Chapter 186

7.b.i.

 The After Hours Lounge was initially established in the 1980’s when the typical businessman was typically male.  Not only was the industry of commerce a completely male dominated enterprise, but those males were of a variety whose egos could only be stroked by a steady flow of objectified women and mass amounts of cocaine.  Therefore, when the After Hours Lounge was commissioned, the only logical form it could take was that of a lavish strip club with mirrored coasters and plenty of bathroom stalls to powder one’s nose in.

Subsequent generations have all but abandoned the notion of sex and drugs as their ego booster of choice; their primary one at least.  Whether this is to be attributed to the influx of women into the corporate environment, the steady emasculation of the male gender, or the proliferation of twenty-four hour sports channels into popular culture is hard to say.  The After Hours Lounge, however, has gone through similar changes.  Gone are the seedy accoutrements of the flesh trade, replaced by the glitz and hype of the sportscaster set.

Where there once stood a long stage, with dirty dance poles at either end, now sits a repurposed bar area with a bank of plasma screen televisions.  Each private booth, once the abode of indifferent lap dances and other, less reputable jobs, contains a wall mounted, hi-def flat screens.  The bathrooms, likewise, feature high resolution monitors on the backs of stall doors and above urinals.  The overabundance of media screens were provided by management for the express purpose of catering to its clientele’s desire to watch replays and play by play analysis of the day’s trading.

These days, the patrons of The After Hours Lounge would much rather watch themselves make money than see their hard won gains disappear into the g-string of some cheap entertainer.

Satisfied Customers 14

Our final Satisfied Customer for our call-center-focused week is very special indeed. She, like our hero Corporate Man and his associates Business Woman, Senior Executive, and the rest, is a card-carrying union member. She is (just check out the official jacket) a Teamster. Now, we don't know what you've heard, but we still sense a negative undertone from the Teamster name. We don't believe any of the wild rumors ourselves, but sometimes it's better to be safe than sorry so we've asked this operator to close her eyes to protect her identity. Technically, reading non-company approved literature while on the job is against union bylaws (at least we’re pretty sure) so we better not allude to that fact or insinuate that she was doing so, even though we've gone to great lengths to protect her identity. But I don't think the Teamsters would mind. Corporate man is a part of the Union after all and he fights for, among many other things, workers rights. So seriously, it's okay. We're on the same side. Whatever happened with Jimmy, we don't care.

Sorry, where were we? Oh yeah, Cherie. I mean, this completely anonymous call-center operator. Somehow she got rich, and somehow it was because of the Corporate Man book.  And it definitely was not because she defied the Union or anything like that.



Don't be the last one in your cube-area to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link https://www.createspace.com/4148636 and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Chapter 185

7.a.viii.

“Welcome to the After Hours Lounge,” said a man in a very expensive suit.  “Am I correct in assuming that you are virgins to this establishment?”

“This is our first time here, yes,” said Corporate Man.

The well dressed host escorted them into a large room with a very long bar along one side.

“I’m afraid you’re a little too late to beat the dinner rush and a bit too early to benefit from the settling up.  As soon as something becomes available, I will seat you.  I’m sure you will find the bar to be an adequate distraction.”

The host shuffled away and the Union approached the long counter.  An amber light bathed the dark stained wood and brass fixtures.  Recessed in the wall behind the bar were thousands of bottles of various shapes displayed in a rich cobalt light.  Five or six bartenders slid and writhed from customer to customer, mixing up every kind of cocktail imaginable.

“You think there might be some food at the bar?” Demand asked.

“Why don’t you guys find out.  And get us some drinks,” said Business Woman.  “Me and Supply are gonna run off to the ladies room.”

The women quickly strode away, Business Woman muttering something about how she should have peed when they were in that fake gym and that she was shocked her bladder hadn’t burst.

Corporate Man and Senior Executive went up to the bar to get the drinks and make inquiries about food while Commander Credit and Demand sought out and empty space and stools enough to seat them all.

“Junior?  Junior is that you?” a man snorted as Senior Executive tried to flag down the bartender.  The man was large and stout, like an aging football player or an old professional wrestler.  His face was bovine and thick.

Senior Executive looked at the man and then, after a moment, he said, “Bull?  God, what are you doing here?  And it’s Senior Executive now.”

The man tilted his head, eyes rolling, and made an exasperated sound.  “Oh you won’t believe the things I’ve been through in the past few–  Wait.  Is that… Is that Corporate Man?”

Corporate Man smiled and said, “Good to see you, Bull Market.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.  This all started because of you, you know?” Bull Market said, shaking his head.  “These guys in suits came up to me saying, ‘Codename: Bull?’  I said, no.  That it was just, Bull.  Bull Market to be exact, but that, yeah, that was me.  And these guys rough me up, pop me into the trunk of their car.”

Senior Executive gave Corporate Man a puzzled look.   Corporate Man shrugged and said, “I’m sorry you got hassled.”

“No. No.  It all worked out.  They took me to their base and this hard-assed bitch on the east side of town ripped her boys new assholes when she saw me.  Said something about how she’d nearly sent out a report announcing the capture of Codename: Bull.  These guys tell her that I said that I was the Bull and she said, ‘No.  This is Bull Market.  He worked with Corporate Man, but he isn’t Corporate Man.’  Well, I was about to get into it with them, seeing as how we’re teammates, when she dismisses her lackeys and buzzes for a sniveling secretary guy who apologizes to me, assures me that they meant me no harm, and that they’d like to invite me in on a little business opportunity to make amends.  Anyway, long story short, they brought me here and I’ve been making bank ever since.  I see they finally found you and got you involved, too.”

Corporate Man narrowed his eyes and took a slow breath.  Then he said, “Yeah.  Something like that.  What can you tell me about this place Bull?”

“You don’t know?”

“We just arrived.”

“Oh.  Awesome!  Come with me.  I did really well today and booked a private booth in the back.  I’ll explain everything.”

“Wait a second,” said Senior Executive.  “We need to get the others.”

“Others?  Who else is here?  Oh!  Is Business Woman with you?  I’d kill to see her again.”

Satisfied Customers 13

You never know what a call-center employee actually looks like when you're talking to them on the phone. Take this Satisfied Customer for example. Is it a ball of hair propped on a sweater? A tiny shrunken head with a regular sized mouth and lips under a vast mane of hair with a headset lost somewhere within dark curls? One of Corporate Man's many enemies, cleverly infiltrating a call center in order to gain access to literature that reveals many secrets of highfinance and corporate economics?

All you can really be sure of when you're on the phone with a call-center operator is that there is cake for someone's birthday somewhere in the building or that a themed potluck is spread out in the breakroom. The crappy service you are receiving might be the result of sentient hair creatures, shrunken-head-bigmouths, or a clever enemy of our hero Corporate Man, but more than likely it is because you are interrupting operators just as they got to the part about the sharks, keeping them away from the potluck in the breakroom, or preventing them from filling their mouth with delicious cake.


Don't be the last one in your cube-area to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link https://www.createspace.com/4148636 and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Satisfied Customers 12

Today we examine another Satisfied Customer who comes to the world of Corporate Man through call-center work. Taking a slightly different approach this operator maintained the illusion of exemplary service while answering calls. However he also took note of each caller's personal information and would call them back at his leisure, usually in the extremely early hours of the morning, and read random chapters from The Tragic Death of Corporate Man in a breathy, rumbling, Barry White voice. The first chapter was always for free, but additional chapters required a hefty PayPal transaction.


Don't be the last one in your cube-area to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link https://www.createspace.com/4148636 and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Chapter 184

7.a.vii.

Franklin Buck was growing bored with his terror.  Would this, by all guesses, fatal plummet ever end?  Not all of the descent since that first drop off had been free fall.  A majority to be sure, but after a while he’d noticed a gradual leveling off, some wide corkscrewing, a few more chasm-like drops, and even a wiggling zigzag sort of motion. The final result of all that had been impatience. 

Boredom even.

During part of his fall the fact that he was dropping toward his death had slipped his mind.  He found himself wondering if his lawn needed mowing and, if so, could he get by for another week or so without doing the edging.

A new structural element in the shaft brought Franklin’s attention back to his current plummeting state.  The tube’s color shifted to a bright purple and arched upward and over, throwing Franklin into a series of dizzying loops.  His speed decreased dramatically.  Then he was poured into a green, translucent section of tubing which traced a lazy, shallow, downward track.  He could see through the tube wall, but there wasn’t much to see.  Concrete, pipes, and the occasional section of green, translucent, human transport tube.

His feet bumped against something soft and his forward progress stopped.  He looked up and saw a round hatch.  There was a silver lever on one side of the hatch door and a towel rack on the other with a plush beach towel hanging from it.

Franklin shrugged, grabbed the beach towel, and opened the hatch.

Satisfied Customers 11

Continuing with our series featuring call-center employees turned Satisfied Customers we now shine the spotlight on this operator who used a natural sense of ingenuity and Corporate Man gleaned lessons to devise a strategy that would allow her to comply with the demands of her job while advancing herself up the economic ladder.

In between calls she completely rewrote call-center scripting to better accommodate her long-term goals. Gone were any phrases that required active listening and/or involved problem-solving. In their place were strings of generic platitudes and filler. While she absorbs the intricate philosophies of Corporate Man, her mouth reflexively mutters a memorized list which includes gems such as: yeah that's too bad, uh huh, I know what you're saying, really, that does sound terrible, I'm sure it will all get sorted out, well do what you got to do, it's been taking care of, try not to worry so much, perhaps you wouldn't be so upset if you’d calm down, and I'm hanging now.

She's in the process of selling her scripts to corporations around the country, and US dedicated call centers in India, China, and the Philippines. Recently she began working from home, taking most of her calls from a wireless headset as she works on various household projects or, weather permitting, tends her vegetable garden. "Honestly, I don't even realize that I'm taking calls half the time it's become so automatic," she said in a recent speech at a conference on call-center technology. "I've even started wearing a headset to bed and take calls while I sleep."


Don't be the last one in your cube-area to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link https://www.createspace.com/4148636 and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Satisfied Customers 10

In this week's batch of Satisfied Customer updates we will be focusing on a specific field of employment, a sector of the workforce that we can absolutely not do without, the secret envy of our hearts: the call-center worker. Simultaneously we will investigate a recent anomaly plaguing call centers across the country, something which affects us all, the decline in service from our beloved call-center operators.

There is but one cause for this anomaly, and that is Corporate Man.

Recently a box of Corporate Man books was detained at a distribution hub for a huge delivery corporation. Reports are unclear but it is thought that the package was fishy in nature, having an air of intelligence and sarcastic wit about it. It sat for months in a cage with the overnighted (an subsequently confiscated) controlled substances and mislabeled fecal-swipe lab packs until one night when an impromptu employee party (having something to do with a recent layoff or closure announcement) required a little kick and the cage was, naturally, opened to satisfy this need. At some point during the festivities the box containing the Corporate Man books magically fell open spilling its blessed contents onto the warehouse floor. Copies quickly circulated throughout the company further derailing productivity, especially in the call centers of this failing company.   Which brings us to our first Satisfied Customer of the week.

She claims that the book simply “arrived on her desk one day” and that, at first, she only read chapters of it in between calls.  As she became more engrossed in the narrative she started placing customers on extended holds to get in just a few more pages. Then it was on to equipment sabotage – a mangled headset here a damaged phone line there – and finally the disappearance of her phone altogether. She requisitioned a dry erase board and began working the economic formulas contained within the pages of the Corporate Man text.  And after that came the Wall Street investments.  Forbes is doing a piece on her next month detailing her successes.

Chapter 183

7.a.vi.

The metal-rung ladder ended at a platform which was much like a miniature, wrought iron version of a train station platform.  There was a door against the back wall and a small plate on the door which read: Members Only.

Senior Executive knocked on the door and after a few moments the “Members Only” plaque slid to the side with a flick and a pair of small, tight-set eyes peered out from inside.

“Who’re you?” a deep voice asked.

“You don’t recognize us?” said Senior Executive.

“No.  You members?”

“Would we be here if we weren’t?”

“Maybe.”

After an uncomfortably long pause the voice asked, “What’s the password?”

Senior Executive glanced at Corporate Man, then Business Woman, then Commander Credit.  His eyes flared slightly, seeking a plausible response to the password question.

Corporate Man stepped forward and said, “What password?  We don’t need a password.  Open the door you fool.”

“Good,” the voice muttered.  “There’s no password.  Still, that don’t show that you belong.”

“Of course we belong,” said Business Woman.

“How am I to know?” asked the voice.

After another hesitant moment Business Woman said, “You must be new so we’ll cut you a break.  Take a look at his portfolio.  That should tell you all you need to know.”

Senior Executive and Business Woman exchanged a volley of looks in which Senior Executive silently asked Business Woman what on Earth she was thinking, where did she come up with her scheme, and his beliefs that it, whatever it was, would never work.  Business Woman, in her gestures and expressions, conveyed a message which implied to Senior Executive that it sucked to be him right now.

Senior Executive moved to the window, held up his smart phone, and showed the eyes belonging to the deep voice a series of financials which were quite impressive.

A latch clunked and the heavy door eased back.

“My apologies, sir.  Gentlemen.  Ladies.  Please come in,” said the voice.

There was a metallic hum as the door slid inwards and then to the left.  The Union walked inside but there was no doorman or attendant of any sort.  Affixed to back of the door, at the same height of the “Members Only” plaque, was a clunky black box.  A yellow extension cord dropped from the box and ran to a nearby wall outlet.

“So… I guess we just make ourselves comfortable then?” said Business Woman. 

There was a long arched corridor extending from the doorway, a procession of fluted columns flanking either side.  A burst of yellow-orange light flared from the fluting.  No benches, seats, or stools with which to make oneself comfortable, stood anywhere along the passage.

“Well, no use loitering about, right?” said Corporate Man stepping forward and striding confidently down the hall.

At the end of the hall was a massive set of doors.  Senior Executive tried to open them but they were locked.  Adjacent to the double doors was a smaller, less grandiose hallway with a modest door at the end.  Perched above the entrance in bright neon green, a sign advertised: The After Hours Lounge.  There was no discussion amongst the Union, and barely an exchange of glances pre-empted a simultaneous shrug, followed by a uniform migration toward the lounge.

Chapter 182

7.a.v.

When sliding down a waterslide one can affect the direction of one’s body enough to send it up the wall of the slide.   This may be a nominal and futile effort in avoiding the ultimate destination of the descent but it is, in fact, true.

Also true in fact was the number of exits from the corkscrew tube that were in existence as it drops from the twenty-sixth floor. 

That number would be two.

One such exit would deposit the unwary traveler on the ledge at the top of the ever-descending staircase leaving him or her at the entrance to the thirteenth floor.  The other exit places the traveler in a much more… subterranean location.

A third relevant fact has to do with the corkscrew tube’s composition and pattern.  At a point conveniently on level with the thirteenth floor the material of the tube changes from black PVC to white and levels from falling corkscrew to a relatively flat cruise.  At this transition point there is a knob shape, something akin to a handhold on one of those indoor rock climbing gym, in the upper part of the side wall.  In order to exit at the thirteenth floor one would need to reach out, snag the knob shape as they slid by thus shifting the momentum of their body up toward the ceiling of the tube.  The inevitable downswing that follows would hurl them up the opposite wall and into a rounded hole-like opening.

If successful the thirteenth floor stair would be gained.  If not, the traveler would encounter a sudden dip at the end of the relatively level area.  They would then plunge down a nearly vertical freefall.

It was Franklin Buck’s misfortune and ignorance which caused him to sigh with relief when the corkscrew leveled off into welcome white and then glide right past the knob and the alternate exit and finally to his downward fate.

Book Two Available Now!

The concluding volume of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man: a hero for capitalism; champion of the working class is available now.  Go to https://www.createspace.com/4148636 and order a copy now.  If you find yourself way out of the cool-loop and still need volume one, here's the link for it as well. https://www.createspace.com/3903289 

Chapter 181

7.a.iv.

“How much longer do you think it will take them to reach the top?” asked Business Woman.

Senior Executive shrugged.  Corporate Man and Commander Credit had gone on ahead, climbing the metal-rung ladder into the darkness above while the rest of the Union waited on top of the false elevator at the bottom of the shaft.  Discussions had lead them to a conclusion that this was the best course of action considering their experience with the ever descending staircase between the lobby and the thirteenth floor.

Senior Executive reviewed his portfolio on his smart phone and Business Woman chatted with Supply, their discussion often returning to the relationship of Supply and Demand.  Demand tried to ignore them but couldn’t help feeling irritated by divulgences of matters he considered personal in nature.

A beep sounded on Senior Executive’s phone.

He read the text and said, “They’ve made it.  They’re on the 39^th floor.”

There was a feeling of relief and an urge to celebrate.  This was immediately crushed by the realization that they now had to undertake a dark, thirteen story climb up a ladder of metal rungs.

Chapter 180

7.a.iii.

Also in the dark, but in the other direction, was Franklin Buck.  And he was falling.  Not straight down a shaft, but in a curling tube, like a water-park slide, only much steeper.  And without the benefit of the water.  Or the enjoyment.

The slide didn’t alter its course, remaining on a continuous downward corkscrew.  The friction had burned for the first few minutes but the tube walls eventually became greasy.  This decreased the burning sensation but increased the speed of his descent.  With the added velocity came the nausea.  He’d been falling long enough to be sick once already and he could feel t queasy roiling in his stomach return.  Still, at least it didn’t burn so much anymore.

He felt bad for the next person to fall down this tube.  They’d have to slide through his puke.  Then his mind, through a process of deduction, pieced together a solution to a question that was, he hadn’t realized, nagging him.

Where had the grease in this tube come from?

The solution that assailed him involved the breakdown and decomposition of vomit ejected by previous riders of this dark corkscrew drop.  The greasy smear that would result.  And he was forced to admit that there was a dank stench in this place.  He was also forced to endure another set of wracking heaves as his stomach added to the lubrication all around him.

Chapter 179

7.a.ii.

“We can’t just leave him,” Business Woman shouted.

“He’s gone, sister.  There’s nothing we can do for him,” said Commander Credit.

“Lift up this ladder and let’s go down there.”

“Can’t.  It’s sealed off.  Frozen.  Probably by an electro magnet or something,” the Commander said.

“So we abandon him?”

Commander Credit said nothing.

“What about Fair Wage,” asked Supply.  “Do we go on without him, too?  Without trying to help?”

There was a long moment in which none of them spoke.  Then Commander Credit said, “They’re both dead.  We press on.”

“We don’t know that,” said Supply.  “Fair Wage could be–”

“Torn in half,” said Commander Credit.  “From the inside out.”

“But he could–”

“No,” said Corporate Man.  “He’s dead.  Fair Wage is gone.”

“And Franklin?” asked Business Woman.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do for him now,” said Corporate Man.  “Come on.  We should keep moving.”

He climbed the metal rung ladder up through the elevator’s ceiling and disappeared into the dark.

Chapter 178

The Tragic Death of Corporate Man

a hero for capitalism;

champion of the working class

by Tom Landaluce

Section 7:

Bull/Bear, the Crash, and the Bowels of the Building.

7.a.i.

When considering the urban myths attributed to floors thirteen, twenty-six, and thirty-nine, a special note should be made about the layout of the floors immediately above and below floor thirty-nine. Specifically floors thirty-seven, thirty-eight, forty, and forty-one. 

Architecturally, there is no reason for these floors to be devoid of central offices and corridors.  If one could locate accurate blueprints of the Jacob Center Tower the impression one might get is that middle section of each floor is, indeed, accessible.  However, if one found themselves exploring, they would be hard pressed to locate any office space occupying that area or any hallways traversing this central region.

The phenomenon is less obvious on the thirty-seventh and forty-first floors as the diameter of this inaccessible space is much smaller than the floors above and below, respectively.  It has been reported that as one nears this middle ground one can detect the sound of ringing bells and a clamor akin to the applause of a sporting event.  This has led to a belief that this central space houses a secret horse track and the bigwigs entertain large groups of foreign investors at illicit racing events.  Suspiciously absent, though, is the odor of horse manure.  This casts the horse track theory into question amongst those concerned.

Chapter 177

6.z.

“Mexico.  Philippines,” Senior Executive said into his phone.  “Project Exodus.”

There was a flurry of motion as wall panels popped away, shifted position, and slammed into place creating a long, wide corridor.  When the motion ceased a straight hallway, leading to a door with an exit sign above it, lay before them.

“So… Care to explain?” asked Franklin Buck.

“Oh it’s quite simple,” said Senior Executive.  “The more you outsource key positions or departments to alternate work forces or companies, the more you devalue the primary business.  This makes it susceptible to take over by its own subsidiaries.”

“Meaning?”

“I offered the maintenance workers higher paying positions with my newly formed cubicle-wall installation and removal business.  Once I controlled enough of the workforce, I used my contacts to engage the Outsourcer stand-ins and formed another company employing them.  Then, when enough Outsourcers were on board we… Well let’s just say we terminated our contract with current management and now hire ourselves out on an independent basis.”

 “You know, that’s great,” said Business Woman, “but do you think, maybe, we can get out of here and the two of you can discuss business strategies later?”

Senior Executive bowed slightly and gestured toward the exit.

The Union did not hurry down the hallway, but they didn’t walk at a leisurely pace either.  As they neared the exit a faint noise came bleeding through the walls and the floors hummed beneath their feet.  Franklin Buck put his ear to wall but said nothing of the frothy pig sounds and labored breathing that he heard.

Through the exit was a small room with a set of elevator doors.

“I’m hoping this isn’t the elevator that brought us up here,” Supply and Demand said in unison.  “The one that didn’t go any higher than twenty-six.”

The doors opened and they crowded inside, each noting the single button on the small metal panel.  The number thirty-nine was engraved upon its surface with an arrow pointing up.

“That’s a relief,” said Franklin Buck, stepping up to the panel and pushing the button.  “Though I wouldn’t mind going back down and getting out–”

But he never finished his sentence.  A trap door opened up beneath his feet and he fell screaming into a dark shaft. 

Corporate Man dove at the hole, but the trap had snapped shut.  He clawed at it ineffectively.

“Push it again,” he shouted.  “We’ve got to get him out of there.”

Business Woman pressed the button again and a trap door opened, but not the one in the floor.  This one was in the ceiling.  It swung open and smacked Demand in the back of the head.  A metal ladder slid out of the hole and clanged against the floor, obstructing the downward passage, sealing them off from the One Hundred Dollar Man.

Chapter 176

6.y.

The Outsourcer sauntered down the corridor and into a room full of half-walled cubicles.  They wouldn’t be tracking him now, and the ones the greed-creature didn’t dispatch, he would hunt down at his leisure.  But for now, he was going to take a well earned coffee and cigarette break in his office.

There were two letters on his office door.  M and E.  It used to read MINE, but he found the message came across just as clear this way and only cost half as many letters.

He opened the door and walked inside, but it wasn’t his office.  The room was empty and the walls were bare.  The only distinctive features in the space were three doors at the opposite side.  The Outsourcer swore and turned to storm out but his office door no longer led into a room of half-walled cubicles.  There was a stubby, dead-end hallway there instead.

“Hey!  Assholes!” the Outsourcer shouted.  When an attendant did not appear at his summons he turned toward the three doors and walked to the one on the left.

He took a deep breath and opened it.

The attention of more than thirty Chinese Outsourcer stand-ins flashed toward him, their faces fierce, eyes flared. 

“You peckers better get back to–”

They hissed and charged at the door.  The Outsourcer slammed it shut and raced to the door on the right.  Behind it, poised and ready to pounce, were fifty of the Outsourcer stand-ins from India.

They surged forward, screaming.

The Outsourcer staggered back, groped for the handle of the middle door, and fled inside.  An empty, extremely long hallway lay before him.  The Outsourcer ran down it as fast as his stubby legs would carry him.

He risked a glance back, positive that a mob would be right behind him, but the corridor was empty.  There wasn’t even a door.  He continued running.  At some point he became aware of a thundering, chortling sound which grew louder the further he ran.

The end of the hallway was still an agonizingly long way off, but that didn’t prevent the Outsourcer’s bowel from giving way a little bit when the furious greed-creature rushed around the corner, howling with rage.

Chapter 175

6.x.

“What was that?” Franklin Buck asked.  They were approaching a hallway intersection.  Behind them the foul, monstrous Greedy-Wage clattered and smashed walls and continued shouting and making horribly offensive noises.

“Just a little something… businessy,” said Senior Executive.  His smart phone trilled again and he answered, “India.  What’s the good word?  Fantastic.  Stand by for further instructions.”

After several short conversations, uncountable hallways and cubicles, and an unbearable symphony of wet howls from the pursuing greed-beast later, Senior Executive lifted his smart phone to his mouth and said, “Signal hallway maintenance. Project Greed.  Signal India and China. Project Outsourcer.”

Senior Executive stopped running.

“What are you doing?  Go!  Go!” shouted Commander Credit.

“It’s all taken care of,” said Senior Executive.  He turned, facing back the way they had come and the approaching, flailing creature that Fair Wage had become.

The Greedy-Wage thing roared and launched into a renewed sprint, slamming the walls with its moist, mealy appendages.

“Junior!  No!” shouted Corporate Man.

Senior Executive glanced over his shoulder, the greed-beast bearing down on him.  He flashed a quizzical grin and said, “Junior?  Really?”

The hallway between Senior Executive and the Greedy-Wage thing exploded with an inward shifting of carpeted panels and maintenance workers.  The passageway was quickly reassembled leaving a wall on the far side of Senior Executive.  It shuddered from a sudden, violent impact, but held.  A chortling roar erupted from the other side and a series of pounding, squelching thumps banged futilely and eventually fell silent. 

Another bellowing roar preceded a thundering, clumping sound as the Greedy-Wage beast barreled away down a newly configured corridor.

“They’ll keep him moving for a long while,” Senior Executive said, turning toward the rest of the Union. 

“How did you…” Franklin Buck started and then fell silent.

“What about The Outsourcer?” asked Corporate Man.

Senior Executive shrugged.  “India and China.”

Chapter 174

6.w.

“What’s happening to him?  What’s going on?” Franklin Buck squeaked.

“Take a guess.  You saw what we saw,” Business Woman said.  “Those things are inside him.  Nothing good’s coming that’s for sure.”

Fair Wage threw his head back, his arms shot out from his side, strained and epileptic.  There was a tearing, ripping sound, like perforated paper, splitting pant seams, and high pressure flatulence.

He screamed.

His body spasmed, slammed back against a carpeted wall, fingers digging into the fibers.  Fair Wage’s eyes went wide and pleading, glancing at his teammates, bouncing from face to helpless face.

A soft whimper.

Then a paralyzed silence.

A gash tore him open from crotch to throat, splitting his chest wide.  A noxious gas and a mist of vaporizing blood sprayed from the ragged wound.  A brown mass convulsed inside Fair Wage’s torso and then it climbed out roughly leaving a skin husk in a frayed brown suit on the floor beneath it.

The mass had a face and terribly greedy eyes.  When it spoke it used the voice of Fair Wage only deeper and choked with gurgles. 

“I feel…. Better,” it said.

“Fight it Fair Wage.  You can–”

“Fair Wage?” the thing growled.  “Not hardly.  I want more!”

It roared and in that terrible moment its mass doubled, swelling until its head nearly touched the ceiling and it’s outstretched arms pressed against the sidewalls.

Corporate Man stood his ground and yelled, “You’re the best of us Fair Wage.  The honest one.  The–”

A squelchy, slapping thud snapped through the corridor as a big messy greed-infected fist slammed into Corporate Man, hurtling him down the long hallway where he nearly collided with Franklin Buck.

Franklin Buck, not needing any sort of physical prompting, had turned and run at the moment the Greedy-Wage first chortled its initial sentence.  The rest of the Union adopted The One Hundred Dollar Man’s tactic and broke into a sprint in an effort to catch up to Franklin, though their main goal was undoubtedly to increase their market share in distance from the horrible greed-thing.

They scooped up Corporate Man in mid-stride.

The Greedy-Wage chased after them, howling and snarling its belchy-farty sounds and threats.

“Franklin!” Business Woman yelled as they closed the gap on him.  “Get back there and stop that thing with your powerful pennies.”

“Screw you!” Franklin called back without actually turning around.  “I don’t see you doing a whole lot.  Any of you.  I mean what the hell?  We’re economic superheroes.  Why are we just running around chasing and fighting instead of doing something businessy?”

“Business isn’t all about copper coinage,” said Senior Executive as they caught up with Franklin.  They raced around a two tight corners, through a small set of cubicles, and down another hallway.

“Well, what else is it then?” Franklin Buck asked, panting.

“Oh there are all kinds of hostile maneuvers and power plays.”

“Like retreat,” said Business Woman.

“When it’s tactically advantageous,” said Corporate Man.  His breathing was rough, but his speed hadn’t suffered from his encounter.

“Yes.  And there’s negotiation, acquisition, merger, and–” Senior Executive said but was cut short by a loud trilling breet from his smart phone.

“Mexico.  Are we go?” he said into the device.  After a moment he added, “Good.  Stand by for instructions.”

Chapter 173

6.v.

He wasn’t quite sure if he could hear the sound through the microphones of his surveillance system or if his mind simply imagined it from the reactions of all the people on his monitor screen.  It didn’t matter.  The Big Bossman had heard that sound before and understood what it meant and the utter terror it inflicted on those in the vicinity.

And he smiled.

The next part would be entertaining, he was sure.  Lots of panicked fleeing and property damage.  The inevitable loss of life; perhaps even some limbs.

Cocoa.  He needed some hot cocoa for this.  Perhaps a little nip of rum in it.  And a cookie.  Preferably shortbread.

Chapter 172

6.u.

“Let’s try something different this time,” said Commander Credit.  How about we all go on the offensive?  Not just me.”

His comment was met with looks of bitter assent and the Union fanned out into practiced positioning, ready to engage preplanned maneuvers. 

Franklin Buck had to fake it.

Commander Credit pulled open the panel and Corporate Man lunged through the opening.  But there was no one behind the wall.  Business Woman and Senior Executive spun into defensive postures, facing empty hallways, expecting panels to shift and Outsourcer proxies to pour in.

“I don’t get it,” said Commander Credit.  According to this reading, we’re right on top of him.”

There was a subtle shift in the stance of each Union member.  Their attention turned to the ground beneath Commander Credit’s feet.

No one breathed.

They shifted, ninja-like and in unison, positioning themselves around Commander Credit.  Corporate Man and Business Woman leaned down and carefully felt for a trap door; a secret panel.

Senior Executive and Fair Wage arranged themselves behind Business Woman.  Supply and Demand acted as backup for Corporate Man.  Franklin Buck instinctively took up the covering position for Commander Credit in case the attack came there and felt proud of himself for doing so.

Corporate Man found a seam in the industrial carpeting and mouthed a countdown to Business Woman.  On three he tore the carpeting away and Business Woman lurched forward, fists cocked.

But there was only sub-floor and glue remnants beneath the carpet.

“Jesus you guys,” said Franklin Buck.  “Made my ass all clenchy with that–”

The ceiling panel above Commander Credit shattered and The Outsourcer dropped onto the shoulder of the cybernetic arm, hammering with fists and feet.  He snatched the greed-gun, leapt onto Senior Executive, delivering a kick to Business Woman on the way.  He chopped Senior Executive on the neck while thrusting a foot into Corporate Man’s chest, then dove onto Fair Wage, smacking both Supply and Demand while in mid air.

The Outsourcer wrapped his legs around Fair Wage’s throat and shouted, “Don’t move or I’ll snap his neck.”

The Union froze.

Cautiously, The Outsourcer examined the greed-gun, tightening his choke hold when Fair Wage tried to move.  Then he sniffed the air.  His eyes pinched with a sudden realization and he snuffled the greed-gun, an enthusiastic chortle escaping his throat.

“I know what this is,” he said in an oily voice. 

Fair Wage groped at the legs wrapped around his neck.  The Outsourcers nonchalantly reached down and flicked Fair Wage’s nose.

“I know what’s in here,” he said and slammed his fist into the toy gun.

Corporate Man and Business Woman surged forward but The Outsourcer tightened his leg-grip and hissed, “Back!  Back!”

The small, runty man fished the greed chunks out of the ruined toy gun and held them like a fistful of dirty dollars.

“I wondered what happened to him,” said The Outsourcer, jostling the pieces as if estimating their weight.  “Do any of you truly comprehend what it is that you’ve brought here?”

The Outsourcer unclamped his legs and yanked on Fair Wage’s hair.  The old man screamed but his call was silenced.  The Outsourcer forced the remnants of The Greed into Fair Wage’s mouth.

It was like cookie dough mixed with hair and mashed up spaghetti squash.  It tasted like filthy pinched pennies and the greasy collar sweat of unscrupulous financiers.  It stank of exploitation and cow manure.

A dozen cubicle walls flew open and a score of Outsourcer stand-ins rushed into the corridor slapping and hissing.  The ensuing struggle between the Union and the Outsourcers was violent and brief.  This was not because one side decisively triumphed over the other, it was because the fight was merely a diversion set up to grant the actual Outsourcer his escape.  The altercation was cut short when a near seismic gurgling noise erupted somewhere deep within the body of Fair Wage.

Chapter 171

6.t.

His face felt like rising bread dough and his nose pulsed with an agonizing pain.  He knew he’d get those raccoon-eye bruises from this.  And he knew how pathetic he’d look.  Some people could pull off that battered, I’m-a-bad-ass, you-should-see-the-other-guy look, but he wasn’t one of them.  It would be awhile before he could score chicks again.

That freak.  That credit card freak had known he was there.  Tracking him somehow.  The Outsourcer tried to review the sequence of events, but his puffy, marshmallow consciousness could only recall starbursts of pain.

“This way.  Down this way,” a familiar voice came from someone. The Outsourcer peered through a seam in the cubicle paneling.  The Union, and that irritating credit card guy, were striding up the hallway on the other side of the wall.  Coming right toward him.  There was some sort of gun in the credit guy’s hand.  A yellow light on the gun blinked repeated.  As they came closer a red light ignited accusingly.

The Outsourcer’s mood flared, matching the fiery red of that damnable flashing light. 

They were tracking him. 

The bastards.

That was cheating!

Chapter 170

6.s.

“Down this way.  Hurry!” Commander Credit said, holding the greed-gun apparatus out in front of him.  He and the rest of the Union rounded a corner and were halfway down the hall when the Commander stopped.  He swiveled to his left.

“Look!  Down there,” said Franklin Buck, pointing to the end of the hall and the small, runty man who stood there.

“After him,” Corporate Man shouted, but Commander Credit held his hand out and stopped him.  Then he yanked a panel off the wall nearest him.  A small, runty man with a thin moustache was standing on the other side.  He hissed and three similar runty men with, more or less, similar moustaches stood behind him and echoed the hiss.  They bolted like frightened deer, scattering down a dimly lit hallway, banking into separate side corridors.

The Union rushed after them.

“Should we split up and take them?” Senior asked.

“No,” said Corporate Man.  “Keep us on the real one Commander.”

Around the next corner they saw The Outsourcer disappear into a ventilation duct. A group of maintenance workers moved a section of cubicle paneling across the corridor, blocking the way.  Simultaneously, two sections were pulled away and secured in different positions creating new passages going in opposite directions.

“Which way?” shouted Corporate Man. 

Commander Credit stopped to consult the greed-gun.

“Neither,” he said.  Then he strode up to a section of wall and tried to yank it free.  It didn’t budge, so he set about dismantling it with tools from his cybernetic arm.  Senior Executive approached the remaining maintenance workers and began questioning them.

“Hurry.  Hurry,” said Franklin Buck.

“You want to do this, Dollar Boy?” Commander Credit said as he popped the section of wall free.  A hand slapped him across the face.  A dozen runty men hissed and then bolted away, bounding down the newly opened corridor.

 “Little shits,” Commander Credit yelled, charging after them.

The rest of the Union poured into this new section of darkened passageways.  The scurrying, runty-men disappeared behind vents, panels, and other trap doors embedded in the pseudo walls.

The Union continued the chase and soon arrived at a junction of five passages.  Runty men stood at the far end of each hallway.  Middle finger raised.

Carpeted panels swung in and out from various positions along each corridor, concealing each of the five Outsourcer men.

“They just flipped us off,” said Franklin Buck.

Commander Credit checked the greed-gun.  His face pinched and he tapped the side of the apparatus.  Then her turned around and said, “Back this way.”

More panels swung in and out of the walls and runty men crisscrossed the corridor space, waving obscene gestures, before disappearing out of sight again.

Commander Credit slumped against a wall and shook his head.

“I don’t get it,” he said.  “My readings must be off.  The Outsourcer isn’t showing up anywhere.  I don’t know what to–”

But he didn’t finish.  Instead he thrust all his weight into the wall paneling behind him.  It gave way, slamming into the empty space beyond, landing on something small and hard.

There was a low grunt, followed by a yowling howl.  Commander Credit lifted up the section of wall.  A dazed runty man lie beneath it.  Commander Credit grabbed The Outsourcer by the collar and yanked him to his feet.  Atthe same time the Commander’s snapped his torso forward, his head delivering a nose crushing butt.

The Outsourcer fell to the floor, spurts of blood geysering from his damaged nasal cavities.  The walls around the bleeding man opened up and a troupe of runty men bounced into the corridor.  Two of them swept up The Outsourcer while the rest flung themselves at Commander Credit. 

The first couple of attackers suffered a great deal under the ferocity of the Commander’s defenses, but soon their numbers drove him backward, through the opening in the wall, and into the hallway where the rest of the Union still waited.

The runty men slid the caved in panel back into place and the only sound the Union could hear through the restored wall was that of scuffling feet and half-hearted expletives delivered through a collapsed nasal structure.

“Well, open it back up,” said Business Woman.

“Won’t help,” said Commander Credit. He held up the greed-gun.  Indicator lights were in the green again.  “They’ll have already reconfigured the corridor and The Outsourcer won’t even be in that direction.”

Chapter 169

6.r.

Somewhere on the twenty-sixth floor.  The personnel department.  A bored, balding man walked into a waiting room full of short, runty men with various styles of meager upper lip hair.  He kept his eyes half-closed to mask his shifty nature and avoid betraying the aloof appearance he cultivated.

“Okay, Koreans.  We’re ready to see the Koreans,” he said, gesturing toward the office door.  A group of seven or eight men stood and went inside.

“Hey,” said a short man with a dark, tightly-cropped moustache.  “When are you seeing Filipinos?”

“We hired a bunch of Mexicans yesterday,” said the bored, balding man.

“We are not Mexican.  We’re from the Philippines,” he said, his tone nearing a shout.

“Fine.  Irregardless, we saw all of the Hispanics yesterday.  You’ll have to wait–”

“We are not Spanish!” the Filipino man yelled.

The bored, balding man shook his head as if this was the most useless information he had encountered in a very long time.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, bored.  “Are you cheap?”

“We can do better than those Koreans.”

“What about India?  Can you beat the Indians? Or the Chinese?”

“Try us!” the man said proudly.

The bored, balding man shrugged and scribbled something across the screen of his phone.  Then he said, in a very dry manner, “Right.  Looks like… oh yes, here it is.  The Philippines.  You’re up next.”

Chapter 168

6.q.

Commander Credit removed the section of cubicle wall.  Immediately beyond was a corridor, but it was unlike all the previous hallways. The light was dim.  After-hours dim, like an office at midnight. There was the occasional fluorescent bulb which cast its dull grey light.  Many of these sputtering, giving off a nervous flicker in the murky space.

The Union crept down the hallway, instinctively huddling close to Commander Credit and the greed-gun assurances of where the danger lay. 

The commander froze. 

He pivoted slightly and craned his ear at an odd angle. After a moment he lunged forward, grabbed a section of cubicle wall, and yanked it free. A small, runty man hissed at them, his body pulled into a tense ball as he crouched in an undersized recess. 

There was a collective intake of breath from the Union.

“Jesus!  What kind of freaky–” Business Woman started.

Before she could finish, the runty man sprang from his perch, snarling and swinging like a rabid baboon.  Several blows drum-rolled over various parts of Franklin Buck’s body, but before an “ouch” or a “hey” or even a doubled up grunt could be muttered, The Outsourcer had bounded away, landing on Demand’s shoulders, smacking and head-butting, then vaulting toward Senior Executive.

Commander Credit grabbed The Outsourcer by the scruff of the neck and was promptly dealt several slapping kicks to the face for the effort.  The Commander lost his grip and The Outsourcer hit the ground, handspring up and immediately cuffed Senior Executive across the temple.  He made a quick succession of twirling flips, growled, and disappeared into a hidden cubicle panel further down the corridor.

Corporate Man raced to the panel but when he opened it he found no tunnel, just a section of carpeted wall.

“What the hell was that?” Franklin Buck yelled his hands seeking injuries to sooth but unable to decide between the multiple options.

“Mr. Outsource,” Corporate Man said.

“Not these days,” said Senior Executive.  “Insists on being called The Outsourcer.”

“Well whatever he calls himself, he’s still a pain in the ass,” said Business Woman.

“He’s right here,” said Commander Credit.  He was standing at the opposite wall, about twenty yards down the corridor.  The final light on the greed-gun blinking red.  He tore the carpeted paneling away and held up his cybernetic arm.  A series of blinding flashes sparked from the end of his hand in a strobe of bug-zapper clicks.

There was s squealing, hissing sound.

Commander Credit shoved his hand into the hidden tunnel space, pulled out The Outsourcer, and slammed the runty man into the adjacent wall. The Outsourcer made a chocked sound, like a cat working up a hairball, and then groaned.  Commander Credit brought his knee up while thrusting The Outsourcer down.  The resulting collision caused a thick whitish spray to come spitting our of the runty man’s thinly mustached lips.

“There’s your little weasel,” Commander Credit said, tossing The Outsourcer down the corridor, toward the Union.  The runty man rolled, arms flailing, to a stop at Corporate Man’s feet.

Corporate Man grabbed The Outsourcer by the hair and yanked his head up so they were face to face.  A slightly startled, more than a bit concerned, look pinched Corporate Man’s face.

“This isn’t him,” he said.

“Looks just like him,” said Senior Executive.

“Except this guy’s Mexican,” Business Woman said, pointing to the bleeding man Corporate Man held.

“So,” said Franklin Buck.

“The Outsourcer’s a white guy,” she said.

“Who are you?” Corporate Man asked the man who was not The Outsourcer.  “What are you doing here?”

“Working.  Just working,” said the outsourcerish man.

“For whom?” said Senior Executive.

“Don’t know.  They pay me.  Ask for me to look like him.  Is all I know,” he said.

“Seriously?” said Senior Executive.  “Am I understanding this correctly?  The Outsourcer outsourced his own job to Mexico?”