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The beeping slowly grew, first starting as a mildly
pleasurable melody, but rapidly escalating into a sonorous
screech. The time was 6:31 AM, and if I didn't fuck up too
badly today, hundreds of millions of credits awaited me. I
would live as a king, a veritable ruler over the Eve universe.
But first I would need to deal with Thoggins & Co. I slammed
my palm onto the off button and walked over to my computer,
marvelling at the never-old process of billions of bits of
data being shuffled, transmuted, and forced ahead in some kind
of digital death march. I opened up Outlook, hoping, nay,
expecting to see multiple emails from prospective investors. I
was not disappointed.
The first was from Thoggins:
DONT FORGET. Be on AIM at 12 PM, or you won't see a DIME.
It took every ounce of willpower to hold myself back from
clicking the "Reply" button and ripping him a new asshole.
The second was from Magnulus; it was a fairly long email
explaining how impressed he was with my presentation, but was
unable to commit to any financial obligation at the present
time because his corporation had not yet voted on the measure.
I felt like telling him to grow a pair and just fucking do it.
The third was from Jorpho. He wrote that normally, he would
never do something like this, but that he found me to be a man
of exceptional character and integrity, and felt safe with his
trust in me . More importantly, he wanted an Apocalypse
blueprint really badly, and was willing to invest 120 million
for a second, upgraded one.
A smile spontaneously broke out on my face. Despite its
palling darkness, the room grew lighter, the air tasted
fresher, and my heart glided like an eagle, majestic and rich
and free.
Heavenly God! cried my soul, in an outburst of profane joy.
For a few minutes, I actually pranced around the room. I
returned to my chair and felt compelled to go outside and bask
in the sun, but the inbox brought me down from my wonderful
high. Alltech's vote was beyond my control, I knew that much,
which left one loose string for me to tie. I pondered over
whether I should actually give the little prick my phone
number, and the possibility entered my mind that after I
punk'd him of his money, he would follow through on his
promise and cause me an endless amount of phone grief. Then,
it happened.
Inspiration.
There was a library near my house with a red receptionist's
telephone at the very back. Normally, this wouldn't be
anything to brag about; however, this particular telephone
never, ever had a receptionist stationed near it. The
librarians tended to avoid it as well, due to the fact that it
was right next to the erotica section, (yay for public
funding) and all but one of the librarians were conservative
women who found the idea of pre-marital sex in any position
but missionary to be appalling. I memorized the number as a
child, before the days of star 69 and caller ID, and I would
crank call it to find out who was browsing for erotica. If
somebody was ballsy enough to pick up, I would direct them
towards the S&M book. The one where the first page describes,
in detail, a man having his penis torn off. That book was
later removed or stolen, I shall never know which, but I never
thought back then that my childhood antics would serve me in
the future. I knew exactly what I was going to do.
11:45 AM rolled around, and I put on my running shoes and
shorts. I stretched my feeble joints for 10 minutes, hoping
that my limbs would remember their glory days of running cross
country and revitalize themselves. It was time.
I logged onto AIM, and Thoggins messaged me immediately.
Thoggins: You're a minute late. Now, what's your phone number?
I need to have it before I go through with this.
Nightfreeze: I can totally understand that
 . Can
you wait 5 minutes before calling though? The only phone in
our house is in the kitchen, and I figure that as long as I'm
in the ol' Food Kingdom, I would fix myself up a snack.
Thoggins: Uh... Okay, whatever, I'll call in 5 minutes. What's
the number?
Nightfreeze: [Library Number]. Remember, 5 minutes, I might
not pick up if you call before then because I'll be too busy
making my food. Talk to ya then
I logged off AIM and ran like a starving coyote chasing down
his dinner. I ran like Steve Prefontaine if he had had a
second chance with the grim reaper to run home drunk instead
of drive, the only condition being that he would have to make
it back before the car did. I ran like a brotha running from
the police.
I arrived in front of the building with 3 minutes to spare,
vigorously gasping for air. But I wasn't done yet. I would
have to make my way through the complex armed only with my
wits and my deadly kung-fu grip, avoiding librarians through
deception and misdirection, lest they foil the scheme I had
worked on for so many hours. I walked through the double
doors, with 1 minute and 57 seconds on the clock.
The female receptionist spotted me the moment I walked in.
Maybe it was my suave demeanor, maybe it was my dashing good
looks, or maybe it was the fact that I was wearing a pair of
running shorts that extended halfway down to my thighs in an
air-conditioned library. Maybe it was some twisted combination
of the three.
"Hello, sir." She smiled uneasily and looked back down,
pretending to return to whatever activity she had been
pursuing before I entered her life. I made the decision that
if she came within 10 feet of me, I would have to kill her and
hide the body in the shadows, where no patrolling librarians
would ever dare looking.
I strolled over to the red phone without incident or bother,
and noticed that there was no chair to accomodate anybody who
might want to place an urgent telephone call regarding
erotica. I glanced back to the center of the library, with its
abundant tables and plush chairs. I pondered for a second
whether or not it was worth the risk, but my stream of thought
was broken instantly by a loud ringing sound. I looked down at
my watch.
He was 24 seconds early.
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