Spoiler! :
PART 1: topic87450.html
CHAPTER 2: topic88074.html
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Sully arrived at his workplace dripping water and mud, his wallet significantly lighter than the amount the check had originally entailed. He checked the sports watch – which he had won from the back of a cereal box – on his wrist. The blinking digital numbers on the read-out stated it was 7:32. He was already two minutes late.
”Kale! Where the hell have you been, you retarded ape?”
Make that an hour and two minutes. And just because someone's big, it doesn't automatically imply that he is daft as well. People never seemed to learn. It's no big wonder that people pissed Sully off.
”Sorry Mr. Harken. My car died underneath me,” said Sully.
”I don't give a flying fuckadile; you were supposed to be here at 6:30, sharp. You missed the whole damn meeting. And you well know that said meeting was crucial to the future of this company, and to everyone who works here.”
Sully very well knew that. ”I can't help it if my car stopped working! You can just brief me with the important bits. I won't be late again, I promise. Hell, I'll sleep in the lobby if that's what it takes.”
Mr. Harken just looked at him and then made a shushing motion when Sully took a breath to continue. Sully's boss took out a notepad from an inside pocket of his light blue suit. He wrote down a note – using a gold plated ball-point pen – and ripped off the pink square of paper. He took the two necessary steps with his snake-skin shoes and stuck the gluey tab onto Sully's forehead.
”Luck's up, ape,” said Mr. Harken, already on his way to some other important meeting. Sully watched him pull out his communicator as he turned the corner, sucking dry some new corporation with that sickly smile. Sully removed the sticky note with a numb hand and crumpled it, burying it into his pocket without bothering to eye it. He was fired. That much was evident.
Blankly, he walked to the elevator and pressed the summoning button. He waited for it. The repair man, Tim, walked by five minutes later, stating that the elevator was broken. He sipped his coffee, grimacing as it scalded his tongue, and instructed Sully to take the shoelace express. Climbing up to the seventh floor took Sully nearly three minutes. He walked to his cubicle, hands in his pockets, nodding his head at people who called greetings. Ugly Dougley waved a tad too enthusiastically; it seemed news of his expirement had travelled ahead of him. The bastard would get his position as Vice-President of the Stamping Department. It might sound like quite the flattering title, but truthfully there were only four people in the Stamping Department. Well, three now.
He reached the door to his stuffy office. The door opened with clinical smoothness and Sully merely stared into the room that no longer belonged to him. The stout oaken table with its many scars from frustrating times would never feel his touch again. The lamp that worked half of the time would never possibly illuminate his impossibly tall mounds of papers again. A smile cracked his grim countenance as his gaze locked onto a small purple unicorn; a gift from his ex-girlfriend, Anita. She told him it would bring him luck wherever he went, as long as he thought of her. Which was daily. It hadn't worked.
He stepped in, spinning the broken fan on the roof with his finger out of habit. Tim had assured him for over a month that he'd take a look at it. The hollow room smelt of cheap cologne and spent cigarettes. He didn't smoke, but he lit them up while he was away from the room, so that it looked like he smoked. Everbody smoked. So he did. Simple. Blend in and keep your head down and you'll find yourself surviving; the wisest words he'd ever heard, and these from a piss drunk old man he once met in a bar.
The man's wild hair had jumped around in clumps of black and gray as he'd stood up and wildly gestulated with his hands, hollering, ”One day at a time. Jus' day by goddamn day! Step by step, drink by drink! Tuck your chin in and bend over 'fore life does it for ya, and you damn well enjoy the pounding it gives you! Thrust by fucken thrust, we live - nay, we survive... Otherwise... Otherwise!” The folk at the bar never learnt what would happen otherwise, as the fat sodd fell into a drunken stupor in the midst of demonstrating life's sexual potency. Maybe it was better that way, keep the crowds guessing and they'll never be bored again.
He turned to a knock on the door. Jerry Geralds, the senior member of StaDe and its acting President, leaned against the wall, resting his knuckles on the doorframe. Jerry was somewhere between sixty and dead, his hair still surprisingly dark with only slight slashes of white at the temples. Wearing worn slacks, a hoodie and honest-to-God brass knuckles on a chain around his neck, he was the most interesting kid on the block by a long mile. And not in a bad way either, as was evidenced by Sully's warm grin.
”Heya Jerry. What brings your wrinkly balls to my ex-office?
”Wrinkly or not, they're still prouder than the grapes you seem so keen on attempting to grow,” said Jerry, his gruff voice broken down by the years. ”To answer your question, my balls were dragged here on the wings of rumors. Your ex-office, eh? So it's true what they say?”
”Yah,” Sully answered, ”it's true all right.”
”Damn, son. For what it's worth, you have my grievings. You made a damn fine Viper.” Viper being office-slang for Vice-President.
Sully shrugged. ”Didn't seem to shake Harken's world. And all because his wages aren't sufficient enough for me to buy myself an actual car.”
”Mm?”
”The Beast of the Deep broke down in the middle of the damn street. Just said piff, pulled a long drag of smoke, got caught in its lungs, choked to death with hardly a sound.”
Jerry's face wrinkled into a grimace. ”Well I'll be damned. I guess Harken really doesn't take shit from anyone if that doesn't amount to a full-blown excuse. Seems something he says has been proved true. I mean, it's practically his fault.”
”Oh, it gets worse,” Sully chuckled. ”As it happened, I got the happy joy of paying for it. Police chick knocked my window and wrote me a shopping list – in her favor. Consisted of all sorts of fun things like a mail-box and brand new ear cavities for everyone in the damn city. Do come in and have a seat, though, while Ugly Dougley hasn't ruined it yet. Feels wierd keeping you at the door.”
”I heard that!” came Dougley's shout from across the floor.
”Fuck off, vulture!” Jerry shouted back and entered the office. ”I only have a moment, but sitting beats the crap outta standing.”
He slumped down into the swiveling chair behind the desk. Sully perched his backside on the desk iteslf while the old timer pulled out a pack of cigarettes, Gold Flakes.
”Smoke?” offered Jerry, tilting the packet of cigarettes at Sully.
”Nah, don't feel like one,” Sully said.
”Your loss.” Jerry lit the smoke with a lighter fashioned after a naked woman, carved of bronze. He pulled a long one, savoring the smoke for a stretched moment before letting it out through his nose. He sighed in comfort and the chair
creaked softly as he settled down deeper.”If nothing else, the Indians make some damn good rolls. Beats all the wierd local shit any day. M'thinks they just roll up some fertilizer and sell it off as tobacco, judging by the taste, that is.”
Sully murmured his assent, drumming the heels of his feet on the side of the desk. Just like he was often thought to be less than intelligent, so was Jerry here thought to be all gangster and stuff. In fact, the old slacker had never been in a fight and neither was he rich at all, making just enough to feed his own widowed ass, as he liked to put it himself. He also possessed one of the sharpest wits Sully had ever come across, belying his outward apperance further. Maybe that was why they hit off so well, both of them underestimated, both of them testimony to the old saying of 'Don't judge a woman by her breasts'. Those D-cups can be damn decieving.
”It truly is a damn shame what happened,” Jerry said into the pregnant silence, ”a bad chain of events. Never met a pup as unlucky as you, to be honest. Nor an asshole as gaping as Harken. It's gonna be a lot less fun and a lot more work when the shit stops flying. Everyone's scrambling to fill the power vacuum you're leaving behind, and it's only been a dozen minutes since they found out. This stinks like it's gonna be a long, long week. Which, I'm afraid, means I should get to going and start starting, if you'll excuse me. Thanks for the seat and brief company.”
He smothered the cigarette on the neat ash tray next to the unicorn and got up with an old man's weary groan. Sully unseated himself and accepted the hand Jerry was offering him, clasping it firmly.
”You take good care of yourself, son. It really has been an honor.”
Tears found the edge of Sully's eyes. ”Indeed it has, you old fart.”
”You got balls, Sully, I give you that,” Jerry chuckled. ”And I like that well enough to treat you to a couple of drinks once I get off. Sound good to you?”
”I'd love it,” answered Sully, whole-heartedly. ”McKillen's?”
”Where else?” The President of the StaDe grinned. ”I'll call you up.”
With that, he released Sully's hand and walked out, taking with him the life that had momentarily filled the small room. Sully let his hand drop to his side. Leaning back on the counter, he sighed, resigned to his fate. He was now jobless, girless, almost friendless, and a hair's breadth from homeless. With nothing else to occupy him, he set to cleaning his desk, an item at a time. Face emotionless, Sully bent over the barrel and accepted life's throbbing cock in between his well-worn cheeks, one thrust after the other.
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