The new guy doesn’t look like us. He has this whole I-don’t-give-a-shit<\/I> scene going. Long dark beard that comes to a point near his sternum. Big head of black, wavy hair. Big, thick tribal tattoos on his long, muscular arms. Dark sunglasses, worn indoors. Heavy, charcoal-gray jeans, worn-in T-shirts and big black boots. Yeah, he’s a pretty jarring sight around here.<\/p>\n
I wish I could dress like the new guy. Then I stop and ask myself, Well, could I?<\/I> Sometimes these days, I wonder what people would do if I came to work rebel-style \u2013 my dick and balls flapping in loose jeans, my feet free in hemp flip-flops, my T-shirt untucked, my whiskers out for everyone to see.<\/p>\n
God, that would be something.<\/p>\n
Lately, Janice from Finance keeps bugging me for the master doc for the Procurement PMO. She’ll come over with her face in a knot, all worked up, snapping, \u201cWaddlington needs the PMO master doc for the P5’s by EOB. And if you can’t get the Q1 POD results sooner, then we’ll need to put the P6’s into the FOD, and that includes the L2’s and L6’s.”<\/p>\n
Danzig will holler from across the aisle, \u201cAnd don’t forget the SWAT reports for the L10’s and L16’s in FOD.”<\/p>\n
My throat is so dry, I feel like it’ll crack.<\/p>\n
Sometimes when I’m passing Fitzroy’s office, I look in and see the new guy at the white board, sketching something out – God knows what – and Fitzroy is sitting there listening, completely attentive, nearly blown away, like they’re uncovering the secrets of the universe right then and there.<\/p>\n
Yeah, the new guy doesn’t worry about L16’s in the FOD. Or Janice from Finance. I’m sure of it. <\/p>\n
The new guy is sitting in the break room, wiggling his tongue through the rat, getting at the meat. Penny from Legal walks in, gives him a double take, drops her Swedish meatballs and trots out of the break room. We can hear her retching in the Women’s Room.<\/p>\n
We watch him from afar, through the glass.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt’s a stunt,” Danzig says.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe,” I say, \u201cmaybe not.”<\/p>\n
\u201cOh c’mon, you think he just loves rat?”<\/p>\n
More people join us.<\/p>\n
Gasps abound.<\/p>\n
Several folks have to turn away.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,” I say, \u201cin Africa, a field rat is a real treat. Millions of people eat them.”<\/p>\n
\u201cBut this guy isn’t African.”<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you’re saying only Africans should eat rats?”<\/p>\n
Danzig stiffens. \u201cI’m saying, this is America. People don’t eat rats in America.”<\/p>\n
Carol from the second floor says, \u201cBut Fitzroy loves him.”<\/p>\n
\u201cOut-of-the-box thinker,” I add. \u201cThat’s what they’re saying. \u2018Out-of-the-box thinker, out-of-the-box thinker.’ On and on and on.”<\/p>\n
Barbara from Analytics joins us and squints into the break room. \u201cThat’s Fitzroy’s new guy.” She watches him. \u201cSome kind of rugged genius.”<\/p>\n
Danzig snaps, \u201cGenius? Who said that?”<\/p>\n
\u201cWell …” Barbara watches. \u201cThey say Fitzroy loves him.”<\/p>\n
Fitzroy is the boss — the boss’s boss’s boss.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat’s he eating?”<\/p>\n
\u201cRat.”<\/p>\n
\u201cRat?” Barbara straightens her blazer and clears her throat. \u201cWe’ll see about this.”<\/p>\n
She charges in.<\/p>\n
We all look at each other and decide to follow. <\/p>\n
Barbara stands over the new guy, hands on her hips.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you’re the new guy.”<\/p>\n
The new guy looks up, licks his teeth. Slowly, he grins. \u201cYeah.” He says it nice and slow – lazy-California-surfer style. \u201cThat’s right.”<\/p>\n
Barbara seems unfazed by the glistening rat skeleton that’s now on the napkin in front of them. \u201cWhere are you from?”<\/p>\n
The new guy pulls his head back, grins. \u201cAll over.”<\/p>\n
Barbara frowns. \u201cNo I mean, where were you working before this?”<\/p>\n
The new guy grins wider. They’re nice teeth. \u201cLong story.”<\/p>\n
I like this guy. It’s like he’s saying, \u201cFuck you, lady,” smiling nice and easy the whole way.<\/p>\n
Danzig feels brave now. He leans in, over my shoulder. \u201cSo what’s the deal with the rat?”<\/p>\n
New guy turns and looks up at Danzig.<\/p>\n
Long silence.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell \u2026” The new guy waits extra long. \u201c\u2026 what do you think?”<\/p>\n
Danzig studies him. His voice is high from the stress. \u201cFitzroy loves you.”<\/p>\n
Those dark shades, that grin growing.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey say you’re some out-of-the-box thinker.”<\/p>\n
He smiles and nods, like he’s saying, Okay, man, it’s cool. I hear you.<\/I><\/p>\n
Barbara bursts out, \u201cWhat are you going to do here?”<\/p>\n
Slowly, the new guy turns to her.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you familiar with the California Stink Beetle?”<\/p>\n
Barbara squints. \u201cWhat are you talking about?”<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, the Stink Beetle can thrive in some of the world’s harshest environments – like a dessert – even though it’s this big juicy insect. So the question one might have is, What gives?<\/i> How can this black beetle thrive in a place like that?”<\/p>\n
Barbara is squinting at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo here’s the deal.” The new guy straightens. \u201cThe deal is, the Stink Beetle innovates. At dawn, it \u2018drinks’ from the moist air simply by positioning it’s rear into the breeze and opening its anus.” His smile is gone. The new guy is dead-serious. \u201cNow that’s innovation.”<\/p>\n
He looks up at Barbara, an eyebrow emerging from behind the shades. \u201cSo the thing is, maybe it’s time to open your own anus to the moisture that breezes over you each and every day.”<\/p>\n
Barbara loses the squint. She’s frozen, speechless.<\/p>\n
Danzig says, \u201cSo it stinks or something?”<\/p>\n
The new guy turns to him. \u201cYou fuck with the Stink Beetle, it’ll stand on its head and expel some seriously nasty gas.”<\/p>\n
Danzig mouths the words.<\/p>\n
The new guy folds his arms. \u201cYeah, I seriously dig the Stink Beetle.” <\/p>\n
We circle the wagons at Armadillo Willie’s.<\/p>\n
Danzig is working on a chicken wing, his face shiny with grease. \u201cI can’t believe that guy.”<\/p>\n
Barbara pulls the meat off a baby-back rib, slurps it in. Her cheeks bulge as she chews. After a big swallow, she says, \u201cSomeone should file a report with the Business Conduct Office.” She thinks about it and squints. \u201cEating a rat, saying that to me.”<\/p>\n
I stick to listening. I mean, what good will protesting or whining do? The new guy is gold. Fitzroy loves the new guy. Nothing is gonna happen to the new guy.<\/p>\n
Barbara gazes into space a moment, thinking. \u201cYou think the new guy was repeating something Fitzroy said about me?”<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean?”<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, do you think Fitzroy wants me to \u2018open my anus’? You know, innovate?”<\/p>\n
Danzig leans over the table, makes a weird smile, and I fixate on the chicken strands wedged between his teeth. \u201cEither way, we need to do something out of the box.”<\/p>\n
Barbara snaps, \u201cBut what?”<\/p>\n
\u201cDoesn’t matter what. Just needs to be out of the box.”<\/p>\n
Barbara nods, her eyes almost crossing. \u201cThat’s the thing now. Out of the box. We need to get out of the box.”<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what do we do?”<\/p>\n
Long silence.<\/p>\n
Finally I say, \u201cHow about eliminating some of these reports no one reads?”<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
Barbara says, \u201cWhat if we shaved our heads bald?”<\/p>\n
Danzig frowns. \u201cSmells like a stunt.”<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, let’s keep the ideas coming.”<\/p>\n
No one says another word. <\/p>\n
Next day, Fitzroy scares the shit out of me.<\/p>\n
He walks right into my cube.<\/p>\n
This is unusual. There are about four levels of management between us, and I always figured he didn’t even know I existed. So now I’m thinking, He’s gonna can me<\/i>. Fitzroy does that a lot – can people, lay them off, by the thousands. But the thing is, he always has HR do it.<\/p>\n
He leans over me so I have no chance to stand up.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, Roger.”<\/p>\n
It is only now, at this close range, that I see how bloodshot his eyes are, and how deeply sunken they sit in their darkened sockets. His skin is marked by broken capillaries, his gray hair is thinning and his neck is so gaunt that he reminds me of a turkey. And he’s only forty-three.<\/p>\n
\u201cMorning, sir.”<\/p>\n
He puts a cold hand my shoulder. \u201cWhat are you doing today?”<\/p>\n
I stumble. \u201cOh, I’m putting a few PLDs into the FOD for the Q3-\u201c<\/p>\n
He blinks, cuts me off. \u201cDon’t worry about that today, okay?”<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.”<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, I want you to join us this afternoon.”<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.”<\/p>\n
Fitzroy tells me I’ll be joining him and the new guy for an afternoon offsite. Something the new guy set up.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt’ll be fascinating,” he says, a grin developing.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust us three?”<\/p>\n
He nods. \u201cDon’t worry about that. It’ll be fun.”<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat’s the topic?”<\/p>\n
Fitzroy lifts an eyebrow. \u201cPreemption.”<\/p>\n
I want to ask, Why me?<\/i> But I can tell he wants to leave already, and I don’t want to annoy the boss’s boss’s boss.<\/p>\n
I nod, as if to say, Cool<\/I>.<\/p>\n
A toothy smile spreads across his face. Damn, those are long teeth. Dark, too. Probably all that coffee he drinks. Hell, his admin has a steamer outside his office so she can make all those espresso shots he throws back throughout the day. If I drank that much caffeine, I’d be vibrating.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you, by the way?”<\/p>\n
\u201cSir?”<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you, six-four? Six-three?”<\/p>\n
\u201cOh.” I feel my brow crinkling. Weird question. \u201cI’m around six-three, I guess.”<\/p>\n
Fitzroy nods, looks away like he’s embarrassed. \u201cYeah I was just figuring you must have played ball in school.” He forces a smile. \u201cI mean, you look like it.”<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, I played a little.”<\/p>\n
\u201cTight end?”<\/p>\n
\u201cLinebacker.”<\/p>\n
He brightens. \u201cEven better.”<\/p>\n
I look down. It’s always weird talking about my football years.<\/p>\n
\u201cI bet you were a bouncer on the side, eh? Easy money.”<\/p>\n
I chuckle. \u201cNah.”<\/p>\n
\u201cOh well, linebacker is good.” Fitzroy turns away. \u201cCome to my office at ten, okay?”<\/p>\n
\u201cYou bet, sir.” <\/p>\n
It’s easy to find the new guy’s car in the parking lot. It’s a beige, mud-caked Oldsmobile – probably a ’72 or ’73 \u2013 surrounded by a sea of candy-colored SUVs, BMWs and Hondas. I scribble the plate number and call my wife’s cousin at the DMV. The name he gives me doesn’t match. Alias \u2013 I knew it. So I call my buddy in HR, the buddy with access to the name of every employee who’s ever worked at this dump, even the ones who were laid off eight years ago on the other side of the country. <\/p>\n
We’re so deep into the Santa Cruz Mountains that if we had to yell for help, no one would hear us.<\/p>\n
We have fern branches tied to our backs, green grease smeared over our arms and faces. The new guy has removed his shades; he’s got enormous green eyes. Intelligent eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cPut it that way,” he whispers, and points Fitzroy and his crossbow away from us. \u201cAnd be careful.”<\/p>\n
This is our offsite, hiding behind a cluster of redwoods, waiting for deer.<\/p>\n
I ask, \u201cSo what did you do at Robards International?’<\/p>\n
The new guy shoots me a glare, whispers, \u201cParadigm rationalization.”<\/p>\n
What the hell kind of job is that?<\/i><\/p>\n
Regardless, he’s a liar.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou work with a guy named Livingston over there?”<\/p>\n
It’s a trap, and the new guy isn’t biting. He waves the question away, shushes me.<\/p>\n
We sit in silence for twenty minutes. Fitzroy is still focused on the forest before him, still gripping the crossbow, still waiting, his upper lip curling back in some kind of demonstration of predator lust. \u201cNothing,” he announces through gritted teeth, his eyebrows arching. \u201cI see nothing out there.”<\/p>\n
Finally, the new guy tells me to walk up the hill, travel east a bit and then loop back down in hopes of flushing out deer, sending them toward Fitzroy’s position here.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou sure?” I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust be open to the process.”<\/p>\n
Fitzroy is still staring into the forest, his crossbow still pointed outward. \u201cStay here, Roger.”<\/p>\n
The new guy looks flustered, throws his hands up.<\/p>\n
Fitzroy turns toward us, the crossbow turning with him. \u201cBecause if you-\u201c<\/p>\n
Thud.<\/p>\n
\u201c… Oh, shit.”<\/p>\n
I blink twice, look at the new guy. The end of an arrow is sticking out of his chest. His eyes widen as he sways from side to side. He tries to spin, and I see the arrow tip sticking out of his back. Both sides of his T-shirt are darkening, and he’s coughing up blood.<\/p>\n
Fitzroy can’t suppress a grin. \u201cOh shit.” A giggle escapes as he peers into the new guy’s eyes, takes a step closer. \u201cSorry, man.”<\/p>\n
New guy drops to his knees. Fondles the arrow with both hands, smears the blood with his fingers.<\/p>\n
Fitzroy drops the crossbow, turns to me, forces a serious face. It’s so obvious he’s enjoying this. Fitzroy, the predator, preying on the prey. \u201cThank God you were here to see this. No one would believe me, otherwise.”<\/p>\n
The new guy topples over.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey’d think I murdered him.”<\/p>\n
I back away.<\/p>\n
The new guy gasps for air.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen in fact, all we have here is a very unfortunate hunting accident involving an established executive and a disgruntled, laid-off employee posing as a change consultant.”<\/p>\n
I nod.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd a witness,” he says, cheerful. \u201cA most important witness.”<\/p>\n
I find myself saying, \u201cIt was an accident, sir. I know.”<\/p>\n
The new guy is in spasms.<\/p>\n
Fitzroy turns from me, walks to the new guy’s big backpack that is propped against a redwood. \u201cWhy don’t you go find some help, Roger? I’ll see if I can resuscitate him.”<\/p>\n
I mumble something.<\/p>\n
He peeks into the backpack, pulls out two pairs of handcuffs, then a buck knife, then some rope, and then a Taser gun. \u201cI knew it. He was gunning for us, Roger.” He looks up to me. \u201cGo, Roger. He doesn’t have much time.”<\/p>\n
I back away. \u201cOkay.”<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Roger?”<\/p>\n
The new guy gurgles and chokes.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, sir.”<\/p>\n
\u201cRoger, my guess is you’d love to retire early, really early.” He pauses, bites his lip. \u201cIf you had sufficient funds.”<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, well \u2026 I just-”<\/p>\n
He stops me. \u201cRoger, consider it done. All this blows over, we’ll send you on your way, set you up. Put you on retainer as a consultant, help you create that life you always wanted.”<\/p>\n
I don’t know what to say.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, you need get help, Roger.”<\/p>\n
I turn and head up the hill, toward the car, where I can flag down a motorist. But after a hundred feet or so, I look back. Fitzroy is knelt beside the new guy as he smears the blood over his hands, around his mouth. He’s not helping the new guy, but he’s saying something to him. I can’t hear a thing, but I can imagine the words. Something like, You think you’re smarter than Stephen Franklin Fitzroy? You think I wouldn’t do my own background check? You think I didn’t see this coming the first week you arrived, that I wouldn’t kill you before you could kill me? Don’t you realize I was just playing with you, just toying with a loser?<\/I><\/p>\n
It’s hard to imagine him saying anything else.<\/p>\n
I continue up the hill, panting.<\/p>\n
The new guy wanted to kill us.<\/i><\/p>\n
I reach the top, head down the other side, and breeze through the forest, wondering how long I’ll need to wait before I can tell Janice from Finance that I’m finished being her bitch, that she and her FOD reports can fuck off, that our relationship is EOL’d ASAP.<\/p>\n
Finally, I reach the road.<\/p>\n
Approaching Fitzroy’s black Beemer, I imagine the new guy standing there, leaning against the front fender, legs crossed at the ankles, the shades back on. He’s saying, Hey man, you’re better than this. Way better than this.<\/i><\/p>\n
And I say to the moist air that’s washing over my newly opened anus, That’s what you think, dude.<\/i><\/p>\n
![\"gregbardsley\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2009\/04\/gregbardsley-223x300.jpg\" "\\"gregbardsley\\"")
<\/div>\n
ABOUT THE AUTHOR<\/B> I wish I could dress like the new guy. Then I stop and ask myself, Well, could I? Sometimes these days, I wonder what people would do if I came to work rebel-style \u2014 my dick and balls flapping in loose jeans, my feet free in hemp flip-flops, my T-shirt untucked, my whiskers out for everyone to see.<\/p>\n God, that would be something.<\/p>\n By Greg Bardsley<\/b>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":119,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7874","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7874","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/119"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7874"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7874\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7874"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7874"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7874"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nGreg Bardsley<\/b> is a former crime and politics reporter. His fiction has appeared in Plots with Guns<\/i>, Storyglossia<\/i>, Out of the Gutter<\/i>, Thuglit<\/i>, Pulp Pusher<\/i> and Demolition<\/i>. This summer he will have stories anthologized by Kensington Books and Bleak House Books. Visit him at Chimichangas at Sunset<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![\"gregbardsley\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2009\/04\/gregbardsley-150x150.jpg\" "\\"gregbardsley\\"")
The new guy doesn’t look like us. He has this whole I-don’t-give-a-shit scene going. Long dark beard that comes to a point near his sternum. Big head of black, wavy hair. Big, thick tribal tattoos on his long, muscular arms. Dark sunglasses, worn indoors. Heavy, charcoal-gray jeans, worn-in T-shirts and big black boots. Yeah, he’s a pretty jarring sight around here.<\/p>\n