Slumdog Assassin

Chapter 1

Fingers clicking on the keyboards. Lead scurrying on paper. The occasional sneeze or fart echoing across the hall, penetrating the white-wall work cubicles and reminding the inhabitants that despite the pin-drop silence, there were still fellow employees all around.

Pony had moved to the cubicle next to me via my recommendation; the man with the fluffy sideburns had been hitting on her while she was calling her kids and she found that kind of creepy. So I decided to be a nice fellow and tell her to switch with my cubicle neighbor, Jar Jar.

Just makes my job a lot easier.

The clock ticks by. My hands start shaking a bit. They always start shaking when it comes down to the end. I had done this about a hundred times but it never gets any easier or less nerve wrecking.

I turn my head to look at Pony through the little window in the cubicle wall they gave us to encourage "Employee cohesion". Whatever the hell that means. I could see every strand of her red hair, every lash on her brown eyelids, every smudge of pink makeup she used; the slight tilt of her head in one direction when she typed, her hair falling to one side of her head and exposing the bare skin of her neck. I could see every single detail as if she was lying down under a microscope.

I have a love/hate relationship with this ability to see things in such fine detail. On one hand, it makes my job a lot easier because I don't overlook any details. However, it also stirs up a slightly annoying amount of guilt.

Guilt is not something I can afford.

Suddenly, Pony turns and looks at me, a startled look on her face as she realizes I was staring at her.

"What you looking at, Wasabi?" she says with a teasing grin.

I went to go use the bathroom in the middle of eating my sandwich a few weeks ago. Jar Jar and Blackjack thought they were a couple jokesters and squeezed a mountain of wasabi sauce in my sandwich. They got my reaction on tape and have been watching it every day since then. Unfortunately the name has stuck.

I got them back.

"Just looking at that horn of a pimple on your forehead, Pony," I shoot back, as I looked back at my screen.

Pony came to work on pajama day in a unicorn costume, horn on the forehead and all. Obviously she was a bit of a laughing-stock at work. When we attempted to take off the horn on her head, she jerked back and didn't let us. Obviously we found that a bit strange and cornered her and yanked it off her forehead, and realized that she came in the unicorn costume to hide the monster of a pimple smack in the middle of her forehead. Hence, Pony.

I come up with all the nicknames. It's important to develop a connection with those around you when you're on the job.

Time goes by again. I look up at the clock. 2:55 pm. 5 minutes left. That was a bit fast. Time always seems to fly by towards the end. Jar Jar walks by my cubicle, turning the volume up loud of the video of me screaming after I chowed down on a wasabi sandwich. Jackass. I should stick him too on the way out. No one would notice.

4 minutes left. Blackjack comes by and drops about ten ice cubes down Jar Jar's underwear, making the chubby Mexican scream as his crown jewels became a couple of snowballs in the middle of the summer.

3 minutes. The voices always start to fade out at this point. Jar Jar's cursing fades into the background as he chases Blackjack down the hall. I don't even notice Pony calling me from the cubicle next door.

2 minutes. I can feel the tension building. I shove my hands in my pockets to avoid them sweating. My feet start to get uncomfortable in my shoes; my arms start to stick to my sleeves. I take a deep breath. Steady my breathing. Prepare myself for what is to come. Feel the slight bulge in my back pocket. Reassuringly, it's there.

1 minute.

The blood starts to roar in my ears. I feel my body come alive with adrenaline, giving me that little kick that I always need if I start to freeze in the moment. It starts to get hotter in the room. I'm sweating. I can't afford to sweat. Not now. It might slip out of my hands. I wipe my hands on my pants, making them dry again. Any second now.

3:00.

Bell rings. Everyone stands up. It's time for a lunch break.

People start to file out of their cubicles, talking and munching on their food as they make their way to the elevators. They're making a lot of noise. Good. Makes my job easier.

I slip out of my cubicle and into Pony's. She is sitting on her chair with her back to me, still typing away on her keyboard. I feel for the familiar bulge in my back pocket. My lucky pen is still there. I take a deep breath as if I am about to ask out a childhood crush, and walk up to her.

"Hey Pony," I say as I pull out my blue fountain pen, double clicking the top.

She puts her finger up, gesturing that she needs a second. I wait.

She finally closes her laptop and sighs. "Crap Wasabi, I hate this job," her back still to me.

Don't worry, I think to myself as I stab her in the neck with the pen. It's all over now.

As the poison floods through her system, she opens her mouth to say something, probably 'ouch' or 'what the hell' or 'why are you poking me with a pen' or something along those lines.

But all that happens is her body sags and threatens to fall out of the chair. I'm ready for this. I grab her body, and with a grunt of exertion (she's a bit fat) pull her back upright.

And that's it. Job done.

I double click the pen closed and start to leave. As I get to the end of the cubicle, I turn around and look at her slumped, lifeless body resting against the back of the chair, thinking about what I just did, making sure that I am absolutely sure this was the right thing. I nod to myself after about a second.

Yes, it was.

I walk out of the building, passing a few people, one of which I nod to. They will forget about me by the morning.

Do I care that I just took a Mom away from her three children and I'm probably going to rot in hell for eternity for that?

Eh, not really.