The Customer Is Always...

by Stuart Keane

  Vincent swallowed. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid.

  “You want to talk about justice? I need a progress report, Vincent. Now.”

  “Okay … hang on.”

  He stood up. The managers looked around at the sudden movement. Vincent beckoned for Ian to come over. He did so instantly. As he walked over, Vincent scribbled on his pad, tearing off the sheet and thrusting it at Ian. The manager looked at it.

  TIME IS NEARLY UP. WHAT IS GOING ON? I SAID NO POLICE.

  Ian looked at Vincent with a ‘nothing I could do’ look, then he shrugged. Vincent had hated few people in his life. Right now, he hated Ian and Horizon Insurance more than anyone or anything he’d ever known. They had clear instructions, simple instructions, on how to avoid disaster and they had ignored them. All because of their bottom line.

  He feared to think what would happen if the police went to Mr. Pierce’s house. He wanted to punch Ian in the face. Ian grabbed the pen from Vincent and scribbled a note of his own. He handed it to the other man.

  HAD TO FOLLOW PROTOCOL.

  HE HAS ONE OF OUR WORKERS. THIS IS BEYOND YOUR CONTROL NOW.

  Vincent started to scribble on the pad again. Ian looked straight down, Vincent didn’t tear it off this time. Vincent was writing with a purpose.

  YOU REALISE SHE IS PROBABLY DEAD BECAUSE THE POLICE ARE INVOLVED.

  Ian didn’t nod. Didn’t say anything. He probably knew he was going to be responsible for the death of one of his employees. Vincent felt the rage boiling up once again.

  Vincent sat on his chair, helpless. He had nothing to say to Mr. Pierce. Nothing that would end well anyway. He swallowed hard.

  “Mr. Pierce?”

  “Yes, Vincent?”

  “I don’t have an update. There’s nothing we can do for you. I’m so sorry.”

  Silence.

  Vincent looked up. His managers were all staring at him. Julia was on the phone, probably to I.T. to get the details from Vincent’s screen. She had no other reason to be on a phone. Leanne, Trevor, Nicola and Graham were all staring at him, anticipating something. In Vincent’s world, everything had come to a halt. He breathed in and returned his focus to the call.

  “Mr. Pierce? Are you still there?”

  Silence.

  Vincent felt the blood boiling in his veins. He heard nothing but the heartbeat in his head, could feel every throb of his heart in his brain. It became deafening.

  “Vincent?”

  Finally!

  “Hello. I thought you’d gone.”

  “I am. You fucked up. This could’ve been so easy for you and your company. Now, well, you will all suffer. Say goodbye to Sarah.”

  A gunshot rang out.

  BOOM.

  “Mr.Pierce? Mr.Pierce? No!”

  The phone line went dead.

  Vincent thought he heard the gunshot again, in his head.

  The screams in the office told him otherwise.

  No. It wasn’t in his head.

  It came from downstairs.

  In the building.

  ELEVEN

  MONDAY

  10:19AM

  There were only two teams on the floor this morning, but Vincent felt like he was in Times Square. During the call, the floor had slowly filled with consultants.

  Vincent hadn’t even noticed.

  Consultants who’d heard the gunshot had dropped their headsets and abandoned their calls. A few had screamed. Others had hidden under their desks. A couple hadn’t noticed, they were still taking speaking to customers. The managers and the policeman disappeared down the stairs, heading towards the gunshot.

  Vincent watched as a slow tide of panic washed over each consultant in turn.

  Then it erupted.

  Chaos reigned supreme.

  Everyone was moving at once. He saw people grab their phones and bags. The ones who hid under the desks tucked their chairs in to hide themselves. The few who remained on the phone looked up, realised what was happening, and joined in the chaos.

  Vincent just stood there, watching the commotion. He dropped his headset onto his desk.

  “Vincent, we have to go!”

  Leanne was grabbing Vincent’s arm, pulling him. The gravity of the situation kept Vincent where he was. He pushed Leanne away.

  Trevor stepped over, saying, “Mate, we should get the fuck out of here!”

  Vincent shook his head. “No, I’m not going anywhere. The bastard killed Sarah.”

  Leanne and Trevor looked at Vincent, dumbfounded. Nicola and Graham locked themselves in a nearby office. Vincent looked at Leanne. An idea came to him. “Hit the fire alarm,” he told her. ”It’ll bring the fire department. Go with Nicola and Graham, and call the police. Do it now!”

  Leanne hesitated. Trevor took her arm and guided her away. Vincent was left alone. He only knew of one way into this building. Running wouldn’t help him.

  A second gunshot rang out.

  BOOM.

  A multitude of screams erupted from all around the building, from upstairs and from below. Vincent stepped out from behind his desk and headed to printer storage. This part of the office was located down a narrow hallway parallel to his desk.

  Once through the door it brought him out at the top of the stairs. The stairs that led up from below were hidden by a wall. If Mr. Pierce was in the building, anywhere near the stairs, this would give Vincent the element of surprise.

  Vincent scooted quietly.

  He noticed his team members huddled in an office. They were hiding under the desks. He motioned for them to be silent. He closed the door and stepped out beside the toilets. He crept along the hallway and waited.

  “Vincent? Vincent?”

  The phone voice sounded different, but Vincent knew it was Mr. Pierce. He was shouting, but it was definitely him. The sound came from the downstairs hallway, which put him in the lobby area, in front of the elevators.

  Blocking the exit.

  There was no other way out from the front of the building. Vincent had heard two gunshots in total. He hoped no one was dead. He didn’t want to think about Sarah. The screams subsided. He stepped into view at the top of the stairs. He walked down a step at a time. His hands were raised above his head.

  Mr. Pierce was standing in front of the elevators, as predicted. Two glass double doors were behind him, and beyond those was the lobby. Glass walls allowed light to flow in freely. Vincent could see the street. People were gathering on the road, wondering what they were looking at. One woman fainted. Two ran for help and disappeared. Others stepped closer, using their smartphones to film the scene and to take pictures.

  Vincent turned his attention to the man before him.

  Mr. Pierce wobbled. His white shirt was covered in blood. It glowed under the fluorescent lights, a sickly tomato colour. Two bloody handprints were smeared down his brown trouser legs. It looked as if someone had died and used him to hold onto during their last throes of life.

  Sarah.

  Alan Pierce’s blond hair had not been washed for some time and a single sliver of something red in the strands near his right ear. He had dirt and grime on his face and a scruffy, unkempt beard.

  Clearly he was a man with nothing to lose.

  He held a bloody revolver in his hand.

  The policeman was dead on the floor. A bullet had punctured his chest. Blood seeped onto the carpet. Several consultants were cowering against the wall; at that moment they were hidden behind an alcove. Alan Pierce would only see them once he reached the foot of the stairs.

  There was no sign of Vincent’s management team.

  Vincent stepped off the stairs. Mr. Pierce was waving the revolver around in his left hand. The insurance man stepped forward once more, effectively concealing his fellow consultants from view. He was a few feet away from Mr. Pierce.

  “We meet at last,” Pierce said.

  Vincent said nothing.

  Then the fire alarm shattered the silence.

  TWELVE
/>
  MONDAY

  10:27AM

  “What is that? What the fuck is that?” The murderer looked behind him.

  The bell was shrill, and Vincent was wincing at the noise. Mr. Pierce was growing more vehement by the second.

  Vincent moved to the left, effectively protecting the other consultants. As he did so, they hobbled down the hallway, hidden from view by the alcove, heading for the basement. The fire alarm would mean that the basement fire exit was now open. Freedom for a lucky few.

  Except Vincent.

  And Sarah.

  And Alan Pierce.

  “Vincent. Tell me, what’s that sound?”

  The other man smiled. “The fire alarm. You probably set it off by firing the gun. The sensors react to smoke or fumes. We can’t even spray deodorant in the building. Even paint sets it off.”

  Vincent remained very still.

  “Even your technology is stupid. Must be a hoot working for this fuckin’ company.” Pierce’s statement sounded brash. He focused on Vincent. The gun was held by his side.

  “It had its merits.” Vincent stared at his adversary.

  “Had? What happened? Did you quit, so this place means nothing to you now? Or are you scared I’m going to kill you like I killed your bitch colleague?”

  Vincent sneered. “A bit of both. Disillusion. Do you know what that feels like, Mr. Pierce?”

  The fire alarm was still blaring out.

  Pierce said nothing. He waved the gun around. He wiped his face, smearing blood into his beard. “Did you quit because of me?”

  Vincent nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

  “You were a factor, I’m not going to lie. I haven’t lied to you all morning. Let’s just say my initial opinion of my employer has … changed somewhat.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Yes.”

  Silence.

  Apart from the fire alarm.

  It was a small victory in a world of unfairness. Mr. Pierce had a broken smile on his face. A smile of a man with nothing. He had lost everything. He was standing on the property of the company which, he believed, had cost him the one thing that made his life worth living. Not his business going under, his wife, or the loss of his former partner. He could live with those errors of life. No, Horizon Insurance was to blame. His daughter had died because of external circumstances. However, because of a consultant error, the cancellation paperwork and an unhinged former parent, the blame had shifted to Horizon Insurance.

  Vincent understood the logic. The grieving process does funny things to people. However, he didn’t think a jury would see it the same way.

  Or the armed police, who were surrounding the building right now.

  At that moment, the fire alarm ceased.

  Vincent didn’t let on about the armed officers; he averted his eyes only slightly to see them. Beyond the lobby windows, he saw Armed Response police lining up across the street. A police vehicle pulled into view. Almost immediately, the police used it as cover. Two officers placed assault rifles on the bonnet. Vincent imagined snipers on the adjacent rooftops. Within minutes, this place would be locked down.

  Alan Pierce had to be aware of all this. He was a smart man, despite his psychopathic tendencies. And if he was aware, it wasn’t going to end well.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Pierce.” Vincent said.

  “You said that.” Mr. Pierce didn’t look at Vincent. He was staring at the ground. His body shook. The gun wavered in his hand. “You know, I don’t blame you for this. You came to work on a typical Monday to do your job. I could have spoken to anyone. You’re very good on the phone, I admit. I have spoken to people from here before and nothing but bullshit spewed from their lips. For that, for trying to help, I’d like to thank you.”

  Vincent nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  He eyed the officers outside. One stepped past the window. Out of sight was the front door and the main reception desk. Vincent could only imagine the chaos that was happening there. He locked his eyes back onto Mr. Pierce.

  Keep him distracted, he thought to himself.

  “I didn’t expect your managers to do a thing. I knew they wouldn’t. The red tape around companies as a whole, not to mention insurance companies, is tighter than ever.”

  Vincent said nothing.

  “But the fact they outright refused to help, to reinstate my policy, is unforgivable. You said yourself that you could get it authorised. But you didn’t.”

  Vincent felt chills running up his spine.

  Alan Pierce lifted his chin.

  His eyes were full of hatred and scorn, burning like deep pools of tar. The shakes were gone. His muscles were taut. The gun no longer wavered in his hand. He gripped the weapon tightly, his knuckles white.

  Beyond the door, a police officer was inches away from entry. Another few steps and he would have Mr. Pierce in sight. Vincent moved his head.

  This was the first mistake: it alerted Mr. Pierce to the situation.

  The second mistake was stepping backwards.

  Alan Pierce shook his head, saying, “Goodbye, Vincent.”

  He raised the gun.

  Vincent’s world spiraled. Time stood still, images became a blurred mess. Sounds became distorted. There was a loud bang, then a jolt of searing pain spreading up Vincent’s shoulder. Afterwards he remembered touching the source of the pain and his fingers coming away soaked crimson.

  Suddenly, he was on the ground. The blurred images turned to grey. A rush of relief seeped into his veins. He wondered what had happened. He expected to see a white light, or the end of a tunnel, but none came. A crash filled the air and Vincent recognised voices. They spoke in a hurry, were stern, forceful. The voices became louder and angry. Then there were more bangs. The grey turned to black. A dash of dark blue moved into view.

  Vincent closed his eyes and the relief enveloped him.

  THIRTEEN

  MONDAY

  10:35AM

  Moments before Vincent’s shooting, Alan Pierce had lost all patience. He felt the onset of a nervous breakdown. It was inevitable after everything that had happened. The sheer weight of life, its shortcomings and tragedy, straining his sanity like a weak set of shelves buckling under a heavy load.

  The ultimate outcome was downfall, collapse.

  He shot Vincent. It wasn’t Vincent’s fault. Wrong place, wrong time. In all honesty, Alan had started to like Vincent. The guy had tried to help him. If it hadn’t been for office politics, he probably would have succeeded.

  But alas, he hadn’t.

  He had to go.

  He liked Vincent, though, so he avoided inflicting a lethal wound. Accordingly, seeing his victim’s face hadn’t been an issue. And that’s when Alan remembered what was happening, and knew that he wasn’t likely to leave the building alive. Vincent would benefit from his mindset on this day.

  Better to leave the building in a body bag than go to prison.

  Fuck that.

  Sarah was going to need a body bag too.

  She had bucked and screamed when Alan shoved her in the boot for a second time. The sunlight had stunned her. He’d performed that task while Vincent was on hold for the ten minutes. Alan had then started driving to the building. Vincent hadn’t heard the car’s sounds on the phone line: the vehicle was smooth, quiet, it drowned out most of the noise generated by the road. It also ensured Sarah’s cries for help went unheard.

  Then he had waited.

  For the perfect time.

  Which had been mere minutes before.

  Sarah had outlived her usefulness. Early in the call, it had become apparent that Alan’s demands were being mocked, openly laughed at. A company with so much red tape, stupid politics and regulations would never sanction such a compensation. In some small way, Alan was disappointed, but he was also expecting it. With the way his luck had been going recently, Alan expected nothing.

  He was right to expect nothing.

  Be
cause it meant he wouldn’t be disappointed.

  That’s when he shot Sarah. At that point, Alan noticed that she had lost all nerve, fight and pride. Her face had been deathly white, and shock had racked her body. Her lips were purple. Alan hadn’t treated her wounds, he didn’t see the point of doing so. He had simply pointed the gun at her head and fired. No emotion. Cold.

  Her eyes had pleaded with him beforehand. He’d seen the sorrow and begging in those eyes as they overflowed with tears. It vanished when her brains painted the concrete. She fell forward and grabbed his leg, trying to hold herself up. The bloody stump of a finger had coated her hands and the resulting handprints ruined his trousers. Her body collapsed and the gunshot echoed up and down the street.

  Which was a problem. It invited attention. Guns without silencers aren’t quiet weapons. Immediately, someone appeared around the corner, a cigarette in his mouth. Alan had smashed him across the nose with the revolver, sending him to the concrete.

  The guy’s nose and cigarette crumpled beneath the blow. Alan dragged Sarah to the street. He needed a diversion while he finished his mission.

  He left her body in the street. Pedestrians noticed even before he dropped her. There were gasps and shouting. He expected the pictures to be on Twitter within minutes.

  Following an employee through the door of Horizon Insurance, he stepped into the lobby. An obese security guard had approached him and he had smashed the gun into this man’s face too. The man dropped heavily, a wobbling mass of fat. He rolled somewhat as he came to rest, while Alan tore the reception phone out of the wall.

  Getting his bearings, he worked his way past the lobby, shooting a cop in the chest. He had specifically told them: no cops. It wasn’t his fault, he’d shot the officer, he’d stated there should be no police for a reason. That one was down to them. As was Sarah.

  Which brought him to this moment in time.

  Vincent had hit the carpet. The smoke from the revolver was acrid and thick. He expected the fire alarm to go off again, but it didn’t. Which led him to believe that Vincent had lied.