I couldn't watch
any more, so I stepped out of the shadows and lifted the needle off
the record. They both scrambled to their feet. The woman shrieked and
Shropshire shouted, "What the fuckin' hell?" "Oh, no,"
the woman moaned. "Not him." I had no idea what
she was talking about. The man and I stared at each other for a good
twenty seconds before he spoke again. "I thought
I told you people I was never to be disturbed." "I'm not 'you
people,'" I said. "I'm a contractor." "I don't care
if you're the Goddamn King of Siam. You have no authorization to be
down here. Josey, get that idiot Poot on the phone." "Josey?"
I mumbled, staring at her. "Josephine?" With all the makeup
and weird clothing, I hadn't noticed a resemblance, but it was there.
"You just
can't mind your own business, can you, Shorty?" she said. The transformation
was so complete, I could hardly believe it was her. "What are you
doing down here, Josephine?" "In case you
haven't noticed, I'm Mr. Shropshire's personal assistant." "I noticed,"
I said. "So you knew all along that I would never get a number?
Why did you do this to me?" "I thought
I told you to call Poot," Shropshire barked at her. "Don't bother,
Josephine," I said. "Poot will be out of commission for a
while." "Oh, this
is great, just great," the man said. "Didn't I tell them not
to hire any contractors, Josey?" "Yup, that's
what you told them," she said. The man slowly
circled toward me. I circled away from him. "You're in
some deep shit, my friend," Shropshire said. "Go back the
way you came, and you won't get hurt." "Not until
I get what's rightfully mine, Shropshire. A project number." "You don't
know who you're dealing with here. You're in over your head. Tell him,
Josey." "You better
leave before the man puts a hurtin' on you, Shorty," she said calmly
lighting a cigarette. Just then the man
fainted toward me. I jumped awkwardly, almost tripping. The man got
a good laugh out of that. Josephine joined in with her hellish cackle.
"I can see
I'm going to enjoy every minute of this," the man said. "Look, I don't
want any trouble," I said. "Just hand over a number, and I'll
leave peacefully." "That's not
how it works, kiddo, barging into my headquarters uninvited, destroying
my privacy, scaring my guest, talking tough." "I filled
out dozens of project number applications, but little good it did me."
"Are you that
contractor who submitted a new application every day for the last month,
whining about your difficult upbringing, how everyone was so mean to
you, calling you 'Shorty'? Your name wouldn't be, Lloyd, would it?"
The man threw back
his head and roared, "You pathetic bastard!" Josephine had snuck
up behind me. She grabbed my ass and shouted, "Woo!" I almost
had a heart attack and jumped a good six inches off the ground. Of course,
they found all this to be hysterically funny. I grabbed a handful
of a project number applications from a nearby pile and waved them at
him. "Look at all
of these applications. Why couldn't you give project numbers to these
people? What did they ever do to you? You should be ashamed of yourself."
"Ashamed of
myself? Do you believe this kid, Josey? Look, dipshit, I control the
numbers, so everybody has to kiss my ass. Now you're questioning my
authority, so I'm going to have to waste you. That's how life works.
Survival of the fittest. Watch the nature documentaries." "Only a weak,
insecure weasel tries to control people through intimidation and fear.
You need professional help. Can you see that?" "Kid, you're
starting to bore me, so I'm gonna kick your ass and send you back upstairs
so everybody knows what happens to those who violate the sanctity of
my headquarters. But first, here's a little thrill for you." He knelt before
the safe, twiddled the dial, and opened it. It was an awesome sight.
The safe contained thousands of project numbers, all neatly bundled.
"I spent the
last twenty years wrestling control of all the project numbers at Ajax,
and you think I'll give up even one to a hairy midget contractor?"
He pulled handfuls
of numbers out of the safe and threw them in the air. They floated down
like confetti. "This is what's
called power, Shorty. Pure, unadulterated power." Josephine danced
in the falling numbers and squealed, "Weeee! Pure, unadulterated
power!" I held my hands
out, trying to catch a few of the numbers. "It's not fair,"
I muttered. "Everyone's entitled to at least one number."
I caught a few
of the numbers and shoved them into my pockets. "I'm taking these
upstairs with me, Shropshire, and I'm giving them out to deserving employees
and contractors." The man bared his
teeth, growled at me, and took a few menacing steps toward me. I backed
away. "Please, don't
kill him, Daddy," Josephine pleaded. "He's not worth it."
Shropshire screamed
and leapt at me. We grabbed each other in bear hugs, danced about a
bit, and fell to the floor in a thud. I kicked and clawed and tried
to get away from him. I managed to stand and get one leg free, but his
grip on my other ankle was like a vise, and he pulled me back down to
the floor with him. To make matters
worse, Josephine was hitting whatever part of my body she could reach
with one of her high heels shouting, "Bad contractor! Bad contractor!"
The man tripped
on an empty whiskey bottle, stumbled backwards, and fell, the full force
of his weight directly on me. I must've passed out for a few seconds.
When I came to, the man had his meaty hands around my throat. Operating on pure
adrenaline, I grabbed his throat with both hands and squeezed for all
I was worth. Everything was going fuzzy and black, and I knew I was
about to die. But just then the man's eyes rolled up and his mouth fell
open. His body convulsed a time or two, and he slumped to the floor
and didn't move.
I tried to get
up, but I couldn't move. My legs were numb. "He was just
a crazy old man, and you had to go an kill him. Oh, Daddy. Oh, Daddy.
The short, hairy contractor killed you." "I didn't
mean to hurt him," I said. "I was trying to get away from
him." Josephine lay there
and wept, her whole body shaking with each tortured wail. After a while,
she stopped and stared at me with a strange expression. "He got what
he deserved," I said. "He was a cruel bastard. I saw how he
treated you." She crawled across
the floor toward me. I tried to back away but couldn't. "I was good
to him," she said, "but now you've got the numbers, and I
can be good to you too." "I'm in pain,
Josephine," I said. "Please, call an ambulance." She put a pillow
under my head and knelt beside me. "I know how
you've suffered, Lloyd. The world has mistreated you. Your project number
applications were brilliant." "Josephine,
I appreciate your kind words. Really I do, but I think I broke something.
And Shropshire could use some CPR. For the love of God, get a doctor!"
She caressed my
face. "I know what you need," she said, grabbing a handful
of numbers and holding them up. "These are all yours now. Now you're
the man in the basement." Then she lowered
my zipper and shoved the numbers into my open fly.
I spent the next
week in bed at home. Claire dropped by every day to help out. Late one
night after she had gone, I got up on the crutches, hobbled out to my
car, and drove to the Ajax Building. My door pass still worked, so I
was able to get inside. The corridors of
the Ajax Building were empty, and I snuck down into the basement without
attracting any attention. Slowly and deliberately I waddled down flight
after flight of stairs until, once again, I reached the man's headquarters.
I lay down on the
man's couch and rested for a few minutes, but the sound of approaching
footsteps startled me. Josephine stepped out of the shadows with a whiskey
bottle in hand. "Oh, it's
you again," she said and sat in a nearby chair. "Drowning
your sorrows?" I asked. "Maybe I am,"
she said. "It's not a crime, is it? After all, a man died here
not long ago." "I have a
hard time feeling any sympathy for either of you," I said. "Look, Shorty,
I had nothing to do with those numbers. Right now, all I know is that
the man who was taking care of me, the only friend I had, is gone. And
if you can't understand that--" Her voice trailed
off. We sat without speaking for a long time. I drank some of Josephine's
whiskey, and she wept quietly. "Hand me some
of those, would you," I said pointing to a pile of old project
number applications. She handed me a
dozen or so, and I read through them. "These people
deserve project numbers," I said and picked up a few stray project
numbers from the floor. I attached them to the applications with paper
clips. "Would you
mind putting these in the company mail, if it's not too much to ask?"
She took the applications
with the attached numbers and left. She was back within twenty minutes.
"Mission accomplished,"
she said. Josephine made
up the man's bed and helped me into it. I slept there that night, and
she slept on the couch. The next morning
she made breakfast. I went through another dozen applications and attached
more numbers to them. But there were more applications than I could
deal with, so I called Claire at HR and told her where I was. "You're where?"
she said, her voice a barely controlled whisper. "You should be
in bed." "I am in bed,"
I said. "Shropshire's bed." I explained to her what Josephine
and I were doing. "That's insane,"
she hissed. "Get out of there." "We need your
help, Claire." "We?"
she said. "Now you're in working with that horrible woman?"
"Please, Claire.
It's important. Sneak down here later tonight. Bring food. And try to
get some whiskey for Josephine." A few hours later
Claire was in the man's headquarters working with us on project number
applications.
It took us a few
grueling months, but we eventually worked through the 20-year backlog
of applications. Employee morale skyrocketed, the Ajax stock price doubled,
and the board of directors rewarded me with a stock and bonus package
unrivaled in the industry. The first thing
I did with my newfound power was have the man's headquarters remodeled.
It is now the site of modern offices and living quarters for Claire
and I. A new heating system was installed, and the overworked boiler
men were retrained in high-technology applications and now have new
careers. The strange beggars who protected Shropshire's headquarters
were institutionalized where they can be cared for properly, and the
HR department was done away with completely, at my instruction. Officer
Poot, who was found wandering the Ajax sub-basements in a nude and beaten
condition, was warned to never again darken the halls of the Ajax Building.
Josephine cleaned
herself up too. Gone are the flashy clothes, the gaudy makeup, and the
bleached hair. She wears business suits and low pumps, and never takes
her teeth out during business hours. She is my personal assistant, and
I couldn't get by without her. Sometimes after
a hard day, Claire and I open the safe, take out a handfuls of project
numbers, throw them in the air, and we giggle like children. During these moments,
I sometimes have what you might call an out of body experience. My consciousness
floats up and over the scene, and I watch as Claire and I rub project
numbers all over each other, and I think, I really have come a long
way. I started as a short, hairy contractor, and look at me now. It
really is the dawn of a new age here at the Ajax Corporation.
Section 4: A Rapid and Tumultuous Turn of Events
"What
if it is?" I said. 
We
wrestled back and forth for a long time. Finally, I climbed onto his
back and pulled his hair, gouged his eyes, and gnawed on his ears. The
man rose to his feet like a grizzly and stumbled about his filthy headquarters
roaring in rage, knocking over the hi-fi and the television, me clinging
to his back all the while.
Josephine rushed to the man's side. She checked for a pulse and beat on
his chest. "He's got a bad heart," she screamed. "He's
a got a bad heart."
I came to in an ambulance. At the hospital it was determined that I had
fractured my tailbone and my sternum. I was sent home on crutches and
prescribed pain killers and bed rest. The coroner determined that Shropshire
had died from a heart attack, so I did not face any legal complications.
No one stopped us from sending project numbers upstairs, and Ajax did
not send anyone down to take the man's place, so we kept at it. Slowly
and steadily, we took over the entire operation. Project numbers were
sent up and into the halls of the Ajax Building like never before, and
important projects were finally underway.
Yes,
things are changing rather quickly here at Ajax, and it's all for the
better, if I say so myself. When I stop and reflect, it's hard comprehend
the rapid and tumultuous turn of events. Plus, I had no idea I would
enjoy corporate management as much as I have. At the risk of sounding
immodest, I'm a natural at it.
Location: missionCREEP > MouthWash > Man in the Basement > Section: 1 2 3 4
Email: walsh99@missioncreep•com