Faithful John

“Suzy,” Franklin Horrisey called as he pushed the speakerphone button. “Send in John.”

John, the treasurer at the company, meekly approached the door to his CEO’s office. “Yes sir?” he asked–again meekly, just like the meek little bastard he was.

“John, how long have you worked for me?”

“Over twenty-years sir.”

“Did you know that I’m dying?”

“I did not, sir! That’s terrible! What– Is– Can I—?”

“Seems I’ve come down with a bad case of this new Affluenza that’s been going around. Doctor says I have only a short time left.”

“Jesus, sir! How long? How long?”

“Not long. Ten…maybe fifteen seconds. Now, shut your mouth–as I said I haven’t much time–because I need you do promise me something John.”

“Yes, sir. Anything, sir.”

‘That’s a good dog. It’s my son, Clancy, he’ll be taking over for me, naturally.”

“Naturally, sir,” John said without a hint of tangible jealousy. That’s because John, like all faithful men, was an idiot.

“Now Clancy, he’s a good boy, means well enough. I mean, he’s no Ghandi but I didn’t exactly raise a Caligula, either. Anyway, as the new CEO, he will be, of coursem anxious to excercise the privileges that come with this position.”

John bobbed his empty, sweet head up and down.

“Now, what I need from you, my dear faithful toady, is to guide him along these perks. Give him all the special entry cards, the keys to the jet, the whole thing. But most importantly, he’ll want to visit the brothel.”

“Um, okay,” said John.

“Don’t look so prudish, it’s fine. Point is, I need you to make sure he never meets Yvette, my personal girl in Suite B.”

“Why is that sir?”

“Because the things she can…no WILL do to him, the orifices she will open for him, the depravities she will unleash upon his cock and conscience, well, it will be enough to drive the poor horndog in love, and trust me, Yvette will be the death of him.”

“I think I understand,” John said. “Sir I just noticed that it’s been a minute since we started this conversation, and yet you’re still aliv–“

“Bleeeechkkkk!” the CEO sputtered out and died.

The next day Clancy arrived for his first day as CEO. “Suzy, he asked, “Where’s John?”

John arrived.

“Ah, good old, Faithful John,” Clancy said. “How’s life?”

“Oh, uh, you know, it could always be–“

“Wow, that’s fantastic to hear! But what I really wanted to call you about was the brothel.”

“What about it sit?”

“I’d like to visit.”

John remembered the words of Clancy’s father: “Make sure he never meets Yvette.”

“Okay,” John said, “Let’s go.”

They arrived in the stretch limousine in front of the Finicky Pussy with it’s bright pink neon sign held up by a cartoon cat.

Clancy was out the door and in the lobby before John could unbuckle his seat belt. “Clancy, wait!” he shouted but it was too late. By the time John made it inside the madame jerked her thumb upstairs, the one place where Clancy was sure to meet Yvette.

Two hours later Clancy slumped down the staircase in a pool of sweat, stinking of ass and Mexican food. John was scared to ask “How was it?”

“I think I’m in love.”

Shit, John thought. The one thing I was supposed to do.

“I must have her for my own,” Clancy said.

The plan: John and Clancy would go upstairs, kidnap Yvette, and store her away at the Horissey Manor until a wedding could be arranged.

On the ride to the manor, John had a vision, in which a car would be waiting for them at the end of the privately-owned road, to take them the rest of the way to the countryside estate. In his vision the car would crash, killing Clancy and Yvette. John couldn’t let Clancy get in that vehicle. But, the voice told him, if he said anything about the vision, John would be turned to stone.

John, terrified, tried to push the intrusive, crazy thoughts from his head.

When they arrived at the gated entrance to the road, a car was indeed waiting.

As Clancy drug his prized hooker from the the limosuine to the waiting car, John let instinct tske over and he ran to the other side of the vehicle, pulled out his 9mm pistol, and emptied it all four tires of the car, as well as the driver’s head.

“What the fuck, John?”

John said nothing.

“You’re fired,” Clancy told him.

John couldn’t take it. “Sir, the only reason I shot that driver was because I was shown a vision on the way here about that very same car, and how it would crash on the way to your estate, man, but that, like, I, uhhh, like wasn’t supposed to, like say why, or something….”

John’s mind continued to hop around from thought to thought, from Funyuns to Flouride in the water supply to the Smurfs. He had forgotten what the voice had warned him about revealing how he knew these things.

John was unequivocally stoned.