Donald Hefeweizen Saves The World (pt.7)
Mar 1, 2008
“What?!?!” Donald screeched, vaulting to his feet, spilling his drink all over the mustard-yellow shag carpeting.
“You promoted the anti-Christ to Marketing Director.” Doug/Mr. Buttons was sitting with his tail wrapped around his front paws, staring directly at Donald’s face. He had a surprisingly human expression of pity on his little cat face.
Donald resumed his seat, using his tie to mop up the drink spilled across his hand and forearm. “The anti-Christ.” He whispered it. Exactly like one would whisper about a fatal illness. His eyes were wide, glazed. Shock.
Shock was not attractive on Donald Hefeweizen. Not much of anything was attractive on him, actually. Well, except for gravy stains on his shirt. Somehow, gravy stains made sense.
At that precise moment, in a black Mercedes on the other side of town, Jefferson Dunleavey screached, “what do you mean she’s the anti-Christ?!?”
Frank was having the ride of his life, having nearly been thrown from his bowl for the second time that day. If he’d know how much fun this could be, he’d have gotten Jefferson fired a lot sooner. The poor goldfish had a seriously inflated ego.
“Exactly what I said. She’s the anti-Christ, and you’ve been chosen to help save the world.”
“Me?! Save the world?!? From a leggy brunette stock broker?!? Are you crazy?!?” Jefferson’s eyes bugged out of his head as he stared at the distinguished man sitting next to him.
Lewis Phister was tall and lean with dark hair that was greying at the temples. In a tailored pin-striped suit and polished black leather shoes, he was the epitome of distinguished. It was a clever disguise.
“I am not crazy, Mr. Dunleavy. The world needs you. Will you do it? We’re prepared to offer you adequate compensation,” Phister finished his pitch as they pulled to the curb in front of Dunleavy’s complex. “You’ll find everything you need in your apartment, as well as suitable transportation in your parking lot.”
That’s when Jefferson saw it. A black BMW convertible in his usually empty space. A wide smile crept across his face. “I’ll do it.”
. . . to be continued.
(c) copyright 2008 Jennifer J. Knighton
Uh oh!
What does it profit a man to gain the whole world...