The Asshole App (Expanded Version) ✅ Wattys2023

𝟣𝟪 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗂𝖼 𝖡𝗈𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀

Refusing to contaminate his Tesla with whipped cream, Raymond decided to use the shelter's washroom and clean off the hardening confection. A frail, white haired man, wearing a rumpled raincoat and worn, dirty white sneakers, shuffled over and took a seat near the dining room table. "You're covered in whipped cream," the old man observed.

Raymond's face betrayed a litany of emotions, but he settled on a crooked smile that barely concealed his rage. "Yeah, well you should see the other guy." He grimaced, "woman—whatever."

The homeless man blinked. He looked up with watery, red rimmed eyes. "Today's my birthday."

The CEO responded before he could stop himself. "Is it?"

The man nodded, gaining confidence. "Yes. I'm Roger. I'm seventy-two." He shook uncontrollably with palsy as he tried to remain standing.

"Happy birthday, Roger," Raymond said, awkwardly. He looked around.

Why isn't anyone helping these people?

More street people were trickling into the shelter and taking seats at the long Formica cafeteria tables. "Is there a bathroom here?" The room began to smell like a mixture of food, urine, and cigarettes.

"Were you making a birthday cake?" The man asked, hopefully.

"Nice meeting you, Buddy." Feeling the creamy confection continue to harden into a crusty shell, he hustled towards a narrow wooden door that he hoped was a washroom. Overriding his disgust of the homeless facility, he slipped into the community bathroom. Dexterously, ripping off a half a roll of paper towels, he wet them and started scrubbing his jeans. "That ungrateful bitch," he muttered. "She and her degenerate friends can rot here for all I care." As his heart pounded, his anger couldn't erase the vision of Evie's stricken face from his mind. She had yelled at him with an intensity he couldn't quite understand.

"Who needs the little Oompa Loompa?" He breathed deeply and tried to loosen an unfamiliar tightness from his chest. The memory of the tight jeans hugging her perfect butt tormented him.

Once his hands were clean, he pulled out his phone. He would activate the Tesla's self-driving mode and have CENTIEN's Security division come and pick him up. He hesitated when an unfinished text from Dennis appeared on his screen.

What now?

Dennis never butt dialed. He was anal to a fault about communication—it was not his style to break off mid-text. He recalled Lear's rushed departure from CENTIEN and the clandestine meeting with the nefarious CIA operative. Using an alcohol wipe he cleaned his phone and tapped the plasma screen.

WHAT DID THAT A-HOLE JAMISON SAY?

After two minutes and no response, he frowned. Habitually, Lear answered his texts instantly, no matter what time of day or night. Raymond used GPS to confirm the CFO's location and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Dennis was safe at CENTIEN.

Two nondescript men, wearing black catering uniforms, entered the bathroom. Ray didn't see one of them turn to stand guard by the door. He heard the door lock and spun around. He gave a strangled cry when the second, heavier stranger, pounced on him. Raymond heard the crackle of a taser. His head slammed into the mosaic tiled floor and he saw stars as fifty-thousand volts coursed through his body and made his muscles cramp. The man put a knee into his back and used his green scarf to gag him. He felt himself hauled up by his jacket collar, and then thrown over the giant's shoulder. He was being kidnapped.