Jason Pinter - The Darkness

Iris was responsible for his “personal” notes.

When he finished, Talcott folded the page and inserted it into an Orchid Realty envelope. Jack took it and stuffed it inside his jacket pocket.

“Pleasure meeting you,” Jack said, pointing at the bottle of liquor. “Now we’ll leave you two alone.”

Morgan Isaacs kept one hand on his BlackBerry, which was nestled snugly inside his front pants pocket. To anyone on the street it looked like he might be playing a game of pocket pool, but this Chester guy was ten minutes late and Morgan didn’t want to miss a phone call. He considered leaving. I mean, who in the hell meets about a job on the street? And Morgan didn’t like to wait. In his previous job, people waited for him. He shared a secretary, a cute piece of ass named Charlotte he could have had at any moment. Sometimes he would send her out for coffee just because he could. When she came back, he wouldn’t even thank her, just go into his office, pour the cup into the bottom of his fake plant, and pull out a can of Red Bull.

But this guy was late. Just a few short months ago,

Morgan wouldn’t wait for anybody. Some asshole wanted him to wait five minutes? Screw you, let’s reschedule.

Now, Morgan didn’t know when he’d even find work again. And with bills piling up he needed to earn scratch no matter what the cost. So if he had to suck up his pride for a little while, so be it. A necessary evil. And whoever this jack-off was who had him wait, well, if the company was good enough, Morgan would be running it within a few years anyway. Then he’d be the one making people late.

He felt a sense of anger rise within him as he watched hundreds of people walking down the streets, oblivious to him, unknowing and uncaring of what he’d been through. Men, women, dressed in natty suits with the finest accoutrements, they had no idea that in the time it took to snap your fingers they could be out of a job just like him. They had no right to be so confident, so careless, while Morgan stood there, his immediate future resting in the hands of a recommendation of Ken Tsang and the charity of some guy he’d never met before.

In the cab ride over-he would have preferred the bus to save money, but Chester didn’t give him a whole lot of time-Morgan wondered whether or not he’d take the position if one was offered. Then he chided himself. Now was not the time to be prideful. The bills would continue to come, the debt would continue to mount. Even a modest income would provide a stint for the bleeding, and at least he would have health care. Time to suck it up for a few months, Morgan had told himself. Guys with his talent and drive didn’t grow on trees. And every bumpy road led to riches down the line.

Morgan squeezed the cell phone-thought he’d felt it vibrate.

“Mr. Isaacs?”

Morgan turned around to see where the voice came from.

Standing directly behind him, almost inappropriately close, was a tall, well-built man with close-cropped blond hair. He had on a pair of rimless Cartier sunglasses, must have run at least five hundred bucks. Not too shabby. His gray suit was stretched over a lean frame, and Morgan could tell the guy had enough strength in those biceps to crush a tin can.

Morgan didn’t blink. Never show weakness, never show admiration. He was never rude, but on a job interview you wanted to appear confident, not too eager. Like they would be lucky to have you work for them.

“And you are…Chester?” Morgan said.

The man smiled and took off his sunglasses, folding them and tucking the pair into his breast pocket. He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“No biggie,” Morgan said. “Just had to reschedule a few things, that’s all.”

“Really? Such as what?”

Morgan stammered, “I, uh, meetings, you know.

Banks. A bank.”

“Oh, well I hope the bank understood,” Chester said with complete sincerity. If this guy realized Morgan was full of shit, he wasn’t letting on. “Let’s walk.”

Morgan followed Chester as he strolled down Fifth

Avenue. He matched the man step for step, tried to keep his stride the same length but damn, the man had long legs. Instead Morgan shortened his paces and walked faster. It was two blocks before Chester spoke again.

“How’s the job hunt going?” he said.

“It is what it is. There’s always room for good workers,

I figure I’ll take a little time, weigh my options and see what the best fit is for me.”

“Really,” Chester said, his voice either distant or disbelieving. “Any good leads? Anything coming down the pike?”

“Always something coming down,” Morgan replied.

“Just a matter of who makes me the most attractive offer.”

“I understand that,” Chester said. “Hold on a second.”

Chester stopped at a vending cart and ordered a hot dog. He paid, then slathered ketchup, mustard and relish on it. He wolfed the dog down in three bites, still standing at the cart, then wiped his lips with a napkin and continued walking.

“Sorry, did you want one?”

“S’okay,” Morgan said. “I just had breakfast an hour ago.”

“Really,” Chester said softly.

Morgan silently cursed himself. It was nearly twelvethirty. The fact that he had a late breakfast gave away that Morgan had woken up late. If he’d woken up late, he had nothing better to do. No job, no interview.

Morgan could feel himself falling behind, and hoped

Chester would let it slide.

“Your friend Ken spoke highly of you,” Chester said.

“It really is a shame. Always the young, talented ones who go before their time.”

“I know what you mean,” Morgan said. The truth was,

Ken was only a half-decent worker. A man with some bad habits and with maybe a quarter of the brainpower

Morgan possessed. He didn’t say any of this to Chester, of course, but if this guy spoke so highly of Ken Tsang he’d be simply blown away by Morgan Isaacs.

If it took this little to impress Chester, Morgan could probably have his job in less than five years.

“I know I mentioned this to you before,” Chester continued, “but Kenneth did some work for our firm. He was a good man, a good soldier, and recommended you as someone who could do the same kind of work if, well, if you ever decided to pursue other opportunities.”

“What kind of work did Ken do for you?” Morgan said. “Whatever it was, modesty aside, sir, I guarantee

Ken didn’t know the half of what I’m capable of.”

“Is that right?” Chester said, eyebrow raised.

“Yes, sir.”

Chester nodded. He seemed pleased.

“I don’t know what kind of money you were making at your last job,” Chester said, “but I hope you’ll find that if you do decide to work for us, the pay will be commensurate with what you’d expect.”

Morgan was slightly surprised, considering this guy was bringing up salary before even discussing the job. It must be either crap work or a crappy salary, and Chester probably figured he wouldn’t waste any time, that if

Morgan didn’t like the payoff, he’d walk away.

“What kind of figures are we talking about?” Morgan said.

“Well, we would have to start you out at the bottom of the ladder. I’m sure you understand. So many people competing for so few jobs these days. If you’re not comfortable with that, I can move on. Ken did give me a few other names.”

Morgan felt his neck grow hot under his collar.

“What kind of money are we talking about?”

Chester stopped walking. He reached inside his coat, pulled out a ballpoint pen. Then he walked over to a garbage can on the corner, tore a page off a loose newspaper. He scribbled something on the paper, then held it out for Morgan to see.