K. B. Forrest

“Hi, darlin’, I was just over to see Mr. Flarck. He wanted to ask me if we’d had lunch. What was that about?”

She closed the door and fell into his arms crying. When she finished her story, Bob was surprised that even though he’d done this to hurt Billy, he felt real sympathy for the beautiful young woman. It seemed that someone was out to get her canned.

“So he tried to frame you so that you won’t be considered for the job? That’s low. Look, here is my cell phone number.” He wrote the number on the back of his official business card. “If you need me to vouch for you or to catch these guys at their game, just let me know. I’ll break that whale’s leg if he tries anything.”

Darlene was wiping her tears, and he put a hand on her face, holding her as he dabbed a tear with his thumb. God, she was beautiful.

“Tonight when we go out, I’ll let you know if anything else happens,” she said.

He realized that Billy and Darlene had made plans for a date. This meeting was going to screw things up, but since his stomach still hurt from Billy’s punch, he deserved it. He said goodbye and started to leave when a huge man with a pendulous gut came charging out of the next office. A smarmy smile spread over his face. He pushed past Bob and looked into Darlene’s office.

He shook a fat finger at her and said, “Get a room.”

Bob was instantly filled with rage. He recognized that Roscoe fellow from her description. There couldn’t be two of the same blob. He grabbed the man by his collar and pulled him close ferociously. “You watch yourself, Buster. I’ve de-nuttered my share of hogs, and I’ll do it again any day. You cross me, or my woman, and I’ll make you squeal like a stuck pig, you hear me? Answer before I get my nut-clippers out.”

Roscoe said, “Let me go. Oh God, I’ll do whatever you say.”

“You address me as Oh God, Sir.” Bob shook the man until his jowls trembled like pouches of Jell-O.

“Oh God, Sir.” Roscoe said obediently.

Bob walked down the hall assertively, hearing his cowboy boots clip along the polished floor. He imagined Darlene laughing in her office.

The hunger was acute as Papyan the Sinner looked at the heap they were poised to fight over. He felt himself drooling profusely, but when he noticed the great tendrils of saliva that hung from the other man’s mouth, he was terrified. Papyan the Sinner knew he must have the prize or die trying to get it. His arms swung back and forth as he tried to menace his opponent. “You bag of chicken shit, I’ll use your hide to wipe my ass,” he screamed, his voice pitching too high.

In a blur the two men attacked each other.

They were suddenly wrenched apart and were both overcome with the stench. Each man felt on his shoulder a horny claw that held him in a death grip. They went limp like kittens held by the scruff of the neck.

“What have we here, my two pups?” a voice growled. It seemed to come from the bottom of the never-ending cave, and was drenched in an evil so pure that it was mesmerizing. “You are fighting over this while forgetting what I called you for!” the throaty voice chuckled. The reek that emanated from his mouth was a mixture of decayed flesh and the cloying, fetid smell of a very large reptile.

“I need you to make yourselves useful. There is a man who must die, for with my power, I can see that he will be a problem for me if he is allowed to develop. One of you will have the job of killing him and his entire family now, while he is weak. The other will be there to help if there is a mishap.” He eyed them with a look that was primeval and reptilian. Both the men shivered. He threw them to the ground roughly. With one sharp talon he divided the large mound that was between them. It was a mound of the Sorcerer Gaumata’s excrement that they had been fighting over. Both the men trembled with renewed desire, but the creature backhanded them, his scaly skin stinging like a thousand scorpions.