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Book: The Face of Satan's Bog
Chapter 5: Massive Salaries

Lawrence looked out through the small slit in Mister Blister’s neck at the six dour executives that stood before him. Although their stance and expressions gave nothing away, Lawrence knew that below the surface they were nervous and fidgety. To be called in to a meeting with the head of the company at nine in the evening was very unusual and serious indeed.

After letting them stew in their own fear for another half minute, Lawrence finally spoke, breaking the icy silence that had filled the room. “Ha harr!! I guess you’re wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?!” Lawrence was now an expert at convincingly operating a corpse’s mouth from within.

The executives looked at each other, then back at their boss. They said nothing.

Lawrence shouted, the fires of the netherworld burning through each word. “Aren’t you?!!”

One of the executives took a step forwards and spoke. “Mister Blister, excuse me for saying so, but you look terrible! Are you feeling OK?”

With great effort, Lawrence heaved the mass of the late Mister Blister out of his luxurious leather chair and slammed his huge hands on the desk. “Insolence!”

The executive was obviously startled by the severe behavioural change of his boss. Unaware of the evil in front of him, he continued to express his concern. “Sir, insolence was not my intent! I apologise.”

Lawrence decided to fake humility. “You are forgiven.” he said with great strain. The dark one noticed that a pool of blood had gathered in Mister Blister’s mouth. Before he could do anything about it, the blood dribbled out and soaked into the corpse’s beard.

The executives cringed. The executive that spoke before spoke again. “Sir! How can you say you’re OK? You’re pale and lethargic-looking, and you’re spouting blood!” The executive looked Mister Blister up and down. “In fact, you’re covered in blood!”

From within the body of the plastic cup king, Lawrence screamed an untruth. “I had a nose bleed just before you all got here!” More blood oozed from the body’s mouth. “OK?”

The executives looked at each other, then at their boss. They nodded. All except the one that had spoken. He spoke again. “As your senior executive I believe it is necessary for me to help you through your pain.”

Lawrence yelled. “There is no pain!”

“With all that blood and that neck laceration there must be. Perhaps one of my paracetamols will help.” The executive pulled out a small pillbox from his breast pocket and opened it. He offered it to Mister Blister.

With great exertion, Lawrence swung Mister Blister’s arm forwards and knocked the pillbox out of the executive’s hands. Pain-killers scattered across the expansive office. “Enough of this puerile banter! Drop this subject immediately! One more mention of my appearance or my pain and I’ll mash your face to a paste!”

The executive looked at his boss. After a second of thought he spoke what would be his last words. “So, you do admit to being in pain, then?”

Lawrence flipped. Utilising the demonic strength generated by powerful negative emotions, he hauled the body of Mister Blister over the desk, rolling over and crushing portraits of young children and gold-plated plastic cups. Gripping both of Mister Blister’s fists together, the evil lord of puss brought them smashing heavily into the face the senior executive.

The senior executive did not have a chance to scream. The bones on his face shattered instantly, mutilating the brain beneath. The senior executive fell backwards and onto the floor.

Lawrence guided Mister Blister’s corpse over to the slowly convulsing executive and stamped repeatedly on his face. Mister Blister’s highly polished and studded black shoes rapidly pulverised the senior executive’s face into an unrecognisable blob. Lawrence stepped back and looked at his work. It was good! He looked up at the other executives. All five of them were staring open-mouthed at their deceased colleague. “Let that be a lesson to you all. This company has become too slack on discipline. Painful facial pulping will become the standard punishment for all employees who step out of line. From now on, if any of you see a subordinate performing his job function inadequately you will do unto him what you have just seen done unto your senior executive. If you don’t, I will do unto you what you should have done unto him. Then I will do the same unto him. Do you understand?”

The other executives trembled visibly. One of them spoke. “The annual report from personnel last month showed that the standard disciplinary procedure of a verbal, then written, and finally a...”

“Silence!” Lawrence screamed. He swung Mister Blister’s right arm forwards and punched the executive in the throat.

The executive gagged and staggered back.

“Do not quote annual reports to me!” Lawrence continued. “From now on everything changes.”

The executives looked at their boss but said nothing.

Lawrence calmed himself and began to pace the corpse of Mister Blister awkwardly up and down the office. He made a profound announcement. “From midnight tonight this company will cease to manufacture plastic cups.”

The executives gasped.

Lawrence waited for one of them to speak. No-one did. Lawrence smiled. He was pleased with the way he had expertly gained their total attention and obedience. He continued. “All company property - the manufacturing plants, the distribution warehouses, the offices, and those stupid party supply stores - will be sold off to the highest bidders tomorrow. Also, the rights to supply our customers will be sold to our rivals for what I expect to be a very high price. I demand that at least five-thousand-trillion credits of cash to be in the company accounts within forty-eight hours. Otherwise, five familiar faces will be pulped. Get my drift?”

The executives were flabbergasted. One of the more foolish ones dared to speak. “This company has supplied plastic cups for more than five centuries. We are the market leader. Why are we giving up such a stable and profitable business?”

Lawrence continued to pace the body of Mister Blister up and down the office. “Because it’s boring.” he replied.

The executive swallowed hard, the thought of his face being pulped at the forefront of his mind. He dared to ask another question. “What will we do instead?”

“Shut-up!” Lawrence shouted. He stopped pacing. “You will know of my monumental plans soon enough. I realise that you’re all worried about your massive salaries and the bonuses and all the benefits and shit that goes with it. Don’t be. Do as I command and you will be amply rewarded and retain your status.”

The executives nodded.

Lawrence smiled. He made the mouth of Mister Blister smile as best he could. “The universe is evolving, gentlemen.” He said. “And this company needs to evolve with it.” Lawrence suddenly screamed and bounced the corpse of Mister Blister around the room. “Ha harr!!! In the next forty-eight hours I will transmogrify this company into a supreme organisation able to dominate the souls of the damned and crush the heroes of freedom that disintegrate the dark armies of nefarious minded loons!!!”

The executives stared in disbelief at their boss.

Lawrence quickly eliminated his moment of uncontrolled glee and forced himself into a bogus state of tranquillity. “Don’t be alarmed. I am merely expressing poetic excitement. Trust me and all will be well. Now, go and do my bidding. I will require hourly updates.”

The executives turned and filed nervously out of the office.

“Remember,” Lawrence shouted as they left. “Face-pulp anyone that gives you any shit!” He looked at the faceless body of the senior executive. “And get someone up here to clear away that mess.”

Lawrence chewed on some of the bloody fat within the neck of Mister Blister and thought about the night and day ahead. This plan of his was as hot as hell. Hotter, in fact. Finally, everything was falling into place.

For the next thirty minutes, Lawrence rolled the body of Mister Blister round and round the desk while he squeaked gently.

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© Copyright Peter Fothergill 1992 - 2017

 
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