Broker’s and the Cattleman

Found some old fiction in the files. I wrote this after reading several Ken Follet novels set in the 15th, 17th and 19th centuries. These books always have plenty of intrigue and family bickering, and in those days people wrote letters. Long letters, in very proper language. Imagine if people still did:

Dearest Cousin,

I am writing to you today to bring you up to date with current events, and to ask a favor, it having been a long time since my last writing, and myself having an extra quantity of time on my hands, and being in need of such a favor.

The last I wrote, I believe I had been expounding on the incompetence of my employer, Mr. Drekson, and my delight at having found a merchant selling scotch of the type suitable for consumption in large quantities, and my decision to reward myself with something I was denied during my childhood – namely one Riflemaster ‘Cattleman’ air rifle.

Well, first of all, let me inform you that Mr. Drekson continues to behave in a most irritable manner as we speak. The man simply lives for it, and I remain convinced that he will not rest until he has crushed the soul of every employee under his tyrannical boot. This is causing some distress in my life, as you know I value the quality of my work and it is impossible to sustain such quality under such conditions.

Since I began my association with ‘Liquor Bob’s’, however I have been able to balance my life quite effectively. As I believe I mentioned, Mr. Bob offers ‘Broker’s Friend’ Blended Scots Whiskey at a most agreeable price, especially by the case. I have laid in an ample stock of same, and began enjoying it thoroughly. Some of my business associates actually had the nerve to comment that perhaps I was enjoying it to too large an extent, but I think they are simply unable to deal with miss-placed jealousy. Many people have a ‘tot of the Scot’ before breakfast, and surely liquor of this magnificence should not be relegated to the evening hours alone.

Even with such considered, last Tuesday I finally was able to obtain from the local sporting goods and firearms chandler the state of the art in repeating air rifles. The Crossman ‘Cattleman’ air rifle can fire a small ‘BB’ shot at an astounding velocity. I found out quite by accident upon testing the firearm in my flat that plaster walls are quite resilient and rebound said shot with remarkable effectiveness. Not to worry, cousin, the shot had expended nearly all of its ‘zing’ before it found a less resilient object – namely me. My only regret is at having selected the ‘rapid fire’ option before discovering this bit of scientific minutiae. Never the less, a bit more Broker’s was the perfect cure.

The fellow gentlemen at work were quite bemused when I brought in the Cattleman to ‘show it off’. I felt that I had not fully repaid myself until I performed this ritual, as my more fortunate friends had as children. Again, my workmates were less amused at my bringing the Broker’s, but I was not taking any unnecessary chances until the firmness of the local bulkheads was thoroughly investigated.

Just as I was ending my demonstration, having knocked Ms. Peterson’s small vase clean off the top of her desk, Mr. Drekson took notice of my presence.

Have I mentioned Ms. Peterson? I don’t recall, and so will fill the gap. Ms. Peterson is a most despicable woman, employed in accounts receivable, where her short, nasty temper and her nasally, high pitched drone are put to good use I am sure. She has no social life, save for a small, yipping rat of a dog that she adores and would no doubt serve the world more satisfactorily as a dish in an oriental restaurant.

That aside, Mr. Drekson, who undoubtedly was raised as an only child, or perhaps was the product of some government experiment, found no humor or nostalgia in my activities, and instead decided to chastise me most severely for wasting the company’s time. Cousin, now do you understand my plight? As if the embarrassment of that alone were not enough, Ms. Peterson had walked over and lay in wait, unbeknownst to me, and as I turned to go to my desk she smote me a blow squarely in a place I shall not mention. Needless to say, I was glad to have brought the Broker’s, as I was in as dire a need of its healing powers as ever.

As I performed my tasks, I began to recognize more fully the injustice that had been done to me. How could Mr. Drekson dare to confront me at such a time? Was he not denied anything as a child? Surely such a disagreeable person could not have had a happy childhood. And the actions of Ms. Peterson! How could such behavior be tolerated from a being that considers itself a lady? To strike a man with such anger and vehemence in such a place as she had was completely unconscionable. She really left me in quite a disabled state, which my so called workmates had exploited to the fullest, by affixing yellow sticky notes with purportedly witty sayings on them to various parts of my anatomy. As I sat I became quite obsessed with the entire affair, and I can tell you the Broker’s abilities were stretched to the utmost during the process.

So obsessed I had become, that 5 o’clock, our established quitting time, had come and gone with me still fuming at my desk, although with my head down on top of my arms (this is a position I frequently assume when in deep thought, some think I am sleeping but I assure you that nothing of the sort could be further from the truth). When I became aware of the hour, I began to make preparations to end my day. It was at this time that I heard noises that I knew definitely were not of the sort heard in an office.

Handing the trusty Cattleman, I went on patrol. The sounds in question seemed to be coming from the supplies room, where I knew there was a large table often used for impromptu meetings and so forth (another method I employ to achieve the highest possible quality of work is to lock myself in the supplies room, using the table to more fully explore the method of thought I described earlier). Having checked the Cattleman for operation, and suspecting the worst, I quietly opened the door.

On the table, impaled as a head on a pike, was Ms. Peterson on Mr. Drekson. Her full bosom shook for all the world like a gelatin dessert as she found her pleasures on Mr. Drekson’s manhood. I will not disclose to you, cousin, what filthy oaths and phrases were coming out between them, but rest assured that it was filth of the greatest extreme.

Since they had not heard or taken notice of my presence as yet, I took a moment to study more completely the disgusting wickedness that lay before me. Seizing what I felt was a unique opportunity, I chambered a BB shot and began to take aim. Sensing the movement in her peripheral vision, I assume, Ms. Peterson turned her head and screamed. I don’t think she realized that as she turned, disembarked from Mr. Drekson, and stood, along with Mr. Drekson, who had done much the same from his perspective, that they both presented me with targets of the most desired sort, which I immediately attacked with the rapid fire option of the rifle.

Cousin, you may think me quite disturbed as I tell you the pleasure I enjoyed seeing those two dance under my fire, but I shall not care. Such release I have not known, and will probably not know again. They were not seriously injured I can assure you, the Cattleman, while remarkable, does not posses the power necessary to penetrate.

As I stood there, improving my marksmanship, I had forgotten that the magazine of the Cattleman is of limited capacity, quite limited in fact. It came as a rude shock to pull the trigger that last time (just as the two of them were losing their fear and getting bold) to hear nothing but a ‘click’. Oh well, even so, having not served in the armed services I think I did quite well all the same.

I will not waste your time discussing what happened next, except to say that I failed to flee with sufficient adroitness to ensure my escape.

I am incarcerated at the Regent County Correctional Facility, and would have deep appreciation for any effort you could expend toward my release. My account was insufficient to satisfy the bail bond, and I was hoping you could help. You will be contacted by my Lawyer, Mr. Erikson.

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