The Man
Written by Chiz

The Man was holding open auditions for minions today. I put on my best suit, complete with the MIB tie and glasses they sent me along with my “so you want to be the man” testing kit. In addition to having to draw the pirate and Myrtle the turtle in an easily exploitable tryst, I had to write an essay saying how the man would benefit from hiring me. I made sure to put in the part about blind obedience and convenient lack of the usual morality in my generation. I showed up ten minutes early, trying to spare myself the usual half-hour of waiting and nervous psyches of my normal job interviews. Still, when my name was called, I was sweaty palmed and confident that I walked the 20 feet to the door like I had three clubfeet and a hunch. I meet Chet who told me he was going to be interviewing me first and if he thought I was good enough, I'd stay for the call back that night. He took the green embossed folder that held my application and test kit requirements and sat down. He explained that they were really looking for forensics and economic specialists while seeming to glance over my resumé.

“ Well I've never done any professional crime scene clean up or forensic evidence doctoring. I've only had to do it for personal use.”

“Good, good” Chet said.
I thought to myself, ‘I must seem like a real hayseed to this guy.'

“ I really like how you didn't make the assumption that Myrtle was the same size as the pirate,” he said in a casual tone.

“Well I thought that bringing out the difference in size and species would enhance the pictures use as leverage” I answered.

“ Very nice, but what if it was Myrtle we were interested in controlling”?

“ A week or two before I threatened to release that picture, I'd bring out that the pirate was a high price prostitute that would do anything or anyone for a bottle of rum”. I hoped that the little joke wouldn't put me in bad standing and instead would show a casualness and comfort concerning extortion. O.K, what I actually thought was “Oh no! Not a bad joke! I'm so boned!”
“ Ha, I think that you might have what it takes. Come back at 7:30 tonight and meet the big boys.”

Butterflies filled my stomach. I hadn't felt this way since the time I had run guns to the Zapadestas in Mexico. That moment when I walked across the border back into America, I'm not sure which was bigger, my balls or the stacks of hundred dollar bills taped to my thighs and legs. That moment of disbelief when you say to your self, “I did it and my head is still on my torso.” Tonight I would either become The Man or be branded an expendable loser by people that own the arena people like me play in. I'm not usually nervous about anything, but this was different. People like me, we live by our balls. If you can't stare death in the face and offer him a tic-tac you're screwed. But this was the big time, the thing that changes everything, the pinnacle, the crowning glory. I'd be above everything else. The world would be my prom date and she'd be giving it up.

The final interview was grueling. We came out one at a time and stood in the middle of the stage. There was a group of people sitting in the audience in the center of the sets. It was about what I had expected. We shot guns at an indoor range they had set up. We were given polygraphs to see if we could beat them, remember they don't detect lies, they detect fear. Homeless were herded in for us to kill; nothing shows loyalty like a random murder. For the talent competition, I twirled two batons while reciting excerpts from Beowulf in Gaelic. During the fight between Beowulf and Grendals mom, I threw one baton high into the air and pointed at a large cut out of Santa Claus from the Macys parade. Pulling the tassels off my other baton, I revealed it to be a well weighted zip gun and fired a 7.62 round squarely in to the jolly elf's head. Then, I caught my other baton behind my back, did a barrel roll, and ended in full splits. Let the cock smoker from Vermont beat that playing his fancy-ass Nancy Stratovarious. Eveningwear went well, I've got the legs for it. Thankfully, we all wore baggy Bermuda style shorts in the swimsuit portion. You can't hide a gun in a speedo. I was a little worried about my uneven tan lines, but the guy from was worse. After a large choreographed dance number, which I think was just for the judge's enjoyment, five of us were chosen as finalists. I had made the cut and was especially thankful when the others were lead off for an after contest “shower”. It was do or die time. I either made the cut or was cut.

It was time for the final question. One by one we left the isolation both. There was nervous looking back and forth. We were stone cold killers working on a level most never even think about, or maybe catch a glance in a true crime novel. But now was the final cull. I went out of the booth and stood in the spotlight next to Chet. “The final question is: We need to have free reign of a large town for the length of three weeks. How would you keep the conventional authorities out of our way.”

I took a moment. “I would find a good tourist family from Middle America. Something universal and symbolic. Parents and two kids. I'd lure them or abduct them to a secluded place, probably one of those deserted buildings that are always five or six blocks away from the tourist traps. I'd make a bloody and messy show of robbing them. Afterwards, I find a passed-out homeless man and get his fingerprints on the murder weapon. The next day their camera, or some other costly item, would be sold at a pawnshop by the same homeless person who will profess that he found it in his flop. I'd provide the media with the location of the slain family and the police with the location of our homeless patsy. Right away, I start a citizen's movement to cut down on the dangerous and desperate homeless situation. The cops and media should be busy enough for the next few weeks. If their attention started to wander, we could release the photos of the bloody T-shirt, purchased from the local zoo, that was taken off the teenage victim.” That was it, that was my life. A sense of ease and satisfaction flooded through me. My cards were down and the dice were thrown. Strangely enough, all I felt was sleepy.
The next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed. I was wearing just a hospital gown and ached all over. I got up and walked to the window and looked out onto a beautiful white sand beach. The door opened behind me.

“ Welcome to the club. You're going to like it here.” Chet said. He was wearing Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt with the slogan “God doesn't let bad things happen to good people, I do.”
I just smiled.

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