(Ed. note: This was also inspired by a former boss, Chip Maxwell, a professional photographer in Tmapa, Florida. He was such a bad boss that we employees would sit around and fantasize about killing him.)
I had strolled into the office early, specifically for the purpose of re-grouping before the start of the week. I had spent the weekend in Miami with friends and needed some time to re-adjust to my regular worker-bee life.
I had my newspaper open, my computer was booting up and I was taking that first gratifying sip of a really good -and large- cup of coffee when I heard voices in the corridor outside. It wasn't unusual for some staff to come in early as I had. I didn't pay any attention to their conversation as I scanned the newspapers and the day's agendas at my desk.
The lights went on in the office across from mine, and that did get my attention. The office belonged to Denny Regalo, and it was unusual for him to be in the office early, and on a Monday to boot. As a field rep, he had the luxury of a flexible schedule.
My curiosity was further peaked by the arrival of another field rep, Andrea, and the regional manager, Larry Campbell. Their conversation began as a low buzz, then I heard Andrea’s voice, a thin tinny wail as she cried, “All I know is that one minute he was standing there talking about his favourite Merlot, the next minute he’s lying on the floor in a pool of blood.”
I got out of my seat and crossed the corridor to Denny’s office. They seemed surprised to see me, then Denny said, “Oh, there you. Good. You better sit down. I’ve got some bad news.”
I sat down, completely bewildered and intensely curious. “What the hell happened?” I asked looking from one to the other. In turn they exchanged meaningful glances with each other before Larry, taking a seat on the corner of the desk, began to speak.
“It’s Chip,” he said quietly.
“What about him?” I asked sharply. Chip was the branch manager, a micromanager, a task master and sometimes, a bully.
They looked around to each other again.
“Would you please tell me? I was away all weekend.” I said impatiently.
“I know, “ Larry said,” You missed Chip’s party Saturday night. He was really pissed about that.”
“This isn’t about that, is it?" I asked anxiously. Chip liked to show off his palatial home. It wasn’t the best corporate move to decline an invitation to one of his parties.
“No,” Larry said finally. Taking a deep breath, he went on.
"Chip’s dead.”
I said all the usual “No ways” and “oh, my Gods” before Andrea, now convulsed in sobs, was able to regain hr composure and tell me what had happened.
“Well,” she said, waving carefully manicured hands in front of her to ward off more tears. “It was one of Chip’s regular parties, with him talking and bragging like he does - did.. He was talking about wine.”
“Which is ironic since he serves it by the thimbleful from the kitchen,” Denny muttered. “You’d think he’d at least lay out a little more wine.”
“Denny, please,” Andrea pleaded, tears welling up again in her eyes.
She bravely resumed her story through her tears.
“Well, he was standing there in front of that big window in his living room - I mean, the drawing room, and like I said, like I told the police, all I know is that one minute he’s standing there talking about his favourite merlot, the next he’s on the floor in a pool of blood.” Andrea collapsed again in tears.
“We were all covered with splatter,” Denny said. “I must have taken twenty showers trying to get rid of the smell of blood.”
I couldn’t say anything for a while.
“Holy shit,” I finally muttered, and repeated, “What the hell happened?”
Andrea gave Larry a pleading look and he answered.
“The best they can say that it was an intentional hit, with a silencer, from a close distance.”
“So the guy who wasted him was just outside the window,” Denny offered. “we spent hours with LAPD. And as a head‘s up, I wouldn‘t be surprised if they get in touch with you. They‘re trying to rule out suspects.”
"Suspects!” I shrieked. “I‘m a suspect?”
“Relax,” Denny said easily. “There's not a soul at this branch who wouldn’t be a suspect, except for the fact that no one here can afford the hit fee.”
“Is that the only thing standing between us and murder? Not being able to afford the hit fee?” Andrea cried.
We all exchanged guilty looks, then self-consciously looked away.
After a moment, Larry spoke again.
“Well, corporate told me to call a meeting with regional management this morning and straighten this out.
“In the meantime, I guess it’s business as usual,” he added brightly. “You guys have a great day.”
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