Master Class

Phil had slept in New York city with the other protesters until the cops had come and cleared away his tent.  He'd earned a black eye from his scuffle with a cop and got his picture in the paper.

He'd worn a sign.  "I have a college degree so where the Hell is my job?"

He returned to Queens and worked in his Dad's hunting shop.

His dad had no money to pay him but Phil did it to pass the time and put it on his Resume to show he was doing something.

"I saw you on the news in the protests," said the old man who came in.   "So you can speak ten languages?"

Phil nodded.  "Eleven now.  I learned Tibetan while I was on the protests.  So you here to buy something or just for the small talk?"

"My name is Mister Rogers, I would like to help you out with a job offer.  My employer feels you might be the right person for a new position that's opened up."  The old man's chest rattled and he seemed to spit up blood.

Phil took the card and the address in the Hamptons.

"What harm can it do?" said his father.  "Work is work!"

So Phil made the call and drove to the Hamptons.

The winter sky was dark when Phil buzzed into the walled compound.

"I'm here to see Mister Lefanu about a job," he said into the buzzer.  His breath frosted over.

The electric gates squeaked open.

The front door was open when he walked to the entrance.

"A young pale woman in a black dress pointed to a study and then disappeared into the shadows.

The study had a strange smell of incense.

Phil sat down and looked at Mister Lefanu whose face was shrouded in darkness.

"So how much does this job pay?" asked Phil getting to the point.  He didn't want to waste his time.

A six figure sum was written on a piece of paper and shoved forward.

"I have houses all over the world.  I value discretion," said Lefanu.  "I admired your fighting spirit on the news last week.  The world is full of people who like to play it safe."

"Look man, I'm a linguist.  That's what I do.  Some shit balls in Wall street screwed up the economy and now I can't get a job.  It makes me angry so I protested.  What's they've done is not cool."

Lefanu threw some foreign phrases at Phil and he responded quickly.

"So you work in your father's hunting shop."

Phil nodded.

"Do you know guns?"

Phil nodded.

Lefanu threw a gun on the table.  "What do you think of this one?"

"It's a glock, short recoil."  Phil shrugged.  "I prefer knives."

"What kind of knives?" asked Lefanu.

Phil pulled a large one out he had hidden under his jacket.

"It's a bowie knife.  It's useful for people who like to screw with you and pretend they have a job for you but they're really just screwed up."

Phil stood up to leave.

"I'm willing to offer you the job," said Lefanu.  "I like you."

"Maybe I don't like you."

Lefanu sat forward and Phil saw his sunken cheeks and dark blood shot eyes.

"If you don't take the job, I will kill you in this room.  Then I will take that knife and skin every member of your family tonight and drink their blood for my supper.  How does that sound?"  He stood up over six feet tall.  His finger nails looked like talons.  He opened his mouth and Phil saw his razor sharp incisors.  "Not to mention in these times, a job's a job!"

Phil nodded.  "Ok you have my attention"  Phil put away his knife.  "But I have another question."

"Please sit," said Lefanu.

Both sat down again.  "There's a recession going on out there.  I need a good 401K plan, stock options, five weeks paid holidays and a sports car."

Lefanu sat back.  "Done but we'll need to chat about your vacation time."