I Kill Monsters

by Dennis Liggio

  On a daily basis, I only interacted with five people at work. Four of them sat in the cubes around me. Despite it being a call center, there's not a lot of time for getting up and socializing. So while I knew there were more people at the office, I had no interaction with them, so they might as well have been ghosts on the street.

  Our call center was arranged in sort of boxes. Four cubes in one box. An aisle stretched in the middle of the box, dividing it two desks on either side. Every desk had at least two "walls" which only stretched five feet high. The walls provided some privacy, some sound absorption, and finally a place to tack up useful notes, funny pictures, and photos. Because you only got two walls, you shared your "side" of the cube with one other person and there was no wall in between. Typically you arranged your workspace so that you worked back to back, as that was the least awkward.

  This box pattern framed all my interactions. In my box were Yasmin and Leesa. Directly across from me was Yasmin. Early twenties, native born with strict Pakistani parents, bearer of the cute smile. Unlike me, who wore whatever clothes he pulled off the floor to work, she typically dressed in comfortable hooded sweatshirts, of which I had counted four distinctly different ones. Sharing her side with her was Leesa. She was blonde, overweight, in her thirties, and wore exclusively frumpy sweaters and long skirts. She was also the office curmudgeon. The last spot in our box was empty, since with our turnover rate, there had not been someone new to fill it. We all considered it a cursed desk, as nobody who was put in it lasted more than thirty days without quitting or being fired. I'm sure it could be the job, Frank, or even me that was making them quit, but I didn't worry about it, since it gave me extra room and I didn't have to hear the babble of someone on the phone behind me. Someone had brought in a stuffed plush ghost toy and placed it in the cursed desk's chair with the telephone headset on it.

  On the other side of the wall from Yasmin and myself were Steve and Reese. Their box was also half empty, but less cursed. They each had a side to themselves, but they sat against the wall near Yasmin and I because they wanted at least some human contact besides each other. Steve wore a tie every day. I hadn't yet determined whether he was doing it to help get promoted or if he was just that guy who only feels comfortable in a tie. Reese was Irish by birth and had a thick accent at all times except when he was on the phone. For customers he was the most Midwestern-sounding agent in the world, but at all other times, "you can't help but want to kiss the Blarney Stone," as Leesa put it. She wanted in Reese's pants, but he seemed to be playing the field at clubs.

  The last person I interacted with regularly at work was Frank. He was our boss. I hated Frank.

  "Frank's coming!" hissed Leesa from her cube, like a crow cawing an ominous warning.

  Yasmin broke off our conversation and checked the time. She nodded, seeing it was the beginning of our shift. She pressed the button and greeted her caller. Leesa was already getting the customer's name. Being half asleep still, my movements were sluggish and inefficient, so I was still putting on my headset when Frank came by my desk.

  "Mr. Nowak, is it too much to ask that you be ready to work when your shift starts?"

  I've learned one thing in my twenty years on this planet. When someone calls me Mr. Nowak, I am in trouble. I'm not rich enough or old enough for anyone to be addressed that way in any sort of positive sense. If I'm being last-named, it's bad.

  "The clock literally just ticked over," I said. I could have just said nothing or I could have apologized. But I had to make excuses out of some involuntary need to argue.

  "Regardless of whether it is or not," said Frank, "you are paid to be working exactly at 8am sharp. It's in our policies. It's when the call queues open. It's when all your coworkers were on the phone and working," he said, waving his arms to where Yasmin, Leesa, Steve, and even Reese were sitting at their desks professionally taking calls. "I only see you not working."

  "I'd have been on the phone if you hadn't stopped me!" I said then immediately regretted it.

  "Are you trying to blame your failure to work on me?" he bellowed. Frank was possibly the worst manager I've had who wasn't actually breaking the law in some way. Frank was in his forties, vastly overweight, his jowly face covered with a thick mustache that was halfway between Magnum, PI and decaying caterpillar. Frank was the boss, so in his mind he was never wrong... at least not in any conversation with an underling. And I was very much his underling.

  Of course I am, you fat fuck is what I would have said if he didn't approve all my paychecks. I needed to slip into my customer service persona, the one I use on the phone for customers who actually deserve politeness, unlike Frank. "No, not at all," I lied. "In fact I'm getting in queue now." I pressed the button on my phone to accept calls and it immediately started ringing.

  "I'm talking to you, don't you -" started Frank in a growl.

  I quickly pressed the button to take the call. "Thank you for calling Williston Medical Devices, how can I help you today?"

  Frank immediately stopped talking. Even he knew well enough that he couldn't yell at me while I was on a call. There were people above even him that would yell. I turned to him and shrugged my arms to say, Sorry, nothing I can do, I'm on a call now.

  As I listened to the customer's problem, Frank walked off in a huff. I had a feeling that I was going to get some backlash from that, but for the moment, I felt like I had a small victory.

  Across the aisle, Leesa shook her head derisively at my behavior. Yasmin raised her eyebrows in shock, but then smiled. She mimed a silent clap for me. At least someone appreciated my antics.

  Contrary to what you might think, I don't work for Williston Medical Devices, they're just one of our clients. I work for Helping Hands Solutions, which is a fancy name for a generic call center outsourcing company. Williston Medical Devices, like many of our clients, has enough business to need phone support, but not enough business to hire people to do it for them exclusively or set up a call center. If they had phone support, that one person would take two calls a day and be bored the rest of the time. So they outsource to Helping Hands. When someone calls Williston, they get dumped in a queue with all of Helping Hands' customers. If they pay a little more money, they may be prioritized. One of us phone agents picks up, we see on our phone display what company we're representing, and we start helping them.

  For the customer, there's not a lot of difference. We might be a little less familiar with the product or service, but we help them just the same. For us it's a pain in the ass. A dozen different companies means a few different incident tracking software, a few different databases, and sometimes completely different call handling flows. We've all sent feedback that we'd love it in one database (and based on Reese's computer science degree, it's extremely possible), but nobody above us has listened. New databases cost money and they refuse to see the gain in efficiency.

  Luckily, I could do this job in my sleep, which was good on this particular day, since I was half asleep anyway. I did have to resort to writing the name of the company I was representing on a notepad at the beginning of each call so I could look down on it when I forgot. After each call, if I had time, I tried to run to the break room and get a cup of coffee. By 11am I had already consumed three cups. I was on a particularly long call before lunch when Yasmin put another cup of coffee on my desk. We smiled at each other as I tried to explain why the warranty on my customer's speakers had expired three years ago.

  Mikkel had texted me to let me know he had made sure Jessica got to work without any incidents. He was going back to bed. I would have spit out a curse if I wasn't helping a nice lady from Wisconsin with her order of cat poop scoopers.

  As it got closer to lunch, I was getting hungry. Since we have to have coverage all day, we can't all take lunch at the same time. So every day Frank sends out a schedule of when our lunches are. Usually they're pretty reasonable, since he knows that he can usually have two people off for lunch at one time. But if call volumes are high, he can spre
ad that out. Or he could be a vindictive douchebag.

  "Uh, check your email," said Yasmin when I got off a call.

  The lunch schedule was the only new email. I opened it up and cursed. Frank had scheduled me for a 3:30 lunch break. I only worked until 5, so I'd be getting back from my hour lunch just half an hour before the end of the day. And since I started working at 8, that meant I wasn't eating anything until seven and a half hours after the beginning of the shift. I was sure this was some labor law violation and knew I'd never be able to prove it satisfactorily enough to get Frank in trouble. Luckily, I managed to beg Yasmin and Leesa to bring me back food on their lunches. Yasmin got me a cheap dollar menu burger I took small bites of between calls. Leesa only got me a bag of potato chips. I wanted to be mad, but at least that was something. It helped keep me from having a absolutely miserable day, making it just a somewhat miserable day.

  By 3:30, I was practically dead at my desk. I had drank so much coffee that I was loopy, even with the meager food offerings from Yasmin and Leesa. I also hadn't had a cigarette in many hours, so as I rushed outside into the too bright daylight, I was already lighting up. I wondered how I was going to watch Jessica on her way home.

  I thought of some things I shouldn't have. Back a year or two, I had used more that cigarettes and coffee to stay up. At first I thought it was good, as I was always ready for monsters. But it took its toll and I realized what a terrible idea it was. I still know that, but at certain times, I really miss that lift it gave me when I needed to be up. Even if I knew the thing I needed was sleep, not drugs. Of course I knew there was no sleep on the schedule. Not until Jessica was home safe.

  So for lunch I bought more food than I was hungry for, hoping to keep my blood sugar up, especially since I had been surviving on nothing but coffee and fumes all day. Then I got a superfrapalattemochacinospresso from the gourmet coffee place. Normally Mikkel and I drink either cheap instant coffee or nondescript greasy spoon diner coffee, usually rather black. But I felt like I needed something more. I felt almost awake by the time I returned to work for my half an hour of work.

  It was some sort of miracle that my call finished before 5. I expected it to run over, which would have made me late for following Jessica on her way home. I finished at 4:58. I finished up the notes for my call and logged out. Frank could fuck off if he was going to make a stink about me logging out a minute early.

  As I grabbed my stuff, Yasmin stopped me.

  "Hey, Szandor, we're going to get some drinks now. I was wondering if you wanted to come."

  I wondered who the "we" was and then looked over to Leesa, who seemed less than thrilled about the idea of me coming along.

  "I'd love to," I said, "but I kinda have some place to be." She frowned immediately, so I tried to make it sound better. "I have to get to my other job."

  "You have two jobs?" she said incredulously.

  "Not so loud," I said. I believed Helping Hands had no particular policy about working elsewhere, but I didn't want any extra ammo for Frank to abuse me with.

  "No wonder you're always so tired," she said in awe.

  "It's just a small side business with my brother," I said awkwardly.

  "What do you do?" she asked.

  "Oh, we do odd jobs and things," I said even more awkwardly. It was technically true.

  "But not enough to pay all the bills, I guess," she suggested.

  "Not yet at least."

  "See, at least I learned something new about you today," she said with a flash of a smile."But you should totally come out with us sometime! That'd be so much fun!" Behind her, Leesa still looked unimpressed by the idea, but she was also a known curmudgeon.

  "Next time, I promise," I said.

  That would have been a much better night than the one I ended up with.

  Bop 'Til You Drop

  The Clark Building, which housed the New Avalon branch of Minerva Technics, was in the heart of Midtown. On its surface it was a stone and steel building reminiscent of the old behemoths in historic Old Avalon. But it had been clearly renovated with huge glass windows on most floors and the huge Minerva logo - big M, little T. I also knew from a quick internet search that the Clark Building had been gutted by Minerva for their projects. It might look old, but its innards were new.

  I stood across the street from the Clark Building, keeping an eye on the glass doors while I leaned nonchalantly on the wall of a different building. Midtown contained much of New Avalon's financial and corporate offices, so around me flooded a tide of business suits zooming toward happy hour, bus stops, or train terminals. It was also full of billboards, flashing advertisements, and video feeds from local networks. In some ways, it was like standing inside a giant interactive advertisement.

  Had anyone bothered to notice me more than out of the corner of their eye, they'd probably think I was out of place. I looked like some gutter punk who had stopped to smoke a cigarette. I could possibly be a homeless person. Dark circles ringed my eyes. My shoulder still throbbed. I was wearing the Dead Kennedys shirt I wore to work and was now listening to the Kennedys through my earphones - I thought their anti-corporate message was a suitable counterpoint to Midtown. I was otherwise wearing jeans, a black jacket, boots, and had my piercings in. My black backpack was filled with a battered paperback, a notepad, a bottle of water, and the bare essentials I needed for hunting: flashlights, flares, my sheathed machete, and my freshly-cleaned lead pipe. Like Mikkel earlier in the morning, I didn't expect anything to happen on this trip, so I didn't bother gearing up. I was travelling light and hoping to get home to sleep very soon.

  I burned down half a cigarette and most of the album In God We Trust, Inc before I got a text from Jessica. She was heading downstairs to go home. The Clark Building must have been bigger than we thought, because it wasn't until ten minutes later that she left through those doors. It was a big surprise for me. I had seen the crying, freaked out, dressed in sweatpants for surfing the couch Jessica. This was a different Jessica. This was the professional, business suit, heels, and corporate war face Jessica. She wore a burgundy suit dress, nylon stockings, and heels. Her hair was down and styled. She was wearing makeup and lipstick. That crying girl I had seen last night had been cute, but she was nothing like this woman. Not only was Jessica beautiful, she was also hot.

  This was a dirty trick for me. There's some twist in my psychology or a trick from the heavens that I am a poor kid who likes punk bands, works crappy jobs, and generally looks like a mess, but I somehow find women dressed in fancy business clothes super hot. Yes, I do also like punk chicks, goth girls, nerd babes, and many others, but there's something about a well-dressed woman that just does it for me. They're hot, I can't help it. Of course, this infatuation is just a thorn in my side, since they understandably look at me with utter contempt. Even if I got over my corporate hate, I am not what these women want. It is a poor match and a frustrating desire. But that doesn't stop me from wanting. Maybe someday, hidden and unrequited lust, someday.

  We had asked Jessica to go home on foot. It might have been more convenient for her to take a bus or train home, but Midtown to Wellington is not an unreasonable walk. We worried that if she took mass transit, we might lose her if the doors closed between us. It wasn't a difficult decision, since she refused to go underground to a subway terminal.

  Also, since it was rush hour, it was safer. We've never seen ghouls attack densely populated areas, even if Jessica believed they attacked Tessa in a dance club. Ghouls want a lone victim. Crowds bothered them. So Mikkel and I figured there was no larger crowd that Midtown during rush hour.

  I tossed my cigarette on the sidewalk and stamped it out. Detaching from my perch on the wall, I merged into the endless flow of pedestrian traffic. I crossed the street at the corner and picked up Jessica's trail. With her change in fashion, it was easy to keep my eyes on her. Well, it wasn't that easy due to the thick crowd of rush hour pedestrians, but I was enthusiastic about keeping her legs in view so I put in th
e effort. I had originally intended to stay a block behind and mostly the opposite side of the street, but now I felt like following a little closer, if not for a better view. I followed half a block behind, noting with a little jealousy that I was not the only man who paused to take in her well-heeled legs. I guess I wasn't the only pig that day.

  For about three blocks I followed her through the pedestrian traffic, seeing her disappear for a moment behind some business suits before appearing again. She was never out of my sight for over a second or two, so it wasn't really a concern. I couldn't always look at her legs, but that helped to keep my mind on the job.

  I actually thought this was going to be a piece of cake job and an easy retainer fee until I lost her. One moment a guy on a phone walked in front of me, and the next moment there was no one in the spot she had been walking. I looked farther down the block, thinking she may have quickened her pace, but did not see her.

  Goddammit, I thought.

  I quickly moved to the last place I saw her, frantically looking back and forth for any sign of her. As I turned, I realized that she had disappeared right in front of an alleyway. There were two other pedestrians who had paused to look down the alley, odd expressions on their face. That's when I heard a muffled scream.

  I looked down the dim alley and saw a tall, bulky man in a dark gray raincoat lifting Jessica off the ground. He had one hand over her mouth and was able to lift her entire weight with just one arm.

  "Put her down!" I shouted in my best heroic voice.

  The man in the coat turned and saw me. The alley was too dim to read his expression, but he tensed up. Ignoring her cries, he threw Jessica over his shoulder and took off running down the alley.

  I immediately took up the pursuit, racing down the alley. This easy job was suddenly not easy at all. Someone wanted her pretty badly to grab her off a crowded street. I wasn't sure if this guy was a monster or just a mysterious raincoated kidnapper, but he had enough balls to grab someone off the street during rush hour. He was lucky that most people didn't care enough to stop him. Maybe someone called the cops, maybe they didn't. They'd arrive too late.