My desktop intercom beeped yesterday afternoon but as I was neck-deep in some very important work, I decided to ignore it. Whoever was trying to reach me wasn’t taking “no” for an answer though, because I received a longer beep a few seconds later.
“Yes!” I barked. “I’m very busy in here. What is it?”
“Sorry Mr. Carver,” said Ms. Cashtushy, Carver Consolidated Capital’s (C3’s) newly hired office manager. “I checked with IT and they said you’d been on some site called ‘chubby Czech cheerleaders dot com’ for the past hour, so I figured you were available for calls.”
“What? They’re lying,” I said as I closed a browser window depicting a bunch of chubby Czech women in cheerleader outfits. “I mean, why on earth would anyone want to ogle a bunch of chubby Czech women in cheerleader outfits?”
“I have no idea. Anyhow, your lawyer is on line one. Do you wish to speak with him?”
“Fine,” I said. I hung up on Cashtushy and answered the blinking red line. “Oz here.”
An extended period of odd sniffing sounds punctuated by an obnoxious snort preceded my longtime criminal defense attorney Buzz Goldenrod’s response.
“What?” he said.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Oz — Oswald Carver. You called me?”
“Did I? Oh shit I did. Sorry about that, man. Hectic day at the office.”
“Yeah it sounds like it. Trying to land the Dyson account are you?”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny, asshole. I’m calling because — wait, why am I calling you?”
“I presume it has something to do with my recent DUI, weapon and drug possession, indecent exposure, and manslaughter charges.”
“No, I don’t think — oh yeah. That’s exactly why I’m calling. What the hell’s gotten into you lately? Are you trying to put me in a stress-induced coma?”
“Last thing on my mind. Just a case of boys being boys.”
“Boys being boys? Are you shitting me? Hold on.” Again with the sniffing and snorting, and then: “OK. Where were we?”
“You were about to thank me for sending so many billable hours your way this week.”
“No I was not,” he said. “Listen man, fact is I’m not sure that I can get all of these charges dropped. Manslaughter is going to be particularly tricky. Did you know that the kid was autistic?”
“Well that explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ohhhh. Heh.” More sniffing and snorting. “Anyhow, yeah. We’re probably looking at a trial date for that one, but I’ll see what I can do with the rest.”
“Now whom’s shitting whom? That kid pulled a gun on me!”
“Yeah, and if you had stopped at disarming him we wouldn’t be having this conversation. As it is, you and your monstrously fat ass had to go and kill him. Jesus Oz, the coroner said his heart was impaled on his spine!”
“Really? Any chance I could get a picture of that?”
“Yeah, I can probably get you a copy during the discovery period. But for the love of Christ, try to stay out of trouble until I have your latest mess cleaned up!”
Call ended, I grabbed the riding crop I keep in my office’s umbrella stand, marched down to IT, and located department manager Melvin Poodle. He was sprawled out on a bean bag chair, eating cheese doodles and playing Diablo III.
“Idiot!” I shouted, whacking him across the skull with the crop. “How many times have I told you: Keep my browsing history secret!”
Melvin hissed and spit as he covered his head, then scurried off to his cot in the server room. What a pansy. He’ll need to toughen up if he wants to make it at this company, that’s for sure. I’ll catch you later.
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