The Show Goes On

Mad Max

Jordan woke up that morning with a searing pain in his head - the telephone was ringing. He picked up the receiver.
"Hello," he mumbled groggily.
"Jordy? What's wrong with you? You sound sick."
It was his father, Max. Everyone called him Mad Max because of how quickly he would get angry if something caused him annoyance.
"I'm fine, Pops, it's just early. What is it?"
"Look, a man called last night asking about you. I think he's a cop."
Jordan sat up with a jolt.
"What did he say?"
"Nothing, he just asked if I was your father and if I knew about your stock business."
"Nothing else?"
"No. Just watch your ass, Jordy. This guy sounded serious."
"I will, dad. Let me know if you get any other calls."
"Sure. Now get the fuck out of bed. It's 8 in the morning. You should have been up hours ago."
"Work doesn't start for another hour."
"You gotta present yourself, son. You're the boss!"
"Christ, fine. I'm up, I'm up."
"Good. I have to go. Have a good day at work. I love you."
"Yeah, love you too, dad."
Jordan got up and followed his usual daily schedule. Shower, shave his face, pop a pill for his "back pain." Then put on a suit and leather loafers. Pop another pill with his morning coffee. Then he hopped into his Ferrari.
"Not red, white, like in Miami Vice," he described it. He got to work and called a brief conference with his main men, Donnie, Robbie, Rugrat and Chester. Brandi, too, of course.
"My dad called me this morning. Some bullshit FBI agent or something is asking questions about our company," he said, lighting a bong. He sucked in the rich, piney smoke through a mess of bubbles and blew it out. He passed it to Brandi. She took a big hit. She loved weed. Always reliable. (Other than the Adderall, but she took that mostly to function, not because she wanted to.)
"So does this mean we're being investigated?" Alden said nervously.
"What if they know about the hookers? We can go to jail for engaging in prostitution or something," Rugrat said, taking a bong rip.
"We're not the prostitutes, you dumb fuck. They'll say we took part in illicit activity or some ridiculous shit. If those chicks wanna be whores why do we gotta be punished for it?" Donnie snapped.
"Calm down, guys," Jordan laughed in that nervous way he did when he was afraid. "We'll be fine, just need to lay low a while."
Chester coughed out a lungful of smoke.
"Then can we start discussing what we're gonna do with the midgets?"
"Wait, you were actually serious about that? Throwing them at an inflated dart board?" Brandi raised an eyebrow, re-lighting the bong.
"Yeah. You see they're top-heavy, built perfectly for throwing. They can get a little ornery, though," Rugrat warned. "It's best not to look them in the eye. I saw it on PBS."
"So, looking at their chin could work?"
Jordan offered.
"Yes, what you're doing right now. It's like you're listening to me but you really aren't, are you?"
"Donnie, did you find out which ones we can get for this?"
"Some guy named Randy and his brother Marvin. They're the easiest to persuade but I heard they're prone to fits and might attack someone if they feel threatened."
Jordan coughed. "Then I'd need someone on standby with a sedative or something."
"A pellet gun," Alden said.
"No, a pellet gun's gonna hurt him. That'd be a liability - we can't do that. I mean like a tranquilizer gun."
"Noted," Brandi scribbled on a notepad. "How strong?"
"Knock out a horse. These little guys are screwey. We need something to knock them out cold," Donnie said, passing the bong to Chester again. The room was full with a thick cloud of smoke and everyone was a little flighty. None of what they were talking about sounded weird to them, at least.
"And we can't ask them to do anything too demeaning, that might set them off. Like asking one to pull his cock out."
Rugrat flipped through a binder. "But his brother is willing to pull his cock out. Like his résumé actually says that."
Jordan swallowed water. "We still can't count on that. The other ones are too violent. Brandi, make sure to get the tranquilizer gun, extra strong."
"Got it."
"And you know, they actually like to socialize among themselves, like actual people, so they might start to talk about us," Donnie said. "Like 'Oh, this asshole told me to pull my cock out.'"
"We're going to have to keep that to a minimum. Treat them like normal," Jordan started to laugh and all the men started banging on the table.
"Gooble-gobble, one of us! We accept them, one of us! Gooble-gobble, one of us! We accept them on of-"
Outside the office, one of the new college kids got into a fight with the guy next to him and smashed a computer.
"Goddamn it..." Donnie groaned and went outside, the other three men following. They immediately started to scream at the collegiates and Donnie fired them on the spot for fighting "like a bunch of pussies on bath salts."
Brandi watched them and shook her head. She put the bong back underneath Jordan's desk.
"Jordan?"
He turned to look at her. "Yeah?"
"Are we actually in trouble?"
Jordan watched her nervously.
"We might be."
Brandi nodded and spent the rest of the afternoon blowing soap bubbles at the ceiling and eating sandwiches with Jordan.

It was easier to ignore the little problematic trials that came with their business when they were stoned. And among friends. But Jordan still couldn't relax even though he was having fun with Brandi.
Eventually the smoke would run out and he would have to deal with everything he was running away from.