Control

Another grey day in the London Borough of Grimsditch. George Barrow wandered down Old Street, contemplating another day of looking busy.

You should take ‘em out. All those fuckers causing you problems.

The fierceness of the thought didn’t surprise him. He’d been having a few like it. He sighed and took another swig of his Costa coffee. Kelso Communications was a business on the move. But he knew it was on the move and leaving him behind. They laughed at his ideas, him being an old-school Ad guy. The meetings. They had a giggle at him in those as well.

He worked harder than the rest of ‘em. Turned up on time. And did proper ideas work for their clients. But, they’d force him out of the door soon enough. That he knew.

As he approached the office, he saw Melanie Kent sashaying down the street. Young, vibrant and attractive. Also lethal. She had marketing qualifications coming out of her ears. George stood no chance.

—Morning, George! How are you today?

—Same as, yer know me.

—Ready for the new brief from AHD?

—Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be.

They both entered the office. George held the door for Melanie. She smiled her thanks. He did that for Veronica, the boss lady, the other day. She told him off for being a chauvinist. He didn’t understand the modern world.

Talking of which, Veronica strode across the reception area.

—Morning, Melanie! Meeting room 3 please. George, no need for you to join. We don’t need you for this one.

—What? it’s my account—

—Not now it isn’t.

Veronica and Melanie rushed down the corridor. George stood still for a moment. Uncertain what to do.

Go down there and tell ‘em to fuck right off.

The thought landed and it made him smile. He went to sit down but Veronica came hurrying back.

—George? Step in here for a moment please.

She opened the door to a hot-desk office. He followed her in. She didn’t sit down so nor did he.

—George, look, I’m sorry about this. But I’m letting you go. Your experience is invaluable. But your methods are old. We don’t need you, I’m afraid.

—That ain’t right. I know more about ad copy than any of the rest of—

—Yeah, ad copy from years ago, George. It’s the modern world. Clients want quirky—

—They still wanna sell their shit though, right?

She paused. And considered him for a long moment.

—That’s part of the problem, George. You don’t see it, do you?

She sighed, and brushed an errant hair away from her eyes.

—HR will sort you out by email for your final pay. I’m sorry George, thanks for all your hard work. But it’s the way it has to be.

She turned to leave.

Yeah, go on. DO IT. Smash the cunt.

George tried to control his body. But he wasn’t the one in charge. He felt himself picking up a heavy glass award on display on a shelf nearby. Veronica turned as he picked it up.

Perfect.

He swung it in a wide, vicious arc. The sharp edge leading. It connected with Veronica’s head. There was a dull, wet thud as arterial blood shot up across the wall. She started to fall. He swung again. The heavy glass edge connected one more. This time tearing a gaping wound in the thin flesh of her forehead.

She flopped to the floor, blood pooling under her body.

Good man, that’s one.

—I don’t know who you are—

Don’t talk to me out loud, you idiot. Think, don’t speak.

He stepped over Veronica’s body and left the office and entered the reception.

Right, the next fucker to turn up gets it.

—I’m not killing anyone—

Too fucking late, mate. You’ve crossed the line.

—Who are you?

Who I am doesn’t matter.

—It bloody does. You’ve got me murdering people.

Not me. It’s you. I don’t exist unless you tell me to.

As George weighed up that comment, Mike Rogers, the Operations Director walked into reception.

—Alright, George? Hang on what—

That’s as far as he got. George moved in fast. Swinging the solid glass award. It struck Mike in the centre of his forehead. There was a loud crack. Mike staggered back, so George swung again. This time leaping up to get more force into the swing.

It worked. He connected with the side of Mike’s head. Tearing a huge gash that exposed white bone beneath. Blood misted up from the wound. Another blow landed in the same place with a wet thud and Mike went down, spilling blood in a dark pool on the carpet.

Nice, mate. You are getting good at this.

—I don’t want to—

Yeah, you do. This is justice. They’ve got rid of you when you’d struggle to find new work.

—I didn’t need to kill—

Don’t tell me. I’m only advising on what you asked me to.

George looked around the reception. Mike was lying where he’d fallen. Blood pooling under him. George looked at his own hands. Steady.

No shake.

What did he do?

Two people. Gone. From his hands. Yet he felt no horror. In fact, he felt… glad.

See told yer, didn’t I?

—Look, go away. I can’t grasp what I’ve done here—

Shut it and leave, mate. Unless you want to a chat with the Old Bill is on your list of things to do.. Although, d’yer fancy a bit more?

—Fancy a bit more?

You need to stop speaking out loud, you twat. You’ll look like a right nutter.

—I don’t care. I’m going to have to call the—

Fuck off, you idiot. Now, get out of here. Or, let me talk you through plan B.

—Plan B?

Yeah. There’s more fuckers down in that meeting room, right? You could go down there. Have some fun.

—What?

You heard.

—I’m not doing that!

Are you sure? They were chucking you out and they didn’t give a shit.

Something snapped in his head like a dry twig. Right there. In the reception of Kelso Communications.

—Yeah, fuck ‘em. But I’ve got nothing to—

I’ve got you covered.

—with what?

George looked at the wall behind reception. The keypress.

That’s it. Lock ‘em in. Then? We’ll light the place up. I know where there’s gear for that.

—You do?

Yep, out the back. In the cleaning store. There’ll be the right stuff in there.

—To make a fire, you mean?

Doh. Yeah.

George looked again at the keypress. And walked over to it.

Good man. You know it’s the right thing to do.