A short story is a piece of prose fiction that typically can be read in one sitting and focuses on a self-contained incident or series of linked incidents, with the intent of evoking a “single effect” or mood, however there are many exceptions to this.
Interview day came and Frank found himself in the lobby of a very nice hotel waiting for Mr. Lark. Fifteen minutes passes in a black leather lounge chair, then a tall distinguished older gentleman wearing glasses and a dark blue business suite exited one of the elevators to his right and walked toward Frank. Frank connects his brown eyes to the gentleman’s blue eyes then stands up.
“Mr. Frank Nickels I presume?” he asked as he offered his hand.
“Yes that’s me. And you must be Mr. Lark?,” Frank said with a firm grip and shake.
“Yes, its nice to meet you. Here’s a brief rundown of the situation. There is an all Native American Boarding School in River City. You may have seen or heard of it, Herman Indian High School.” Frank politely nodded no. Mr. Lark continued on, “Well, the problem is that there are over 300 Windows 7 workstations, approximately 150 users, 400 students, and only one I.T. Support personnel. It’s simply too much work for one person. The systems are all antiquated and in dire need of maintenance and eventually a complete upgrade to Windows 10 along with Office 365. What you will be doing is assisting the I.T. person there with all of the extra work. How does that sound?”
“Excuse me Frank, someone is calling you!” a robotic voice resonated while the black smartphone flashed and vibrated on the nightstand.
It was a cold California morning and since it was Monday, getting to the phone in the dark was a slow process.
“This is Frank,” he finally answered in a deep phlegmy voice. Then he cleared his throat while listening for a reply.
“Special Agent number four, this is S.T.A.B.L.E. headquarters,” the serious tone was menacing. He demanded attention, “You will be getting a call from a contracting company for a most difficult and treacherous job. This is a major advancement in our war against the enemy, the insidious C.L.O.W.N. organization. You will be on your own for the most part, but there will be a contact to assist you from time to time. Please contact your Surveyor with any questions,” the line cut immediately.
6:33 A.M. Midtown Crossing Los Angeles between Pico and Venice. The sun is rising and bringing enough illumination to turn off the street lights now. The air is a cool seventy degrees with a light stench of smoked cannabis and tobacco. Thor’s Day morning traffic is typical with swarms of people and their vehicles rushing to get to work at Lowes on the bottom of the Crossing structure or Smart & Final, Ulta Beauty, PetSmart, or other stores at the very top level. In between these levels is a middle second level where a lot of employees and customers park their cars.
Across from this structure can be found another stretch of
property that is host to Planet Fitness, Ralphs, CVS, and others. The parking
lot in front of Planet Fitness features a stained white bricked and caged dumpster
enclosure with a metal door unlocked for access to throw trash in.
At the southwest corner on the roof of the Midtown Crossing Shopping Center, stands a huge six foot five, 300 pound, grayish whitish bearded man. He’s clothed in dirty dark blue Dickies pants, a faded black t-shirt, and settled on top of his salt and pepper colored hair is a blue Kansas City baseball cap underneath a grey hooded sweat jacket. Old worn out blue and white Adidas sneakers cover his size thirteen feet. His age could be around fifty to sixty years old because of the worn and wrinkled skin around his dark and rage filled eyes. Around his neck hangs two necklaces. One, a gold link, and attached to it is a golden hand with its middle finger prominent and the right thumb extended in a manner that almost makes the letter L or J depending on which side is visible. The other, silver, and attached to it is a blue mini Sharpie marker.
The crowd roared at the Mississippi rally. The stadium was
filled from top to bottom with rabid followers who behaved like their messiah
had just arrived. A tall orange menace wearing a red diesel trucker cap with
the acronym: MAGA embroidered in white letters on the front, approached the
podium in the center and declared in his bombastic speaking style, “My new
USMCA is a great triumph and an incredible victory for our farmers, factory
workers, and our entire nation. We are finally putting America first. We are
making America great again. Today!”