Big Guns

The leather-clad man walked into the secretary's office, ignoring the stares from the security guard at the main desk.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked politely.

"Maybe," he answered. "This is the company that runs that shitball Xoom server. And I'm in the CEO or president's office, is that correct?"

"Uh," the flustered secretary replied, "y...yes."

"Great."

Alex Krycek locked the door behind him, then ambled over to the secretary's desk and nonchalantly ripped her phone from the wall.

"I'm going to need his direct attention," he explained. "Oh wait, unless I won't be talking to a *he*? Is the prez a woman?"

"N..No, s...sir," the secretary stuttered. "Mr...."

Alex held up a hand. "Really, darlin', I don't need to know his name. I don't plan on making small talk."

He perched himself atop her desk and smiled. "You're cute."

"Thank you," she whispered, her hands shaking.

"And y'know," he said, "it would probably be better if you just sat there and remained calm while I'm here, okay? File your nails or something."

The secretary just sat there dumbfounded, until Alex pulled his Glock from his waistband and motioned to her desk drawer. "Those nails are looking unkempt, darlin'. I'm sure you have a file in there somewhere..."

She nodded, staring at the muzzle in her face, and began searching frantically through her drawer for a nail file. "Got it," she whispered at him.

"Lovely!" Alex answered, putting his gun back in his pants. "They could use a polish too."

He slid off her desk and made his way to the president's door. Turning to her before he entered, he said, "My reasoning is simple. You busy yourself with your cuticles, and you can't get up and run for help. And I'm going to check to make sure you stayed in the lines when I'm...through...with your boss."

She nodded again, filing faster.

He bowed politely, and entered the president's inner office.

The man was sitting in a huge leather chair in a typically over-paid and over-decorated executive's office. He turned when Alex entered, and was met with a Glock to his face.

"This won't take long, *sir*," spat Alex, mocking his form of address. "And if you're lucky, I won't even kill you."

The president took a gulp of air, and tried to clear his throat.

"See what too many fat-cat cigars will do to you?" Alex asked.

He pushed the man's chair back to the window behind his desk and seated himself on the president's blotter.

"Seems my ass is in your business now, Prez," he joked. "Are you paying attention?"

The man in the chair nodded.

"You sure?" he asked again, prodding the president with his weapon.

"Yes!" the man blurted.

"Good, because I have a message for you from a powerful group of people I know, who have come to rely on your services, and have been let down."

"What group of..."

Alex pushed his Glock against the man's nose, forcing it upward. "Did you happen to notice I have a high-powered weapon aimed at your head? What does this say to you?"

"Th...that I should shut up?"

Alex smiled. "You sound like an Harvard man. Or maybe even an Oxford one. Always full of common sense. May I continue?"

The president nodded.

"And gracious as well! I like that in my targets."

The man began visibly shaking when Alex said the word "target".

"But don't worry, Prez. I'm simply here to deliver a message. As I was saying," Alex said again, "before I was so rudely interrupted, is that certain members of the...cyber community...have me on retainer. They do me favors, I do them favors...we're one big happy family as it were. So when they told me that their main website was down because of your shitty company, natually I was...hmm, *encouraged*...to pay you a visit to ask, and even--dare I say it--*insist* that you rectify the situation immediately, if not sooner. More specifically, I was asked to "bring in the big guns" to handle this meeting, but I decided against it. My little bitty gun is just enough, isn't it Prez?"

The man shifted in his chair, trying to breathe around the Glock in his nose.

"Yes, I think so," Alex continued. "This is a group you do *not* want to be messing with, that's for sure. So you're actually lucky I came today, and not my friends from the group. They would have been much more evil to you...knives, assorted weapons...they can get persuasive when they're angry."

"So what can I...do...so that you don't...kill me?" the president asked.

"Hmm," Alex said thoughtfully. "That's a hard one. Well, all I really ask is that you get Xoom back up and working. Is that a fair trade? You do your job correctly, and I don't kill you? Hmm? What do you think, Prez?"

"That can be handled."

"Well, that just warms my heart," he answered. "Instead of playing golf and sipping martinis, you are actually gonna *work*? When should I expect the operations to be back to normal?"

"As soon as possible," the man said.

"How soon is that?" Alex asked, poking the man's nose again.

"Right away."

Krycek hid his gun and moved to the door, and straightened a picture that had become crooked during his entrance.

"My people will be glad to hear you say that," Alex smiled. "Been nice talking to you."

He walked out to where the secretary sat, nervously painting away.

Alex looked down at her nails admiringly. "Ooh," he whispered at her, "Screw-Me red. My favorite color."

Then he walked over to the door and unlocked it, silently returning the way he had come.

Adieu
RhymePhile
(Thirty-minute marathon story!)