Horror lined the spattered walls. Terror stalked the wary blogger foolish enough to venture inside. There’s a reason why certain mobsters lurk in the subbasements of the City of Broken Dreams. Why they can’t work the architectural marvels upstairs.
Wise guys here would melt in the daylight rays.
Pockets was hunched over a young intern, biting her neck, when the thick, iron-hinged, white oak doors swung aside. The CEO’s fangs plunged deep, kind of scraping her carotid artery, deliciously but not puncturing through membranes that would cause a mortal wound. Mulgoon loosed his bite, syrupy red ooze spilling across both cheeks, and the intern started screaming bloody murder.
“BLOODY MURDER! BLOODY MURDER! BLOODY MURDER!”
“Get a grip, Honey,“ an underboss called over, her voice quaking a little. Underboss was strapped naked onto a nearby table, limbs bound tightly, hardly able to wiggle. Management training at Filch & Finagle is rigorous, traditionally one of the toughest programs in the securities industry, but their efforts do turn out grifters who can deal with financial derivatives in the 21st Century marketplace. A pair of soldiers, loitering nearby, came over and dragged the frenetic intern away.
“BLOODY MURDER! BLOODY MURDER! BL!”
“Good to see you, MacDougal,“ Mulgoon offered, licking his cheeks.
“Get your hands out of my pockets,” I had to say.
“Got any bills on you?”
“Get them out. Now, Seamus.”
“I found pocket change.”
“I know, you bloodsucking thief.”
“Come on, where’s the wallet?”
With enough leverage, I managed to shove the groping CEO off me. Muldoon‘s hands slipped out of my pockets as deftly as they’d found a way in. He started chasing me around the table. The wise gal strapped to it cheered him on, wiggling harder. She was really in the moment, your blogger tried not to notice.
“For goodness sakes, Seamus, you’re CEO of a Fortune 500 Company.”
“How do you think I got here? Lemme see the credit cards.”
“No.”
“You carry a checkbook?”
“Not if I’m coming here.”
“Where does your wife keep her jewelry?”
“How would I know?”
“Any collectables?”
“No.”
"Coins? Stamps? Rare books?”
“No. No. No.”
“Baseball cards then?”
Somehow the wiggling finally got to your blogger, and Seamus caught up. It happened so fast I didn’t even know he’d frisked me too.
“Car keys,” Mulgoon screamed. “I got car keys.” Then the CEO was out the oaken door.
___________
“This is 911. Press 1 for Spanish, 2 for Nigerian, 3 for Arabic, 4 for Hebrew, 5 for Classical Hebrew, 6 for Mayan …….” On a lark I hit 0 for Operator. I hit it again. Sounded like this crowd was up to double zero at least.
“English-speaking operator. Press 1 if your cat is up in a tree……“ I hit 0 a third and fourth time.
“Live English-speaking operator. How can our emergency services personnel brighten your day today?”
“Pockets Mulgoon just lifted my car keys.”
“Pockets?”
“Pockets.”
“Get out of there while you still can, Sir. The SWAT team is on its way.”
