Jennifer Government: A Novel by Max Barry Page A

man’s face was smooth. His suit was dark and anonymous. “He won’t be back for a while.”
    “Please leave.”
    “But Hack invited me in. What’s your name?” “I want you to go.”
    “I’m John Nike.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming faintly in the gloom. “Who are you?”
    “Violet.”
    “Violet who?” He shifted closer. “Are you unemployed? It’s all right. It happens, sometimes. I tell you what, unemployed Violet. I’ll give you a hundred dollars for a kiss.”
    She tightened her grip on the blankets. “Get out. Now.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty generous. Considering you’re in no position to negotiate.” His hand touched her thigh.
    “Let go of me!”
    “You need to be enterprising to get ahead, Violet. You need to take advantage of opportunities.” He squeezed.
    She reached for his hand. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the wall. The blanket dropped.
    “Hoo,” he said, looking down. “Those are nice puppies.”
    She bit his ear as hard as she could.
    “Anna! Goddamn!”
    She rolled off the bed, landing on her hands and knees. Shescrambled to her feet and ran. She had the front door half-unlocked before she realized just how bad an idea that was, running naked at night through this neighborhood. She ran into the kitchen and began pulling open drawers.
    “You little bitch,” John said, entering. “If I need cosmetic surgery, you’re going to pay for it.”
    She found a knife, a long one. “Stay away from me.”
    “I don’t think so, unemployed Violet.” He edged closer, watching the knife. “I don’t think you want to get in any more trouble than you already are.”
    “You
attacked
me
—” she said, and he grabbed her wrist and slammed it onto the kitchen bench. She cried out. The knife clattered to the floor.
    There was a crumpet toaster on the bench, a shiny, heavy thing Hack had bought her for her last birthday. It had variable-sized slots for different bread and an auto-sensor so it never burnt. Violet grabbed it with both hands and swung it at John’s face. It rang like a bell. John dropped to the floor.
    He didn’t move. Violet peered at him. He didn’t seem to be breathing. After a moment, she prodded him with her foot. “Are you—”
    He grabbed her ankle. She fell backward and banged her head against the stove. His hands clutched at her legs. She shrieked and flailed at him with the crumpet toaster. She cracked his knuckles, then hit her own knee. She slammed the toaster on his hands, his head, his face, until she realized he’d stopped moving again. He hadn’t been moving for a while.
    She pulled herself out from under him, breathing heavily. John was limp. She looked at the toaster. There were spots of blood on it.
    She dropped the toaster and circled around his body. She shut the kitchen door and went into the bedroom, pulled on a T-shirt and pants, and sat on the bed. After a while she started to bite her nails. She thought she may have just done something terrible.

16 Hack
    “You sure we shouldn’t drive?” John said. There were some teenagers across the road, listening to loud music.
    “It’s just up here,” Hack said.
    “Why do you even live here? How much are you earning at Nike?”
    “Um… about thirty-three.”
    “Jesus!” John said. “What’s the matter with you?”
    “I… guess I’m not very good in pay negotiations,” Hack said. Hack sucked in pay negotiations. Every year his boss sat him down and talked about competitive pressures and budget cuts; at the end he named a figure and Hack took it, grateful to be still employed.
    “There are courses you can do. Assertiveness training. You should look into it. Is this it?”
    Hack looked up. The Police, the swirling blue light. “Yes.”
    John straightened his tie. “Now, this is what you’re going to do. You go in, you ask for whoever you talked to last time. You establish
exactly
how many other links in the chain there are. Then you leave. Nothing