by J E Moore
while you're sitting there entertaining ugly thoughts," continued Faith, "we'll explain the 'why' of the game. Is that okay with you, Sweetheart?"
Victor steamed, having no choice but to remain and listen to their lies or distortions of his personal life and business affairs. "I've been captured by two maniacs who have somehow paralyzed my motor functions... by drugs no doubt!" he fumed and pondered. "Yes, I've used date rape concoctions on a number of unsuspecting women but I didn't insult them by talking their ears off during play time." He sized the pair up and down, "Do these fools know who they're dealing with? They're going to learn the hard way, very shortly."
They began their assessment, "When your father died you put your mother in a shoddy Assisted Living Facility and sold the cigar business on the sly, out from under the rest of your family didn't you?" charged now squinty-eyed Joy.
"You are in error on both items," retorted Armada. "First, my mother was placed in the best facility available and well cared for."
"At a cost of less than a measly grand a month for a grungy room with no windows, occupied by two other handicapped residents and eighteen hundred miles away from her family and friends in south Florida and Cuba?"
"The air was better there."
"She was never allowed out of the building," which he denied with indifference.
"And number two of your false allegations," he continued in his rebuttal. "As the Chairman of the Board (no other directors) I always did what was best for the employees and stockholders - his father, mother and he held seventy percent ownership under Victor's exclusive control.
"You changed all the workers to part-time, therefore by law you were no longer required to provide health care or pensions. Fifty percent of your work force dropped to the minimum wage! Next, you directed all their savings into a management financial advisement fund of which you were the sole advisor."
"It made good sense, after all I'm the best," he explained. "The money had to go somewhere since they were no longer full-time employees."
"Then you stole it and the accumulated medical operating fund by transferring both to your own hidden, off shore bank accounts when you sold the corporation to the Russian Mob."
"I object to and resent your false accusations," countered Armada. "Even so, that would be called Free Enterprise. Also, my dears as you know there is no such thing as the Russian Mob. That's an old, Cold War fairy tale. Those fine, upstanding businessmen who purchased the business were a well-respected consortium... still are. As I said: All perfectly legal." He grinned from ear to ear, "You little children should have boned-up on corporate law before spouting off insidious fabrications. My law firm is going to tear you a new one. You'll be slaves in a Somalian baked-mud hut when they're finished." He laughed, "You'll wish you had offered your alleged mannequin twats and shut the hell up. Sex-less, mannequin bodies, what a load of crap." He snorted, "Besides, all of this is old hat... meaningless. I sold that enterprise years ago."
"Yes, we are aware and do you know what has happened to your former family and associates during the four years since?" queried Faith.
"No, I moved on from such minor issues," answered Victor. "Their lot is no longer my concern." Silently, inside his gut Victor seethed that these little twerps knew so much.
"Really? Then you are in dire need of an update to truly understand and appreciate the game's structure," explained Joy.
"You were in charge of a fairly large corporation... over a thousand employees of all ages and pretty close in equal numbers of men and women," stated Faith.
"I was an equal opportunity employer," Victor answered smugly.
"I see," she continued. "However, you had less than one hundred blacks and all were of Spanish descent who labored at the lowest level."
"If the shoe fits," he quoted. "They were brought over from the old country by my parents. I did these slackers a favor by keeping them as long as I did... again, for my beloved parents. I retained most of them. But, you know how it goes with those types."
"Do you have any idea how many are left of those types?" He shrugged. "None, not a single person. The Russian Mob had the U.S. I.N.S. deport each and every one back to Cuba."
"That's their business, so what?" commented Armada.
"You are most correct, sir. That was just a little tidbit we erroneously thought you'd appreciate in knowing." He appeared quite relaxed. "Are you comfy in your chair Mister Armada?" He wiggled the tip of his tongue at her to remind them of his later intentions which prompted a well-earned sarcastic response. "Oh my, look at his cute little tongue. I am so turned on," she lied. "And, for your information sir your gesture is immature and offensive to a proper lady. A real man would never use such an adolescent ploy." She let her comment sink in for a moment then continued, "Going forward to the crux of the matter this evening, the purpose of our game revolves around the fates of many of your former employees which were caused by your unbridled greed."
"Pardon?" he challenged. "Greed? I already explained I only made honest, sound business decisions for the good of all. If they can't handle their lives due to a minor pay cut well then..." as his voice trailed off.
"You stripped their livelihoods and stole over a hundred million dollars. You disgraced your former family and crushed the spirit of the work force. Many lost their homes, self-respect then turned to alcohol abuse and crime. All lost their medical coverage and savings. Many have died due to the lack of health care or simply not knowing where to turn to for help, especially true for your multitude of illegals toiling in the tobacco fields. Loss of wages and despair drove the majority of employees into poverty level living conditions and in some cases even suicide," hammered Joy. "Those, the latter, who needlessly perished with broken hearts, are the ones we're going to focus on."
He made no comment and burped. "Garlic, the spice that keeps on giving."
Faith took over, "We're going to give you the opportunity to share the feelings and thoughts of those who died. You shall experience the pain, both physical and mental during their final moments... six tortured souls."
"I think not," he spat.
"Oh, I'm sorry the word 'opportunity' was misleading. You will experience one of their fates every night when you fall asleep. One per night, over and over... and the list of victims will grow as time passes. It always does... until the end of the game," she said with glee.
Victor smirked, "When I grow old and die?"
"Not necessarily. You'll know when it's finished, trust me," stated Faith.
"Yes," added Joy. "We've played this game many times."
"Joy gets to pick the first date then it's my turn. So far, I'm ahead by over a hundred!" squealed a happy Faith.
"You're both complete wackos and I've had enough of your dribble," returned Victor. "And unfortunately, too drained and weak to kick your worthless hinnies when this drug wears down. But you can rest assured, come tomorrow I'm gonna have you fired and tossed off this ship in the worst port they can find, even if they have to take you there in a rowboat."
"Awe, sorry you're feeling so peaked, Mister Armada. Perhaps old age is catching up with you."
"Old age my ass," he fired back. "If you hadn't slipped those roofies on me I could party until you both dropped."
"Pity we'll never know... which brings us to the demonstration part of our session. Ready, Honey? We want you to close your eyes for a minute and get an IMAX, 3D preview of the entertainment which awaits you."
"No way. Why should I do anything for you?"
The girls conferred regarding his rejection. "We really don't want to force you... at this point," stated Joy. "What if we make a trade? You close your eyes for just a few moments and when you open them we'll both give you a flash of what you've been trying to see," as they glanced at their knees and grabbed their dress hems.
Victor was pleased with the proposal. "Okey-dokey, young ladies you have a deal," and closed his eyes.
He found himself standing in a room... a bathroom. It appeared old and dingy, similar
to what one may find in a big city dilapidated, apartment building. He heard traffic noises coming through a small, broken window and a baby crying from another unit down a hallway. A siren wailed in the distance. He was not alone. A middle-aged woman sat inside a vintage, early nineteen hundred's, filled bath tub which touched one sidewall of the narrow 4x8'room. A toilet and washbasin were located at its front end and a single forty watt light hung from a near-frayed wire in the room's center. She had her back to him and could not see her tears but heard the sniffles. The water had to be very hot due to the amount of steam rising. An empty wine glass lay on the cracked linoleum flooring and a box cutter rested on the tub's top left edge. It didn't take much to determine what was about to transpire. Was he there to interrupt and save her life? Would she be grateful or scream and attack him with the cutter? Sweat dripped down her neck; the air hung dank and heavy. He knew the hot water would speed blood flow - with two good wrist cuts it wouldn't take long to bleed out. "What to do?"
Victor's eyes fluttered open and he found himself staring at his young captors. "Welcome back, Mister Armada. Did you enjoy your meeting with Olga?" His face reflected surprise and concern. "Unsettling? Were you in a quandary about 'what' to do? You do nothing... you can't do anything. You are invisible to her, a spirit observer. However, the next time you visit her which will be when you