A Promotion

Last night was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I wasn’t new to this kind of passion but there was something about the body I was with. The curves, the lines, the beauty. I was entranced. I stayed all night. Usually, it never takes me that long, but the connection was something I couldn’t walk away from until I peeled back every strip of pleasure. I have work to do but I can’t get that voice out of my mind. The groans, the screams, the rapid breathing. I can’t help but smile at the memory of the face laying below me. The entire world is about to find out what happened. I happen to be what some people would consider a big deal and the person filling me with pleasure was no slouch either. I have a feeling word is going to get around in all the wrong circles. I’ll have my new assistant clean this one up.    

I picked this one up from some recruiting agency. On the day of the interview, he walked in shaking like a leaf. A blank piece of paper would have been more impressive than what he handed me. But I saw something in his eyes, a silent scream for hope, for change. He was exactly what I need. He was my seventh assistant this year, but only the fourth I would need for a task like this. 

I can hear him sprinting down the hallway. His footsteps brought me back from the pleasure of holding me. I knew the construction on 54th would make him late to bring my coffee. It will be 5 degrees cooler now. Disgusting. He storms into my office as I put on the perfect expression of disinterest. He is a thick boy with gleaming sweat on his forehead, large hands wrapped around a coffee tray. His suit is freshly pressed, but now creased with stress. On a regular day, I would drag him out to the bullpen and make an example of his incompetence, but I’m going to need him today. Hopefully, his brain is still spinning from the fear of turning up late. 

“I’m so sorry sir!” He is gasping for air as he sets my coffee down on the polished glass desk. He continues with multiple excuses but I had tuned him out and began scrolling through the CNN Breaking news story. Torso of Pulitzer Prize Winner Found in Dumpster. 

The boy is still babbling on about traffic and New York City cab drivers. “Shut up boy,” I say sternly causing the young man to clam up. I flick on the TV opposite my desk, “Take a look at this and tell me what you think.”

The newscaster is speaking with a well-practiced voice of concern and urgency: 

“...Morow was found by a garbage collection worker shortly after 7 am this morning. Investigators have confirmed the body of the decorated journalist is missing all its limbs and the head was decapitated. Morow’s arms and legs have not been recovered, leaving investigators with questions as to the location of the crime.”

The reporter kept talking but I’ve wandered off. The face of my pleasure is being plastered all over the screen. I’m taken back to last night. The perfect straps holding down those pretty arms. I had used my favourite knife to start. A 5-inch handcrafted blade I picked up on a trip to Russia. Now there’s a country that understands how to solve problems. 

A clip of Morow reporting is played to show celebrate their career. There’s that voice, it’s strong and soothing. Last night it was shrill and gasping. Beautiful. I realize I’ve closed my eyes and have a slight smirk on my face. I open my eyes and thankfully the boy is still focused on the story unfolding.   

I tune back into the TV, “Police Chief Dickson will be holding a press conference outside city hall today at 11:00 am. 

Morow is survived by a daughter who is studying journalism at Brown Univer--” 

I flicked off the tv and leaned back in my chair. Savouring the disgusted look on his face. 

“So?” I asked the clearly stunned and confused assistant.

So….” he had a look of pure bewilderment. 

“What do you think boy” 

“Well, I...uh...I think this is awful.”

“Do you?” I questioned as I’m getting up from my chair and moving around the desk. “Why would it be awful? Morow has been bashing us for decades. Something about our ‘despicable low moral standards’. That won’t happen anymore” I chuckled.

“Well..uh...yes I guess that is good.” a meek smile flashed across his lips. He’s standing there, cowering like a submissive rat. His eyes are darting around the carpet as I moved toward him. 

“You’re lying.” The accusation startles the boy. Inches from his face I whisper, “You don’t believe that Morow’s death is good. You’re one of those softies that believes all life is precious, aren’t you? Pathetic.” I scoffed at his naivety. 

“Well...I...it may help the company but…”

“But what!” I shouted, jolting the boy back toward the door. “This company is all that matters! You’re committed to this company! You sat in that chair and told me you would do anything to succeed! Well boy, the time has come.” I waltzed back to my seat, flipped open my laptop and began to type. My practiced anger is working. 

“What...what do you mean my time?”

“Boy, you’re getting a new job. Look at it as a promotion. You’re going to take the fall for the murder. Just to make things clear, I was the one who dismantled that waste of oxygen. The arms and pieces of the legs are in the box under your desk. The rest of Morow was enjoyed thoroughly by my dogs.”

The look on his face has me aroused beyond repair. 

Quivering with stoic excitement I continue, “You’re going to walk into the police station carrying your box of goodies and claim that you killed Morow in hopes of saving the company from false ridicule. You will immediately be arrested and read them the script I am typing you right now. Memorize it, that will be more convincing.” 

I’m overwhelming him. I love this. My heart is racing but I keep my back upright and shoulders back. Just another day at the office. 

The next part is my favourite, “We will send you a lawyer, all expenses paid. We will release a statement claiming how horrified we are about an employee of ours committing such a violent act. We will bolster our wellness program to help people in need. Bringing us some positive PR in a negative situation.”

He is gutted. He has no idea how to respond and I’m on a roll. With merciless intrigue, I continue. 

“You will plead guilty receiving a reduced sentence of 5 years in a psychiatric facility and 10 years probation. The insanity plea will work based on everything your therapist has told us and the fact that you are on a mild psychotic medication. They will think you snapped and obviously needed a higher dosage.”

The boy finds his tongue, “How do you know about any of tha---”

“Shut your mouth son. I know everything. Interrupt me again and I’ll just kill you myself and give this reward to some other low life in the office.”

The surge of energy I’m getting at this moment is tantalizing. It’s nearly as good as tearing Morow’s arm from its socket. The boy isn’t screaming as loud though. Could I get him to scream? Don’t get greedy, I think to myself. 

 “Of course you will be compensated handsomely. You will receive your payment to an offshore account, Melanie will give you the details. When you get out, we can set you up with something in the mailroom but you probably won’t need it.” 

Time to reel in this prize. Hit the boy where it is going to hurt. The final moment of joy.

“The offshore account is for your girlfriend to use for your unborn child. Yes, she is pregnant, I know you were unaware but to be honest, I don’t care. Also, it might not even be yours! Her and your friend Brad have been banging since last Christmas. Let’s be honest, if it is your child, taking this job is the only way to give that child any hope at a decent life.”

“What? Clara is pregnant? When did that happen?”

“I’m sorry are you interrupting me again?”

“No...Sorry” He dropped his head.

I’ve done it. In record time to less. I’ve broken him. I take a second to let the joy flow through my veins. 

With a deep breath, “So, go talk to Melanie she will hand you a pack with your new account information. Don’t call your girlfriend, we will notify her of everything that’s going on. Don’t ask me what happens if you don’t listen, we both already know. It’s 9:15 now, your script for the police will be ready by 9:45. You will walk into the precinct down the block at 10:30. Just enough time for them to scramble like chickens before Chief Dickson press conference. I think I’ve explained myself well enough but I’ll give you a chance to ask questions.”

Whimpering and attempting to still take in my flawless words, the boy is barely audible. “How much money will Clara have?”

“Really? That’s your question?” I am battling roaring laughter now, “Clara will have enough, there’s no need to worry. Anything else?”

“Now what?”

“Walk out the door, and do what you’re told. Even you know the world needs me more than it needs you.”

With that, the young man turns and leaves my office with his tail between his legs and I flick my feet up to enjoy my own brilliance.