Valiente. And to McGee too.’
‘That’s what you’re calling a miscommunication?’
‘Essentially. Basically. In a nutshell.’
‘Then— basically —the reports I have, one from another sales person and one from Tilly Hickman in Payroll, about a fist fight by two of my employees, are both incorrect? More miscommunication? ’
‘Tilly was in her office, and the other person, whoever that nosy, lying cockfuck is, was not in the hall either. In my experience, Mister Kammegian, my opinion: most people, out of some snotass ego need to make themselves appear okay in their dismal, chicken-shit, insect, ratshit, little lives, are prone to make presumptions about matters they don’t know thing-fucking-one about. There were only three people in that hall: me, Jimmi Valiente, and McGee.’
Kammegian selected another pencil. This one’s point was sharpened too, but the stem was longer; brand new, right out of the box. ‘Last time, Mister Dante: were you involved in a fight or not?’
I knew he had me. ‘Okay, I was,’ I said, ‘but it wasn’t actually a fight.’
‘Explain actually, Mister Dante.’
‘What I mean is, it wasn’t technically a fight in the way youmean. McGee shoved me. To me, literally, in concept, a fight is where one person physically, actually, slugs the other person. That didn’t happen.’
‘I see. So we’re talking about a shove here, not a slug. What about the bruise on the side of your face?’
‘Completely unrelated. I’m coming clean here, Mister Kammegian. One recovering alkie talking to another. I banged my face on the metal paper towel dispenser at the 76 Gas Station on Lincoln Boulevard on Saturday morning while gassing up my Chrysler. No big deal.’
Eddy Kammegian was on his feet. He paced around the side of his desk, then sat on the thick mahogany edge facing me, his shiny belt buckle eighteen inches from my nose. When he crossed his arms I could see his shirt cuffs were fastened by two gold Civil War cannon cufflinks. Fat diamond studs glistened from where the caisson spoke wheels should be. ‘So it was no big deal?’
‘Right,’ said I. ‘My injury isn’t work related. Therefore, no big deal.’
‘Is Ebola no big deal, Mister Dante? A virulent epidemic that could easily bring a company or a city or an entire army to its knees?’
‘Somebody at Orbit has Ebola?’
‘Last time, asshole! You, me, Rick McGee, Ms Valiente. We’re all eating out of the same pot. Orbit Computer Products is a finely-tuned elite assault machine. Any employee disturbance, any dissension, spreads through our sales organization like a toxic virus.’
‘Hey!’ I said, ‘I understand. Like a turd floating in Orbit’s steaming vat of delicious tomato soup.’
Kammegian reached around and yanked his telephone out of its cradle. Before dialing, he turned back to me: ‘How many sales did you make this morning?’
‘Two so far.’
‘I’ll have Tilly cut you a final check.’
I was on my feet. ‘Wait!’ I yelled, ‘Jesus, I’m cooperating! I told you what happened.’
‘Sit down, Dante.’
I sat down.
‘Have you been “involved” with Jimmi Valiente? The truth, please.’
‘We became friends.’
‘YES or NO?’
‘We had dinner together. We hung out.’
‘And McGee? What about him? Is Ms Valiente “friends” with Mister McGee as well? Was that the problem?’
‘Ask McGee. Ask her. I’m not involved with Jimmi. There was no fight.’
‘There are three words I want you to consider before you leave my office today: procrastination, deception, and masturbation. They are the best ways I know that a man can fuck himself. I hope you get my meaning.’
‘Check.’
My boss crossed the room and opened his office door. ‘Meeting concluded.’
‘I’m not fired?’
‘Have you been candid and one hundred percent forthcoming with me this morning?’
‘I want to keep my job, Mister Kammegian. I like my job.’
‘Then go back to work. Have your manager locate
‘That’s what you’re calling a miscommunication?’
‘Essentially. Basically. In a nutshell.’
‘Then— basically —the reports I have, one from another sales person and one from Tilly Hickman in Payroll, about a fist fight by two of my employees, are both incorrect? More miscommunication? ’
‘Tilly was in her office, and the other person, whoever that nosy, lying cockfuck is, was not in the hall either. In my experience, Mister Kammegian, my opinion: most people, out of some snotass ego need to make themselves appear okay in their dismal, chicken-shit, insect, ratshit, little lives, are prone to make presumptions about matters they don’t know thing-fucking-one about. There were only three people in that hall: me, Jimmi Valiente, and McGee.’
Kammegian selected another pencil. This one’s point was sharpened too, but the stem was longer; brand new, right out of the box. ‘Last time, Mister Dante: were you involved in a fight or not?’
I knew he had me. ‘Okay, I was,’ I said, ‘but it wasn’t actually a fight.’
‘Explain actually, Mister Dante.’
‘What I mean is, it wasn’t technically a fight in the way youmean. McGee shoved me. To me, literally, in concept, a fight is where one person physically, actually, slugs the other person. That didn’t happen.’
‘I see. So we’re talking about a shove here, not a slug. What about the bruise on the side of your face?’
‘Completely unrelated. I’m coming clean here, Mister Kammegian. One recovering alkie talking to another. I banged my face on the metal paper towel dispenser at the 76 Gas Station on Lincoln Boulevard on Saturday morning while gassing up my Chrysler. No big deal.’
Eddy Kammegian was on his feet. He paced around the side of his desk, then sat on the thick mahogany edge facing me, his shiny belt buckle eighteen inches from my nose. When he crossed his arms I could see his shirt cuffs were fastened by two gold Civil War cannon cufflinks. Fat diamond studs glistened from where the caisson spoke wheels should be. ‘So it was no big deal?’
‘Right,’ said I. ‘My injury isn’t work related. Therefore, no big deal.’
‘Is Ebola no big deal, Mister Dante? A virulent epidemic that could easily bring a company or a city or an entire army to its knees?’
‘Somebody at Orbit has Ebola?’
‘Last time, asshole! You, me, Rick McGee, Ms Valiente. We’re all eating out of the same pot. Orbit Computer Products is a finely-tuned elite assault machine. Any employee disturbance, any dissension, spreads through our sales organization like a toxic virus.’
‘Hey!’ I said, ‘I understand. Like a turd floating in Orbit’s steaming vat of delicious tomato soup.’
Kammegian reached around and yanked his telephone out of its cradle. Before dialing, he turned back to me: ‘How many sales did you make this morning?’
‘Two so far.’
‘I’ll have Tilly cut you a final check.’
I was on my feet. ‘Wait!’ I yelled, ‘Jesus, I’m cooperating! I told you what happened.’
‘Sit down, Dante.’
I sat down.
‘Have you been “involved” with Jimmi Valiente? The truth, please.’
‘We became friends.’
‘YES or NO?’
‘We had dinner together. We hung out.’
‘And McGee? What about him? Is Ms Valiente “friends” with Mister McGee as well? Was that the problem?’
‘Ask McGee. Ask her. I’m not involved with Jimmi. There was no fight.’
‘There are three words I want you to consider before you leave my office today: procrastination, deception, and masturbation. They are the best ways I know that a man can fuck himself. I hope you get my meaning.’
‘Check.’
My boss crossed the room and opened his office door. ‘Meeting concluded.’
‘I’m not fired?’
‘Have you been candid and one hundred percent forthcoming with me this morning?’
‘I want to keep my job, Mister Kammegian. I like my job.’
‘Then go back to work. Have your manager locate
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