Stepping from the long car outside his office building, Number2 straightened the crease of his trouser leg, freeing it from the tongue of his shoe, and turned toward the private entrance. The freed pants leg flapped like a penitent in the wind. He considered his reflection in a mirrored wall and wondered could the shortness of his stride cost him a promotion? He must have meant pennant. Number2 delivered a full-armed slap, putting his shoulder into the effort, across the upper half of the doorman’s face. Morning, Jimmy, he said. Morning, sir, said the doorman. Boss in yet, Jimmy? Yes, sir, said the doorman. Bright and early. Number2 punched the doorman just above the belt buckle. Did I ask you when she got in, Jimmy? No, sir, said the doorman. No, sir, you didn’t. Number2 walloped the receptionist with a fist to the side of her head and picked up his overnight packages. Morning, darling. Morning, sir. With a knee brought swiftly from behind, he caught the elevator operator unaware between the hams and slammed his body against the wall. Eleven, Jack. Eleven, sir? Number2 banged Jack’s head against the cluster of buttons 21 through 29. Boss in? Number2 asked the boss’s girl. She’s waiting for you, sir. Number2 tipped her chair, spilled the girl against a bank of cabinets, and entered the boss’s office. Number1 was standing on her desk. Her head and shoulders disappeared through an open frame in the ceiling. Need help, boss? Asked Number2. Number1 clocked Number2 with a quick kick to the head. I think I got it, said Number1. Number2 crashed to the floor and lay there quietly, awaiting further instructions. He looked up at the boss’s legs, silently considering. His lip was beginning to swell. Thanks for coming in early, she said.

Copyright ©1997