Books written by Ray Sullivan

Sunday, 18 March 2012

Project: Evil - Another Bloody Friday Meeting part 2

O’Feld glowered at Daw, ‘Have you arranged to punish the idiot responsible?’ he asked, looking directly at Daw.  Daw looked at Brian, who flicked open the contract.
‘We can hit the company with liquidated damages,’ he said.  O’Feld thumped his fist on the table.
‘I meant has Daw arranged to punish you?’ he said.  ‘Never mind, continue with how we could give these jokers a bloody nose instead,’ he said.  Brian wiped his brow nervously and continued.
‘As I said, we could hit them with liquidated damages, but to be honest, they’re spread out all over the country.  It would cost us a fortune to flood them everywhere,’ he answered. ‘We could drown a few selected senior managers, though,’ he added.  Daw jumped in.
‘I’ve seen their adverts, I don’t think there’s anything we can do to them that they don’t already do to themselves.’ O’Feld seemed satisfied.
‘Tell me you’ve got some good news,’ he said.  Brian took a deep breath.
‘I’ve got Slippy Doggy Doo outside, ready to start the project communications role,’ he said.  O’Feld brightened up.
‘I love rap artists, they take the pleasure out of music for practically everyone and their close association with guns, drugs, prostitutes and child exploitation is just heartwarming,’ he declared, ‘show him in.’  Brian opened the door and beckoned to the man sat outside, who carried in a desk-sized boogie box.  O’Feld waved Slippy to begin.
‘K.O., FoMo,’ said Slippy, pushing the play button, letting a stream of heavy bass drumbeats reverberate around the room.
‘So everybody, gather round, to listen to the Slippy Doggy Doo, master sound;
 ‘I’ll tell you all, ‘bout the plan, to send a message, to the man;
‘We’re gonna make a gun, that’s super-heated, to deliver antipasti, with no meat in;
‘We ain’t got glass, for our windies, gonna be breezy, in the West Indies;
‘Plus Brian’s project’s, gone recursive, now he’s working for, the Secret….’ The room fell silent as Brian pushed the stop button on the tape player.
‘Thank God for that, Brian, I couldn’t understand a word the man was saying,’ said O’Feld.  ‘Fantastic choice for project communication lead, though.’  Daw was making some notes but held a hand up.
‘I thought he was dyslexic?  As far as I can tell, everything he said was in plain rap,’ he said, checking his notes, adding, ‘with the obligatory silent C’
‘I fix my wucking murds up only spen I week, FoMo.  Ren I wap, the curds won out right,’ fumed Slippy.
‘So, it’s a bit like a stammer that doesn’t show up when singing, like Gareth Gates?’ asked Daw.
‘Oy! Ixcept E’m tot a nalentless wuckfit’ replied Slippy.
‘He means Yo,’ explained Brian, leaving the meeting to decipher the rest of the message, ushering Slippy out of the door.
‘What was the last word going to be?’ asked Daw, looking at his hastily scribbled notes again.
‘What does it matter? It was unintelligible,’ said O’Feld, ready to move on to the next subject, waiting in line to be shot. Daw held his hand up again, circling the last sentence in pen carefully.
‘I don’t think it could be, because “unintelligible” doesn’t rhyme with “recursive”,’ he said, screwing his brow up as he started trying alternative words.  O’Feld wasn’t in the mood to be railroaded by the need to provide rhyming bullshit.
‘It doesn’t have to rhyme, on every line,’ he said, glowing with pride at his own attempt at poetry.  ‘If we wanted every line to rhyme we’d have subcontracted the Poet Fucking Lauriat, what do you think of that?’ he said, grinning across his face.  Daw scribbled out the words he’d been trying to fit.
‘OK, agreed making every line rhyme would be tiresome, but I’d still like to know what the last word was to be, because the penultimate word was “secret” and as Head of HR it’s my job to ensure that there are no secrets; from me, that is.’  He stared at Brian, who was starting to flush, a modification he’d designed and had installed into his suit trousers since the last meeting to keep the smell manageable.
‘It was “Santa”, he said, grasping at the perception that a non-rhyme would be acceptable.  He saw O’Feld’s eyes light up as Daw sank his head into his hands.

The characters, companies and places referred to in Project: Evil are fictitious and any resemblance to people, companies, businesses or places is entirely coincidental

If you've enjoyed this chapter of Project: Evil then check out the blog every Sunday, Wednesday and Friday as the story unfolds and, if you haven't done so already, why not follow the blog.

If you know someone who has a warped sense of humour please pass them the link to my blog so that they can enjoy 'Project: Evil'.

I can be followed on Twitter too - @RayASullivan or on Facebook - use to find me

To find out more about my ancestors visit my sister’s website

Visit my books on Amazon (for Kindle owners) and Smashwords (for access to all other formats and access to Apple iBooks, Barnes and Noble, Sony, WH Smith, Kobo and many other good ebookstores.
Digital Life Form is available on in paperback for $8 (or for £5 plus P&P in the UK for UK readers - contact me on for details)

For quick access to the various Kindle, Kobo, WH Smith and Smashword links please use the table below to view my books

No comments:

Post a Comment