Jennifer Government Part 16

29 Clemency

The man in bed 18C was buzzing her again, and Georgia had run out of patience. She ignored the sound as best she could and helped a teenage girl vomit into a bucket.

The girl spat and moaned. Georgia stroked her hair. "Shhhh."

"I don't know if I can" She doubled over again, launched a stream of yellow bile into the bucket. "I want out!"

"No you don't," Georgia said. "There's a waiting list for your bed."

"I hate this..."

"I'll get you another blanket." Georgia drew the curtain around the girl's bedit didn't provide much privacy, but it was much better than last year, when they hadn't even had curtainsand headed into room 18. "So you're awake."

"Where the f.u.c.k am I?" the man said.

"The Church of Latter Day Saints Charity Hospital, King's Cross."

"What?"

"It's a Sydney hospital. Do you know what year it is?"

"Of course I know" He pawed at the tubes coming out of him. "What's all this s.h.i.+t?"

"You were found unconscious on the streets with gunshot wounds. You had no identification, so we took you in. The surgeons operated on you two days ago, and"

"Surgeons!"

"Sir, please calm down."

"I will not calm down! I have insurance, I don't need your dumb-f.u.c.k religious doctors cutting me!"

"The administrators will be glad to hear you have insurance," Georgia said patiently. She'd worked here almost three years. "We can bill them for the cost of saving your life."

The man tried to pull himself out of bed. "I'm leaving." His face whitened.

"You're not strong enough to go anywhere. Sit back and I'll tell the doctors you're awake."

"No! Wait. If I tell you who I am, will you contact my employer for me?"

"If your insurance is handled through your employer, yes."

"And my details are confidential, right?"

"Sure," she said, not wanting to debate it. The truth was he would be getting a lot of junk mail from the Church from now on.

"All right. All right. My name is Bill NRA. Now tell them to get me out of this hole."

30 Ascendancy

The hospital walls were light blue, which John liked. The only reason hospitals had white walls was because people a.s.sociated white with cleanliness: it was marketing, effectively, and there was no point in marketing to a marketer. John would paint a hospital for marketers black.

The door to 412 was open. It was a nice room, with a view of the city skyline. He sat in the chair beside the bed and checked if John was awake.

It was hard to tell, with all the bandages. That girl Violet had really let him have it: the doctors still weren't sure if there was brain damage. Personally, John thought the bigger problem was his face. He hoped a lot of the swelling was temporary. There was no place in marketing for a man who looked like that.

Mercurys had sold as if they were religious artifacts, but for John the whole campaign had taken on a sour taste, thanks to Hack's inability to be a proper fall guy. Now he and his psychotic girlfriend had vanished, and it was only a matter of time, John was sure, before Jennifer Government came calling. She'd been sniffing around before the campaign; now she'd almost intercepted the NRA team sent to eliminate that Police officer. John was in trouble.

He decided to scribble a note for JohnLooking good, big guy! Everyone at Nike's rooting for youwhen his cellphone rang. He tugged it out of his jacket pocket and walked over to the window, in case the signals interfered with John's equipment. John didn't need any more aggravation. "Go."

"John Nike," a voice said. "What makes you think you can organize a campaign like this from f.u.c.king Australia?"

"Who's this?"

"Gregory Nike, VP Global Sales."

John stiffened. He checked the phone display, in case someone thought he was being funny. The number suggested otherwise. "Sir! I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to speak with you."

"Did you think you were handing out baseball caps? You'd better have a seriously good reason for exposing the company like this."

From the bed, John groaned and muttered. "Well, I don't want to preempt my report, sir, but I think the sales results speak for themselves. We've sold four hundred thousand pairs in three days, and in dollar terms that's"

"I'm going to explain something to you now, and you're going to shut up and listen. All right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I don't give a flying f.u.c.k about your sales. We have strategic initiatives in place that make four hundred thousand pairs look like d.i.c.k. And it p.i.s.ses me off, John, when those initiatives are jeopardized by a dumb f.u.c.k like yourself in Melbourne, Australia, who thinks he can lead worldwide corporate policy."

"It was radical, I admit," John said. "And perhaps I should have consulted"

"I a.s.sume that even the Australian office is aware of the importance of the US Alliance program. Yet you go and involve a Team Advantage company in aa highly risky campaign."

He suddenly realized what Gregory was talking about. "The Policeyes, that was beyond my control, sir. It" He bit his tongue. What was he doing? "I won't make excuses. I made an error. However, you'll be pleased to hear I've taken steps to address that. The non-US Alliance link is being dealt with."

"How?"

"I probably shouldn't answer that on an unsecured line."

Heavy breathing, originating in Portland, Oregon. Transmitted via satellite to Melbourne, the Australian Territories, recreated by AT&T in John's left ear. "If you've f.u.c.ked this up for us, John, you're out of a job. You better realize that."

"Sir, perhaps we should meet. We can discuss the initiatives I've taken and you can brief me more fully on the US Alliance situation. I think I've demonstrated my ability to take decisive action and provide outside-the-dots thinking, and you might make better use of my abilities by keeping me inside a higher-level loop."

"Jesus," Gregory said. "You've got some nerve."

John waited.

"Get on a plane. I'll be in L.A. tomorrow. Meet me there."

"Yes, sir!" Gregory hung up. John stood in front of the window, elated. What a phone call! Talk about decisive action!

He picked up his briefcase and dialed his P.A. On the way out, he glanced at John. He hadn't written that message yet.

"Sorry, buddy," he said, straightening his tie. "Strategic initiatives are in place." He closed the door on his way out.

31 Declivity

Buy was a corpse. He sat in his Mitsui cubicle and stunk up the place. Brokers circ.u.mscribed wary arcs as they pa.s.sed, as if what he had was contagious. He was a dead man in a suit.

On Tuesday, Cameron said, "Buy. That's enough."

Buy looked up. He'd known he was going to be fired for a while now. He'd thought it would be more exciting.

"My office." Buy followed him up to the fishbowl. Cameron waited until they were seated, and even then threw in a pause. Buy waited patiently. "I offered you time off. You remember that."

"Yes." His voice cracked. He wasn't using it much these days.

"I'm going to suggest it again. This time, I want you to think about it very carefully. It could save you."

Buy felt like laughing. The idea that a week of daytime TV could make him happy again was very funny. "No. Thank you."

Cameron sighed. "You want me to fire you? Is that it? Your termination package isn't so hot, you know."

"I know."

"All right. Here's your last chance. A transfer."

"What?"

"You're finished in brokerage. But there's a lifeline, if you want it. The Mitsui Liaison to US Alliance wants an Australian a.s.sistant. That could be you."

"The Mitsui what?"

"Mitsui is part of US Alliance, the customer loyalty program. We have a person to represent our interests there, he's called a Liaison. You could be his a.s.sistant."

"Oh," Buy said. "Okay."

"It's not such a bad job," Cameron said. "Could be a real growth area, you never know."

"Thank you." He wanted to feel more grateful, but he just felt tired. He stuck out his hand.

Cameron blinked, then shook it. "You're in a new office, on level eight. Maintenance will get you everything you need. You should clear out your desk."

"When?"

"No time like the present."

"Right," Buy said. He supposed they wanted to get the smell out.

He went to level eight and was shown his new office. It was small but had a big window with a view of the rest of the city. He wasn't sure that was good. He had been thinking about the city a lot, lately. About how the city ate people.

Buy caught the elevator back to brokerage and began collecting his personal items: a coffee mug, a photo of a dog he'd owned once, and a few pens. That was it.

"Hey, I heard about your big move," Lisa said. Buy looked up. She was smiling, but her eyes were sharp and vigilant, as if she wasn't ruling out the possibility that he would lunge at her. "Sounds like your thing, Buy. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

Her eyes softened. "We're all rooting for you, Buy. Remember that."

"Thank you, Lisa," he said. He was now pretty sure he was going to kill himself.

32 Agency

The man in the cell was Jesus Christ, or so he kept telling Billy. This hadn't been very amusing when he'd first arrived, and had become less so over the next three hours. He sat on the bunk in the cell's corner and pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Righteous fire!" shouted Jesus. "d.a.m.nation forall you c.o.c.ksuckers!"

Billy closed his eyes. He wondered if he could bang Jesus' head into the cell wall and claim self-defense.

Someone rattled keys in the lock. Billy sat up quickly. The door opened. It was the woman from earlier, Jennifer. She was alone.

"Hi," she said. "Had time to think?"