To have called Davie Cook average would a complement. Most people saw him as a light weight with his only true potential being the ability to fill a position until someone more dynamic or at least useful could be found. It was precisely in that capacity that the company kept him on, and after sixteen years they were finding it difficult to justify keeping him. Certainly, new hires would be a cheaper way to get Davie’s menial functions completed.
It was a frosty February morning when Cook arrived at the mail room in the basement of the corporate headquarters. It was nine a.m. sharp and most employees were just settling into their desks. Davie was about to begin his rounds of emptying “out baskets” on the upper floors in order to have the out-going post franked and ready for the early collection at 10:15, when four masked gunmen burst into the lobby and took out the security guard and two receptionists.
The intruders quickly secured the front doors with a bicycle chain and took the security pass from the body of the guard. They then locked the surviving receptionist into a closet and headed upstairs. One of the masked men headed to the IT room and quickly disabled the company’s main servers. The others burst onto the office floors and ordered everyone to throw their phones into a pile before herding them into conference rooms.
Davie hearing the shots crept up the access stairway to find the dead security man and the two severely wounded receptionists. He administered some medical care that he had learned during his brief stint as the company first aider, and then returned to the basement where he retrieved a bolt cutter from a utility closet he had used while on the maintenance team. He then returned to the lobby and cutting the lock from the doors he dragged the two injured employees to safety, before getting a passer by to call the authorities. He then returned to the building and freed the remaining receptionist who ran to safety outdoors.
Davie then went to the back up CCTV monitor he knew of from his time as a company night watchmen, and using his mobile phone contacted the police himself and gave a detailed description of the situation, and clear instructions of the access points to the building, and little known avenues of approach he had learned as a janitor, and health and safety monitor for the firm.
It did not take long for the SWAT team to secure the premises and free the hostages with the “light weight’s” aid.
Tom Hanks said, “Stupid is as stupid does,” and it was stupid indeed.
“What?” you might ask.
Well telling your sergeant that he yells too much is one of those ultimate stupid acts. But stupid does help us learn as well, and I am certain I will have a lot to reflect on after I finish cleaning every toilet in the Third Marine Division.
The damp fog refused to burn away, eating up their street until the suburb became still and their house an island. This was no tropical paradise, however, but a bleak craggy isle buffeted by waves. Fog or no, the island home had its own issues, and marital discord and strife made for an unpleasant existence. I say existence, as it was no life. Living always on a knife-edge, perpetually walking on proverbial eggshells, had taken its toll. Now with the creeping fog making escape from the island home difficult, it would only be a matter of time until the damp of the surrounding fog would be the least of their problems.
“Whatever you do, don’t drink it. It is a lotion not a potion. It will make whatever it is put onto invisible, but it wont work on cloth. So, be careful, as if you get wet it can wash off and leave you exposed in more ways than one,” the merchant warned.
“Will it work on armour?” Helio asked.
“Anything except cloth, so metal is fine. I did have a customer complain once that after they stabbed a Goblin, the creatures could see the end of their sword blade where the blood had washed off the lotion.”
“So why this instead of a potion, or a cloak?” Helio queried.
“The decision is yours of course, but the lotion is 6 silver coins, the potion 6 gold, and the cloak 60 gold.”
“May I have three lotions then?” Helio said counting out the coins.
“Excellent choice,” the merchant said with a smile.
The descent wasn’t going to be easy, but then again no one ever said the job was going to be either. Tom prided himself as a mountaineer, and he was over the moon when he was accepted onto the Mountain Rescue team. It wasn’t that the job wasn’t without its risks, he had expected that. What frustrated him was the sheer stupidity of some he rescued, not the sheerness of the cliffs. It was usually hikers that overestimated their abilities and got them stuck mid way up a face. Today was no different as he went to aid a couple of “adventurers” wearing shorts and trainers and not equipped with boots and ropes.
It was a gargantuan task, but if the settlement was to be built, then the river would need to be dammed first.
The engineer observed the speed of the river’s flow and drew in a deep breath. Of course, he had done projects of this sort before, but none on this scale. After doing some mental calculations, he dropped a piece of wood into the flow to check the accuracy of his conclusions and to see if there were any hidden eddies that had avoided his attention.
Satisfied with the results, the beaver set to work.
Wanda had always wondered why there was a rule that no one, under any circumstance, could ever go into Granny Hall’s attic. It had really irked her to be forbidden from doing something without as much as an explanation as to why.
Well today was her chance. Mum had taken Granny to the hospital and Wanda was allowed to stay at Granny’s place to water the plants and feed Boris, the beagle.
Once the car had left, she slowly went to the attic stair door and tried the handle. It was unlocked, but the door creaked loudly as she pulled it open. She ascended the stair to spy an empty attic. Well not exactly empty as there were a few letters, and other papers, as well as a small box seemingly glued to the ceiling. As she stepped into the space she was suddenly swept upwards, as if the gravity of the room was reversed.
She struck the ceiling with considerable force, and it took her a moment to catch her breath and weigh the situation. She was being drawn to the ceiling as if it were the floor. It was then that she noted that one of the letters on the ceiling was addressed to her grandmother by her maiden-name: Emily Newton. There seemed to be more to her heritage than she suspected, and a family secret that she was yet to learn.
“Don’t believe a word he says,” Tayler warned. “His public image is a lie. He is evil to his core.”
“But he’s my uncle, isn’t he?” Milly inquired.
“That makes him all the more dangerous,” the lawyer warned.
“Why dangerous?” Milly asked.
“When your parents died, God rest them, it left you with fifty-one percent of the family fortune. He will play you if he can to make his own power greater.”
“But if he is so toxic, why is he called Mr. Clean?”
“No matter how things appear don’t fall for it. He is anything but clean.” Tayler warned.
The elevator finally reached the 55th floor. As the doors opened, Milly Kleinmann found herself face to face with her uncle for the first time. As she looked into his steely gaze she felt her heart plunge and a shiver run up her spine. It was immediately clear to her that everything Tayler had said was true.
Donna King was an apologist. No not that type of apology, but rather she a woman who knew how to construct arguments. The partners of Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe, struck a virtual gold-mine when they hired her fresh from some Podunk law school in the Midwest. But now she was proving herself in spades. To say her constructions and syllogisms were complex would be a true understatement, as most of them had more edges than a tiger shark’s smile. A King summation was a thing of be beauty and generally left opposing counsel baffled, and an occasional judge too.
I have purposely added a few clichés to this route to setting up a alternative to Multifaceted.