Level Zero by Dan McDowell (debian ebook reader .txt) 📗

Joe. He walked past Nancy, and she motioned toward the lobby packed with unannounced guests. Riverton’s finest panhandlers, street philosophers, and hobos would soon have a chance at being low-cost storytellers.

“Any messages for me?” he muttered.

“Not really. Are you going to tell me what this lobby full is about?” She popped a Reese’s peanut butter cup in her mouth as a dull hum of incoherent chatter surrounded them.

“Not really or no? There is a difference. Just give me a damn answer!”

Nancy sighed, dropping her fist on the desk in a less than silent protest. ”Okay, fine. Katrina called. She’s going to sue you for the mismanagement of her mother’s trust fund.”

One minute Katrina’s pleasant. The next, she’s suing my ass. Can’t a guy catch a break?

“That’s quite enough,” he said. “We have guests here. I’ll be in my office upstairs. Send them up to Level Seven, Surprise and Scare. I’ll meet them there for a debriefing.”

She glared at him a moment. “You mean… they’re going to be working here? You got cots and a soup kitchen up there I don’t know about?”

“And if I do? What’s it to you? I’m not paying you to judge my impul… my choices. There are showers up there. We’ll get them cleaned up. Everyone has a story to tell, Nancy.”

“I’m due for a smoke break,” she said, “This is stressing me out.”

“Go ahead. I’ll speak to you later.”

 

.     .     .     .     .

Chris sat at his desk, reviewing the latest stack of résumés. He kept pitching more of them in the trash pile.

“Nothing special… unqualified… too showy… overqualified…”

He stood up and walked toward the elevator, going down to Level Seven. The group of homeless recruits stood clustered together. Some were chatting. Others stared at the ceiling. The rest chattered away to the air.

Find your voice, Wilkerson. Rally the troops.

“Alright, thanks for coming in today. Here’s a quick pep talk. The job isn’t that difficult. You receive a call, you collect the customer’s information, and you tell ‘em a story.”

He stared into their eyes as they processed what he said. There were only blank facial expressions.

Not getting it, are they?

He sighed. “It’s the same way you get yourself off the hook with the cops when they bug you… or you lie to a person in a car on the street corner to get money. Throw in some blood and guts… a little scandal. Boom! You’ve got yourself a Surprise and Scare. Level Seven is all about surprises. That’s why I think your spontaneity is your best asset. The west wing has the original rooms with beds, showers, and a kitchen. They are a little dusty and could use some cleaning, but I’m sure you guys can make it work. Make yourself at home. I’ve got some chili and Flitz in the refrigerator to keep everyone at bay. I’m no micro-manager. Just do the job I’m asking you to do, and I’ll take care of you, no questions asked. I’ll come down tomorrow and we’ll get you started. I expect everyone to pull their weight if they are going to stay here. Don’t get lazy.”

“Chris… my name’s Ebony. Thanks for the job. I won’t let you down. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

Chris looked at her and nodded. “I saw imagination in your eyes when we spoke. Show them how it’s done. We already set the phones up. Have them push the green sign-in button and take a call when it arrives. Keep it on target.”

“I got it. No frills or thrills without some chills!”

Chris laughed. “That’s right. Thanks, Ebony.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHRIS WILKERSON exited the room and went toward the elevator.

No frills or thrills without some chills. That’s actually pretty good.

When he arrived to the lobby, he walked past Nancy, staring at her in a sullen gaze.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. Need to run over to WGBO and check on Wayne and Ron. Some of the bills aren’t being paid like I’ve asked them to.”

“Alright, then. Your poker face needs some work. See you later.”

Keep your comments to yourself!

Chris proceeded to his vehicle and drove toward Riverton Financial. He staked out the parking lot, eyeballing the black ‘82 Prelude while his stomach remained in knots. Employees exited the building for about two hours until it was the only vehicle remaining in the lot other than his Town Car.

It’s bound to be time, soon. Where are you, Dale?

Chris pulled out of the lot and parked across the street. He walked back to the Prelude and opened the passenger door. After leaning the seat forward, Chris crawled in the back seat, waiting for Creensteen.

I’m too big to squeeze in back here, who am I kidding? He’ll see me.

He staged the rag and chloroform. His nerves tingled while he studied the sag of the car’s cloth ceiling.

A bit of an odd problem for a new model…

The car door opened as a shrimp-figured man climbed in. It was Creensteen. Stuffing his hand in a space above the ceiling, he pulled out a stashed pack of cigarettes and lit one up. He started the vehicle, adjusting the mirrors to his liking.

“What’s that smell?” he muttered.

Chris lurched over the seat and smothered Creensteen’s face with the rag. After only two seconds of struggle, Dale Creensteen had passed out.

“Dale? Dale?” Chris whispered, verifying his consciousness.

No reply. Chris studied the area.

Looks like the coast is clear.

Once he determined there were no onlookers, he left Dale in the Prelude and walked back to his vehicle. He started the Town Car as a police cruiser approached. When he saw it, he spewed a barrage of profanities.

Keep it calm. Keep it collected.

The officer slowed and rolled his window down. Chris leaned out the window toward him and waved, unable to hide his nervousness.

“You doing alright tonight, partner? Lookin’ a little pale,” the officer said.

Chris faked a grin. “Yeah. Had a late night at Riverton Financial. Markets are tanking again. Not looking like a pleasant week for me. Got to pay the mortgage. You know what