Chapter #23Chapter Two: A Sinister Job Offer by: Seuzz   Chapter Two
A Sinister Job Offer
If anyone could be said to have mastered the art of the aggressive slouch, it was Steve. When slouched on his feet, he suggested a rubber band pulled taut and ready to snap into someone's face. When leaning against a wall he seemed to be grinding it into submission. In a chair he would rock back and forth slowly and mercilessly, making it groan piteously.
He was grinding away now at a cheap folding chair while slouching behind an equally cheap conference table in a dingy white room. His case worker had told him he had a chance at a job if he went down to the strip mall for the interview, but he'd only gone after she threw up her hands and promised to buy him cigarettes. He could pay for his own, but he liked to humiliate her. It made up a little for the humiliation he felt as he glanced around the bare room with its harsh fluorescent light and motivational posters that brimmed with insanely cheerful, toothy models and captioned with vague promises like "Don't just feel like a new person! Become a new person!" and "Change everything!"
He sighed heavily. How long was this going to take? The receptionist had waved him through while Bernita—who'd insisted on coming down with him—filled out his paperwork. It didn't look like a military recruiter—not that the Army would have him. It didn't look like anything. There were no books or papers or magazines, and even the clock on the wall had been unplugged. He slouched lower, crossed his arms, and pushed up the sleeve of his dirty white t-shirt to rub a hard bicep. He had a tattoo there. He clamped his hand around it, framing it so that the interviewer, when he came in, would instantly understand what kind of a badass he was dealing with.
Ten minutes later, the door opened. Steve threw his head back and peered up at the guy with an insolently hooded gaze. It took only a fraction of a second to take him in: the light-brown, feathered hair; the sharp blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones; the blinding smile. He was a total pretty boy and more than a little girlish. The corner of Steve's mouth curled up in a sneer, and he turned away to grin into the far corner of the room.
"Mr. Carson," the interviewer said brightly, ignoring his visitor's ostentatious sneer. He stuck out his hand. Steve glanced down at it and looked away again without stirring. There was a fraction of a pause, and the interviewer withdrew his handshake. But neither his smile nor his bright, happy eyes dimmed. He took the chair opposite Steve and set down a plain white binder. "My name is Todd Barnes. I understand you're interested in taking a job with us."
"My case worker's interested in me taking a job with you," Steve replied. "Me? I could give a shit."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I was going to tell you that you and your, uh, case worker have been a little misinformed," Barnes said, his sleek enthusiasm undaunted. "You see, Luxe Systems isn't offering you a job. We are offering you nothing less than a new life. Joining us won't be like changing your vocation. It will make you a new person!"
Steve's mouth fell open slightly. He stared hard at the man opposite him, but he seemed to be in earnest; nothing in his eyes suggested he was joking or less than blindingly sincere. After a few seconds, he found he couldn't even bear to look in the man's face. "Look, sorry to waste your time. But I kinda like the life I got, so—"
"You must joking," Barnes said with a concerned frown. "Because from what Bernita has told us it sounds like you are a perfect candidate for one of our solutions."
"Yeah, well, there's more deserving guys than me out there, believe me," Steve said. He leaned forward. "So, I think you should take your perfect solution and—"
"If I can get you to just hang out with me for a few more minutes, Steve," Barnes hurriedly said. "Steve? Can I call you Steve? I've got a few things I'd like to show you." He opened the binder and turned it so Steve could see its contents. "Do you see this house, Steve? Do you like this house? Don't you wish you could have a house like this?"
Steve glanced down at the huge color photograph. It was a nice house, to be sure: one of those McMansions like they put up in nice subdivisions. There were three cars—a little sports car, a minivan, and a pickup truck—parked in front of it. "Yeah, it's nice," he muttered and tried to push the binder away. Was this a job interview or was he being given some kind of weird sales hustle?
"What about the truck," asked Barnes eagerly. "Do you like the truck? You could have one just like it. We could arrange for that. In fact, if you wanted, we could arrange for you to have that truck right there."
"Awesome," said Steve. "But you can keep it for yourself."
"How about this fellow here?" Barnes flipped the page. A teenager, only a few years younger than Steve himself, looked back out of the photo. He was clean cut and well groomed and had the vacant, dippy smile of a kid who'd never missed a meal or had an unkind word said to him. "Do you think he's good looking? Would you like to look like him?" There was a wheedling, pleading tone in Barnes' voice.
Steve froze. He looked up slowly from the Stepford kid to Barnes. There was a sweaty, desperate look in the man's eye. Steve held his glance, and saw a chance to make a little money off the wasted day.
"You know, I won't be seventeen for another two months," he said softly and maliciously. It was a lie—he was almost twenty-one—but he looked young for his age and enjoyed the idea of running a hard bluff on this asshole. "And I got a government case worker sitting out in your lobby. All I gotta do is go out and tell her that this place is full of baby-fuckers and pedophiles who are trying to get me to do something really gay, and bam--!" He jammed a hard fist into the palm of his other hand. "There goes your company, and you've got yourself some hard time. And not in the juvenile section either." He chewed on the inside of his cheek hungrily. "So, let's see how much cash you're carrying right now. A credit card might be nice too, if you want me to be extra forgetful."
Barnes' face screwed up. "I'm really sorry you feel this way, Steve," he said. He twisted at his fingers and stood up. "I tell you what," he continued in a wet, worried tone and leaned across the table. "Let me say just one more thing and—"
Steve's world suddenly turned very white and then very black, and then settled on a somber, smoky red. A pain like a long needle shot through his temple into his left eye; spidery cracks of fire spread under his face. The man was fast; Steve had barely time to see his hand move before it broke across his brow. He hunched forward, nursing the side of his face, and glared up at the interviewer.
Barnes twisted the ring on his right hand so that the large, sharp stone was again turned out from his palm. His face was a mask as he returned Steve's glare with an impassive glance of his own.
"I didn't hit you, Steve," he said quietly, and his tone was much firmer now. It had none of the wheedling quality he'd walked in with. It was cool and hard and remorseless, like the leading face of a glacier. "I know it felt like I hit you. But I didn't hit you or strike you or slap you. I just got your attention. That's all."
He stepped around to Steve's side of the table and leaned against it; Steve recognized it as the pose of a man utterly confident in himself.
"Let me say just one more thing," Barnes repeated in the same soft voice. "You have a choice. One of three destinies opens to you after today. You can leave this room and go back to your current life. Your ratty little one-room apartment with the government case worker and the government check. You can get a dead-end job and collect a new set of dead-end friends. Start making and dealing and taking meth. Stick up a convenience store when you need money for that poker game that will pay for the week's food and liquor. Get caught and go to jail.
"Or you can straighten up and fly right. Start saying your prayers and going to church. Take a community college course that'll put you in an oil change shop or on a construction crew. Find a nice girl who's not too ugly and who is desperate enough to take a gamble on you. Die a little each day before you finally expire of boredom."
Barnes leaned forward, so that his voice was a near-whisper.
"Or you can get in on one of the biggest and baddest swindles ever. A crime for the centuries that will set you for life. Because it will be a new life for you."
* * * * *
To continue investigating the room: "Disposing of Lucy"   | Members who added to this interactive
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