The Tale of Dribbles

Operation Blackmail

Operation Blackmail

“I know! I’m looking at the invoice sitting in front of me and I don’t remember signing off on it. What do mean it has already been scheduled? This is my company and nothing goes on without my say so…Do you understand me? Who called it in? Art? Art Reddings? He is no longer with the co… Fifty dollars if I cancel? Fine! Send the Exterminator. Tomorrow afternoon. Fine, fine, I got it!”

Mr. Quinten slammed the phone down with tremendous anger, causing the receiver to bounce off of the base. After a quick adjustment, He melted deep in his chair. The Company was losing more and more money and he could feel the pinch in his back pocket. His Mahogany desk lay littered with paperwork, mostly invoices for outlandish office supplies he had to sign off on. Names. Names of the unlucky souls who made the black list of termination floated through his mind. If they cost me money, they do me no good he thought to himself.

He slowly reaches below his desk and carefully pulls the bottle of scotch from the mini-fridge, shaking his wrist to ensure his Rolex would remain scratch free. The cheery clank of the frosted glass against the desk seemed soothing. The strong burn in his stomach from the drink did little to calm his demeanor. He stared at the faux golf course overlapping his work space and decided a small break would do him some good. He pushed the paperwork to the side, almost knocking off the memo from the workers, addressed to him with the utmost concern.

His hairy wrist remained straight as he diligently swung the club. The tiny golf ball carved a perfect path towards the hole, keeping its title as the most reliable thing in his corporation. He would marvel on how it would always do exactly what he wanted and never have to be told twice. As the ball dropped into a hole in one, the satisfying click finally helped him relax enough to focus on the task at hand.

He poured himself one more drink before settling in front of the mountain of paperwork. Certain that a full day’s labor was in his future, he pulled the sheet from the top of the stack and stared at it in shock. In his many years as a business man, he had never encountered anything quite like this and it frightened him.

*****

The dark sunglasses were hard to see out of. The long black wig was hot and the uniform was a little too tight. Bob stared at his reflection in the mirror with morbid fascination. My disguise as a delivery man may get me through those doors yet he thought. He readjusted the rearview in his mini-van and climbed out of driver’s seat. He slowly treaded the blacktop he used to call home and headed through the gleaming doors of Q.J. Enterprises. The shrub in the lobby brought fond memories flooding back as he brought the package to the receptionist on duty. Duty…Bob snickers. He remembers the shrub in that sense as well. He recalled leaving a small brown package there too! Bob burst out laughing, bringing unneeded attention to himself. Thinking fast, he rambled an explanation to receptionist.

“I told myself a joke, as it turns out…I’ve never heard it before!” Bob tried to force the giggles to recede, but failed miserably. The receptionist, Brenda, as the name tag stated, didn’t bother to hide the confusion she wore openly on her face.

“Can I help you Sir?”

“Um…Yes. I have a delivery for a Mr. Quinten.”

“Please sign in and leave the package in receiving.” She said in a monotone verse.

Sign in; sign in, Bob’s mind raced as he tried to come up with a fake name. He smiled as he put the pen to the paper. The shrub still in his mind’s eye, he wrote.

Gron, Ted

“Thank you, have a nice day!” Bob examined Brenda’s expression for any sign of suspicion. When he was sure she was uninterested, he made his way back to the sweltering vehicle and waited, confident of his plan.