21 November 2013
The Pile-Up
We Like To Party by the Vengaboys was playing on the car radio.
“Change the song.”
Olivia rhythmically bounced in the passenger seat. She was bundled up in a black pea coat with a green scarf around her neck. Her brown eyes were closed and the curls in her hair whipped back and forth as she grooved to the music. “What? No, it’s a great song.”
“I’m driving.”
“Yeah, so I get to pick the music.”
“Change the song.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically and reached for the radio. The music stopped and was replaced by Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby. She started laughing. “Yes!” She sang along with the opening instrumental. “Doo Doo Doo doodoodoodoo.”
“Change the song or I’ll stop–”
“Collaborate and listen?” She smiled.
I pressed the buttons on the radio and Jump by Kriss Kross blared from the car speakers. I turned off the radio while Olivia writhed with laughter. She laughed for the rest of the drive. Thankfully, it wasn’t long until we pulled into the parking lot of 193 Vetter Road, the edge of the business district. I parked away from the entrance. Smiling, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye as we stepped out of the car.
“Do you remember which floor we’re going to?” I asked her.
“Yes, Dad, I do,” she said as she grabbed her briefcase from the back seat.
“Is this about the music thing?” I grabbed my briefcase, straightened my tie, and pulled up my sleeve to look at my watch. Silver. Dark blue face. Analogue. It was 3:17. “Just because I don’t like the music you do, I’m an old man?”
“You’re an old man because you’re an old man.”
“You’re being childish.”
“First impressions die hard.” She looked at her watch. Thin. Digital. “Come on, Oliver. We’re thirty seconds behind.”
We jogged to the building and into the lobby. The receptionist greeted us good afternoon as we walked past a lit up tree decorated with wrapped boxes and pressed the button for the elevators. When the elevator arrived I let Olivia step in before going in myself. We stood there in silence. After a second I tilted my head towards the buttons.
She sighed. “Really? Really?” She pressed the button for 51. “This isn’t my first job, y’know.”
I looked at my watch. 3:21. “Well, we have some wiggle room here. How about I let you call the next play? Then will you save the whole anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better thing for the staff?”
She smirked. “Oh, you’ll let me call the next play?”
“Yes. Noisy or quiet?” I suspected I knew what her answer would be.
“Noisy,” she said. “This suit and tie crap is getting boring.”
By the time the elevator reached the 51st floor we had put on our ski masks, guns in our gloved hands. We stepped out of the elevator, down the hall, around the corner, and into the natural habitat of the desk jockey.
“Everybody away from the desks and on the ground!” Olivia shouted as she panned her pistol across the fifteen half walled cubicles and the office workers that sat in them.
“We’d like everyone to lie on the floor and keep their hands visible,” I said, sweeping my gun as well. “This will all be over soon. Anyone who wants to be a hero today will come down with a sudden case of lead poisoning.”
The office workers put up their hands. Two were wearing fake reindeer antlers but were too scared to take them off. Slowly they each stepped into the central water cooler area and lay face down. A secretary sat still at her desk. She seemed frozen with fear, her hands flat on her keyboard. I walked over and pointed my pistol at her head. “Look, miss,” I said, “I know you’re waiting for a chance to press the panic button under your desk. I know that, if you press it, this floor will be flooded by rent-a-cops in under three minutes. I’m trying to be polite here, ” I paused for dramatic effect. “But if you do press it, what do you think is going to happen before they arrive?” I tilted my head towards her coworkers on the ground, their eyes wide, faces watching to see what would happen.
She stood up and joined the crowd.
I went back to stand beside Olivia. “Lead poisoning?” she asked. “What are you, a mobster from the fifties?”
“Now? We’re doing this now?” I took my attention away from the hostages and focussed on Olivia. “We’ve got a job to do here and–”
From the hall behind me a man jumped on my back and wrapped his hands around my neck as his momentum knocked me to my knees. His strong fingers squeezed the air out of my throat and stars danced in my eyes. Olivia casually shot him in his side.
The office workers screamed.
Olivia pressed her heel against the man and rolled him off me. Dead. I stood up and looked down at the man as blood leaked out his side and pooled below him. I kicked him in the ribs. “This,” I said to the crowd, “is what happens to heroes. Anyone else who wants to star in their own action movie today should probably reconsider.” I kicked him in the ribs again. “If you understand me, look very, very scared.” I looked at each of them in turn, their eyes wide. All they wanted to do was go back to complaining about out dated printers and eating the lunches they brought from home. “Excellent.”
Olivia looked down at the man. “Get him out of here. I don’t want to trip over him when we leave.”
I rolled my eyes dramatically and lifted the man by his armpits. As I slowly dragged him down the hall he left a dark red trail on the scratchy grey office carpet. He had a young face. An intern. His blue, unfocussed eyes stared back at the hostages as I dragged him away. His face rocked from side to side with my steps and a stupid tropical island tie hung around his neck. After I dragged him around the corner I let go of his sweaty armpits. “Allan, are you wearing my fucking tie? I get very stabby when people get blood on my things.”
The young man stood up and rubbed his chest. “Did you have to kick me so hard? Ever hear of pulling your punches, Albert?”
“That’s my lucky fucking tie. I lend it to you two months ago and you wear it today? Do you know how hard it is to get fake blood out of a fucking tie?”
He started undoing the knot. “Would you like it back?” Allan asked.
“Not now.” I sighed. “Sorry, sorry. Alright, let’s make this quick.” I asked him if there were any changes to the schedule and if everything was in place. He said that everything was in order and apologized for getting fake blood on the tie I bought for my brother’s Hawaiian theamed wedding that I specifically told him several times to be careful with. I told him there was a fresh shirt in the briefcase I left beside the second elevator and where to meet after we were done.
I started walking away but stopped and turned back to him. “I want that spotless when I get it back, understand? When.”
He nodded and stepped into the elevator.
“Welcome back,” Olivia said when I stepped into the cubicle room. “You going to tie them up or just stand there?”
I looked around the room. “I’m going to do a sweep. Make sure everyone is here.”
It was too fast for the hostages to notice, but for a second she was caught off guard. This wasn’t part of her script. Then she was back. “Good idea. We wouldn’t want any more ninety-pound interns getting the jump on you.” She was knocking me down. Re-establishing her character. The hostages were buying every word.
I walked down the other hall and turned the corner into office number 5186. It was a small office belonging to a Mr Julian Parke. Not anyone important, but important enough to get his own office. Mr Parke, coincidentally, had recently won an ‘Exclusive Wine Tasting Experience’ out in the country, to which he was presently attending. On his desk sat a long flat package which, also coincidentally, had been delivered this very morning. I grabbed a letter opener from off the desk and sliced through the packing tape that held the white cardboard of the package together. Inside the package was a fresh roll of packing tape and a long silver case. Inside the case, packed with fitted foam was a semi-automatic, gas-operated, Dragunov sniper rifle. I lifted the rifle and felt the weight of it in my hands. I opened the office window, pulled up the swivel chair, and rested the rifle barrel on the sill. I attached the scope to the top of the rifle and saw a black car drive through the intersection three blocks away. I attached the suppressor onto the end of the barrel and saw another black car drive through the intersection. I grabbed the curved magazine box and slammed it into the bottom of the rifle. A light breeze from the north. I drew in a breath. A long black car with flags above its headlights drove through the intersection. I squeezed the trigger on the exhale.
Within fifty seconds of the case being opened I was already disassembling the rifle and fitting it back into the foam. After sixty I was sliding the case back into the package and replacing the packing label addressing it to Mr Parke with an address that allegedly belonged to a Ms Mary-Anne Mortinson. Mr Parke would see the address, curse the mailroom for wasting his time, and send the package on its way, unopened. I spent another thirty seconds wrapping the ends of the package in thick layers of packing tape to make sure he wouldn’t waste his time looking inside. I placed the package back on his desk.
I left 5186 and, tossing the roll of tape into a different office, rejoined Olivia in the main cubicle farm. “This is everyone,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “Hurry up. We’ve got a schedule to keep.” She handed me a bundle of zip ties and I began binding hands together. When all the office workers had their hands zipped behind their backs Olivia, with a glance down at the trail of blood on the carpet, told them not to move.
We left them, huddled together in front of the water cooler and walked down the hall to the other offices. Undoubtedly they’d come up with a plan to overpower us, but we’d be done before they agreed on anything. We walked down the hall, past 5186, until we reached the office of Mr Wren, the Boss. We pushed open the door. It was quite empty for a boss’ office. This room contained only a desk, a lamp, a filing cabinet, and a rug. There was a painting on the wall, but that too seemed plain. Olivia and I pushed aside the filing cabinet to reveal a floor safe hidden underneath. It was an older model. No keypads, no biometric fingerprints, just a dial and a key hole. A classic. Olivia got to work.
She started with the key hole. Using a set of lockpicks, she carefully nudged each of the pins of the tumbler into place. She turned the lock and the safe clicked open.
“The dial is just for show,” she said with a smile. “A decoy.” She looked inside the safe. “Where are they?”
I looked inside the safe and saw a pistol, a photo of an elderly woman, and a stack of bills worth an estimate of $1000. I reached into the safe and, taking out the stack of bills, knocked on each of the walls until I found one that rang hollow. I took out the false wall of the safe to reveal a small compartment hiding a small velvet bag sealed with a drawstring. Without looking inside we knew it held two dozen uncut blood diamonds. I stood up and looked at my watch. 3:38. I picked up the stack of bills and put it in my pocket as Olivia grabbed the bag and slipped it into hers.
“Do you think they’ll be here on time?” she asked. She shut the safe.
“I hope so. It would look pretty embarrassing if they’re not. And what would I do with this?” I patted the bundle of bills in my pocket.
We moved the filing cabinet back over the safe and left the office. As we stepped back into the main room I heard hushed whispers and quick shushing coming from the zipped office workers. They all turned to face us. I saw a man in a yellow tie lock eyes with another man in a striped shirt. Their heads both dipped subtly. Once. Twice. Counting. Before they made their move I made mine.
I took off my ski mask.
“My name is David Smith, this is Diane, and you’ve all done a super job today.” The man in the yellow tie looked confused.
Olivia took off her mask. “We’re with RealCorp Corporate Exercises and we specialize in realistic team building experiences.”
“We were hired by Mr Wren to give you an authentic, but completely safe, once in a lifetime experience.” I raised my gun and fired it several times at Olivia’s head. The office workers flinched as the blanks flashed out of the barrel. Olivia continued.
“Mr Wren hired us because, while he does care about ‘profit’ and ‘productivity,'” she made a dismissive face as she said each word, “nothing is more important to him than the lives and safety of you, his employees. He’ll be very happy to hear that none of you put yourselves at risk to protect silly little memos or file folders. Except Intern Ollie. But he’s with us, so he’s alright.” She gestured at my fake gun reassuringly.
The elevator doors opened and several men wearing chef uniforms entered the cubicle farm. They held covered trays of food and foldable tables. They looked a little surprised at the office workers sitting on the floor with their hands tied together, but began setting up the tables none the less. They uncovered the trays revealing sandwiches, donuts, cookies, pastries, salad, soups, and artisanal coffee. I made my way to each employee and started cutting them free.
“We think you’ve done enough work for the day,” I said. “Feel free to head home at your leisure.”
“Don’t worry,” Olivia said. “We cleared it with the boss.” She laughed.
“But until then, please help yourself to the food, paid for by Mr Wren himself. You’ve earned it!” Olivia and I smiled and gave the office workers a round of applause and the caterers joined in. The workers grinned, pleased with themselves, and made their way to the buffet.
I handed the stack of bills to one of the caterers and told him to keep the change. As we made our way to the elevators we passed another set of caterers with more trays of food. The employees wouldn’t be going home for a while. As we left we heard the employees laughing to one another. As the elevator doors closed Olivia leaned back against the wall and sighed.
“David Smith?” Olivia asked. “Why didn’t you just call yourself Mr McFakeName?”
“It doesn’t matter what my name is,” I said, “because they’re always too confused and distracted by the food to remember it an hour later.”
We walked quickly through the lobby and back out into the cold parking lot. Snow had begun to fall and the cars were coated in a thin layer of frost. We walked to my car.
“That went well,” I said. “We’ll meet Ollie at the park on Seventh Avenue and divide up the diamonds there. I’ll even let you drive.” I threw her the keys.
When she caught the keys I saw that she had her gun on me. No, not her gun. The gun from the safe. “Divide them up? But they’ve been together for so long. I don’t think we should do that.” She fired twice.
I staggered back and brought my hand to my chest as blood ran through my fingers. I fell to the ground of the cold parking lot. A splash of red surrounded by grey sedans and falling white snow. She casually walked to the driver side door, bobbing her head and singing lines to what I assume was Ice Ice Baby. “Gunshots rang out like a bell, I grabbed my nine, all I heard were shells fallin’ on the concrete real fast…” Then she jumped in my car and drove away.
The fact that people die is something that the world desperately hides from us from birth. Music, books, and movies teach us that we’ll always get rescued at the last second and if not, that our death will at least mean something or that there’ll be someone there to hold our hand and cry over us and carry on our memory. But the truth is that there will come a time when there is no one left to remember that anyone ever existed or that anyone ever did anything. Everything built and written and thought and discovered will be forgotten. In the end, we will die. And we will probably be alone.
Allan kicked me in the shin. “She’s gone.”
I stood up and brushed the slush from my clothes. He had changed his shirt but was still wearing my fucking tropical island tie. “Are you still wearing my– Do we have a confirmed kill?” I asked.
“Yes. And the diamonds?”
“She has them.”
Allan sighed. “With all due respect, I would have kept the illegally smuggled, off-the-books blood diamonds. But that’s just me.”
“If I gave her the fakes she’d try and come back after us. Plus, she failed the test. Think of it as a severance package.” I washed my bloodied hands with some snow. “I think she started singing Ice Ice Baby before she left.”
Allan laughed. “Good song.”
“Do we have a new target?”
“Always.”
---[Vital Junk Misplaced]-- 