The Swindler
Jimmy's head was aching when he came home after a long day of job hunting. The travel from an agency to another one – bus to bus, taxi to taxi, walk to walk – had sucked all the remaining energy from his body, and now he's nothing but a vegetable lying on his bed. He stared at the ceiling of his room, his vision blurry and his body weakened. What wrong have I done? he asked to the gods above him. Why now? I need money.
His arrogant boss – the kind with the gold blings and a fat tobacco stuck between his lips – had just fired him after failing to submit his assignment in time. It was all due to a failing work printer. He struggled to make the dysfunctional mess work; adjusting the cartridges, checking the mechanisms and hitting the thing hard with his stiff palms. Failure. He needed to wait for the technician to come and fix it for him. Hewlett-Packard, one of the worse printer manufacturers ever to exist on the surface of goddamn Earth. My job paid well, and that printer costed him a fortune!
He laid the pile of papers and folders on the boss's desk, sweating out like a madman and panting like an Olympic runner. After three minutes of delay and another minute of hard work the assignment was done! It seemed like an achievement, as he did his work so fast and so efficiently despite the expired time limit. His boss glared at the towering pile of papers, blowing smoke onto the air.
"You're late," the boss said, throwing his legs up to the table.
"I'm sorry sir, the printer broke down," he reasoned out as he scratched my head in dismay, "had mister Ramsay to repair the thing."
He slid his tobacco into his lips and puffed smoke. "How many times have I told you, Jimmy? You need to pass your assignments in time. This has happened three consecutive times and that simply displays how lazy you have become. You don't seem to learn, Jimmy?"
"Eh... I'm sorry sir," Jimmy apologized, "I promise not to do it again." He was about to turn his back when...
"Wait, Jimmy, stay there," the boss ordered; he faced him once again, "I need to show you something."
The boss threw his tobacco to the garbage can nearby and sat up straight. He opened the drawer of his desk, searching for something, and after a few seconds of rummaging he pulled out a red marker.
"You see this?" the boss pointed the tip of the marker to Jimmy's face. He nodded, unnerved.
He looked away from him, stood up from his seat and stared at the pile of papers, his eyes scanning the pages. He pulled the paper at the top and began writing something on it with his red marker, mumbling something I couldn't discern. At last, he capped the marker, threw it to his table, and folded the piece of paper to a tiny square that seemed like a child's origami.
"You see this too?" the boss rose the folded paper midair and threw it to the floor, gesturing me to pick it up.
"What is that?" I asked, a horrible thought forming inside my head. What would I find if I pick it up?
"Oh Jimmy, just read it," he replied as he picked up the pile of papers from his desk. "And oh, please close the door behind you. It's too damn noisy outside, it breaks my focus."
I turned around and pulled the door close. The place was eerily silent, the low humming of the air conditioning unit sending shivers down to my spine. What was happening?
The boss went to Jimmy, still carrying the pile of papers. They faced one another, and his eyes were full of something he couldn't understand. Anger? Disappointment? Sympathy? I didn't know. "Pick it up," said he, stretching his lips down to the carpeted floor.
Jimmy picked up the paper and opened it. He read the note. His body froze. Then he just saw the papers scattered on the floor, and the boss walked and scrapped his feet over them like a floor mat. The boss laughed and laughed, mocking me.
"That's what happen when you pass your work late, Jimmy," the boss said as he went back to his swivel chair.
"But sir, w-what did I–"
"Shut your fucking mouth, Jimmy. Get out of this building. And please bring those papers with you. They make a mess of my office... Now off you go."
Jimmy looked at the note once more, and threw it amongst the clutter of dirty papers on the floor. He turned around and walked away, not looking back to the fat man in gold.
YOURE FIRED JIMMY!!!! THATS WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU DON'T DO YOUR JOB PROPERLY...
A long sleep till late morning was all Jimmy need, but it seemed impossible. His thoughts kept on wandering to the note the boss had given him – those words had embedded themselves into his brain, like a pointed bullet digging through flesh. Not a moment would pass without the words You're fired, fat and deep red, flashing across his vision. Why was he fired so prematurely? What did he do to deserve such loss? He hated the boss before, but now... it seems like he wanted to kill him.
But I need the money.
Jimmy needed to do something. A solution, or perhaps a fix. His pockets were almost empty – only a few bucks and some coins – and sooner or later it would be gone in the wind. He wouldn't be able to buy literally anything without taking out a chunk of his fortune! The idea of dying in hunger and poverty chilled him to the bones. That was something no one ever wanted to happen. Perhaps selling something – his television, or even cheap Android phone – might bring forth a conceivable solution to his problem, but he was certain it'd last only for a short blissful moment, unless he'd find a work to settle on. I don't know'
Then an idea came to his mind. It's a tad bit insane. Might not work out for me, he thought, sad and excited at the same time, but at least I'd try.
It was already twelve p.m. and everyone was asleep, but Jimmy still focused on his phone browsing Facebook, his eyes fluttering and his vision blurring. He searched from one random profile to another, rummaging for telephone or cellphone numbers he might contact. After ours of restless searching, it turned up no results. It disheartened him, suddenly accepting his quick descent to bankruptcy, but he kept combing through the massive haystack of Facebook profiles, trying to find that single needle that'd possibly save his life.
Until he found one.
He dialed the number. One ring... two rings... three rings... click!
"Hello?" a woman on the other side replied, sounding sleepy and tired.
"Grandma, are you there?" Jimmy asked and suppressed a laugh. This seemed ridiculous – and possibly might throw him behind the cold bars – but this really entertained him. He pushed himself to continue.
The other line remained silent for a while, as if the woman thought about what she was hearing. Jimmy expected his call to hang up, as that was mostly happened afterwards to this kind of calls, otherwise an odd voice boomed on the speakers. Suddenly Jimmy's body tensed. Money was needed, and at all costs something must be done. This was the point of no return.
"Hello?" an old woman's voice spoke rather humbly, "who this might be?"
"Grandma?" Jimmy replied, his heart throbbing wildly inside his chest, "it's me Jimmy. Jimmy Henderson. Your grandson."
"Oh, Jimmy, my dear," the old woman remarked, erupting to a hindered laughter, "it's been too long since we have seen each other."
"Yeah, I think so," Jimmy played out – he didn't know what to say, "and... uh, grandma, I need your help. Please. Can you do me a favor?"
The old woman laughed again, rather mockingly. "What is it you have in mind, my dear?"
"I need money."
"Why? Have you put yourself in trouble again?" The old woman's voice had a tone of irritation in it.
"Yes, grandma. I'm so, so sorry," Jimmy shamelessly apologized, his mind racing to produce a variety of reasons he could make use of. "I... uh, accidentally broke... uh, Trevor's MacBook. He was friend of mine and were working together on a project. We were... uh, on my house when it happened. Yeah, I spilled coffee onto the thing by accident, and now he's threatening to delete all my contribution if I didn't pay him. I've worked hard on that project and I couldn't afford to lose it all. I've already had money, but it's not enough. I lost my job too and I can't find anything. Can you please help me, grandma? Please, just now."
The old woman remained silent for a moment, possibly thinking about the legitimacy of his reasoning. Jimmy, nervous of the outcome of his stupidity, wanted to drop the call. But has been done is done. He just need to know how all this would end.
"Okay, Jimmy. I'll help you out," the old woman assured. "But you need to pay me later, okay?"
"Sure, grandma."
"How much do you need?"
Jimmy pondered the price. The larger the numbers are, the more unbelievable it would seem – and he might give himself away to the cops – so he needs to keep it low and fair. But the small numbers wouldn't be able to help him out – he must keep it somewhere in between. Something not too big but not too small either. His mind processed the digits, fingers did the maths and calculated the numbers...
That's it.
"I'm sorry grandma if this sounds too much, but I really need it.
"One-thousand-four-hundred dollars. That's what I need."
The old woman once again kept quiet. The line was blank for several seconds, and Jimmy believed his attempts had ended in vain. However, the old voice spoke. He sat up from his bed and listened.
"How about a hundred? It's all I have, my dear."
"No, grandma, that won't do anything," Jimmy said, "I need to have the exact–"
Then things took an unexpected twist.
"Jesus wept, Jimmy!" the old woman interjected, sounding ridiculed, "that's too big."
"I know grandma, but I really need the money. I promise I'll pay you as soon–"
"Shut up, Jimmy!" the old woman lashed out, "I don't have a money now. I don't have something to–"
"No please, grandma, help me out," Jimmy said in a feigned desperate tone, "it's gonna kill me and every–"
"I don't care, Jimmy, I don't care," the old woman declared, her high-pitched voice brimming with unbelievable anger, "you have no idea how difficult it is for an old lady like me to earn money on my own. You don't know what I do, and most of all you don't know how hard it is to hide from the police."
Jimmy went quiet. What did she mean? Police? That's nonsense. "Grandma, I don't understand what you're–"
"Of course you don't, you little piece of stinking dung. I need to do it every day and every night, Jimmy, so I won't live the next day in hunger. You don't understand what I've been through, you don't! You know, an officer once tried to arrest me and I tried to run away, but he drew–"
"Stop! Grandma!" Jimmy screamed as terror rose up to his throat – nothing was making any more sense, "what are you saying?!"
"It's hard, Jimmy! I don't like to do it, but I'd die if I don't. I would be–"
"What do you do?" he had never felt any more scared than before.
"You don't want to know, Jimmy. I swear you–"
"Tell me!"
"I kill people, Jimmy. I kill people for a living! I shoot them dead with a goddamn gun and I get the money from their pockets. They barely had anything, Jimmy, barely had anything at all. Only a few dollars, not enough. Not enough to keep me alive every day. I need to keep killing people to live, and I risk my life every time I do it. The police are everywhere and when they see me doing it, they try to arrest me. Then I resist then they shoot me. I shoot them down with my fucking laser gun and I kill them all, make their car explode too, just like what happened in GTA. Their bloody bodies burn to ashes and it's gonna get blown away by the wind. I'm not just a hopeless thief, Jimmy, I'm a murderer. A cop murderer! And now you want money from me? Ha? Am I right, Jimmy? You want my money? Well, I don't have–"
Jimmy dropped the call.
Written by RuckusQuantum
Content is available under CC BY-SA
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