Donald Hefeweizen Saves The World (pt.4)

Jefferson Dunleavy couldn’t figure out why he was being escorted from the building. He had worked for Metroplex Brokerage for the past five years, and in all that time, he had never done anything wrong. Well, nothing anyone knew about anyway.

So, he had refused to sign the Non Compete Agreement that was pressed upon him by some toad in Human Resources.

“Hmph! Human Resources. Should’ve called them Hell’s Rejects. It’s closer to the truth,” he thought.

He wasn’t wrong.

Not even Hell would accept Donald Hefeweizen. At that exact moment, THE DEVIL, himself, was plotting the demise of the abominable HR Director.

Jefferson Dunleavy was still standing on the cement steps in front of his former employer, a goldfish bowl under his left arm (complete with water and a fish named Frank), a twelve-pound backpack attached to his right shoulder, and the personal contents of his cubicle in a cardboard box at his feet.

And he had now idea how he was going to fit everything on his bicycle for the ride home.

That’s when a black town-car pulled up in front of him. And stopped.

A thin, blonde woman in a red leather catsuit slinked out of the driver’s side door and prowled around to stare at Jefferson. Only she didn’t really stare. It was more the way a wild animal might consider its next meal. She licked her lips.

Jefferson shuddered. And nearly dropped Frank.

The tinted rear window slowly rolled down as a low voice called from the back seat, “Bathsheba, don’t scare the poor boy. Invite him for a ride home.”

“Yes, sir,” she purred. “Mr. Dunleavy, my employer wishes to have a word with you. And since you seem to be in need of some assistance, we’ll be happy to escort you and your belongings home. I’ll have someone see to your. . .” She sneered at his shiny blue 10-speed. “. . . conveyance. It’ll be there when we arrive.”

With that, she turned on her heel, opened the rear door and held the goldfish bowl as our supremely ignorant software programmer climbed in.

“Jefferson Dunleavy. I have a proposition for you.”

. . . to be continued.

(c) copyright 2008 Jennifer J. Knighton

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