And not sick as in man that’s sick.  Just plain sick. Hey, why carry it around with you?  And why walk around a supermarket with it?  Oh, and dude, seriously, as a side note, based on what I’m scoping in that baggy there, something’s seriously wrong with your bowels bro.”

“Would you like to go ahead of us?” Mr. Jones asked, his gesture indicating that the surfer-man should move forward.

“Awesome,” he said, swaggering toward the awaiting checker.  “I’m haulin’ a couple more things than you, though.  You just got that toy gun, the PDA thing, and your poop bag.  But heck, not gonna be one to look at a gift horse you know.”

The surferish guy began a round of pleasantries with the checker.  Tanya and Mr. Jones shared a look, the silent conversation between them being a shared consensus that, perhaps, The Greed pieces should remain tucked away until they took up residency in the toy gun.

“Seriously,” the pseudo surf boy was saying to the checker.  “Nastiest thing I seen all week.  Check it out when he comes through.  Make you wanna hurl.  But hey, be gentle with him.  Dude’s sick, yo.  Needs to see a butt doctor or something.”

Chapter 82

3.a.vii

The bossman leaned against the pharmacy counter of the Shepley’s department store.  His mood was murky, like the bottom of a lake.

Three ribs.

That shorty shorts pansy had broken three of his ribs and the freak’s flailing elbow had severely blackened one of his eyes.  To add insult to injuries, his car had been stolen while he was getting knocked around inside the Price Killers Wholesale Superstore.  Then he had to walk to the hospital.  This was not only due to lack of car, but with the amount of seriously injured Price Killers patrons the paramedics were hauling off, it would have been a long while before they had room for him.  H then had to take a cab to a different medical facility for a similar reason.

“That’s all?” the bossman asked when the pharmacist handed a small, white paper bag over the counter.  “There should be a big bottle of stern painkillers to go along with whatever antibiotic crap they’re making me take.”

“Nope.  None on this prescription,” the pharmacist said.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“No joke.”

“Is there another order back there for me?”

“Nope.  But the back aisle has some pain relievers.”

“What?  Advil and Tylenol?  I need something hardcore, like Vicodin on steroids.”

“I wouldn’t recommend mixing Vicodin with steroids,” the pharmacist said.

The bossman glared at the pharmacist, grabbed the little baggy of impotent medication, and stormed off.

Chapter 81

3.a.vi

Tanya and Mr. Jones hadn’t had much luck finding a container for The Greed sausages.  They’d tried kitchen storage, automotive, and even gardening.  Still, nothing.  Nothing that seemed suitable anyway.  As they stood in the toy section, however, things began to look up.  Various spaceships, swords, ray guns, and toy cars could easily house the leftovers of The Greed.

Mr. Jones was favoring the ray gun.

Tanya professed her admiration for a pink unicorn.  Mr. Jones suspected her of putting him on, but on the contrary, Tanya really did like the bejeweled unicorn.  Not because she admired its girly qualities, she simply loved the idea of befouling a stereotypical girl’s toy by cramming it full of nasty greed pieces.  She also liked the idea of forcing Mr. Jones to carry around something so pretty and sparkly.

“That’s not the point, Wendel,” a woman’s voice barked from the next aisle.  “The point is that your crew is slow and needs a little incentive.”

“My crew is not slow.  Management is asking the impossible,” Wendel said.

“According to corporate, they are below the per-hour rate on number of cases thrown.”

“Who says?”

“Corporate.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Someone, a panel or a group, from corporate researched it and came up with the figure.”

“Those numbers are either generated from asking an experienced freight worker to throw as fast as he can for fifteen minutes and then averaging his time across eight hours or by measuring a quantity of freight that is extremely easy and quick to throw and calling that the average.”

“So.  What does that matter?  It is still the average that corporate demands.”

There was an audible, exhausted sigh from Wendel before he continued.  “Measuring fifteen minutes of work against eight hours is like apples to oranges.  The human body can’t work at sprint speed for eight hours.  It’s too much to ask.”

“Not according to this paperwork.  And going forward everyone will be wearing one of these during their shift.”

Tanya and Mr. Jones shared a confused but intrigued look and then walked around the corner in time to see the black-haired manager slip a little collar over Wendel’s neck. 

“This has to be illegal,” Wendel said.

“Why?” said the black haired manager as she checked the connections on the collar.  “Everyone has given consent.”

“Yeah.  Cause you said they could wear the collars or find another job.”

“Yes, voluntary.  Like I said.”

“Not by my definition.”

“It’s simple.  I see someone dragging their heals, I zap ‘em.  I see someone chatting up a fellow worker.  Zap.  Checking out a hot piece of tail walking by.  Zap, zap, zap.  Just you watch, our productivity numbers will show positive change.”

Wendel shook his head.  “How about you throw freight tonight and see if you can make those numbers and then we–”

Wendel went stiff; his eyes wide and bottom lip quivering.  The sounds that came out of his throat were chortled and thick.

“Still disagree with me?” the black-haired manager asked.

Wendel shook his head, the gesture over exaggerated to leave no uncertainty in his response. 

“Good,” she said.  “But you and the crew better work while I’m zapping you.  None of this freezing up, like you’re enjoying the pain, crap.”

She walked off, passing by Tanya and Mr. Jones without even noticing them.  When she got to the end of the aisle she triggered the switch again and Wendel, who was standing there doing nothing, went rigid and chortley again.  Then, at a noticeably quickened pace, he resumed his work.

“Are we gonna get her?” Tanya asked.

“No,” said Mr. Jones.

“Oh come on.  She’s gotta be the one making your sausage thing twitch.”

Mr. Jones glared at her and said, “How about we make that the last time you phrase it that way?  And no, not even a shudder.  I think that woman’s just a sadist.  All that performance efficiency crap must be a cover, an excuse to inflict pain.”

“You’re saying she’s probably wearing vinyl panties and has a cat-of-nine-tails in her locker?”

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Mr. Jones said.  “No, someone else is making The Greed remnants jump, but the movements are weakening, now.”

Chapter 80

3.a.v

The tech boy wearing the blazer with the elbow pads held his hand up for silence.  The standard issue tech boys ceased their whooping celebrations and looked to their leader with jubilant faces.

“We’ve come through hell,” said blazered tech boy and a chorus of cheers exploded from the standard techs.  When the commotion settled he continued.

“Never have we faced such a beast as we encountered today.”

More cheers.  This time, blazered tech boy raised his voice to speak over the uproar.  “And never has one of our own confronted such an adversary.  Met it… and triumphed!”

The cheers were deafening.  Standard techs popped cans of soda and dumped them over each other’s heads, slamming the empty cans against the walls and the floors of the break room space.

Blazered tech held his hand aloft and silence, again, gripped the room.  He paused for a long moment and then jerked a pair of black slacks over his head like a barbarian warrior hefting an enemy’s head over a crowd of blood thirsty followers.

The techs screamed and yelled and even managed to break a chair or two.

“Bring forth the conquering hero!” blazered tech boy called out.

A gap split the crowd of frenzied techs and shorty shorts tech boy was brought forward, held aloft by two standard techs.  They set him at the feet of the blazered tech boy who lowered the slacks until they almost touched shorty shorts’s forehead.

The cheers were like thunder.

Chapter 79

3.a.iv

“We should find a… container of some sort.  Something a little stronger maybe.  And more opaque,” Mr. Jones said as they walked through the Shepley’s towards the electronics department.

“And why is that?” Tanya asked.

“Well… The Greed.  He’s twitching.”

“What?”

“Twitching.”

“I heard that part.  I’m not deaf.  What I didn’t understand was your statement.  I thought we already dealt with The Greed,” Tanya said.  She grabbed Mr. Jones by the shoulder, stopped him in the aisle, and took a good look at his face.  His eyes were dancing back and forth.  He was either hiding something or very embarrassed. 

“Out with it,” she said.

“The Greed,” his said, shoulders slumping.  Then he pulled a zippered freezer bag from beneath his shirt and held it in front of him.

Tanya leaned forward to get a closer look.  “What’s that you got – Ah!”  She jumped about four feet. “Is that what I–”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell–”

“Cause, we’ll need it.”

“What for?”

“You’ll see.”

“Nasty.”

“I know.”

“That, right there, is nasty.”

“I know.”

“There’s food in this place.  It’s part of a grocery store.”

“Yeah.  Got it.”

“You sure do.  And the bag you’ve got it in… is clear.”

“Yep.  And it’s twitching.”

Tanya froze.  Her face was almost completely devoid of expression.  Unless of course the expression was meant to convey that she had, in fact, heard the previous statement but was clearly choosing to ignore it and not believe it at the same time.

“Twitching?” she finally said, her teeth never quite unclenching.

“Yeah, I know.  Nasty,” Mr. Jones said, mocking her tone.

“Why?”

“I think it senses someone really greedy in here.”

“Aw god, not this again,” Tanya said, turning away and putting her hands on her hips.

“No, not like that,” said Mr. Jones poking at the sausage-sized slug-lumps in the freezer bag.  “In this de-powered state it only senses those that are truly connected to all of this.”

“All of what?”

“You know, the big guns.  The corporations and the politicos that pull our economic strings.  We can use these pieces to go on the offensive.  To track the bastards down.”

Tanya sighed and shook her head.

“Yeah, okay, whatever.  Just don’t ask me to hold, or touch, or even look at that bag.”

Chapter 78

3.a.iii

The woman with more teeth than the average person woke up in the back of an ambulance.  The handsome EMS man rushed over and examined her vital signs.  She tried to smile at him but her face hurt all over. 

The sensation was more than familiar.

“I collected these for you,” the EMS man said, holding up a baggy of small, white, rock-looking items.  “I thought they were yours but you don’t seem to be missing any teeth.”

She touched the man’s thigh and took the bag of teeth from him gingerly.  She would heal.  She would heal and she would bed this man.  Then she would make bullets from her lost teeth and shoot Corporate Man in the face.

Chapter 77

3.a.ii

“So I thought you wanted your neck-cape-thing.”

“Huh. Wuh?”

“Yoohoo, Jonesy?  Off in la la land again?” Tanya asked.

“Kind of.  And call me Corporate Man,” Mr. Jones said.

“No thanks.  I’ll stick with Jonesy.”

“But–”

“No.  You put on your costume and your special necktie and then I might call you Corporate Man,” Tanya said.

“Come on, Business Wo–”

“Ah ah ah.  Tanya’s just fine for now.”

“Until you’re in your costume I suppose,” said Mr. Jones.

“Oh, hell no.  You think I’m wearing that thing again?  My boobs aren’t nearly as perky as they were in the nineties and there’s a bit more than muscle to my thighs these days.”

Mr. Jones thought for a moment and then he grinned.

“I see you recall it then.”

“Yeah.  Wow.  What an outfit.”

“Well, it was the nineties.  Everything was skimpy-bad-girl garbage back then.”

“Hey, one man’s trash is another man’s–”

“Prostitute?”

“I wasn’t–”

“No, no, trash is right.  And that’s where that costume is staying,” Tanya said.

Mr. Jones looked out the window of the nondescript automobile and thought back to better times.  It was dark outside.  After Pricebusters and The Greed they had fled the superstore and made their way to a safe house, one of many that Tanya kept throughout the city.  After some long deserved showers they’d picked up one of Tanya’s emergency cars at a local garage.

“So I thought you wanted to go get your special tie.”

“Yeah, I do, but without a current portfolio it won’t do me much good,” Mr. Jones said.

“And you can get this at a Shepley’s?”

“Well, no.  But I know they’ve got a big electronics department there.  I’ll need something high tech.  Something… gadgety.

Chapter 76

The Tragic Death of Corporate Man

a hero for capitalism;

champion of the working class

by Tom Landaluce

Section 3:

Breakroom meeting and the economic ills.

3.a.i

Everything was antique gold and soft sepia.  His vision seemed scratchy, like an old film, and audio ambiance sounded as though it came from a record player; needle down on dusty vinyl.

A light breeze was on the air, bringing scents of freshly mown grass, apple pie, kettle corn, and crisp dollar bills.  He was wearing a suit made of high quality linen which he found very comfortable in the warm summer sun.  He stood on the roof’s edge of a small savings and loan in a great American town and adjusted his tie.

The breeze was picking up.

Corporate Man reached into his suit pocket and retrieved a gadgety device made of gears and levers, housed in a small glass tube.  This miniature stock ticker produced a tiny tape which allowed him to monitor trading.  He was waiting for his stocks to increase in value, as he knew they would.  Should be in about four minutes from now.

He surveyed the landscape of the picturesque town and noted the malt shop across the street.  Business there was booming these days.  He’d have to stop by for a treat once he’d finished his business elsewhere.

His necktie lengthened and the breeze became a gust.  The four minutes had passed.  Stocks were up.  They would remain up for the remainder of the week.  This was good.  He would need his special necktie in the coming days and it never seemed to work properly when the stocks were down.

He checked the ticker tape to confirm his portfolio’s peak and then stepped off the edge of the savings and loan, his necktie fluttering over his shoulder, stretched out behind him like a cape.

Corporate Man rose up into the sky amongst the puffy white clouds and disappeared in the circle of brilliant summer sunshine blazing over the small American town.

Chapter 75

2.d.xxv

Tanya heard the strange screaming but did not dare risk a look over her shoulder to see what it was.  A thudding sound, followed by gasps of pain, confirmed her suspicions that another of The Greed’s human fists had fallen to the floor.

“You touch me with that twenty and it will kill the boy,” The Greed-boy said, his host body still dribbling a nasty gel-paste where the charitable coins had lodged.

“Somehow I doubt that,” said Tanya.

“You’ll have to get close to me to use it,” said The Greed-boy.  “You can’t pitch a bill like a coin.”

“That won’t be–” Tanya started, but a foul smelling, wild-eyed teen snatched the twenty from her hand as he screamed past her.  He looked down at the money as if confused by its sudden appearance in his hand.  When he looked back up he was only a step away from The Greed-boy.

Both boyish forms shrieked like girls and held their hands up in preparation for the imminent collision.  Only one had a charitable twenty dollar bill in his hand.  There was a noise that sounded like a bug zapper, a dry belch, and an M-80.  Following this improbable noise was a burst of brown light, reddish dust, and sticky tendrils, as if someone set off charges in a rotten pumpkin full of iron rich dirt.

When the cloud of debris settled, Tanya could see the two boys lying on the ground, covered in dust and sticky strings.  Three brownish slug creatures the size of large sausages slowly inched away from the point of impact.  They looked like a mix of gelatin and fibrous ground beef.

Mr. Jones stepped forward with a freezer bag and captured the fleeing slug creatures.  “Well, I guess these freezer bags of yours were an appropriate size after all,” he said.

“I think we need to get out of here, Jonsey.  You okay to walk?”

“I’m fine,” said Mr. Jones.  “In fact, I’m more than that.  Everything’s so clear now.  I think… I think I’m Corporate Man again.  Let’s go get my necktie cape.”

IN PRINT!

CHILDREN UNDER THREE AGREE!

CORPORATE MAN IS THE BUSINESS!

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Chapter 74

2.d.xxiv

In his blind panic shorty shorts tech boy could only process so much information.  Most of his thoughts centered on a place called “away” and the quickest possible manner in which to get there.  Was that a mannequin displaying a nice suit that he’d just run into?  Since when do mannequins swear and cry out in pain?

Oooh.  A dancing lady.  And she’s giving out money. 

It is scientifically proven that, even in a blind panic, most teenaged boys are genetically programmed to notice the female form above all else.  With blood already speeding through the veins it is much easier for that adrenaline filled fluid to veer southward into the more erogenous zones. 

Science has yet to realize that a woman dancing with money, showing intent to reallocate said funds, is the most fundamentally erotic image housed in the male psyche, dating back thousands of years to a common fantasy, shared by most men of the time, involving the employees of the oldest profession offering up a refund to a particularly gifted patron.

Chapter 73

2.d.xxiii

Mr. Jones held the package of freezer bags, but he was still unsure of their intended purpose.  Tanya was nearby taunting an oozing boy with a twenty dollar bill.  Somehow this seemed more comprehensible than his need for freezer bags.  A screaming sound turned his attention for a moment and he swiveled just in time to see two people occupy the same space.  One clad in shorty shorts, the other in an expensive looking suit.

Apparently the price of the suit did not matter in the end, offering up little protection against the flailing, unclothed legs.  The suited man crumpled, gasping and clutching at his side.  The shorty short boys barely stumbled and continued forward in a terrified panic.

He was headed right for Tanya.

Chapter 72

2.d.xxii

The bossman held a flannel shirt he’d swiped from a discount bin over his face.  He was not about to inhale this stuff.  The dust stung his eyes and he contemplated a detour through the athletic department to check for swimming goggles, but it was taking far too long for him to locate codename: The Bull – aka Corporate Man – as it was.  Think about what the possible composition of the brownish dust might really be seriously unnerved him. 

And then he spotted his target.

The bossman’s eyes flared.  This allowed more of the reddish-brown dust to land on his exposed eyeballs causing excessive blinking and tears.  He should have narrowed his eyes.  The desired effect would have been similar and far more appropriate considering the airborne circumstances.

Corporate Man was near the woman, subject: Ms. Adams.  He was stooping, trying to pick up a box of, what looked like, freezer bags.  She was waving around a twenty dollar bill in a manner that was quite tawdry.

Both had their backs turned toward him. 

This should be easy.

There was a cessation of those strange exploding sounds, the ones that signaled the eruption of greed-tentacles, and released this dreadful dust.  But then there was another sound.  A deranged wailing, war cry of a sound.

The bossman turned and the last thing he saw before three of his ribs snapped was a terrifying image of a pasty, bare legs, pumping madly as a screaming man-boy wearing shorty shorts crashed into him.

Chapter 71

2.d.xxi

The tech boys were still huddled in the bathroom, sitting in various corners, as far from the toilets as possible.  A scout, venturing as far as the door whispered in a hiss, “Something’s happening.  Those poopy worm things are popping.”

“Then let’s get out there,” the blazered tech boy yelled.  The tech boys jumped to their feet, ready to charge the door.

“Wait,” said the scout, “there’s some kind of brown dust.  When the things pop it leaves clouds of the stuff.”

The standard issue tech boys halted and looked around at each other, fairly certain that no one would be venturing out until the poop-dust had cleared.

They all returned to their various corners and took up brave, seated positions once more.

Chapter 70

2.d.xx

Mr. Jones had found his feet once again and was stumbling about the store.  Sifts of red dust kept getting in his eyes and he coughed when he breathed it in.

He didn’t know why, but he desperately wanted to find a plastic bag.

Chapter 69

2.d.xix

“Greed!” Tanya called out when she was finally within sight of The Greed-boy’s body.  She trudged forward.  He didn’t seem to pay her any attention, but an increased flailing of his tentacle limbs advised her of the contrary. 

She ducked and dodged and scooted and spun and dove and even cart-wheeled her way closer.

“Greed!” she yelled.  When he ignored her again Tanya yelled another grunting scream, grabbed a handful of change from the jar, and pitched the coins at The Greed-boy.

She was hoping the minor nuisance would possibly gain his attention.  What she didn’t expect was for the coins to sizzle and hiss, like holy water on a vampire, when they struck his body.

The Greed bellowed like an elephant as the coins embedded in his flesh and slowly burned their way deeper.  His flailing tentacle limbs stiffened, flexing straight.  A creamy, gelatinous, poopy ooze bubbled from the coin wounds.

Tanya hesitated for a moment and then flicked a dime at one of The Greed’s nearby tentacles.  It struck, embedded, and hissed; melting the flesh like gasoline on a Styrofoam cup.  She tossed a quarter at another tentacle and the effect was twice as violent.

A smile spread across Tanya’s lips and when spoke, her voice was loud and authoritative.

“You people should be disgusted with yourselves.  Look how far The Greed has gotten into you.  Literally.  It’s sick.  You’re overly concerned with material goods, possessions, and getting more, more, more.  There are little girls like this out there who are in need.”

She hoisted the donation jar above her head and jittering vibrations pulsed through The Greed’s tentacle limbs.

“She needs a heart transplant, people.  How many discount televisions and gallon-sized jugs of Muscle Fuel do you really think you need in comparison to that?  Perhaps all of you need a new heart.”

There was a still moment in which Tanya doubted whether her words had produced any practical effect.  And then one of the tentacle arms popped, vaporizing in a whiff of reddish, copper-scented dust.  The bludgeoned woman at the end of the tentacle dropped twenty feet to the concrete floor of the Price Killers Wholesale Superstore where she writhed in both physical and emotional agony.

A series of similar metallic explosions, with a cadence not unlike a bag of popping corn, echoed throughout the store as The Greed’s limbs self-destructed.

“I’ve still got the boy,” The Greed-boy gurgled, his body spurting nasty fluids from the coin-sized wounds.

“I’ve got a whole jug of change here, Greed.  I’m willing to bet it will drive you out.  And there are a few bills in here too.  If a quarter donation inflicts more damage than a dime, think of how severe the effects of a buck or a fiver will be.  Oh.  Look.  Someone was charitable enough to donate a twenty.”

Tanya grabbed the twenty from the jar and waved it back and fourth, taunting The Greed like a matador teasing a bull.