‘I’m off to shoot the runner up on the Elimination Karaoke, shoot the DJ once he’s finished playing all my requests, shoot the tribute band once they’ve finished their set and shoot the airship captain once he’s finished his drinking.
‘That’s unreasonable,’ said Daw, checking the company position on shooting contractors, but finding that it was actually considered reasonable, even mandatory. ‘By all accounts he’ll have dropped us off and be halfway home before he stops drinking.’ O’Feld shrugged, at least it freed up his diary a little.
A distraught looking engineer joined them, his shirt open at the neck, his tie trailing low on his shirt, a pencil lodged firmly behind his ear.
‘They’ve added a four by two metre stainless steel table inside the rocket,’ he said. Brian shrugged as best he could in a bullet proof tuxedo.
‘Sorry about that, the workshop manager fitted it to facilitate site meetings before NoDangerStyleUK fitted the windows. Then he found he couldn’t get it out, something about the windows having an anti-jumping restraint on the hinges,’ he said. The engineer turned purple and started waving sheaves of paper showing complicated calculations on it.
‘This is a four stage rocket with motors designed for three, carrying four henchpersons and fifty thousand armadillo droppings instead of a box of experimental mice. And now you introduce an additional stainless steel table four hours before we ship to the South Seas. Have you any idea what this does to my calculations?’ he asked. Brian scanned the calculations carefully.
‘So, you need to get another pot of beige paint?’ he said, handing the engineer the paper bundle back.
‘What do you think? We can't let an unpainted stainless steel table blast off into space. To cap it all, B & Q are shut until the morning,’ ranted the engineer, storming back to the party.
‘Will engineer blood do as a substitute?’ asked O’Feld.
Two hours later found the senior team sat amid a pile of slaughtered henchmen. Not drunk, just slaughtered. Daw sighed, he had less than an hour to recruit, train and deploy fifty replacements, it was past midnight and he was pissed; but it was the raffle prize to thank for that. It was O’Feld’s raffle prize to thank for the slaughtered henchmen, actually, as well. As Christmas parties went, it was a pretty good result. O’Feld blew the smoke emanating from the barrel of the machine gun he’d won in the raffle, looking really pleased.
‘Right,’ he said, looking at his watch, ‘what’s the order of play?’ Brian looked at the list he’d prepared, then at the machine gun. He hoped O’Feld still had some bullets left, he’d rather hoped that O’Feld would have waited for the Secret Santa, which of course was why he’d arranged for it to be first prize. He looked around the group. Froshdu was still there, not because of the Secret Santa – he’d only be interested in that if the fat fella in the red suit was being spit roasted and served in pitta bread. He was still there because he’d found the stash of food Brian had hidden, the food the Head of Catering had supplied. The Head of Catering was also there, eying the parcel in front of him cautiously, and reasonably given that he’d found out that Brian had supplied it. O’Feld was there, of course, impatiently fiddling with the paper wrapping provided by the EVIL Officer and Daw sat next to him, nervously. Daw was always nervous when he was sat next to O’Feld and O’Feld was opening a parcel – if it didn’t explode, then usually O’Feld did. Finally, his face a picture of enthusiasm, sat the EVIL Officer. Daw decided to open his parcel first.
‘Oh, it’s a dice,’ he said, holding the cube up.
‘Strictly, a die,’ corrected O’Feld. ‘I thought that was appropriate,’ he gloated. Daw examined the die, read the six faces in turn.
‘Kill, Maim, Kill, Maim, Kill, Maim and Kill,’ he read. ‘I really could have done with this last week when recruiting for the Charity Liaison Officer post, bloody do-gooders,’ he said, slipping the die into his pocket. Froshdu picked his parcel up and ate it without removing the wrapping. Daw’s jaw dropped; when he’d bought the leather shoes he really thought Froshdu would like them. On his feet, not in his stomach.
‘A bit chewy,’ grumbled Froshdu, burping, ‘but very tasty. Loafers?’ he asked. Daw nodded, it had seemed an appropriate name for a present for Froshdu. The EVIL Officer opened his parcel gingerly, trying to work out who had bought it for him. So was Brian.
‘A kilo of raw beef?’ he said as he held the dripping meat in front of him. ‘I don’t eat raw meat,’ he said, looking suddenly at the Head of Catering. Before he could react, Froshdu grabbed the meat and tucked in.
‘That’s what I was hoping,’ he said, biting off a sizable chunk. Brian did a quick head count and realised that he and the Head of Catering had bought each other presents. Both men set their parcels aside, both hoping theirs wasn’t on a time switch.
‘Can I open mine now?’ asked an excited O’Feld.
‘Sure,’ answered Brian, adding, ‘would you like me to hold your machine gun for you?’ O’Feld pulled at the wrapping paper excitedly while Brian ensured there was a fresh round in the breach. He’d taken the liberty of writing the EVIL Officer’s name on the bullet. He really hoped the prat had taken his advice, and when O’Feld held the book up, he knew he had.
‘The wisdom of Doktor Negatif?’ asked O’Feld, turning the book around and reaching for the machine gun. The EVIL Officer obviously hadn’t picked up on O’Feld’s anger as he nodded enthusiastically.
‘Look inside,’ he said, reaching over. O’Feld glowered as the man pulled the book open, revealing two hundred and twenty blank pages save for the first page, which had a signature in it.
‘No wisdom, and I even got him to sign it,’ said the EVIL Officer, leaning back. O’Feld roared at the joke.
‘Brian, put that in the library in the secret island lair,’ he said, passing the book to Brian.
‘Library? What library?’ he asked, only to be greeted with the look he’d expected the EVIL Officer to have received. There was only one room that he could convert at short notice to a library. It looked like he was joining the other managers in podworld.
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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.
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.
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