“David. I’m afraid we’ve decided to let you go.” I said, straightening my tie as the limo slunk through the streets like a panther, spiralling down and down, sheets of water rising like oily wings from every wheel.
He didn’t answer me, it’s hard to say much of anything with a plastic bag over your head. Hard to do much but try to breathe through that tiny gap where it’s attached to your neck. It was pretty funny really, high-flying Dave, red faced and panting, bug-eyed, hair all wet with sweat and fear. He did love his hair… must have spent half his income on implants and dye jobs, styling and product. Fat lot of good it does you with a bag over your head and your wrists and ankles bound together.
“We feel that the station needs some new blood calling the shots, new programming. We need to take things to new extremes to keep the audience interested and happy. We feel that your way of doing things isn’t conducive to this agenda and… what with you trying to sleep with all the talent and giving them diseases, it’s probably about time you retired.”
He wasn’t paying attention so I kicked him, once, hard, in the chest, scuffing my New Parisian loafers. It was worth it.
“Are you paying attention David? You’ve blocked all of us younger executives from rising in the ranks for far too long because you’ve been afraid of us. You were right to be afraid of us as it turned out, but only because you’re such a cock-blocker.”
I kicked him again, I’d wanted to do that for a long time.
“I took my performance evaluation at head office last week and you know what they said? No, because you never read a fucking thing that I send you do you? That’s why none of my ideas or those of the other guys ever get implemented. Right? Well David, they said I was ‘failing to show initiative’ and ‘lacked that killer instinct’ that’s needed in marketing. Do you agree David?”
I gave him my smile, the one I give to my secretary, but he was still too busy trying to breathe. Shame, I’d had this little speech worked out for a while. “The big credits are at your level and above so, you see, you’re in my way, you’re in our way and as I said. It’s time for you to retire.”
I took the stapler out of my pocket. He noticed that at least.
“Here’s your retirement package David old son.” I grinned as I began to staple 20 uni notes to his chest, piercing him over and over, ka-thunk, ka-thunk with the staple gun until his expensive Orientan silk was stained with blood and a month’s salary was coating his chest like the feathered breast of some exotic bird.
The limo came to a halt and I opened the door. I could already hear the hooting calls of the Parasites, sensing prey, coming out of their hovels and their gang-hideouts, hoping to gut a corporate or steal a hubcap. I dragged Dave by the tie, out of the limo and threw him to the ground.
“Enjoy your retirement old man.” I snorted.
The gold watch hit him in his wheezing, covered face when I threw it.
“I’d piss on you, but then they might mistake you for one of their own.” I gave him my middle finger and clambered back into the limo.
“Home James and don’t spare the horses.”